Page 82 of Come the Morning

He was tolerant for a while, then spoke impatiently. “We need to move on.”

“The water is delicious. The moon is full here. We’ve the night to ride.”

“Now, Mellyora.”

She didn’t want him coming for her, so she rose reluctantly. She didn’t look at him as she returned to Mercury. He reached down for her, easily hoisting her back upon the horse before him. The moonlight was very strong, guiding them in a slow lope toward the cottage in the woods. It seemed that they reached it in no time. It should have been much farther.

Waryk leapt down and reached up to set her on the ground.

She felt him behind her, his whisper husky and warm against her ear.

“We’re here, my love. Time for debts to be paid and bargains to be fulfilled!”

She longed to break free from him; she didn’t need to do so.

He stepped back, tending to Mercury.

And she stood in the clearing in the forest, staring at the cottage with dismay. Nothing had been a dream; no sweet warmth of wine or candle glow could now keep the edge from the truth.

She had married him; they were man and wife.

Everything in life indeed had its price.

CHAPTER15

She walked ahead of him, not daring to look back. Suddenly she found herself remembering the madness with which she had suggested this place. She hadn’t known who he was, she had been willing to sell her soul to escape the king’s edict. She hadn’t known the simplicity of his power. She had been certain that she could say or do anything at that moment, and it wouldn’t matter, because she would escape, and all would be well.

It had all been madness, and she didn’t know how she had come to this. She should have been so much smarter. But she had been mourning her father, consoling herself with the belief that she would go on as he had done, creating a haven within her own country. Then the king had sent for her, and she had come to Stirling believing that she had only to speak with him, make him understand …

But here she was in a cottage in the woods, afraid and miserable. Ruing the fact that she had been so naive from the beginning. She had believed that Daro’s strength could save her. She had risked her uncle’s life. Because he was part of Scotland now, even if the king did not realize that it was so. Like her father, her uncle had chosen his homeland, and this was it. He wouldn’t have called upon Scandinavian mercenaries to helphim fight the king. He would have fought himself had it come to it, and he would have died. Seeing so clearly in hindsight was painful. She did owe Waryk her gratitude that he did not allow her rejection of the king’s plans to create warfare. Owing him her gratitude did not make the situation easier, but rather all the more difficult.

But he didn’t understand. The old ways in the isles had been so different. Women had been given rights, there had been laws, different laws. She still wanted to shriek out that the Normans had not conquered Scotland, that the feudal laws were not fair, that once upon a distant, better time, she’d have had a right to own property, to govern it, to live her own life.

He was the king’s man, trained in the art of war, a Scotsman, he said, but a warrior familiar with Norman building, Norman law, armor, swords, and power. There was a prize he was to receive for risking his neck for the king; her land was that prize.

“Mellyora, go in.”

Her mother had told her stories about the woods. There were sprites and nymphs living in great oaks. Magical creatures who played tricks, who hampered mankind, and helped as well.

If she could just disappear into the air, melt into an oak …

“Mellyora.”

She shivered and opened the door to the cottage. Someone had come there before them. The place had been cleaned. An open door separated an outer room from a bedroom. In the outer room, on a large, rough-planked table, food had been left, smoked meat, cheese, bread, wine. Warming fires had been set in the hearths in the outer room and in the bedroom. Through the doorway, Mellyora could see that a tub had been left for her with snowy towels, soaps, perfumes. A large kettle heated water over the fire, water to be added if the other had chilled before her arrival. A sheer white gown lay on the bed which had been laden with pillows and furs. She didn’t realize that she hadfrozen in the doorway until he entered behind her. “Forgive me for presuming to know you so well, but I imagine you would like some wine?”

“Yes.”

He poured wine, handing her a chalice. “Veritable love nest, isn’t it?”

She didn’t reply, but gripped her chalice tightly, swallowing down the contents.

He took the chalice from her. “One more. Then you keep your word.”

He poured her a second serving of wine, then indicated the doorway. “Do you need help with your clothing? I wasn’t sure if you would want your woman, Jillian, here at first, but I decided discretion meant more to you than assistance.”

“No. I don’t need help with anything.”

He bowed to her, his eyes bright with amusement as he indicated the bedroom. “Your bath awaits. As do I. You do intend to keep your word?”