Page 79 of Come the Morning

Judith didn’t reply; she pursed her lips. Sarah MacNiall, the youngest of the women, a sensuous beauty recently widowed, softly laughed.

“She’s saying that your father was a savage beast when he first came here, and that’s the truth of it.”

“My father was a warrior, a Viking, but a decent man. Kind and gentle—”

“Aye, he butchered with a smile!” Sarah said.

“In the king’s name!” Judith reminded her Sarah.

“Oh, do stop, Laird Adin was a Viking, but he became a good man, a king’s man, loyal to his newfound country. And your mother adored him,” she told Mellyora.

“Just as you’ll adore your husband,” Sarah said. Mellyora didn’t mind Lady Rutherford, she simply said what she thought and meant no harm. Sarah was quite different. She had a malicious cast to her eyes, and Mellyora wondered why she had come to taunt her. She seemed to be laughing at her, goading her with every word, no matter how lightly spoken. “Ah, well, with a warrior, it doesn’t matter if he’s kind or decent. In fact, it rather goes against the concept, doesn’t it? Your father was fierce; he had his way of winning your mother over. So with all warriors, it doesn’t matter if they’re kind or merciful. What matters with a warrior is … prowess.”

“Laird Waryk is the king’s champion,” Lady Dougall said defensively. “A man could not have more prowess.”

Sarah leaned against the mantel and the slow smile that touched her lips and the look in her eyes when she gazed toward Mellyora clearly stated that she hadn’t been referring to the battlefield. “Oh, of course. Well, many ladies, landed and no, have dreamt of the great Laird Lion! Some have seen him in their sleep. There is Lady Eleanora of Tyne. It’s said that she had true hopes of marrying again, but that if she could not wed Waryk, she’d not marry any man, for she’d never find another knight of his power and prowess.”

Well aware that the other woman was stretching her claws, Mellyora determined that she wouldn’t betray herself the least upset by any comment the other woman might make.

“Lady Eleanora sounds like a sensible woman. Marriage doesn’t always seem to be a desirable state for women. She’ll keep her independence, something very precious. Since so many marriages are arranged, she is a lucky woman. No one isstepping into her life to tell her what she must do,” Mellyora said.

“Ah, well, it seems that those who wish independence, lose it. Eleanora was told to marry once, and she did so dutifully. Now, she may continue to do as she chooses. See whom she chooses, when she chooses,” Sarah said, and smiled. “You do look beautiful, Mellyora. And it’s nearly time.” She walked close to Mellyora, and said softly, “I pray you’ll be all right, Mellyora. The whole of the fortress whispers of the way you attempted to escape this arrangement and humiliate Waryk. Most people think you should be whipped and cast aside. I assure you, besides Eleanora, there are many who would gladly take your place.”

“It’s a pity that the king will not allow them to do so,” Mellyora said sweetly.

“Men marry when they must, and yet seem so free to do as they choose. You’re right. I shall cherish my independence,” Sarah told her. “So many husbands die, battles never seem to end. Wives are left widows, and then alas, wives die, too. Childbirth, disease, accidents, and then the husbands are left to seek new wives.” Again, she smiled.

Mellyora felt chilled to the bone. It was as if Sarah were trying to will her to die.

“It’s nearly time for the ceremony. We must get on over to the church. Come along now, Judith, Sarah,” Mary insisted. She winked at Mellyora as she ushered the other two out of the room, and Mellyora decided that she wasn’t at all as innocent as she had imagined. She stopped and kissed Mellyora on the cheek. “Eleanora is a close friend, Sarah is being bitter, and nothing more. You’re quite lovely, and I’m sure your groom will forgive you anything!”

She didn’t know how much there was to forgive, Mellyora thought, but smiled, and bid her thanks.

Left alone at last with Jillian, Mellyora shook her head. “I can’t go through with this.”

Jillian nearly snorted aloud. “You’ve never been a coward. You’re not going to let that evil witch beneath your skin! You can’t possibly be afraid of her!”

“I’m not afraid of her. I’m not afraid. I feel ill.” She gripped Jillian’s hands. “I can’t do this,” she whispered.

“You have to do this.”

“Help me, I need something, a drug, a drink, anything, strong ale, wine—”

Jillian cleared her throat, looking over her head. Mellyora realized that the door had been left open. She turned slowly, with dread.

Waryk stood there, resplendent in his tartan, a length of the wool fashioned over his shoulder and held firmly by a falcon-crested brooch. Angus stood behind him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him. “I wasn’t supposed to see you until we were at the church—”

“Ah, but it’s good that I’m here, isn’t it? I can help you actually make it to the church. Angus, see what we can find for my lady. There, on the trunk. A carafe of wine. That will do for now. Bring it quickly.” He lowered his voice, speaking to Mellyora alone. “We can’t have you gulping down the communion wine at our wedding mass, can we?”

She didn’t know if he was amused, or simply contemptuous. She didn’t care. Angus brought her a chalice of wine. She offered him a smile of gratitude, and felt her soon-to-be husband studying her still.

“Drink it, and let’s go,” he said impatiently.

“Take care, Mellyora, you don’t want to lose all sense and reason,” Jillian warned.

Mellyora continued to stare at Waryk. “Aye, but I do,” she said softly.