Come the Morning (15 page)

She moistened her lips. “We've had a chance to talk, to know one another.”
Too well
, she thought. He'd touched her, grappled with her. She knew the feel of him, the scent of him, his warmth. “Look, I'm not going with you!” she said again, taking another step from him. “Understand me. You think you're in control now. But things can change. The Viking camp is just across the river. If I screamed, they might hear me. Think about just how close we are to my kin! A fisherman, aye, you could easily slay a poor fisherman! But what of a berserker? Now, please. Pay attention, hear me, heed me. I'm not going anywhere with you!”

He didn't even take a step toward her. He smiled, shaking his head with both fury and exasperation. “Oh, lady, you're so wrong. Indeed, you will be going with me, anywhere I say, everywhere I say. When I say.”

“We'll see what the king has to say about that!” she snapped.

“Make up your mind! Are you threatening me with the Vikings or the king?” he demanded.

He was angry—yet amused at the same time again, she thought. Shaking his head, he turned away from her to pull the small boat they had used higher up on the embankment, as if he meant to make sure it was there at a later time. As he did so, she saw her opportunity.

His horse was huge, but she was an excellent rider—once again, because she was a Viking's daughter. Perhaps she wouldn't be able to make an unassisted leap upon his back were it bare, but the horse was saddled. She was agile, and had been riding forever.

The stirrups were high but she managed to set a foot in the left one and vaulted herself easily up onto the warhorse. Her heart seemed to fly. She nudged the animal with her heels. “Go, boy, please, for the love of God, go, save me!”

The great horse leapt forward, pawing the air, hitting the ground.

They began to race. She felt the cool air. Felt the earth, flying beneath them.

She felt a taste of triumph, and freedom.

Then she heard a whistle.

The horse came to a sudden stop, pawing the air. She managed to keep her seat, but then the animal swung around and began racing again. Back toward the very place from where they had come. The horse galloped with lightning speed. She saw the man ahead of them, and she sucked in her breath, certain that he was about to be run down.

But once again, the warhorse came to a stop. A dead stop. This time, she couldn't control her own momentum, and she vaulted cleanly over the horse's head.

Luckily, she landed on soft, clear ground. Still, it felt as if she had broken every bone in her body. As if her head had cracked open.

She knew she had to leap up, to run on her own. She tried to do so, but the world was spinning. Looking up at the sky and the stars now spinning above her, she realized that twilight was turning to night. Stars were appearing.

“My God, but you are one stupid, stubborn woman!”

“No!” she cried out desperately.

But it was too late. His hands were moving over her, checking for broken bones or injury. He touched her in the most intimate ways, but didn't seem to think she had a right to demur or take offense. He made a snorting sound of disgust, then lifted her up despite her groan of protest. She was cast over his shoulder like a hunter's kill as he mounted his horse.

Maybe that was close to what she was.

He had hunted her.

And now they rode through the night. He with his trophy, returning to the king …

C
HAPTER
7

She must have actually dozed, because she opened her eyes, disoriented for a moment. Then she realized that she still lay over his shoulder, her head against his back as they loped closer and closer to the fortress at Stirling. She felt beaten, weary, cold through to her bones.

She was almost glad when she heard him crying out to the guards at Stirling. She heard the change of the horse's hoofbeats, the clopping against stone, as they came to the courtyard of the fortress.

He dismounted with her. She tried to rise, praying that she could revive, scream for some assistance from this zealously loyal madman, and demand to be put down, but she didn't need to scream; he was already setting her on her feet. As he did so, she wavered. She knew she was going to fall flat onto the dirt and stone, but he caught her, sweeping her up into his arms.

“Is she injured, m'laird?” she heard a groom inquire. “Shall I send for the king—”

“Nay, lad, she's weary, cold, and worn, not hurt. I'll take care of her, and see the king.”

Not hurt!
she thought indignantly, yet even as she tried to struggle against him then, she went still. She stared up at him with concern, suddenly realizing what the stableboy had called him.

M'laird
.

She'd realized belatedly that he had to be a fighting man, a knight, or a rich patron's man-at-arms. No man was built so without hours practicing with the heavy accouterments of war.

But he wasn't just a knight, he was a laird.

She fixed her eyes on his as he walked into one of the residence entrances of the fortress, and not through the main doors which would have led to the great hall—and the king. “M'laird? Well,
sir
, where are you taking me now?”

“To a place where you can rest until I've had a chance to see the king.”

She continued to stare at him, furious, powerless. “I shall kill you for this one day, I swear it.”

“M'lady, it seems I shall have a harder time preserving your life than my own, though I am aware of your intent to end my existence,” he said impatiently, his strides long as they moved down a hallway. She looked around herself uneasily. This section of the fortress held residences for the king's court, and his most trusted advisors and champions.

She struggled up against him. “I demand that you take me immediately to the king.”

“You may make demands from here until hell freezes over, m'lady.”

“Damn you, where are you taking me?”

“Not to a dungeon, m'lady,” he told her, amused. “Though that might not be such a bad idea.”

He stopped in the corridor, using a foot to push open a heavy wooden door.

“Where—”

She broke off. He opened the door to a large room with handsome tapestries hung on the walls for warmth, a huge fireplace against one wall with rich furs strewn before it.

“Whose room is this?” she asked.

“Mine,” he told her, and entered with her. Once inside, he strode to the bed set in an arched inner chamber against the wall.

She leapt up; he pushed her firmly back. “You'll wait here.”

She shook her head desperately, so tired, but now more dismayed than ever regarding this strange man who'd come after her so relentlessly. He obviously had great influence with the king, and she had so little time left for any argument or fight. She'd been gone more than a day now, she thought, and the king would indeed be furious. “Please! Please!” she begged him, rising again and placing a hand gently upon his arm. “Don't do this! Don't leave me here trapped. Help me. I swear that I do honor and love the king, but he is wrong in this. He intends to give me to that despicable—”

“Wretched, decaying, old Norman, Waryk de Graham.”

“Aye! You know! Oh, God, you must understand, there is another way. If you'll just help me—”

“But I won't. Excuse me; I'll be back, m'lady.”

He walked away from her toward the door, and she shook her head again, following.

“Wait!”

“What?” he demanded, stopping and turned back with exasperation.

“Help me get out of here. Please. Help me escape that awful man. I swear, I can pay you with riches you can't begin to imagine. Viking gold.”

She swallowed nervously as he reached her once again, standing before her, handsome face cast at a devilish angle as he looked down upon her.

She clenched her fists at her sides. “Aye,” she told him.

“Hmmm …”

“Lots of it!”

His smile deepened. “Tempting. But then, so much has been tempting tonight. But what if I weren't interested in gold?”

Her heart seemed to skip a beat. “What do you mean?” she asked him quickly. She was afraid that she knew exactly what he meant. How strange, when he'd mocked her so. Yet, she had tried to tempt—and irritate and disarm—him. Had she been more successful than she had imagined? He was obviously a virile man, yet …

She assumed as well that women were easy for him. He was built like steel and rock, and he was young, and his features were handsome, his smile even sensual. Was he mocking her again?

He smiled slowly, watching her, as if reading her mind. “I have a fair amount of gold,” he said, stretching out an arm to indicate the richness of the room. “Plunder, you know. Battle gain.”

“All men want to be richer,” she said, moistening her lips.

“Well, riches mean different things to different people, don't they?”

“Not to the king,” she murmured bitterly.

He shrugged. “What can you offer besides gold?”

“Jewels, Celtic art, you wouldn't believe how fine some of the ancient pieces of jewelry we have are … and we have ancient manuscripts, excellent armor, horses—”

“But they aren't really yours to give, are they?” he queried.

“Indeed, they are. They are riches that have belonged to my mother's family—”

“At the moment, it's irrelevant to whom these things really belong. They're not what I had in mind.”

She met his eyes, feeling a strange sensation as if both fire and ice were filling her veins. She suddenly wanted to run from him with a greater urgency than that with which she had fled the fortress, and yet she was backed to an alcove, so there was nowhere to go. She decided on boldness.

“You mocked my ‘noble beauty' before, m'laird. What would you want with it now?”

“I've been on a long battle campaign,” he said with a shrug. “You might be a pleasant diversion.”

“You certainly had plenty of opportunity for …”

“Rape?”

“Aye.”

“Yes, I had dozens of opportunities. But rape the king's ward?” he taunted softly with mock horror.

“Seducing her would be better? You said that risking my person was treason. Wouldn't such a bargain make you guilty of treason against your beloved king as well?”

“I'm not the one desperate to barter here, m'lady. My motives are my own. You are the one attempting to negotiate, so my sins need not concern you. You're the one who needs to ask herself the soul-searching questions. How far are you willing to go to escape this marriage?”

“To hell and beyond,” she murmured softly, eyes lowered.

“Ah, really?”

“What are your terms?”

“You, here and now.”

“Never. What a foolish negotiation. You could betray me.”

“Then?”

“I'll meet you anywhere—once you've let me free to reach the Vikings.”

“How would I know that you'd meet me as agreed?”

“You'd have to accept my word.”

“What if you were captured again by the king's men? You'd still owe me a tremendous debt. I'd be out the reward of having brought you back here.”

“But I thought you weren't interested in gold and riches.”

“We were making a different bargain.”

“I'd keep the bargain. No matter what, if you let me free now, I swear I'll find a way to pay my debt.”

“Are you lying?” he inquired. She shivered fiercely, forcing herself not to wrench away as he lifted her chin to study her eyes.

“No,” she told him. She swallowed hard. Of course she was lying. But if she escaped and found Daro, and this knight came after her again, he would die. She would warn him that that was the way things were. And that would keep her from paying any debt.

“Where and when do you intend to pay this debt?” he asked her.

She hesitated, knowing that she had to take great care. He seemed serious, he might really let her go. He'd mocked her, and laughed at her, but now he seemed to want her, and she had to use whatever weapons were available, be those weapons wiles, lies, and deceit. Yet she had to take care that her every lie had a grain of truth, else this enemy might too easily see through her.

“There's a forest northwest of the fortress, no more than an hour's ride, where a high crag just begins to shoot up from a valley. It's the king's land, do you know it?” she inquired.

“Aye.”

“There's an old hermit's cottage deep in one of the copses; the king uses it when he's hunting, so it's kept in good repair.”

He arched a brow slowly, studying her in a way that unnerved her once again. “I am familiar, I do know the cottage,” he said. “Go on.”

“If you let me go now,” she whispered, “I'll meet you there on the night of the next full moon.”

“The night of the next full moon?”

“Aye.”

“That's two weeks from now.”

“Aye.”

“You'll be there?”

“I swear it.”

“Take care, m'lady. If you swear to me, make a vow, I'll not let you break it. You would imperil your immortal soul, and your life, and we wouldn't want that to happen. Not when you court death so frequently with such determination.”

“I said I'll be there,” she told him.

He watched her, nodding. “You will be,” he said softly. “And still, I give you one last chance to think this through. Is this a bargain you really wish to make?”

She inhaled and exhaled nervously. “Aye!”

He suddenly turned away from her. He strode across the room and stared into the flames that burned in the fireplace. “I'm not going to help you escape, you know,” he told her harshly. The anger that deepened his voice was all the more unnerving. “I'll allow you to leave the room. You'll have to escape the fortress again.”