Page 59 of Come the Morning

Watching as the servants scurried about, cooking, selecting shaggy cattle to slaughter for a feast, he thought that his time to move was now. He motioned to one of his men, Han, and told him, “It’s time to ride. Gather our men and meet me, with an extra horse, horses, at the southwestern entrance to the camp.”

Han arched a brow. “What are we about, Ulric?” he asked.

Ulric waved a hand in the air. “Vengeance. Where is Adin’s daughter?”

“In Daro’s hall.”

“With him?”

“I’ve heard that she sleeps in a little room to the side. She’s not to be wakened until Waryk arrives.”

“Is she guarded?”

“Daro’s men walk the front, but this is a camp, not a fortress. She is not a prisoner here, she would not flee or fight her own uncle. She rests, in the side room, with only a servant woman to watch her. The hall is hastily constructed wood frame and skins, no more. I’ve seen the servant woman coming and going from a doorway of deer hide at the far left corner of the structure.”

“Good.”

“But what are we about? If there isn’t to be a war with the king—”

“Then we will make one,” Ulric told him. “We ride as I said. We go a-Viking tonight in a different way.”

Mellyora thought that she should awaken; she felt a strange sense compelling her to do so, but she was so lethargic, she couldn’t quite remember why. Sleep had been good, so very sweet. No dreams had plagued her, and she thought that maybeInga had added some special herbs to the wine to help her sleep. The warmth of the furs had been delicious.

“Mellyora!”

The whisper of her name had such a sound of urgency to it that she was instantly aware of danger.

The room was still dark; though she thought that daybreak had to be coming. Beyond the small room, torches burned, and around her, in the camp, they burned as well, but the light filtering in was pale, and at first, all she saw was the form of a man at her side.

“Daro?” she whispered, fighting the lethargy that still held her.

“Nay, but I am your uncle’s man, here to help you.”

“What has happened?”

“The king has sent a negotiator. I am to spirit you away, until Daro can make his own arguments. We must disappear silently, do you understand?”

“Is it a pretense? My uncle is to be as surprised as anyone that I have disappeared?” she queried.

“Aye, lady, that is it, you must help me, we must leave in absolute quiet.”

“Aye!” She rose, a little unsteady on her feet. He set an arm around her. She looked up. He was wearing a Viking helm, but no armor other than a leather breastplate. She thought that he was wise, for any mail or plate armor might hamper his movement and create a trail of noise to follow.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To safety, my lady. And we must hurry.”

She could hear voices beyond the entrance to her uncle’s long room; people were arriving at the hall, she realized.

“Aye, give me just a moment to dress.”

He turned away. She swept a gown from the foot of the bed to slip over her linen shift, and reached quickly for her shoes.

“Wait. Wear this cloak. Pull the hood low, but walk tall. Come quickly.”

She slipped on the cloak, and as she did so, she saw that her uncle’s gift, the small Celtic sword, lay by her bed. As he walked away, she belted on the slim leather scabbard and slid the sword in place. The cloak blanketed her then, as she joined him.

He pushed upon a hide and she saw that it was not secured, but created a doorway. She slipped out ahead of him, wondering what Daro might have decided to say. Her uncle must have planned well, determining on agreeing to anything that was said, swearing that he would return his niece as he had been asked …