Page 8 of Come the Morning

“My lady, we must ride.”

She nodded. It was Sir Harry who had spoken. The king’s man, not her own. Sir Harry had come for her. She hadn’t thought to come to the king, not yet. She had still been in mourning. It had been inconceivable that Adin should die, and she had not been able to think, to feel, to do anything other than miss him. But when the king’s men arrived to escort her to David, she’d realized her situation. The king had sent an escort; she hadn’t insisted on bringing her own. A few men from her home had ridden this far with her, along with one of her women, Jillian, but though Jillian would ride on with her, her own retinue of men-at-arms would leave her now. They would return to guard Blue Isle, while she went on to the king. She was the lady of the isle. She wanted the king to know that she trusted him, as he should trust her. Not only was she protected by the escort he had sent, but the king’s conquering cavalry was riding this way as well.

There was little to do but trust the king.

She would vow her allegiance to David as her father’s heir, and then she would speak to him, honestly, pleadingly, as she would have spoken to Adin. It was the best strategy.

“My lady, we’ll leave you now.”

She turned to Ewan, grave, serious, concerned for her, gray eyes upon her as he waited for her to insist that he remain. He had been somber since he had heard that the king’s men-at-arms had ridden behind them last night.

But no matter his look or his concern, she did not ask him to stay. She had to do this alone.

“I’ll be home soon, and I shall miss you all,” she said. She smiled at Ewan, then spoke to the others from Blue Isle, “Darrin, Peter, Gareth, thank you for the escort; protect Blue Isle as you protect me. I leave my home in your keeping, and thank you for your company this far. I know, of course, that I am well guarded by the king’s soldiers.”

“Perhaps we should continue with you,” Ewan said, his eyes still upon hers.

“Ah, now lad, the fortress lies ahead of us, and I’d die for your lady, as would any king’s man,” Sir Harry Wakefield, the king’s chosen messenger, told Ewan, not unkindly. Sir Harry considered himself a far stronger escort; he was a king’s man, knighted, trained at arms, a warrior who had survived many battles. Ewan was a clansman, a warrior from a wild countryside still considered barbaric by many of the more southern inhabitants, people highly influenced by the Norman population in England that seeped ever more into Scotland.

“I will be fine,” she said. She loved Ewan. From her childhood, he’d been her best friend. With his dark blond hair and gray eyes, he was handsome, serious, and dependable. He was worried about her, they were all worried about her, her people, her advisors, everyone. She had been summoned before the king. All lairds and ladies must pay homage to the king, she had assured them all. The king was her godfather. He loved her, she had always been able to charm him. She believed in her power to maintain her position. And Sir Harry was an old friend as well. He was the leader of the five armed men sent by King David to protect her on her ride through the countryside to Stirling. The gates of the city were within view, she knew she was perfectly safe.

“Sir Harry, if you’ll excuse us just a moment, I’d have a moment with Ewan, who will safeguard my home in my absence,” she said.

“Aye, my lady, of course.”

She moved her mount back into a copse in the forest, and Ewan followed there. Her mare nuzzled his gelding. She reached out and touched Ewan’s face. “Don’t fear for me.”

He shook his head. “I’m not afraid.”

“You look so sad.”

He smiled, an awkward, lopsided smile. He wasn’t going to argue with her.

“Ewan, I am strong. I can take care of myself.”

“Mellyora, David is the king. We’ve all told you that, we’ve all warned you—”

“And I will do the king homage.”

“He’ll think you haven’t the strength—”

“But I do.”

“Mellyora, take care in your arguments. Take care what defiance you make, don’t put yourself into danger. You don’t seem to understand that if you’re attacked … well, you can be in danger.”

“How so?”

He suddenly drew his sword, aiming it at her throat. But she saw the motion coming, and she carried her own sword in a slender leather scabbard at her hips. Her steel touched his even as he tried to prove his point.

“You were saying, Ewan?” she murmured softly.

He shook his head, eyes lowered as he rued the fact he hadn’t moved faster.

“I’ll be all right. Have faith in me.”

“Aye, that I do. I’ll pray for you, my lady.”

She smiled, sorry that he seemed so insulted that she had easily rebuffed the attack that was to prove her weak. She inched her horse toward his, discreetly looked about to assure herself they were alone, and leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss against his lips.