Page 12 of Come the Morning

“I’m disturbing you, so I will take my powerless wits and leave you. Your prisoner—no, your guest—since I couldn’t possibly escape your great strength or that of this fortress.”

“Lady, you test my patience.”

“Do I? Your pardon, it is not my wish to cause you trouble, merely to allow you to see that the mind is an incredibly powerful tool. Especially when it seems I am challenged to prove its force and potential.”

“M’lady,” the king said, inclining his head politely, “do let your mind work as it will. One of my men awaits just beyond the door to escort you back to your chambers.”

“You know, sire,” she said, “before God, not even a king can force a maid to marry.”

The very quiet of her tone made the words an irritating rebuke. She was maintaining her temper, he was losing his. He wouldn’t have it. He was the king, and she was a pawn—his pawn, to be moved where and when he deemed it important.

“Before God, my dear, you may be surprised. Two can play a game of power and wit. Don’t underestimate what I can and can’t do. And as to force, perhaps I will leave that matter to your future husband!”

She smiled at him suddenly, sweetly. Even his determined, angry, and aging heart felt a warming trend—if not a melting. She was lovely, volatile, one minute so furious, and the next, gazing at him in a manner which could be almost tender and caring. She was his godchild.

“Sire, I am thus challenged. Of course, we both know that I can’t possibly manage to escape your fortress here at Stirling, but if I did … would I then be free to choose my own future?”

“You will not escape.”

“Of course not, but if I did …?”

“You will not escape. My mind is set.”

“If you are so certain, then surely we have a bargain?”

“My lady—”

“If I escape, then I am free,” she said, as if that settled that matter. Her smile remained radiant, and she stepped forward suddenly—just as she had as a child. She touched his shoulders, came to her toes, and kissed his cheek.

“I make you no such promise!” he said sternly.

“But if I escape, I am free,” she said. “I learned well from you and my father. Possession gives a man great power to hold a property. Freedom gives a woman great power to negotiate. I’m also, sire, adept with a sword, a knife, and especially, my mind. I’m stronger than you see, sire, and I pray that you understand,” she said with determined dignity. Then she turned at last to leave.

Shoulders squared. Head very high. She didn’t run from the room, but walked, as graceful as a goddess floating upon clouds. She walked with confidence. Slowly.

She was giving him a chance to summon her back. To talk more, argue, come to some different conclusion regarding her future.

Despite her sudden smile, and even the old affection of her kiss, she remained a stubborn, determined, and seething young goddess.

“I should wed you to a pruned old wife-beater, lass!” he swore after her, following her suddenly with long, angry strides. Oh, yes, he granted her a will of pure steel; she would argue with God himself on Judgment Day, so it seemed.

Just outside the great hall, he found that Sir Harry Wakefield—an old friend, a knight who had served him long before he had become king—waited as he had expected, as escort for the Lady Mellyora.

“Sir Harry!” the king said.

“Sire?”

“The lady and I have engaged in something of a game of combat—of wills, so it seems. You will see that she is returned safely to her chambers, and that she does not depart her chambers again until she is summoned before me once again.”

“Indeed, sire.”

Mellyora merely smiled. Yet even as she smiled, she cast the king a sharp, challenging assessment, then slipped her arm within Sir Harry’s. “As if I could best the king at any combat!” she said, and laughed as if the possibility of such a thing was entirely absurd. “It will be good, Sir Harry, to know that you’re guarding me.”

They departed down the hall. David watched them, telling himself that he had a trained knight decked in partial mail watching one lone woman.

He decided to double the guard on her door, and to let it be known that the Lady Mellyora was not—under any circumstance—to leave the stronghold at Stirling without his express permission.

If she so much as tried …