Come the Morning (10 page)

It seemed that she sat forever, weighing her problems. She realized that she was afraid, that she didn't know what David would do if he believed that she had really betrayed him.

Once she was free, she could prove her loyalty.

Where was the fool who had lost the oars and gone to shore for more? Was he in the act of betraying her? He'd been gone so long now.

Did she dare sit here any longer?

No. Staying here, vulnerable, in the center of the river wouldn't do at all.

She stood, calculating the distance to the shore, then dropped her cloak and cast off her shoes and hose. The night was cool, the water would be cold. No matter, she had to risk it. She stripped down to the linen shift beneath her blue gown, hesitated a moment longer, then gritted her teeth tightly. She was a good swimmer, a strong swimmer. She could manage the distance, and the cold.

Determined, she dived into the water.

The cold engulfed her.

Waryk touched bottom, and walked through the last few feet of water to the embankment. There, he sank to the ground for a moment, lying back to breathe deeply, shake his head—and laugh. So he looked like some rich man's servant, did he? Well, he was somewhat battle-stained and road-weary. Still, just who was she?

An heiress. The proud, blond beauty who had danced before the fire and told her tale about St. Columba. He realized that he had never asked Sir Harry just who the heiress was. And now, David was about to give her to a brutal old Norman knight, or so she believed. She might be right. Who was the king wedding her to? He did reward those who served him, and many who served him were of Norman descent.

The night was incredibly calm. The lady, whoever she might be, could sit and fume on the water for hours.

He might have been a bit more understanding, he chided himself, sobering. Having spent time, if brief, with Eleanora after the skirmishing, he should have had a greater sympathy for a lass with an aversion to an arranged marriage—especially to a man she would consider an invading monster.

But arranged marriages were the way of the world for young noblewomen, and she should have learned that fact from a very young age. Not to mention the small matter of his own loyalty. He was the king's man—and in her present course of action, she was the king's enemy.

The Norse were her kind, so perhaps she didn't realize that the Vikings were dangerous no matter how many alliances and treaties were made. They were a proud, fierce people, and fond of ruling in their own way. The king ruled a united Scotland, but David was aware that he was never really safe on his throne, that they lived in violent times. Maintaining his united Scotland was always a battle.

Still …

He felt a moment's pity for the girl out in the boat. She was young, he thought, and he had known from the moment he seized her that she was of noble birth—and in a dangerous position. She had been lovely, despite her temper and determination. Exceptional, in truth, regally tall, young, and beautiful, tender, ripe—magic. He had thought so, listening to her tale, watching her dance. She was a prize, certainly, and David was a king to recognize any asset he might control—and he was in debt to many of the Norman knights who had ridden with him and helped put down the small insurrections against him when he had first ridden north to take the crown of Scotland. Waryk could well imagine the girl's aversion to becoming the wife of an old decrepit Norman—a man perhaps two or three times her age whom she would still consider a foreigner.

Ah, but if the king discovered her treachery, she would be sorrier still. And no matter what Waryk's sympathy for her, there was little that could be done if David had made up his mind. When the king discovered her escape, he would be furious.

He was glad once again that he had been the one sent to fight the madmen and that Sir Harry had been given the task of watching the heiress. Still …

He would retrieve her from the boat himself, Waryk decided, in due time, without saying a word to the king. He could try to make her understand that kings often had no choice in their course of action. He could try—yes. He doubted that he would be successful.

He looked up at the sky. She might have played havoc with his dreams, and he knew that she and her party had considered him part of the king's Norman contingent last night, but still, tonight, the lady on the lake had caused him a great deal of amusement. Thanks to Eleanora, he was certain. Remembering her ways always soothed his temper. She was an Englishwoman, loyal to England, but that loyalty was such a part of her exquisite making that he had to forgive it. She spoke her mind, but paid heed to his every thought and opinion. She was aware and discreet; passionate and adventurous. She was both his friend and his mistress, a companion to entertain him, a vixen to stir his senses. Marriage to Eleanora, however, had never actually occurred to him until recently, not because she'd been widowed but because she was an Englishwoman—and because he'd known that his fortune and future would most probably be made through marriage to a landed heiress. However, he wasn't poor, nor was Eleanora. He had lands of his own, left through his mother, a Strathearn heiress. Eleanora had a fair amount of wealth in jewels and coin from the incomes granted her after her husband's death.

Marriage just might make sense. The king had grown up among the English, surely meant to stretch his borders with the English civil unrest, and Waryk had begun to muse that David might see a match between Eleanora and Waryk as advantageous.

Eleanora had not spoken so bluntly, but Waryk knew that marriage would please her. She'd served Henry of England as she had been ordered, and now she was free to marry where she wished. He'd almost mentioned the possibility to her when they had last lain together, yet he'd refrained, disturbed about the battle he had just fought and aware that he would need to do some convincing with David of Scotland. Still, the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that David would surely realize that she would make him the perfect wife.

Waryk looked to the water and spoke softly aloud. “Ah, yes, lass on the lake, whoever you may be. Thanks to Eleanora, I will return you to the safety of the king's court as quietly as I am able. I will see that your difficulties grow no more serious than they already are!”

What she planned was damned close to treason, no matter how she tried to word her intentions. He wondered if she was aware of just how serious her actions were, that she could lose her head for conspiring against the king.

He stood and whistled softly, and his ebony warhorse, Mercury, came trotting toward him along the shoreline, startling the poor old fisherman who was wandering along the embankment. Waryk realized that the old fellow was looking for his boat. It was pure happenstance that Waryk had paused by the boat on the riverbank that the lady had chosen for her night journey. He had always loved the water. Lying on the embankment, studying the stars, the sky, and feeling cool breezes—untainted by the scent of blood—always seemed to soothe his soul. This area of the river just outside Stirling had always been his favorite place. Quiet, with none to disturb him except the occasional fisherman.

The fellow here now was grizzled beyond belief, and sadly confused. “'Tis here I left her, of that I am sure,” he muttered to himself. He looked at Waryk. “Now, I am not daft, m'laird. I do converse with meself now and agin', but that merely for some form of company since the fish do not talk much. Great sir, have ya nae seen a boat about, perhaps rowing itself out on the river?”

“Indeed, I'm afraid I have seen such a vessel,” Waryk said. He produced a silver piece—with King David's image upon it—and presented it to the fisherman. “Take this for your boat, my good fellow. And come tomorrow, I'll see that your boat is back.”

The old man's eyes widened and glazed. “Great God, but I care not if ye make kindling of that rat trap fer a silver piece such as this!”

“Go spend it then,” Waryk said, leaping atop Mercury's back. “Ah, but wait. If you would be so good. Do me a service as well, and I'll see you receive another coin. Your boat is there—you can just see it downriver. Keep your eyes trained on the water, and see to it that the boat does not somehow reappear here on the shore. There's a lady upon it, and I will be back for her.”

“Aye, sir! As ye wish it!” the fellow cried delightedly. “I'll keep my eyes hard upon the water, that I will!”

“Have you a name, man?”

“Aye, sir, I am Milford. Who may y'be, me fine, great young laird?”

“I am Waryk—”

“Laird Lion!” the man cried with pleased approval.

Waryk arched a brow. “I'd not imagined I might be so readily known.”

Milford laughed happily, the sound of his voice a wheezing cackle.

“Laird Lion—ye be known far and wide. Every Scotsman loves a warrior who bests his enemies—if he not be one of the enemies himself. 'Tis glad I am to make your acquaintance, good sir! Believe it or not, in me younger days I rode with a man named William who served the king. I admired your sire, young Graham. And ye've my loyalty yerself this night.”

Waryk nodded with a wry smile in response to Milford's accolade to his father's memory.

“Thank you. My father was a great man, and glad I am of your loyalty, Milford. I will return as soon as I'm able.”

Waryk nudged Mercury and rode the short distance to the fortress, the heart of Stirling. He was hailed by the guard at the gate, identified himself, and entered the courtyard. There, he turned Mercury over to a young groom and hurried to reach his own chambers at the fortress.

The hour had grown very late, or very early. He hadn't planned on spending so much time with the lady on the lake. Alan of Ayr, manservant to the king, caught him when he had barely entered the long hallway that led to the knights' quarters.

“Laird Lion, the king would see you now.”

“I know that I must see him, Alan. But if you'll note, I'm dripping wet. Give me leave, and I'll wash and change before coming to see the king. I had not meant to keep him waiting awake through the night.”

“Laird Waryk, the king did not stay awake—he has risen again since it is almost dawn. The king would see you now.”

Waryk shrugged. “Aye, then. I will come.”

His shoes squished upon the floor as he walked the distance to the great hall. David was there, pacing. It looked as if this might be a long discussion, Waryk thought with dismay. He'd meant to leave the unwilling heiress for some time to consider the error of her ways, but he had not meant to desert her entirely. It might take some time before he could go back for her, and under those circumstances, he'd have to mention the lady to the king after giving him a report of the battle in which he'd rather too easily managed to keep hold of the king's domains.

Daylight was coming, and too quickly, Waryk thought.

She might be in greater danger, for the river would fill, and the Vikings she longed to reach might be ever closer, moving about by day …

He would have to reach her quickly. He would keep her escape secret if he could, but if he could not …

She would have to meet the king's wrath. There was no other way.

Or else she might well make good her bid for freedom, and they'd both be in danger of charges of treason.

Of being hanged, or beheaded.

Or even drawn and quartered.

Vikings could be very dangerous, he had never deceived himself on that issue. Vikings, in all sizes, and all shapes. Even a Viking's beautiful daughter.

Perhaps, he thought, a strange foreboding sending a tremor of heat along his spine, especially a Viking's beautiful and wayward daughter …

C
HAPTER
5

“Sire,” he said, entering the king's great hall, bowing briefly upon a single knee before rising. “I can report—”

“Nay, you don't need to report a word of your deeds, for many great words have preceded your arrival.”

“I'm sure that Angus exaggerated my deeds.”

“Messengers reached me before Angus came to give a report. You're dripping, by the way, Laird Lion.”

“I stopped by the river.”

“Aye, you've had a fondness for water all your life.”

“And the stars. Your pardon, perhaps I should have come straight here, but—”

“The leisure time was yours, well deserved. But tell me, did you fall in the water?”

“I went for a swim.”

“How curious, it was a rather chill night. Were you chasing water nymphs or the like?”

Waryk grinned. “I'm afraid I ventured too near the water and, thereby, wound up wet.”

“Umm,” the king murmured, aware there was more to the story, but not persisting at the moment. “Whatever your recent adventures, you have returned home triumphant. You gave chase to the rascals, left men in attendance to build new fortifications, and have done us all proud. Perhaps most important is the fact that you have ably and loyally supported me, and no shift in the political wind has ever steered you from that course.”

Waryk lifted a hand in gracious acknowledgment of the king's words. “Well, you see, sire, I learned my loyalty as a boy,” he said lightly, but then added on a serious note, “This new action has disturbed me, David. It was much like that which we fought westward a few months before, and farther to the north and east on the border a few months before that. It's as if there is some unseen, unknown enemy creating dissension where there should be none.”

“Angus told me that you battled a group of ruffians, none of them ably trained.”

“Aye, that's what's so strange. We fought freemen with little language or education, and perhaps serfs from some of the new Norman domains. Men pushed to battle, more afraid to live than to die. To a man, they escaped into the woods, or died. We've tried to take men alive, but they fight us as if we are demons, and I can't make sense of anything they ramble as yet. It has been the same again and again.”