Come the Morning

by Heather Graham

  She had barely breathed in before hands closed around her again. Being held in the water instantly panicked her; she was certain an enemy was trying to drown her. This time, she tried to bite. Her teeth met flesh. The arm in her mouth slammed against her with such a power that she released her grip, stunned, and certain she was about to die. The arm around her was like a cordon of steel. But she wasn’t being drowned, she was being dragged out of the water. In deep dismay she realized that she had swum so hard only to be dragged back to the embankment once again.

  She kicked and wriggled, trying to twist around so that she could assess her enemy. She could barely move, scarcely breathe. In seconds she found herself slung down upon the embankment. She was so cold, it was hard to fight. Her assailant was about to come over her; she caught the rich mud in her hands and cast it upward, into his face. She struck him, twisted, and started crawling to freedom.

  But he was suddenly before her, bare feet staunchly embedded in the mud. She turned again, and he was upon her, arms wrapped around her waist as they rolled on the embankment. She flailed furiously with her fists, fighting the man, desperately wishing herself back at the fortress at Stirling. For the moment, she cursed herself for her foolishness in thinking she’d had a real chance at escaping the king and finding the freedom she had been willing to risk so much to find. Who was this madman who had risen from the river like a sea monster? What had she done, had there been any other means of reasoning with the king? Was she about to be raped and murdered? Her knife remained at her calf, and she reached for it, drawing it from the leather sheath. She didn’t want to die, she was terrified, but she couldn’t just lie there like a frightened lamb and allow herself to be slaughtered without a fight. She tried to raise her weapon high, to bring it down with a worthwhile effort …

  “So you’re a traitor, thief—and would-be murderess!” she heard as long fingers curled around her wrist with such strength that she cried out at the pain, forced to release the weapon. She was slammed down upon her back, and her assailant was over her. Her knife was in the mud, and her wrists were pinned above her head while his face hovered grimly just above her own.

  She inhaled sharply, seeing the monster who had assailed her.

  “You!” she charged. It was the wretch who had lost the oars and left her in the river.

  Apparently, he didn’t feel guilty for his first assault. He was attacking her once again.

  “Aye, lady, I said I’d be back.”

  “You loathsome, despicable creature! First, you desert me in the river, and then you assault me and attempt to drown me! How dare you! I tell you, you are in sorry shape, you wretched fellow, there is no question now, you will be treated severely, you will pay—”

  “I don’t think so,” he told her.

  She fell silent, staring up at him. His eyes were more chilling than the night. Deep blue Arctic frost. His features were fierce, tense, frightening.

  He was back. After the night. He should have been gone, he should have rued that he had seen her in the first place, and he should have stayed far away when word went out that the Lady Mellyora had escaped Stirling Castle.

  Had he decided to demand a ransom for her after all? Did he intend to kill her? No, what value would there be in her murder? Yet, he looked angry enough to throttle her then and there, and she thought it was far more than the chill in the air that was causing her to shiver.

  She tried to be calm, and perfectly still. Not fighting him, she hoped to muster her strength if the moment came when she might slip free from him. “You know,” she said with solemn warning, “you are making a grave mistake. You don’t understand who I am—”

  “No, I understand exactly who you are.”

  “All right, I may be at odds with the king, but if he knew that you had nearly drowned me, that you—”

  “I wasn’t trying to drown you,” he said, and assured her, “You would be dead now had that been my intent.”

  “Then—”

  “I was trying to help you out of the water.”

  “Were you? You’re lying, you bastard, you were rough and cruel and brutal—”

  “I’m not lying, you little witch! You were rough and cruel and brutal. You started scratching and biting and fighting and left me little choice but to drag you out—perhaps a little less than gently.”

  She narrowed her eyes, wondering at his words when he was obviously furious enough to do her great damage. He was shaking, she realized, as if he was expending considerable effort to keep from doing her bodily harm. A renewed sense of unease swept through her.

  “Why did you attack me in the water?”

  “I didn’t think you were going to make the boat.”

  “I’m an excellent swimmer.”

  “Indeed. That’s why you got nowhere last night.”

  “I was cold, and tired.”

  “And weak,” he said.

  “I was doing just fine on my own.”

  “But now you’re with me.”

  “You still don’t understand, do you? Terrible retribution will come your way. You’ll be—”

  “Disemboweled, hanged, drawn and quartered?”

  She stared at him. How dare he be so mocking when such a fate might well await him?

  “Yes!” she lashed out. “In fact, if you don’t let me up immediately, when I see the king, I’ll see to it that you receive exactly what you suggest—you’ll be disemboweled, hanged, drawn and quartered—and then your pieces will all be burned and the ashes cast to the wind!”

  He rose and looked down at her. “My lady, I don’t think so.”

  He reached out a hand to her. She stared at him in absolute amazement. Refusing to accept his offer of assistance to rise, she inched her way to her knees. Watching him distrustfully, she then scrambled to her feet on her own.

  His eyes raked over her in the daylight. She felt her face flood hot and red with color. She was now sorry for the fact that she’d cast off all but her linen shift, for she knew that the thin, wet material clung to her flesh, exposing much more than it concealed. In fact, the mud that clung to her in various places was probably far more concealing than the remnants of her rich clothing. The way he studied her was strange and unnerving; she felt as if she were a prize cow on the block, and that any minute he would ask to look at her teeth. There was no warmth in his gaze, just appraisal and assessment. She felt again the power of his size, and she was tempted to inch away from him, then run again for all that she was worth. But he would catch her, and she’d be thrown back into the mud again. There had to be another way to escape him.

  “Let’s go, shall we?” he said.

  “Let’s go?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where?”

  “Why, to the king, of course. So that you can have me disemboweled, hanged, and drawn and quartered, in that order, then burned and my ashes cast to the wind.”

  He was taunting her, of course. He was an outlaw, she was suddenly certain. Or, perhaps he was a disgruntled chieftain. One way or the other, he intended to abduct her, take her to some hiding place, and use her as a hostage in his own negotiations with the king.

  “Come on!” he said impatiently. He started toward her and she backed away, very wary.

  “You really haven’t begun to imagine what lies at stake here. I can help you, or hurt you. If you’re in trouble, I can help you. Daro will reward you richly if you deliver me safely to him. He can give you money, he can take you far away on one of his ships. He—”

  “He can also disembowel, hang, and draw and quarter me, right?” he inquired.

  She shook her head. “No. You must believe me, the Vikings are no more vicious than any other men in our world. They will do as I ask, and in truth, I detest violence—”

  “Indeed, m’lady, you most certainly could have fooled me!”

  “Sometimes threats are necessary when—”

  “Dealing with lesser men?” he inquired.

  She shook her head. “Damn
you, I said nothing like that at all—”

  “Ah, but you implied.”

  “I did not.”

  “Lady, your vessel awaits.”

  He pointed to the boat. It had now drifted to where it was just a few feet from the shore, not twenty feet away from them.

  She shook her head. “I’m not moving until you tell me the truth regarding your destination.”

  “Fine. I told you, I’m taking you to the king.”

  She didn’t believe it for a minute. “What king?” she inquired suspiciously.

  He crossed his muscled arms over his chest. “There is only one, m’lady,” he said with such deep passion that she was suddenly very afraid. He meant it. He wasn’t taunting her. He meant to take her back to David.

  “No …” she gasped. “Oh, my God, you do mean to take me back to the king, to betray me to him! You are taking me back to David for whatever reward you think that you can get from him. You left me, deserted me on this river, just to find out how much I might be worth to him. You are the worst kind of mercenary outlaw, how can you be so cruel and callous and traitorous—”

  “You are the traitor, m’lady,” he reminded her.

  “Never! You don’t understand, you won’t understand—you refuse to understand! I’m not betraying the king, I’m only seeking ways to negotiate—”

  “To defy the king, to refuse the rightful lord to whom he intends to give you—”

  “Me—and my property!” she said sharply.

  “There’s always property involved when the lady intended is as noble as yourself.”

  He accented the word noble and she knew that he was mocking her and that he didn’t find her noble in the least, which irritated her further. “Property is all that the king sees.”

  He arched a brow. “Oh, I believe he sees more than just the land involved. Perhaps he sees Viking invasions as well.”

  “You know, you are a reckless fool. You should take care. I am a Viking’s daughter.”

  “Perhaps that’s the very point the king sees most clearly.” He let out an impatient oath. “Come, m’lady. You were behaving like a foolish child from the beginning if you thought that the king would not be involved with your future. It’s all a game of power and land, isn’t it? Surely, you’re aware of that. And we’re all of us pawns within that game. Now, shall we go?”

  She shook her head, backing away from him again. “You’re not listening to me. If you understood, you’d help me. You’re a Scotsman. You should be outraged for me! The king intends to reward one of his Norman, lackey henchmen—”

  “You consider this man nothing more than lackey, one of the king’s henchmen?” he demanded.

  “Aye, a terrible one at that!”

  “And a Norman?”

  “Can we dare forget the Conquest? That we were spared, and England taken?”

  He shrugged. “Curious. I’ve heard the man is Scottish.”

  “You’ve heard lies,” Mellyora corrected him, praying that he was beginning to understand her position. “His father was in the king’s command before he came here from England. I don’t care what he chooses to call himself, the truth is that he’s a Norman, an invader, a wretched, horrible old Norman knight—”

  “A wretched, horrible old man?”

  “Yes!” she cried. “Do you understand?”

  He lifted his arms in a shrug. “Indeed. Poor girl. It’s such a pity, such a wretched, wretched situation …”

  “So you’ll help me?” she cried hopefully.

  “Ah, lady …” he murmured.

  “Aye!” she said, stepping closer. She stared up into his eyes, very bright against his muddied features. She barely breathed, praying.

  He smiled.

  “You will help me!” she whispered.

  He caught her hands, held them between his own. “Not if the sun fell from the sky this very minute!” he told her flatly.

  She gritted her teeth and counted, fighting for control. No good. She drew her hands from his in a fury, aware that he had baited her, that he was laughing at her. She tried to tell herself that she had to be very careful, she was risking her future—not to mention her life and limbs—with every word and action.

  But it was just no good.

  She slapped him with all her strength and did so with such speed that he didn’t manage to stop her. However, the moment her handprint embedded on his cheek, she was sorry for her action. His eyes became as sharp as knives, as hard and cold as winter ice.

  She turned to flee.

  He reached for her, and his fingers caught her linen shift, ripping the material. Heedless of the fact that she was losing the garment, she kept running. Aware that he was behind her, she veered toward the water again, praying that she could plunge into the depths and swim far enough beneath the water to elude him …

  The cold stung her. Despite the chill she’d felt on the embankment, the water was still colder. She plunged deep, but to no avail. Like a demon from the depths, he seemed to be there before her. She found herself dragged out of the water and slammed down on the embankment again. This time he stared down at her with such a fury that she began to tremble. Her shift was in tatters, she was all but naked. She closed her eyes, not wanting to meet his, desperately afraid of what move he might make next.

  “D—don’t … d—don’t …”

  “Don’t what?” he demanded.

  “Don’t … er …”

  “Ah! Assault you? Steal your virtue? Tell me, have you any virtue?”

  Her eyes flew open. She met his crystal gaze. “You are an arrogant fool. You can bring me back to the king, and he can give you whatever reward it is you so crave, but if you touch me—”

  “Ah, yes, here you are in all your perfect, naked, noble beauty! How tempted I must be!”

  His mocking, dispassionate tone startled her to silence, but trying to keep her eyes locked with his, she didn’t feel assured.

  “Let me up!”

  “Let you up? When I’m so tempted? Could I bear to let you up, you and all your perfect noble beauty?”

  “Why are you torturing me like this?” she cried, wondering if she were more afraid, or humiliated. Both made her more desperate, and more reckless. “You don’t dare harm me in any way, and we both know it. You—”

  “Umm, well, that depends. As you say, there are different Vikings. Norse, Danish, Swedish. And they all enjoy a good negotiation. Perhaps your relatives would like you back chaste and in one piece; then again, it’s amazing what men will trade in a negotiation. There are still Scottish rebels who might pay a pretty price for you, and not care too much whether you come tarnished or not.”

  “My relatives will kill you if you …”

  “If I?” he inquired politely.

  She felt her cheeks flooding with bloodred color. She felt the pressure of his body against hers, and the cold of the air against her bare flesh. He stared at her, and she didn’t know what he saw. She longed to crawl beneath a blanket, to close her eyes, pretend she had never left the warmth of the castle that night. She started shaking, badly. The day was cool, the river cold. She told herself it had nothing to do with fear. She knew she was lying. She had to think carefully before speaking.

  But she gasped, shivering with a greater violence as he touched her cheek, stroking her face with his knuckles. He spoke to her, his voice so deep and husky it seemed to slip beneath her skin, and touch her oddly. “Oh, so noble! Noble face, noble breasts, noble … well, everything must be noble, eh, my lady? Such a great, beautiful, noble bounty!”

  Fear escalated, her temper soared, and she panicked, lashing out at him. This time, he was ready, and she didn’t land the first blow against him. He caught her wrists, and pinning them down, he stared at her again in taut anger, no longer mocking her. “I suggest you stop.”

  “I suggest you go to hell!” she spat back, yet his eyes then touched her in such a way that she kept talking, quickly, else give away the depths of her fear.

  “I�
��m freezing!” she cried. “I’ll die on you, and I won’t be worth anything.”

  “You’re not going to die. Well,” he mused, “unless I lose control completely and strangle you.”

  She forced herself to glare at him. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it—or let me up!” she challenged him.

  “Do you know, m’lady, you’ve bargained, you’ve ordered, you’ve used all manner of words. Except one.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Please. Ah, but then, perhaps you’re not accustomed to using it.”

  “I’m very familiar with the word.”

  “Then?”

  “However, I’m not accustomed to using it with a bastard mercenary who’s attacking me!”

  His eyes narrowed. “Try it. What have you got to lose?”

  “Let me up. Please.”

  He smiled.

  “Let me up, please! What are you doing now? You said that you’d let me up—”

  “I said that you should try it. But you did call me a bastard mercenary.”

  She gritted her teeth, then thought that she should really get a grip on her temper. No matter what he said. She needed to pretend to acquiesce to whatever foolish thing he said, if it would get her up.

  “I’m freezing. Pl—”

  “Naturally, you’re freezing. You’re soaked, and you’re naked.”

  “Pl—”

  “And you’ve been swimming in a wretchedly cold river.”

  “I know why I’m freezing—”

  “I’m not warming you in the least?” he inquired.

  She shook her head. “You’re chilling me,” she said softly. “I’ve never been so cold in all my life.”

  “Tell me, are you really afraid yet?” he asked.

  She frowned. Of course she was afraid! She would never, never let him know it.

  “Cowards such as yourself do not scare me,” she said.

  “What a pity. I was about to let you up!”

  “Oh!” she cried in sheer frustration. “Please, I’m afraid, I’m very afraid—please let me up.”