Page 96 of Come the Morning

Married to a Yorkshire heiress twice his age, Percy had the reputation for being a reckless ladies’ man, seducing countesses and chambermaids. She wasn’t a fool; she knew him. But since he’d had a private meeting with Waryk, and neither of them seemed inclined to share the message he had brought, Mellyora determined to be a charming hostess, and play upon Percy’s nature.

“Sir Percy, welcome, how charming to have you here, though I don’t know to what we owe the pleasure?”

“King’s business, my lady, and thankfully, quite finished now.”

“Ah, well, Sir Percy, I insist you sit at my side and tell me what you know at court?”

She whirled about the room in a charmed manner, speaking to Donald about the best food, telling Percy about Ewan’s braveryagainst the enemy, seating Percy on her one side and Ewan on the other. She flirted sweetly with them both. She brushed her fingers against Ewan’s time and again when she reached for his chalice, apologizing, telling him she thought it was her own.

She didn’t know what she was doing.

It was frightening, but she couldn’t seem to stop. She sang with Hamlin, danced, played, teased, entertained, laughed, dazzled. She felt her husband’s eyes on her the long evening. But then Percy suddenly remembered to present Waryk with a gift, a Viking longboat intricately formed in gold, a thank-you from her uncle who had legally wed Anne MacInnish.

“How wonderful, the wedding has occurred!” she said. And she was happy for her uncle, and for Anne. And she looked at Waryk, wanting to make sure he was aware that Daro had been with the king—and not attacking her property.

“Aye, lady, not at court. Daro brought Anne to Skul Island, and there they were wed, two days ago. I witnessed the ceremony for King David, and came straight here with my retinue from the nuptials. They are both quite happy and very grateful to your husband.”

“Is that why you have come, Sir Percy?” she inquired.

“That, and other business,” he said.

“What other business?”

“Business that is settled between us, my dear,” Waryk said with harsh finality. She felt as if she had been slapped. Every man stared at her.

“Ah, well, I wouldn’t interfere with business!” she said, and rose, and staring at Waryk, she swung around Sir Percy. “Good sir, I’ll bid you good night, in case some other matter of the king’s business comes up.”

“I’ll escort you to our chambers,” Waryk said.

But she had already paused behind Ewan’s chair, and insisted, “Ewan will escort me, laird husband. I’d not have you miss the king’s business.”

Ewan, crimson, had little choice but to rise and escort her. She fled the hall quickly, in a rare fury. Ewan left her at her door; she was in such a state that she barely said good night. Then she turned and kissed his cheek, apologizing quickly. “Forgive me. I’m not the same since—my father died.”

She fled into the room.

Jillian had left her warm wine, and had prepared a bath. She drank down the wine in a single swallow. She poured more, allowed it to burn its way down as well. She cast off her clothing heedlessly, and stepped into the bath. When Waryk arrived while she still bathed, she ignored him. He strode to the table by the fire where the wine carafe and chalices were placed and poured himself a drink. She felt his eyes, but refused to look at him. She pretended he had never come to the room. She stepped naked from the tub, dried before the fire, slipped into her gown and left the anteroom to curl into bed without acknowledging his presence.

What did it matter?

Yet that night, it mattered.

As she lay there, she suddenly felt his hands on her. She nearly screamed out loud, for his fingers bit into her waist, dragging her against him. She felt the full, hard length of his body at her back, and the harsh contempt in his whisper as he spoke to her. “I could hardly kill young Ewan for being tempted by the behavior of such a whore, milady, and I warn you, milady, if I see the likes of it again, I’ll beat you black-and-blue before Sir Percy, so that he’ll understand that in no way do I tolerate your games.”

She tried to jerk away from him, burning, furious, and close to tears. She had behaved outrageously, she knew it, and she was dismayed by her own actions; she hadn’t been able to helpthem. Still, she lashed back, “How impressive! The king’s great champion, the laird to take great Adin’s place, must beat his wife into submission!”

Beat her—he would break her if he held her any more tightly! she thought. She couldn’t breathe. She was crushed against him. She closed her eyes, aware of the shape and form of him against her as if her thin linen gown did not exist. She felt shaken, hot, angry, afraid, and still determined to goad him … His arms were so powerful, his scent, subtle, musky, sensual, the feel of his breath against her nape, her ear. The feel of his sex, hard, searing, cleanly delineated against her …

She opened her mouth, to speak, to protest, but his voice was suddenly so harsh and cutting in the darkness that she was silenced. “Compare me to your father one more time, and you will have him as he came to this isle, milady!”

He released her so suddenly that it seemed she was enwrapped in a chill wind. He rose, and swept up a rich fur and wool rug from the foot of the bed.

“I—I don’t know what you mean—” she whispered in protest.

“You don’t want to know what I mean. You’re so immersed in legend and storytelling you can’t see a truth known by the rest of the world. Adin was a Viking when he came here. He raided, plundered, killed—and raped. And then he stayed and married your mother.”

“That’s not true! My father wouldn’t—”

“Your fatherdid, milady,” he said, and he was gone, slamming his way out of the room.