Page 35 of Come the Morning

“How kind.”

“Darkness is falling again.”

“The mud hut is actually quite comfortable.”

“What a liar. You are accustomed to warmth and comfort—and the men in your life tripping over themselves to see to your comfort.”

“You don’t believe in such courtesy.”

“I don’t believe in anyone walking over me.” He hunched down beside her, and she was startled again by both the classic handsomeness of his features and the hardness within them. He seemed a rock. She felt a slight chill, seeing the way muscle rippled with his every breath, and remembering how she had tried to kill him. She needed to be thankful for her sex, she thought; he surely would have killed a man in return, no quarter given. Yet, did it matter? He was young, powerful, and striking, a warrior from a noble house. She had underestimated him last night. He meant to turn her in to the king. She still meant to escape.

Fall … nearly winter. The light did not stay long. Here, beneath the sapling oak, a breeze stirring, the coming twilight was suddenly beautiful. The air played upon the water, and it rippled. A fresh, cool scent seemed to stroke her cheeks. She was warm in her cloak, filled with his food. She felt renewed. Her strength was revived, along with her faith in herself. If only someone would come along. Help. What story could she come up with to tell an unwary passerby? There were fishermen outon the water. They’d be coming in soon, with darkness so quickly looming before them …

“Don’t even think about it, my lady.”

“About what?”

“Seeking help from me through a fisherman. I’d have to kill him, and his death would be upon your hands.”

She flushed, wishing he could not so easily read her mind. She stood then, dusting bread crumbs from her hands. He stood at her side, pointing toward his horse.

“M’lady, shall we.”

She hesitated. When she had feared immediate rape or death, the prospect of returning to Stirling had been a good one. Now, she knew she was facing nothing but the king’s fury. Just how angry would he be? How far would he go with her to prove his power?

“Now, my lady!” he said, his tone taking on a harsh quality.

She swallowed, shaking her head, wondering if he’d realize now that her obstinance was more fear than defiance. “I … can’t. I’m not going anywhere with you,” she murmured. “If we could just—”

“No, we couldn’t just,” he said quietly.

She stared at him, assessing him once again. She held very still. She was dressed, but still damp, and the breeze sweeping by her was cool, but good. She felt strong again. They were near the castle, too near the castle. Her chances were slipping away. She had to reason with him, or outwit him. Reasoning might be hard now, since shehadtried to split his head open with the oar, and she had drawn her knife on him, twice. She’d not retrieved it the last time. She shivered as she stood there, realizing his height allowed him to tower over her. He was, she thought again, a man to make her very nervous. In the prime of life, still young, but a man fully formed, a warrior trained. Powerful, striking, yet so chillingly so, for his sculpted features were set in lines so harshand impassive that she felt tremors begin sweeping through her, touching her with a strange sense of both panic and warmth.

She moistened her lips. “We’ve had a chance to talk, to know one another.”Too well, she thought. He’d touched her, grappled with her. She knew the feel of him, the scent of him, his warmth. “Look, I’m not going with you!” she said again, taking another step from him. “Understand me. You think you’re in control now. But things can change. The Viking camp is just across the river. If I screamed, they might hear me. Think about just how close we are to my kin! A fisherman, aye, you could easily slay a poor fisherman! But what of a berserker? Now, please. Pay attention, hear me, heed me. I’m not going anywhere with you!”

He didn’t even take a step toward her. He smiled, shaking his head with both fury and exasperation. “Oh, lady, you’re so wrong. Indeed, you will be going with me, anywhere I say, everywhere I say. When I say.”

“We’ll see what the king has to say about that!” she snapped.

“Make up your mind! Are you threatening me with the Vikings or the king?” he demanded.

He was angry—yet amused at the same time again, she thought. Shaking his head, he turned away from her to pull the small boat they had used higher up on the embankment, as if he meant to make sure it was there at a later time. As he did so, she saw her opportunity.

His horse was huge, but she was an excellent rider—once again, because she was a Viking’s daughter. Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to make an unassisted leap upon his back were it bare, but the horse was saddled. She was agile, and had been riding forever.

The stirrups were high but she managed to set a foot in the left one and vaulted herself easily up onto the warhorse. Her heart seemed to fly. She nudged the animal with her heels. “Go, boy, please, for the love of God, go, save me!”

The great horse leapt forward, pawing the air, hitting the ground.

They began to race. She felt the cool air. Felt the earth, flying beneath them.

She felt a taste of triumph, and freedom.

Then she heard a whistle.

The horse came to a sudden stop, pawing the air. She managed to keep her seat, but then the animal swung around and began racing again. Back toward the very place from where they had come. The horse galloped with lightning speed. She saw the man ahead of them, and she sucked in her breath, certain that he was about to be run down.

But once again, the warhorse came to a stop. A dead stop. This time, she couldn’t control her own momentum, and she vaulted cleanly over the horse’s head.