Page 52 of Come the Morning

She broke off, as if she had said too much, as if she were suddenly confused.

Then her eyes widened with alarm as Jillian, Mellyora’s woman, came rushing up. Seeing Anne, Jillian bit into her lip, standing anxiously at Waryk’s side. “Laird Lion, I must speak with you. It’s urgent.”

“Aye, then, Jillian. Anne, we’ll speak again. Perhaps, if you can convince me that what you’re seeking is not against God or king, I can help you,” Waryk said. He stepped back, allowing her to pass.

“Laird Lion, Mellyora is …”

The woman broke off as if she were choking. As if she couldn’t quite draw in the breath to finish the sentence.

“Mellyora is what?”

“Gone again, sir!”

“How do you know?”

“I went to bring her some clothing. But—she is gone.”

“That’s impossible!” he said harshly. “A heavy bolt was slid across the door; Angus was on guard—” He broke off. Looking into the woman’s eyes, he knew that she was speaking the truth.

“Angus would not let any man by him,” he said, striding down the corridor with Jillian following behind him.

The door to his chambers stood open. Angus was within, knocking at the walls, searching under the alcove bed, swearing. He stood, facing Waryk, and looking very strange, for Angus was so huge, so fierce-looking a warrior, though a kind man. He had probably not looked so sheepish before in all his life. He had known the importance of guarding Mellyora, and Waryk had warned him that she was as slippery as an eel.

“Waryk, she’s disappeared like mist on the moor. The bolt remained on the door when Jillian arrived, but she is not within, as you can see,” Angus said. “I’d lay down my life for you, and you know that—”

“Aye, I do,” Waryk assured him.

“She’s slipped out of this room somehow.”

“There are no exits,” Waryk said.

“The chimney?” Jillian suggested hopefully behind them.

Waryk turned to her. She was a handsome woman with soft silvering hair, an oval face and fine features that would make her lovely no matter how many years passed her by. She was anxious now, and he thought that she loved her young mistress, but realized something Mellyora did not—the king had spoken. Her fate involved the defense and strength of Scotland, and, therefore, she was nothing more than a pawn.

“Jillian,” he said, not unkindly, “if she went up the chimney, she is well charred, for there is a fire burning still.”

Angus let out an oath of frustration. “The bolt remained locked when Jillian arrived!” he repeated.

“Did you leave the corridor?”

“Nay, ye know I’d not—” Angus began, then broke off. He shook his head. “I didn’t leave the corridor, but I moved around the corner when I heard the woman screaming. It was a terrible sound; I thought we were being attacked—”

“What woman?” Waryk demanded.

“The lass, Anne MacInnish—” Angus began.

“Ah, Angus, we’ve been tricked!” he swore, exiting the room with long strides, his man following quickly behind him.

“Tricked? By a slip of a lass? She was alone, Waryk, I swear it—”

“Aye, she was alone. For her part in the charade!” Waryk hurried along the corridor, long strides carrying him toward the southern arch, the direction in which Anne MacInnish had gone when she’d slipped on by him at Jillian’s arrival.

He burst out into the night, but saw no one. Rushing to the stables, he noted many empty stalls, which meant little, since the king’s men were constantly coming and going, and were his guests. He saw Joshua, the groom who had taken care of Mercury earlier, sleeping in a bed of hay, and he stooped to shake the boy awake.

“Joshua!”

“Aye?” Slow to wake, the lad rubbed his eyes, then saw Waryk. “Laird Lion. I tended to your steed—”