Page 33 of Come the Morning

“Why should you? I’ve already seen all that you have to offer.”

“I wouldn’t want to commit more treason.”

He smiled at that. “But I do want my shirt.”

She stared at him, feeling a ridiculous surge of anger inside her once again. He liked to bait her. Fine. He was the king’s man. And her “noble bounty” was something he mocked.

“As you wish,” she told him, and she pulled off his shirt.

She tossed the garment toward him. He caught it; they stared at one another. The cool breeze caught her naked flesh, but she took her time, pretending she had lost her tunic again with the pile of clothing in the boat, and searching through her clothing.When she found her tunic, she pretended to have difficulty with the garment before slipping it over her head. As she did so, she started, frightened, afraid she had taken her taunt too far, for he was right next to her, nearly touching her, reaching for her cloak.

He practically threw it on top of her head.

Then he sat again, staring at her. She returned the glare.

He reached for his shirt. As he did so, the oar started to slip from the boat.

“The oar!” she cried.

He fumbled for it. Too late. It was gone.

He swore.

“Oh, my God, not again! You really are a fool—”

“One more word and I will strangle you!” he promised. “You needn’t worry this time!”

He tossed his shirt down and slipped over the rim of the boat, back into the water. He was going for the oar, she saw.

Then she realized that the second oar was still in the lock. She hastily changed her position, trying to maneuver the small vessel with the one oar. It wouldn’t move at first, but then she jerked the oar from the lock. She spun herself in a circle, but then she managed to slip the oar in and out of the water, changing sides, and set the little boat out on a straight line across the water.

She dipped the oar to the left, and couldn’t lift it. She struggled with it, then gasped. He had reached the boat. He tossed the lost oar aboard. Desperate, she tried to strike him with the oar she was using. He ducked. He rose on the other side of the boat, and she spun around in time to catch him on the shoulder. Then she realized that she had begun a brutal fight, and that if she didn’t win …

She struck out hard, and wild, very afraid. Then she saw she was beating the water. He was gone.

She sat back, shaking. Tears stung her eyes, horror filled her. She forced herself to breathe deeply, and she tried to tell herselfthat she hadn’t just murdered a man, and if she had, it had been in self-defense, she didn’t know just what he had intended for her.

Still, she felt a wave of wretched misery engulfing her.Whomhad she killed? He’d been young, a king’s man. A knight. A man loyal to the king. Perhaps he’d encountered dozens of the king’s enemies, and returned triumphant, and she had murdered him in cold blood upon the river in the midst of a beautiful fall day …

She looked up at the sun, figuring it was well past midday. Early afternoon, now? Her stomach growled suddenly, and she was horrified that she had murdered a man, and felt hunger at the same time. She had to stop sitting there, stunned and appalled by what she had done. She had to move. She had to reach the Viking camp. In just another few hours, it would be dark again.

Shaking, she tried to pull herself together.

Then she screamed again, forhewas back. He wasn’t dead, and she was indeed in grave danger. With a sudden impetus, he came shooting out of the river like a water demon, hiking himself over the edge of the boat with swift force. She thought he meant to kill her when he wrenched away from her the oar she had wielded. She cast her arms over her head and ducked, awaiting his deadly blow.

She began a swift, silent prayer, the Hail Mary, waiting, waiting …

The words of the prayer faded from her thoughts as nothing happened. She lifted her head at last.

He wasn’t looking at her. He was seated in the middle of the boat, adjusting both oars again. She dared to breathe. She should have kept her quiet. But she was shaking, and she couldn’t quite manage to do so.

“You’re alive.”

“No thanks to you.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“To kill me? Aye, I think you did.”