Page 126 of Come the Morning

“Steady, my lo—friend. You look as if you’re about to take her head off.”

“She shouldn’t be here.”

“But she is here. She came here for you.”

“Perhaps … perhaps she came to see you.”

Eleanora smiled. “Still, that is for you. I had not been jealous before. I am now.”

He closed his fingers over hers. “You need be jealous of no one, Eleanora. You are a rare beauty and you know it.” He squeezed her hand. “Excuse me …”

“Only if you’ve controlled your temper.”

“It’s controlled.”

“Waryk …”

“I swear it.”

He rose, and started across the clearing. Mellyora saw him, and stopped midstride. She stood poised and still as he approached.

He reached her, and stripped the painted linen mask from her face. Her eyes touched his. “So I am found out!” she said softly. “I meant to finish the story.”

“My lady, I am sorely tempted to strike you senseless.”

“How rude and ungracious!” she retorted, eyes alive with blue fire. “It was a good story, slightly embellished, excellently told. And it had an ending you would have liked.”

“It was told far too well, and I’m afraid you might not have reached an ending! Poor Peter was willing to marry you thinking you a peasant lass and not even knowing your name for the privilege of taking you to bed. God knows what went through the minds of other men!”

She flushed, gnawing her lower lip, and he was pleased to realize that she hadn’t known quite what her effect would be.

“It was a good story,” she repeated.

“Aye, you do an excellent job. You could have survived nicely as a singer, dancer—or harlot.”

“Waryk!”

“And you shouldn’t be outside of the fortress.” Anger edged his voice.

“I knew that you were coming.”

“You know as well that there is danger all around. Did you come because you were so anxious to see me? I dare say that it was Eleanora who drew you here.”

She lifted her chin. “That’s she, I assume?” she murmured, indicating the table.

“Aye, that is.”

“She’s exquisite.”

“She is,” he agreed, and he smiled, taking her hand. “Eleanora and Peter. Come meet them both.”

“Waryk, no, I—”

“You were curious, I insist.” He drew her forward, to the table, and once there, he introduced her. “Eleanora, Peter, my wife, Mellyora. My dear, Peter of Tyne, and his sister, Lady Eleanora.”

“My dear …” Eleanora murmured, studying her.

“Peter, Lady Eleanora,” Mellyora murmured.