Come the Morning

by Heather Graham

  Waryk rode with well-armed, well-trained troops. Many of them. He’d learned his first battle tactics from descendants of wild, barbaric Celtic tribes; he knew to use the forests, the trees, the cliffs, the hills, to attack and retreat, to repulse an ambush. Attacking his troops as he moved across the countryside would be suicide. Any major action now against the mainland would be seen; the masons and carpenters had erected a tower from which guards would see any assault from the sea, and any large movement from the forests carpeting the hill to the east …

  His impotence suddenly enraged him. He could remember the past. His father had often told him of a time when Vikings set out in their great longboats, and the people screamed in terror as they came. The fury of the Norsemen! Monks prayed, women wept, men died. The Christian God was cast down, His nuns were raped, His churches violated. The Vikings took what they wanted, and they left, and they fought so well and so fiercely that they conquered half of the land they invaded, they ruled, they were the power. They were such great warriors that indeed, they brought their prowess to their enemies, they interbred, and even when they did not, they were so powerful and indomitable that their enemies hired them at great prices to do their fighting for them and with them, and many a great alliance was born.

  Han came to him where he stood on the hill. Han had become sour. While escaping after they’d taken Mellyora MacAdin from Daro’s camp, Han had broken bones in his foot, and he still limped. He’d been injured during the assault on the mainland off Blue Isle, and he was weary of their encampment here, northward of the isle.

  “Word has come from the south,” Han said, sounding bitter. “You are not causing a great enough disturbance, and the Scottish king is beginning to move. There will be an attack on Tyne, but whether it can be rallied quickly enough …”

  Ulric scowled and stared back at Blue Isle, glittering on the coastline. “Tyne is no one’s objective,” he said contemptuously.

  “Tyne is perfectly good land, and the fortifications and manor there are fine enough. And with King David so staunch a supporter of his niece Mathilda, any land or estate we seize we can take in the name of Stephen, and history will say that we were but loyal supporters of a king over the prospect of a queen. The Normans brought this form of primogeniture here—they understand that a male must inherit. History may well exonerate us, and Stephen himself reward us. Vengeance and rewards. The fortress here will be weakened again with Waryk gone. If there was but a way for you to seize Mellyora MacAdin again and keep her …” Han said, his voice trailing.

  “Aye, now more than ever!” Ulric said, trembling with the hatred that had grown and festered through the years so that it was now something almost tangible. “Aye, take what he most desires. Hold her just out of his reach …” He started to laugh. “Kill her, not kill her. Hold her and see if she carries his child at this point, and let the child be born … then return his son to him, piece by piece. Aye, great Laird Waryk, here is your boy—his heart! Or let him wonder. Take his wife, his legal lady, and make of her a Viking concubine, and let him wonder year after year if he raises his own son, or a Viking’s bastard! His pope may not allow him to disavow the grandchild of the man he murdered! Or … capture the lady, bait the great laird. And if he can be killed, then keep the lady and the isle, and resurrect the power of the Norse jarls here on the coasts! Whatever comes, I will see that a knife twists into his heart. His father was killed; he should have lain on the field with him. His line will end with him, I swear it!”

  Han made a strange noise. “For you, Ulric, there is passion and vengeance in this! We must begin to take care. Some of your own men begin to doubt your wisdom. We’re warriors, we fight. Fighting men win, and fighting men die. We fight for gain, to seize land, for power.”

  Ulric spun on Han. “Don’t you understand as yet! Aye, Waryk killed my father, but more, don’t you see! The wretched Scots were beaten, they were dying one by one, it would have been over before King David arrived. The ancient MacNee land would have been ours, the MacInnish would have perished, and all the riches would have been ours long ago—”

  “Maybe. You must remember, your father was a mercenary with the Norman lord. Would he have proven trustworthy? Will your great friend in this vengeance provide us land and power as he has promised?”

  “Aye, his bitterness is greater than mine.”

  “But we must take care. We lose more and more men—”

  “We will find more and more men.”

  “Aye, we call out to the isles, we bring in Danes, Norse, Swedes, younger sons, men who must make their way. They aren’t enough. We call on the Norman peasantry, on those with bitterness themselves, old Saxons, disgruntled Scots. Soon, someone will betray us, and when the cause of these skirmishes is known, the whole force of the king’s army will come down on us—”

  “We will not be discovered, Han.”

  “One day, an injured man will talk.”

  “No man will talk when he knows that his death will reward his family, while a betrayal will cause us to slay his sons, daughters, and wife, and further kin.”

  Han held silent. Ulric brooded for a moment.

  “We need Mellyora MacAdin,” Ulric said.

  “The fortress is impregnable. Perhaps, as well, she will accompany her husband when he rides.”

  “She will not do so. She fought the marriage. She will be glad of his leaving.”

  “But tell me, Ulric, do you really think that he will leave her.”

  “He goes to his mistress.”

  “I ask you again. You’ve had Mellyora MacAdin within your grasp once before. Do you really believe that he will leave her?”

  “He must! And aye, the walls may be impregnable, but if she can be drawn outside the walls … where is Daro’s camp now?”

  “Fifty miles to the east, I’ve been told. He has been the guest of the king now on many an occasion, and I believe he is to receive more lands near Stirling.”

  “He married Anne?” Ulric persisted.

  “Aye, that he did.”

  Ulric smiled. “Perhaps I will pay a visit to my little cousin then.”

  “And again, I tell you, perhaps Mellyora will accompany Waryk when he rides.”

  Ulric looked at him sharply. Then he smiled. “We will have to see that she doesn’t ride with him.”

  “And how—”

  Ulric suddenly laughed. “Two men will succeed where dozens of berserkers have failed!”

  “Are we out to murder—”

  “Nay, we’re out to wound a man. And to cast the seeds of doubt and suspicion into the ground! Aye, the lady will stay. We shall see to it.” He set an arm around Han’s shoulders. “When you cannot tear down walls from the outside, you must tear them down from within. The more I think about it, Han, the more it seems there is a greater prize than even I imagined here. I will find a way to take the old Viking’s daughter. To slay the man who murdered my father. I will rule Blue Isle, and pay homage to a Norse king, and make peace with Stephen of England. David of Scotland will pay to travel his own land. Aye, I will rule Blue Isle. An old Viking laird, a new Viking laird. Waryk dead. Not too quickly. I would have him see me take his wife, and know that if she carries his child, I will kill his child very slowly before making the isle and his woman my own.”

  “You’ll need to take care.”

  “Aye, Waryk is a fierce warrior, well trained, lethal. I will take care.”

  “I did not refer to Waryk. If you try to take his wife, she might well kill you.”

  “Indeed. But I’ll never give her the chance. Perhaps there’s even a way to have him die believing that she was the one to betray him. She is a Viking’s daughter.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Darkness came, and Mellyora remained upon the hilltop where her father’s body had been interred. He’d been buried with one of his longboats and his weapons, but she knew where he lay himself, in a wooden coffin carved by the finest of his countrymen, old Oginwald, who still lived in a cottage dow
n the hill. The Celtic cross she leaned against marked his actual burial site. She thought that she might feel closer to him here, that she might be able to close her eyes and go back to a time before he died, when it had seemed that the world would always be hers to command and she would never, never have to feel this awful hurt and jealousy.

  But even as dusk came, she couldn’t seem to bring her father’s memory as close as she wanted. He had been huge, golden, red-bearded; his laughter had run in the hall, he’d changed languages twice in every sentence, and he had loved to move among the people. His battle tactics had not been so trained as Waryk’s, he had called upon distant friends when serving the king, and he had sat here often, as she sat now, high upon this hill, and stared out to the sea. He’d loved the sea, but he’d loved Scotland more. He had seen this land through her mother’s eyes, and he’d still talked about her mother until the day he died. To him, her mother and the sea had become one, ever fathomless, ever beautiful, offering storms, offering peace, never still, always changing, always fascinating.

  Mellyora rested her head upon her arms, closing her eyes. Adin had seen the world that he’d wanted, and he’d made it his own. She’d always believed that she could forge her own life as he had done. But the king had taken that.

  She felt the thunder of Mercury’s hooves against the ground long before she saw the horse. She stood, surprised and somewhat unnerved that he had come for her; she had not expected him to do so.

  He reined in on Mercury across the expanse of the burial ground, and stood, looking at her for a long moment. Then he nudged the horse and walked him slowly to where she stood. She didn’t move, but waited. He stared down at her, and she wondered if he meant to be as imposing as he was atop the warhorse. To counter the way he towered above her, she reached out, patting Mercury’s nose. The horse was loyal to his master, but for all the bloodshed the animal had seen, he was an affectionate horse. He responded to her touch as she moved her palm over the softness of his muzzle.

  “So here you are. Among the dead again.”

  She looked up sharply. “I came here often long before my father died. It is usually a pretty and peaceful place to come.”

  “Aye, as I said, among the dead.”

  “They are sometimes far more agreeable than the living.”

  “Because they can’t argue with you? Ah, but then, do you think that great Adin will rise up, return to run the wicked from his land?”

  “It’s quite a pity that he can’t.”

  “Alas, most unlikely. It’s late, it’s dark, and Adin is gone, and you have guests in your hall, milady.”

  “My hall? But I’ve been told that it’s your hall.”

  He reached a hand toward her. “Come up.”

  She backed away. “I think not.”

  “Let’s not do this, milady.”

  “Let’s. You’re the great laird, the mighty hero—I was expendable in it all. Sir Percy came to see you with news regarding the doom about to befall your very good friend. Go and discuss your gallant rescue with him. If I’m not there, you’ll need not take the least care with what is said. Sir Percy had tried so hard not to state the truth of why he has come. He will have a far more pleasant evening without me.”

  “I leave tomorrow, and you are coming back with me.”

  A strange ache twisted in her stomach. “Tomorrow? You leave tomorrow. And I find out here, now. As I see it, sir, you are gone now. Leave me alone, and have Blue Isle to yourself before you leave it on your great errand of mercy.”

  “Mellyora, you fought me for this isle, and you married me for this isle. Alas, I would not be so cruel to forget that this is your isle. You’re the lady here—”

  “Aye, fine. And when you’re gone, I’ll tend to domestics, Laird Lion. I know that you can suffice magnificently on your own. You are, after all, the king’s great champion. My father, the Viking, managed on his own for many years.”

  “Ah, yes! Your father. The great man.”

  “My father, aye, he was a great man, he served the king, but he didn’t bow so low to the floor that he could no longer see anything other than the dirt!”

  “Mellyora, I’m sorry for your father’s death, but I am weary of hearing of his greatness with every move I make.”

  “My father kept peace here, every move he made—”

  “You think I should be more like your father? Kinder, more gentle, make every move as he made it?”

  “You refuse to understand what I’m saying.”

  “Damn you, lady, if you want me acting like your father, you shall have it.”

  She started, backing away as he dismounted with determined anger, striding toward her. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing. My father was not a tyrant—”

  “A tyrant. No?” Waryk demanded, striding toward her until she was backed against the large stone Celtic cross that bore her father’s name. “Dear wife, perhaps not—when you knew him. That was after he had come here, seized this land, then married your mother and made his peace with David.” He set a hand upon the stone, leaning toward her. “Adin was not always gentle in all things. He came here in a dragon-prowed longboat, the son of a jarl, come out a-Viking. And he raided this place, laid it low, and took your mother, and I’m delighted things went so well for them both, and he was blessed, surely, to have a child with his lady to so adore him, but my love, he came here just as Alexander came across Europe, he came, he saw, he conquered—”

  “That’s history as you heard it—”

  “That’s history as it happened!”

  “You weren’t here!”

  “And neither were you. In the flesh, of course. I’ve heard you were conceived during their very first encounter.”

  “You’ve heard!” she cried. “So it is truth! Well, I’d heard that you were a Norman, an English upstart, grabbing up whatever crumbs you could gather from the Scottish king’s floor! I’ve heard this and so, indeed, it must be true.”

  “Shall we stop now, milady?” he inquired tightly.

  “Stop? I didn’t begin this fight. I came to this place to be alone. You intruded.”

  “I came to bring you home, milady. It’s growing dark, and we’ve a guest who awaits, not to mention our own household.”

  “I’m sorry. You so often accuse me of games. This is one I cannot play. If you’re going to your mistress, sir, don’t expect to visit first with your wife. Eleanora is Norman, I understand, and I’m sure you have much in common.”

  He smiled slowly. “I’ve many different strains in my blood, so I’ve been told. Viking through both the Scottish—and the Norman. You want a man like your father, milady? Let me oblige. I’m terribly sorry, I must be disappointing you so, I have to change, I have to be the man you want me to be.”

  “No!” she cried, startled as he reached for her. She tried to dodge around the Celtic cross, but he came after her relentlessly, his features grim.

  “Waryk …”

  He caught her arms, drew her hard against him. It was as it had been at the river; he cast her impatiently over his shoulder and strode back toward Mercury while she struggled to rise and speak some sense to him.

  “Waryk, I swear, I never saw my father treat my mother so—”

  “And did you ever see your mother rude to the guests in her hall, or refuse to take her place at the table, especially with a guest in residence?”

  “Aye, she missed meals! When she was ill—”

  “You’re not ill.”

  “I’m terribly ill. You’ve made me quite sick to my stomach—”

  “Then I’ll keep you by my side and make sure that you are well.”

  She gritted her teeth, tightening her hands into fists, slamming them against his back. “Put me down now, Waryk. You cannot do this—”

  “How amazing! I believe I can. Just like the old laird.”

  “I am going to dig deep gouges into your back.”

  “I don’t suggest it, or else I will create big blisters on your derr
iere.”

  “Put me down! I will not go to dinner and pretend that all is well—”

  “Then we will miss dinner together, my love.”

  He mounted Mercury with her cast so over his shoulder, causing her a jolt when her chin slammed against his back. He kneed Mercury, and when the destrier began to race back toward the castle, stable, and his own food, she quit fighting to hold tight against the wild, hard motion. She was mortified when they rode through the gates, aware that the men in the gatehouse watched. She slammed her palms hard against his back again, furious that he seemed not to notice. She demanded, “Let me go, this has gone far enough!”

  “Let you go?” he queried, slowing Mercury’s gait. “To walk freely, have your way, turn your back on me when we have a guest in the hall? Would Adin have allowed your mother such freedom had she determined to humiliate him in this way? I think not. If the lady refuses to appear in the hall, then she must be in the deepest distress, and a kind and gentle laird would not leave her side for a minute!”

  “Waryk—”

  “Ah, lady, here we are. A beautiful ride, a pleasant night.”

  They had passed by the gates and into the center of the courtyard, and she knew that the men on guard around the parapets were watching. His men, her men. Were they amused, or angered? Many of the people, men and women, had always known what she had not—that the king was Norman in his ways, and that he would never simply allow her to have her father’s power on her own. And those who had known that one of the king’s men would be given Blue Isle were probably grateful of the man who had come, and thus they probably watched the spectacle below thinking her the willful one to cause trouble for such a powerful warrior laird.

  “Aye?” he queried as Mercury trotted to a halt.

  “Put me down.”

  He dismounted, allowing her to slide to her feet before him, but not releasing her. She saw that his young armor-bearer, Geoffrey, was there, ready to take care of Mercury.

  Waryk’s eyes locked with hers as she found her feet.