Page 94 of Come the Morning

“Turn around. I’ll wash your back.”

“It isn’t dirty anymore.”

“I’ll just make sure …”

He manipulated her around, catching the length of her hair, curling it into a ball at her nape. Then he touched her flesh with the soap, and his fingers. She tensed against him, but didn’t protest. He worked the soap over her shoulders, her neck, andmoved his hands down to her ribs. He could feel her shaking, and after a moment she said, “You don’t want anything to do with me right now, remember?”

“Aye.”

“Then … then what are you doing?”

“Exploring the prize,” he said dryly, and he inched closer; he couldn’t help himself. He gently ran his hands down her shoulders again, over her back; then he slipped his hands forward with the soap, covered her belly, then her breasts.

She didn’t breathe.

He didn’t breathe himself. He cupped the fullness of the mounds, rotated the soap over them again and again, felt the pebbled hardness of her nipples, and the erotic depth of the valley between them …

Sweat, having nothing to do with the water, popped out on his brow. What the hell was he doing? He didn’t give a damn about the future, a dynasty, his name …

His name. His father’s name. A child’s name.

He closed his eyes and dropped the soap.

“Get out!” he told her hoarsely.

For once in her life, she did as she was told. She was up and gone in an instant.

And he was left, trapped in …

Trapped in the great prize he had coveted so dearly.

Time, he told himself.

He had only to bide his time.

CHAPTER17

Father Phagin was an interesting man, one obviously beloved of his flock.

His voice was that of a storyteller; Waryk thought that in that aspect, he was much like Mellyora himself. Phagin spoke the Latin Mass in a pleasing tone that carried beyond the walls of the church, a structure built into the south tower of the castle, to the many people who listened from the courtyard. He eulogized the men killed, and in his speech, Waryk gained insight into the people here. He wondered vaguely if most of these people had ever realized that David had brought feudalism more firmly into Scotland, or if they simply went about life the way they always had. They were protected by the lords of the castle, and in turn, they gave the lords a portion of all that they built, created, or grew. The lords were responsible to them in times of trouble, and they were responsible to serve in a military capacity when necessary. Feudalism might have added more titles to the system, and kept many a freeman on the land where he was born, but in all, life had changed little. The men killed had been good Christians, good fathers, good providers. Beloved of the people, they were deeply mourned. The older man followed his wife to the grave by a few scant months, and there was solace inthat thought; even with all the evils of the world, it was hard to accept the death of a young man.

Throughout the service, he stood beside Mellyora. When it had ended, the dead, in their shrouds, were carried with great ceremony and reverence to a cemetery beyond the walls of the castle. It was on a high mound that rose above the sea, an ancient place, strewn with beautifully carved Celtic crosses. More words were said, then the men were gently lowered into the ground. Dirt fell upon the dead.

Mellyora went to the younger man’s widow, and spoke softly with her. Waryk followed her, bringing the woman a small linen satchel, filled with coins. “Times ahead may be hard,” he said softly, then turned away, intrigued by a place on the high cemetery mound where it appeared that a space perhaps fifty feet by fifty feet had been dug and covered. He walked to it, frowning as he looked over the expanse. He turned back and saw that Mellyora was still with the young widow, but looking at him. Moments later, he realized the others had begun the trek down from the high mound, but his wife stood behind him.

She spoke before he could. “It’s my father’s gravesite.”

He turned. “Aye, I’d heard he was a big man.”

She flushed slightly, and he realized that she was being defensive. “He is buried with a longboat, and many of his belongings. It’s the Viking way.”

“But he had converted to Christianity.”

“He was buried in a Christian ceremony. A knight may be buried with his sword; my father was buried the same.”

“I see.” He turned and started by her.

“Waryk.”