Page 53 of Come the Morning

“Lad, I’m not questioning your care of my horse. Has anyone been in here for horses?”

“Just the drunk Vikings, m’laird. Three of them, tumbling over one another, barely managing to get up on their horses.”

“How long ago?”

“I … just moments, I think. I don’t know. I slept,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Where’s Mercury?”

“There, Laird Waryk, I’ll get your saddle—”

“There’s no time.” Waryk had already found the bridle and was striding for his horse. His affection for the animal was great, since the horse had taken him through many a dangerous battle and journey. “Once more this evening, my fine lad,” he told the horse, slipping the bridle over his great muzzle. Then he leapt on his unsaddled mount and urged the animal forward. By then, Angus was standing with Joshua.

“Waryk! If you’re going to the Viking camp, you can’t go alone—”

“I don’t intend to take on Daro’s army of Norsemen alone,” Waryk told him. “I hope to stop them long before they reach the camp. And if I do not … perhaps Daro’s own means of abducting his niece is the one I should use as well.”

“Waryk, wait!” Angus shouted, but Waryk knew that speed was all that could bring her back swiftly—and without incident—now.

At the gates, he called out his identity to the sleepy guards. He rode hard, knowing they were headed north along the river and that they would have to reach the bridge to make the crossing.

Twenty minutes of hard riding brought him to the woods that ranged around the bridge. The moon was dying, the first streaks of dawn were just a pink whisper against the gray of the sky. Breaking into the trail, he saw them just ahead. Three cloaked riders. Two were almost over the bridge. The third was falling behind just a little, and hadn’t yet gained the bridge.

It was a woman, judging by her size and the way she sat her horse. She had paused to look behind, to be certain that they weren’t being pursued.

Mellyora. He couldn’t see her face, but he recognized the cloak she had worn earlier.

He had her, he thought.

He nudged his heels against Mercury’s flanks, and the stallion rewarded him with a renewed burst of speed. The thunder of hooves was so loud that she didn’t hear him as he rode down on her. Accustomed to riding and managing the accouterments of battle and the joust, he had little difficulty overtaking her horse and maintaining his seat while reaching out—and dragging her from that animal to his own. She’d been too startled to resist, and held precariously in a side grip, she was quickly blinded as the voluminous folds of her hood fell over her face.

“Wretched witch! This time I’ll chain you down!” he told her angrily. “You are far more trouble than you can possibly be worth, and if it were not for the king …”

He allowed his words to trail, his meaning clear. He reined in, quickly turning his mount as she gasped and stuttered her surprise. He ignored her.

Looking back, Waryk saw the other riders hadn’t realized they’d lost her as yet. He nudged Mercury once again, and began his breakneck race back toward the fortress at Stirling. He wasn’t a fool. He had her now. He’d have his arguments with Daro later. He wore no armor and was poorly armed, and he was almost in the lap of a Viking camp.

She was still sniffling and making strange moaning sounds—but not fighting. She was clinging to Mercury’s mane, simply trying to stay perched atop the wildly racing stallion. Then, as they galloped, she suddenly twisted, trying to free herself.

“Sit still! Do you want to die beneath the horse’s hooves?” he hissed to her.

“Please …! Listen—”

He reined in, seeing that Angus had almost reached him. As he did so, she slipped from his grasp. He swore, reining in hard,dismounting, and racing after her. He caught her, tackling her upon a bed of leaves that lay between him and Angus.

“Mellyora, I swear—” he began.

“No, please!” came a tearful cry, and he realized, looking down, why his captive had suddenly become so submissive.

He had captured the wrong woman.

CHAPTER10

The fire burned with a bright, rich heat in Waryk’s room; nevertheless, Anne MacInnish sat before its warmth, shivering. Waryk leaned against the mantel, watching her sternly. Jillian sat nervously by her side.

Angus leaned against the door as if he could add bulk and substance to it. He still couldn’t believe that such a slip of a girl had earlier caused the same effect as if she had broken down the door.

“I—I knew that Mellyora was in trouble, that she was running from the guards. And she swore to me that she’d done nothing wrong …” Anne assured Waryk miserably. She moistened her lips. “I wasn’t certain that you were the man the king intended her to marry. I mean, I’d heard such talk, but Mellyora said … well, she believed that she was to go to a Norman, someone no better than a second generation of William the Conqueror’s men. We all know how horrible life became for the ancient Saxon nobility in England, and the Norman threat remains here against us at the border …”