Page 41 of Come the Morning

“Anne!”

“I’m—meeting someone.”

“Who?”

Again, Anne was silent.

“Anne, sweet Jesus, I’m in the trouble of my life! Whatever you have to say cannot be worse.”

“Daro,” Anne said.

“What?” Mellyora was so startled that she nearly shouted the question.

“Sh!” Anne rushed forward, clamping her hand over Mellyora’s mouth. Mellyora wiggled her head, indicating she wasn’t about to shout again, and set Anne from her.

“Daro! My uncle Daro?” Mellyora demanded. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so surprised. Daro was her father’s younger brother, blond, bold, brave, and handsome. After the death of a friend, he’d taken over a rocky stronghold in the Irish Sea called Skul Isle. He was somewhat wild by nature, he was most often David’s ally, and while Mellyora’s father had lived, there had been peace between them. But Daro and the king were arguing or mediating about some point now, which is why her uncle’s troops were camped down the river. She had thought that Daro was with his men.

“Please, Mellyora, be quiet! With David so strong now, my family wants nothing to do with Daro; they say that he will bring heartache and trouble to us all!”

“Dear God, I would never betray either of you—the man is my kin!” Mellyora assured her friend. If she weren’t in so much trouble herself as it were, she might be amused. Anne had always seemed so steady and serene, the least likely candidate for an illicit affair with such a man as her uncle.

She heard footsteps again and inhaled sharply, staring at Anne. Sooner or later, the guards would draw open the tapestries anddrag them both out. She hesitated, then clutched Anne’s hands. “Tell Daro I need him. Tell him I’m a prisoner about to be wed to one of the king’s lackeys. I need his help, but he mustn’t be reckless, I don’t want lives lost, I … I … I don’t seek a battle, only escape!”

“Mellyora, what—”

“Get back!” Mellyora told her firmly. “And don’t fail me, please, don’t fail me!”

She gave Anne a little thrust, pushing her far back into the darkness. Then, hearing that a guard was coming near, she slipped from behind the tapestry.

“There she is! Ah, lady, but we were about to flush you out!” Sir Harry stated, striding angrily toward her.

“I can make my own way, Sir Harry,” she said. She turned away from him only to realize that the hulking bald man was making his way toward her. “I can make my own way!” she repeated.

She didn’t like the look of the man she didn’t know. Unnerved, she tried to run past him. He reached out and caught her.

“Sir Harry!” she cried, trying to free herself from the huge stranger. “Sir Harry, tell this brute that I can make my own way—”

“Sir Harry has gone on, m’lady,” the bald man told her. His voice was deep and husky with a deep Highland burr.

“Let me go,” she said. “I don’t know you, I’ll see the king with Sir Harry—”

The man spun her around. “Sir Harry is gone on about his business,” the man told her. “I will escort you—”

“I can make my own way to the king.”

“I think not.”

“I’m not running anymore. I know that you’ve managed to hunt me down. I will go straight to the king, you may follow me if—”

“M’lady, it is the middle of the night. The king is not to be bothered with your tantrums now.”

“My tantrums? Fine! Well, you may follow me to my own chambers then, and I will await his summons.”

“No.”

His fingers were clamped around her arm. She stared at her arm, and into his eyes. There was something fierce and merciless there.

“Come with me. Now.”