Page 57 of Come the Morning

But the wine worked wonders. She had lain there but a matter of minutes, certain her thoughts would keep her awake forever, when she found her eyes closing.

And her thoughts tormenting her no more.

That night.

But a day passed. And then another. And while Daro’s men practiced at arms and Mellyora watched and waited and feared the worst, nothing happened.

Daro sent men into Stirling. Anne was well, and attending the queen, and went about her life as if nothing had happened. Banns had been cried for the marriage to Waryk. There was no word that the Vikings had done anything amiss, nor did the king have men preparing for war.

Mellyora was disturbed to find herself lying awake until near dawn, night after night. What was he doing? She was alarmed to remember his face too clearly, disturbed that images of him haunted her dreams. She could remember his voice too clearly, the way that he touched her, the way he spoke. And sometimes, she would be sorry that she had made such an enemy, and sometimes, she would even jolt awake, thinking he was near her. He wasn’t a stranger anymore, she realized.

But what was he doing?

She took to practicing with Daro’s men-at-arms as well, and Daro gave her an old sword, dug up from ancient grounds at Dalriada and said to have belonged to a Celtic princess during the time of the Romans. The sword was much lighter than the heavy ones she had practiced with throughout her life, giving her the advantage that she could wield it longer. It was strong as well, and unlike so many other such small weapons, she didn’t think that it would snap as easily under an assault by a heavier weapon.

Another day went by. Stirling remained quiet, the people going about their business. There were preparations going on for her wedding. She had spent time with Daro, gotten to know more of his men, practiced, laughed, joined in their games, listened to the great Nordic tales of gods and goddesses and Valhalla. But while she had laughed and charmed and been charmed in turn, she had grown continually more uneasy. Some of Daro’s men had suggested they move against the king.

“Nay, we wait,” he had told them.

And Mellyora knew that they both believed they might have had a chance at Blue Isle, where the fortress could withstand months of siege. But if they made a move, they would be in open defiance. They would be at war against the king, not involved in any misunderstanding, and if all were lost, many heads would roll. It was better to wait.

She’d been with the Vikings almost a full week when she went to bed at night and realized that, while she had worried about Daro, she had been haunted by visions of Laird Waryk …

But not once had she thought of Ewan. When a man had entered her sleep, it had been Waryk. She had seen his eyes clearly, their piercing blue, she had seen his face, the way that he stood, and she had even felt his touch, over and over again, and a strange burning in the night …

The messenger was first seen riding out along from the gates at Stirling at dusk, a single rider, unarmed, flying the banner of Waryk de Graham, Laird Lion, a great falcon flying against a field of blue.

It was late night when the messenger left Stirling, a curious time. Daro’s men awakened him with the first news of the man leaving the fortress walls. Daro advised his men to follow the rider’s progress and to report his movements.

The messenger might have been riding anywhere, but Daro knew that he was coming to him. What game was Laird Lion playing? Daro was aware that he did not need to negotiate, that if the king had commanded a marriage, Waryk had only to report that the Vikings had helped Mellyora escape, and every king’s man would be at Waryk’s command. A brutal loss of life would ensue, and even the king’s strength might be compromised, but men were known to slaughter one another for less reason.

When the messenger crossed the bridge, Daro came to the front of his camp to meet him.

“I’ve come from Laird Waryk, unarmed, and seek your promise of safe conduct out of your camp,” the man told him. He spoke the Norse language, not haltingly, but with assurance, and Daro was impressed that the Scotsman had chosen a Norwegian as his messenger. A courtesy in itself.

“You’ve come unarmed, lad, and you leave here unharmed, you’ve my promise,” Daro told him. “What is your message?”

“I am to repeat Laird Lion’s words to you alone, Laird Daro,” the lad said.

Daro nodded, and his men allowed the messenger to dismount and follow him into his camp hall. Daro offered the man wine, which he accepted.

“Has Laird Waryk sent you to say that he has something—or someone—that he wants while I am holding the woman he isto wed? Does he seek an exchange? Tell him he puts me into a grievous position, for he asks me to deal with my own blood.”

The messenger quenched his thirst with the wine and swallowed, shaking his head. “I am not here to threaten or bargain, Laird Daro. Laird Waryk acknowledges you as the Lady Mellyora’s closest kin, and regrets the fact that you were not consulted. Naturally, your niece has the right to refuse to wed—”

“Naturally?” Daro repeated with a wry grin.

The messenger shrugged. “Ah, Laird Daro, she may refuse him. But the king intends that Laird Waryk govern the property, with or without a bride.”

Daro started at that, surprised at the bold move to be made by the king. It would be an unpopular move—many men would grumble.

They would also be forced to realize that they all held their land of the king, and that power might be fleeting, and that all that was gained might be lost. The Normans might not have conquered Scotland, but their feudal ways had come here, and if Mellyora had been a male heir, as the eldest son of the laird she would have had far greater strength under the feudal law that had permeated much of their society, just as it had the English. But she was a woman, with few more rights than those of a child. She could not hold the land in her own name alone.

If she refused Waryk, the king would not choose a different husband for her, or allow one. He would simply seize the property.

Staring at the messenger, Daro exhaled softly.

“Does Laird Lion wish me to explain this choice to my niece?”