Page 70 of Come the Morning

“Perhaps not, or perhaps they had been living among the Normans or elsewhere. They spoke Norman French, our Norse, the old Gaelic, even the old Saxon, but there was an accent on their Norse, as if they were not accustomed to being among only their own kind. It’s very strange.”

“Indeed,” Waryk agreed, drinking his wine. Interesting. If this were all true—if Daro and Mellyora were both completely innocent of conspiracy in her last flight, then something was strange—and dangerous. She had said that the man meant to take her—possibly kill her—to deny him a prize. Someone, perhaps, who did not realize that he would take the property with or without a bride. Few men knew that—Angus, himself, the king—and he had told only Daro, and now Mellyora.

“It’s very unusual for Vikings to betray Vikings,” Daro said.

Waryk arched a brow. He’d known Vikings to take mercenary positions with the troops of numerous men.

“Not in this manner!” Daro explained. “Danes have gone to war against Norse, Norse have fought Swedes, and so on. Men have had battles over land and women. But it’s unusual for Vikings to live among Vikings and betray them without a word.” He swore softly in his effort to explain. “We are warriors, our battles are open, we challenge one another with our strength, we are not men who plot and plan and undermine.”

“Aye, leave the treachery to us!” Waryk said, lifting his cup with a wry smile. He finished his wine, and rose. “I’ll accept your hospitality and get some sleep, Daro. It’s been a long night—and a strange one, as you say. I might well have enemies; it would be good to discover them.”

“The leader is gone, the others are slain. I wonder where to look from here,” Daro said.

“If I have an enemy, he will show his face again,” Waryk said.

“What will you do now?”

“Well, I will return to Stirling tomorrow.”

“What of Mellyora?”

“I will return with or without her. I’ve told her the king’s command. She may now do as she chooses.”

“Aye, then,” Daro said and nodded, and Waryk left, eager for a night’s respite. Mellyora had made the last few days busy and wearing.

Daro was a fine host; he’d offered Waryk the use of pleasant sleeping quarters, an old stone sheepherder’s cottage which, though not large, had been cleaned and repaired by the Vikings. A pallet heavily laden with furs had been left for his use, the chimney cleaned. Wine, bread, and cheese had been left for his comfort, and with Angus and his men gathered beneath a lean-to that stood not far from the cottage, he dared sleep while awaiting the morning.

Angus and the others were ranged around the fire in front of the lean-to. He bid them good night and entered the old cottage, a place of privacy. He shed his cloak and stretched out by the fire, laying his sword at his side. He helped himself to the food, then studied the flames in the hearth as he drank the wine. He wondered what move she would make next.

Strangely, he had never seen her appear more vulnerable than when he had left her now. Freshly bathed, she smelled sweetly of roses. Her hair, newly washed and dried, glistened around her like a halo of gold. Her eyes were luminous, large, brilliantly shimmering as well, caught by the light of the fire. She had seemed weary, delicate, feminine, gentle, even fragile …

Umm, fragile as rock, gentle as a kiss of steel, he thought. Did he dare trust her after all that had happened, after she had told him that she was desperate to elude him? Had she really suspected that he was an enemy out to kill her—or did she consider him equally as wretched as any outlaw, and had she hoped to slice his throat in that cavern tonight? For that matter, had any Viking ever threatened her? Had they been with her in her quest to escape him all the while? The questions were endless. They all involved truth, and trust, hard commodities tocome by. Was Daro involved, had the leader simply run when he had seen that his fellows were falling dead?

He didn’t know.

But the next play was up to the lady. He had done all he could. Now, in truth, the choices—whether she liked them or not—were hers. He closed his eyes, listening to the snap and crackle of the flames.Aye, the choices were hers, the king had made it so. Whether she did or didn’t choose to marry, he’d be engaging in battle, either with her, or the people on the island, and at that moment, he didn’t know which he’d prefer. He could assure himself that he had made the right moves, stepping in for Daro and Anne, giving Mellyora the cold hard truth of it. Could he ever really sleep in his own bed without wondering if he’d wake to a knife at his throat? Yet he kept seeing her as he’d left her, a snow queen with her glittering hair and eyes, and the look of an angel …

He rose with an oath of impatience and poured himself more wine.

After assuring herself that Waryk was gone, Mellyora burst out on her uncle. “It can’t be the truth, Daro, it can’t be. The king can’t just take what is mine—”

“Mellyora, the king is strong enough to take what he chooses. And you have forgotten the Norman way. You are a woman. You can’t hold that property.”

“It was my father’s. If I can’t keep it because I’m not a male, then it should be yours—”

“Ah, but Mellyora, he held the land because of your mother, not because of his family. Your mother could not hold the property, the king granted your mother and the property to your father—admittedly, your father had a fair hold on it when the king granted it to him.”

She stared at him a long time, then sank into one of the chairs before the fire. Two huge tears formed in her eyes, and fell upon her hands, like diamonds in the light.

“What am I to do?” she whispered.

“Make a choice,” Daro told her softly. “Ewan loves you, I’m certain. You will not be without recourse if you choose not to accept the king’s ultimatum.”

“People will revolt—they won’t just accept the king’s Norman ways!”

“Aye, they will,” Daro agreed. “But I imagine that a revolt will be put down quickly and harshly to prevent any further insurrection.”

She rose, spinning before the fire.