Page 18 of Come the Morning

She thrust his hand away, but her hood had already fallen, and he could clearly see her face while she could still see almost nothing of his.

She felt a great resentment rising within her. He hadn’t been thrown to the mud. His cloak remained in good condition—the hood pulled low over his forehead.

“Don’t touch me,” she warned him.

“I didn’t touch you. Merely your garment.”

“Don’t do so again. I warn you, men could well die for less.”

“Really?” He was casually intrigued, and it seemed that he had all the time in the world.

She did not.

Her patience began to wane. “You must take heed with your every liberty. I do give you fair warning that I am a lady of this land, and if you serve me well, you will prosper, and if you cause me harm, you will die.”

He lifted a hand suddenly, indicating the boat. Relieved that he at last seemed to understand her position and situation—and his possible gain from it—she quickly collected her fallen knife from the ground and scampered in. She then crawled to the aft of the small vessel, leaving him the center-seat plank so that he could row the boat with the oars in the locks there.

He pushed the boat from the shore and stepped into it as it shot from the bank. With balance and ease he came forward into the center of the small vessel, took a position in the center seat, and picked up the oars. One swift surge with the oars on his part and they were all but flying across the water.

She would move far more quickly with him rowing than she could have possibly prayed to move on her own power.

But though she wanted to feel relief, she remained disturbed. She felt him watching her beneath the shadow of his hood. They were out upon the water when he spoke to her again, his voice rich, deep, husky—and menacing.

“A lady, eh?”

“Row, and mind your business,” she said.

“A lady, alone, in the night. When there might well be cutthroats and thieves about, rapists, plunderers, ravagers—simple opportunists?”

Was he threatening her?Yes, fool, most apparently!she warned herself.

“As you know, I carry a dagger on me, a gift from a Viking friend. It is sharper than any sword you can imagine, and the Viking taught me to use it quite well.”

“Aye, so I saw.”

“You took me by surprise; it will not happen again. If you’ve any intent to harm me, you should truly rethink your designs,” she informed him. She was careful to keep her voice firm and level despite the fear rising within her.

He didn’t respond to her warning, but continued to ponder her situation. “A lady at night, alone on the river, demanding services—and threatening those she commands to serve her. There can be but one explanation to such a situation, so it appears to me. Tell me, my lady, just whom do you seek so desperately to escape?” he demanded.

“I should give you an answer to such a question—so you can demand a ransom?” Mellyora inquired. “I’ve nothing to tell you. Row. I’ll pay you in silver coins, in gold.”

“So you’ve told me. But I have you now, at my mercy, one might say.”

Mellyora stared at him, determined not to show a flicker of fear. “I swear,” she said quietly, “alive and in one piece, I can make you far richer than you could make yourself by causing harm to me. Touch me, harm me in any way, and if I do not cut your heart out here and now, you will, I promise, die a tortured death. You will writhe in pure agony—pierced, bludgeoned, bloodied, and burned—before your body is hacked to pieces and fed to the crows.”

“You are both imperious and bloodthirsty,” he replied.

“You wretched bastard! How dare you sit there and criticize me—”

“You’re quite certain of your power. Which makes me think that you are running from none other than the king himself.” He leaned forward. “Why?”

Mellyora gritted down hard on her teeth, trying to control both her temper and the trembling that had seized her. Aye, she carried a knife in a sheath at her ankle. And aye, she’d been schooled well in the use of weapons.

But training and fact were two different situations, as she was now discovering. When he’d pinned her on the riverbank, she hadn’t had a prayer of reaching her knife. And if he truly threatened her now, what would happen? Could she draw her knife out and injure him severely enough to keep him from slaying her in return?

Part of winning in battle was knowing when to fight, when to feint, when, even, to negotiate.

“What is this to you?” she asked, not wanting to risk a physical battle. “I can pay you very well—there’s no need to ask for any ransom. You’ll receive money, and there’s the end of it. What more do you need to know?”