Page 25 of Come the Morning

He wanted children. A family.

And if his rich property came with a gnarled, bent old witch of a woman, he would be denied the one thing that he had fought for all these years.

“I would simply like to hear a bit more about this land—and the heiress. David, you cannot doubt my loyalty to you or my country,” Waryk said. He wanted to ask more specific questions, but he was interrupted as the doors to the great hall burst open and a woman rushed in, frantically seeking the king’s attention.

“Sire!”

The woman was slim with an abundance of flying silver hair. She rushed to the king. “Sire!” she repeated. Trembling, she bowed deeply before David, about to continue. Then she noted Waryk in the room. She was too distressed to note that Waryk was dripping river water on the floor, but she was evidently dismayed that she found the king in conference with one of hisknights. She spoke awkwardly then, staring uneasily at Waryk, and stuttering out her explanation. “Sire, I—I … My apologies, I did not wish to interrupt, I—”

“You may speak, Jillian. What has happened?”

“But, sire—”

“Come now, speak up, Jillian!” David said impatiently.

Jillian tore her eyes from Waryk and looked at the king at last. “She’s gone.”

“What?”

“Mellyora, sire. She’s gone.”

“Gone?” the king exploded.

The silver-haired woman cringed and nodded again, glancing uneasily back at Waryk. She moistened her lips to speak, forcing herself to look back at the king again. “She’s—gone.”

“She can’t be.”

“But she is.”

“How? I had two men on guard at the door—”

“She left by the window, sire, I believe.”

“But there was a great drop to the courtyard below—”

“Scaffolding, sire. If she left through the window, she might have jumped from the parapets to the scaffolding. She is fleet, graceful, and quick. And …”

“And what?” the king said, his voice something like a growl.

“Desperate,” Jillian told him.

“My God!” The king roared with an explosion of anger. He slammed a fist down upon the long table in the center of the great hall with such a vengeance the wood groaned. “Damn her, but … my God!” he repeated. “The traitorous wench. I didn’t believe that she would really defy me, blatantly disobey my will. I will find her. I will stop whatever treason she plots! She will regret her stubborn determination to defy me. She will pay the price for treason, and I will be entirely justified in whatever way I choose to mete punishment upon her—”

“Your pardon, sire, please, but you’ll have apoplexy!” Waryk warned. But he was suddenly feeling a chill himself, an awareness. He should have known, though he still didn’t want to admit …

“She will be found, and certainly, but if you’ll excuse me, just who in God’s name is this ‘she’ who is gone?” he asked carefully.

The king had been distracted, but he stared at Waryk. His eyes were still blazing with a fire of fury and disbelief. But he paused in his tirade, his brow arching slowly as seconds passed. Then he spoke, more calmly than at first.

“The ‘she,’ Laird Lion, is Mellyora. Mellyora MacAdin. She has managed her escape. Sweet Jesu, but I underestimated her! I never thought the wench would risk her own life to defy me!”

The king had yet to really answer him, but did he need the truth spelled out. Aye!

“Who, sire, is Mellyora MacAdin? What is her treachery? Is she your prisoner? Is she guilty of some misdeed?”

“She had been my guest. The child of an old and noble friend. Nay, she isn’t guilty of a crime—I correct myself! She wasn’t guilty of any crime. But now, she is very close to committing treason. Indeed, if I weren’t such a merciful man, I would call her a traitor this minute!”

Still, the king hadn’t spoken what Waryk already knew, and Waryk insisted he do so. “Why is she so anxious to escape? Is she an errant wife, a—”