Page 60 of Come the Morning

The camp stretched out before her. Fires burned in the night; men moved around them. Able builders, the landscape was dotted with their temporary homes, and wooden walls had been erected around the camp to keep out unwelcome visitors.

“Keep your head low.”

“Surely, I need not be afraid. These are my uncle’s men,” Mellyora told him confidently.

“You never know who can be trusted, my lady. Fighting men come and go, and loyalties change. We are best to disappear with no one the wiser at all. These are dangerous times we live in.”

Mellyora kept her head down, her face covered, and they were not accosted as they moved through the camp. They came to a breach in the wall where a group of men on horseback waited with extra mounts for her and her rescuer.

“Where is the guard? There should be a man on guard here,” Mellyora said.

“My lady, the guard will return. It is expedient that I get you out of here quickly if Daro is to be able to talk.”

“Where is Ragnar?”

“Ragnar is your uncle’s champion in all things, and he is at Daro’s side now, my lady. Please, you must trust in your uncle. He is fighting for you, don’t fight against him.”

“Wait, I will not have Daro going to battle over this. I don’t want anyone fighting—” she began.

“My lady, I didn’t mean that your uncle would be drawing his sword. He is fighting with his wits, but in order to do so, he needs to know that you are safe. Don’t make this harder for him. You must hurry.”

She looked around her; most of the men wore helmets with some fashion of faceplate, either metal or leather. A few wore surcoats over chain mail, some wore leather breastplates, as if they were prepared for war. There should have been a guard at the gate. She didn’t know if she recognized these particular men or not because their accouterments were so concealing.

She stepped back. “I must speak with my uncle.”

“There’s no time.”

The man who had come for her lifted her and sat her atop one of the horses. She was surrounded by them, she realized. There were more than a dozen men, they carried weapons, they were ready for battle.

“No—” she began.

The man who had come for her leapt up behind her. Anticipating his action, Mellyora spurred the horse. The Viking leapt up, the horse reared, neighing and snorting as he pawed the air.

But the Viking’s leap was powerful and sure, and his arms were tight around her. She was certain for several terrible seconds that he would bring her crashing down to the ground with him, and there, together, they would be trampled and broken beneath the huge animal’s hooves.

The Viking held his seat, and shouted to his men, “Ride!”

“No!” she screamed.

But the sound of her cry was seized by the wind, and carried away.

And they raced into the night, and away from her uncle’s camp.

CHAPTER11

Waryk didn’t expect any tricks from Daro. He rode to the camp with only a few of his most trusted men—Angus, Thomas of Perth, Rem of Wick, and Gerrit MacLyle—and, of course, Anne MacInnish. He had weighed the situation carefully. He might have returned Anne to Daro, and still been set upon by the Vikings, but he was certain that Daro wouldn’t turn on him. Daro, he believed, was a man of his word. Daro meant to marry Anne, he wanted his children with her to be legitimate issue, and Waryk had offered him that chance. Pride and responsibility might have kept him from trading his niece for the woman he loved, but Daro was not a fool—he would not allow his brother’s lands to be taken, as he now knew they would be, if Mellyora did not become Waryk’s wife.

Waryk acknowledged the ingenuity of his Viking host as he rode through the camp to Daro’s quarters within. History had proven the Vikings to be invaders, but where they settled, they were excellent builders as well. Most of the peoples who had emigrated across Europe and into the British Isles had brought with them their culture, their art, and their beliefs. The Vikings had traveled so many places that they had learned the best from many peoples. No one built ships like the Vikings, and theyhad transferred their building talents here, to this camp. Their temporary dwellings were finer than many a cottage he had seen upon a great estate.

Daro stood in front of his hall, framed in the light of a great fire which burned within it. He was a tall man, close to Waryk’s own height, streaks of red flame in his blond beard and hair.

He waited while Waryk dismounted from his horse, then gripped his arm firmly in greeting.

“Welcome, Waryk, Laird Lion.”

“Aye, Daro, I’m glad to come as I have,” he said, nodding gravely. He could see that although Daro held his peace, he was searching through Waryk’s mounted men for Anne.

“Anne …?” Waryk said, turning back. At his invitation, she stepped forward. She tried to be circumspect at first, but when Daro let out a hoarse little cry, Anne rushed forward. Daro enveloped her in his arms, his eyes closing as he held her tenderly for a moment. Then he looked at Waryk. “I am in your debt.”