Come the Morning (29 page)

Ah, yes, a wife. Well, almost.

If his bitter bride didn't have another trick up her sleeve. He lay back, eyes closed. Perhaps he was a fool not to have rid himself of her—the king was angry enough to have meant what he said. She was dangerous. But he would not be in danger, because he was wary of her, he would not make the mistake of trusting her. She had declared herself his enemy, there would be no peace. Yet he admitted to himself that he was growing as eager for his bride as he was for her land. Watching her last night had been … irritating. She had smiled for others, teased, laughed, charmed. He had seen young men all but trip over themselves to be near her, to hear her voice. She had been a stunning, golden beauty. Every man there had envied him. Indeed, she had gotten into his blood somehow …

Surely, he could quench the fire she ignited without forgetting that she was dangerous. Nor would he risk his soul. She was bewitching, he'd seen that from the beginning. She'd intrigued him. A thankful situation, since she was to be his wife. His
dangerous
wife, a beauty far too reckless for safety.

Reckless, and yet …

He had to admit, she had handled herself well in the cavern, when he had tried to shield her from the Vikings and their bizarre attack. She knew her weaponry—he had firsthand knowledge of that! She was strong; he had to prove himself stronger. He had no intention of feeling too much sympathy for her, nor would he ever allow himself to need her. Wanting was something else. Pure instinct. Fascination. But once curiosity was met, she'd be the same as any other woman. She'd no longer haunt him, as thoughts of her did now. Lust, he thought wryly, could be a cruel sensation. Pure wicked torment on the body, more cutting man a knife.

The king remained furious with her; David was not accustomed to women defying him with such energy. David had suggested a public bedding; Waryk was opposed to the idea. In fact, he had determined that not even his increasing hunger for his bride—which must obviously be appeased if children were to be achieved—would allow him to have her as yet. He wanted his own family, not another man's child, and the king had become informative with his will now being fulfilled. David had told Waryk that Jillian, while trying to make the king understand her young mistress, had inadvertently admitted why Mellyora had been so determined on her own choice—the lad's name was Ewan MacKinny, and though a fine youth, he was not a strong warrior, and hadn't the power to keep invaders from the door. So there was definitely a flesh-and-blood man she had wanted herself.

And she had not denied having taken a lover. He didn't particularly damn her for easy virtue; men and women were both capable of the need to love. It was simply that he was the man she was marrying, and, therefore, she was betraying him.

Yet he had made the decision to marry her. There would have been those determined to honor her, no matter what the king had commanded, and he wanted a strong, united homeland. Having her was certainly not going to be a hardship; she was young, supple, sensual, beautiful despite her temper. When she was his wife, she would learn he gave no quarter. But there was the past to be considered. He wondered what he would do if he discovered his wife was to have another man's babe. Could he take a child from its mother? Leave the child an orphan, alone, and the mother grieving? No, he could not do such a thing.

Ah, but could he accept it as his own? No.

Would he have to know? Aye, beyond a doubt. That was the entire point he mulled now. He could remember too clearly what it had been like, standing among the carnage and the dead on the battlefield, and knowing that he was alone. He would create his own kin, David had told him, and since then, family, his family, had been a dream, one he was determined he would live. So, no matter what the future, he had to know about the past.

He started, ready to leap from the tub, as he heard a tapping at his door. To his amazement, the door opened before he could say a word. He tensed, ready to grab his sword if danger threatened.

Danger seldom knocked, he reminded himself.

“Laird Lion—” He heard Angus begin, the great bald man's head just jutting around the door.

“Please, I can announce myself!”

The feminine voice was Mellyora's, and she stepped quickly into his room, leaning against the door as it closed behind her, leaving them alone together. He eased back, watching her. So at times, danger did knock. He kept his eyes warily upon her, wondering if he should be going for his sword in self-defense. He held very still, and realized that for once, she was extremely agitated, but not angry. She was upset. She didn't even seem aware that he was naked in a tub. She remained against the door as if she had been nailed there.

He lifted a hand from the rim of the tub. “Ah, my love. Welcome. This is definitely a surprise visit.”

She didn't move.

“You've come, my lady, to speak with me, I imagine. So … aye?”

She inhaled, exhaled, her eyes brilliant, her pulse throbbing against the white perfection of her throat. Her lips moved. Had she been another woman, he would have thought that she had come in humble entreaty. She had agreed to the marriage, and he had spoken very plainly about what he expected, so he couldn't begin to imagine what argument she might have now.

She stayed so long by the door that his steam evaporated. Her breasts heaved against the softness of a blue gown that emphasized every tempting curve and form of her figure. Her hair burned in the firelight like spun gold, and his body quickened as if he'd been stroked. She might be a treacherous Viking's daughter, but the mere sight of her made patience an all-but-impossible virtue.

He lifted a hand again. “Mellyora, the wedding is not until tomorrow. However, if you wish to stay and speed things along …”

“Please!” She pushed away from the door. He saw that her eyes were so brilliantly beautiful because they were threatened with tears. To his amazement, she flew across the room and came upon her knees at the side of his tub. “Please, don't do this to me. I beg of you.”

“Mellyora, you were given the choice not to marry. There is nothing I can do about the king's edict; if I were to refuse him and lose my neck, he'd choose another man. But still, if this marriage is so horrible to you—”

“No, it's not the marriage.”

He lifted his hands. “Then what, Mellyora?”

“Oh, God, please, don't humiliate me in public!”

He arched a brow. She'd heard. Rumor raced around a fortress such as this! And, it appeared, rumor raced with what was most sweetly, wickedly decadent, for she hadn't heard that it had only been a
suggestion
, and a suggestion with which he hadn't agreed. No matter how he might want her—and he was aware that wanting her was becoming a painful issue—he wanted to know that any child born of their marriage was his.

“Please, please, don't allow this!” she whispered.

“Ah!” he said softly.
This
, of course, was the king's public addendum to the ceremony.

“Please.”

He'd never seen her so vulnerable, so elusively beguiling. He reached out, touching her cheek, smoothing a wild lock of golden hair from her face. He felt as if he stroked silk. He was tempted, God was he tempted, to reach out and drag her into the water with him, and there end the idea of anything public …

And his own determination.

Ah, but then again, the lady had put him through hell.

“The king is very angry,” he told her gravely, watching her.

“You can stop this.”

He hesitated, meeting her tumultuous eyes. “I'll admit the concept has disturbed me. Especially since there is a question regarding your past. But then again, you see, I've stated my feelings regarding family. It is my own blood I want, my lady, and not another's.”

“Is it revenge you want? You've agreed to this because you think you'll be able to say at some later date that the marriage must be annulled because I was previously engaged and in another relationship? You want me to be humiliated, and then you wish to use it all against me!”

“I've not agreed to anything,” he said, still watching her intently.

She closed her eyes tightly for a second, then opened them.

“Don't do it.”

“As I've said, the king is very angry. I think you hurt him, wounded his pride. Maybe he just wants the truth known. You mentioned that you'd taken a lover.”

“No, I did not. You suggested that I had.”

He shrugged, as if how the matter had been discussed was of little importance.

“It's not true,” she whispered.

“What's not true?”

“I've never taken a lover. I swear on my father's honor.”

He watched her for a long moment, feeling every muscle in his body contract while he tried to keep his face impassive. She remained so distressed, and spoke with such desperate urgency. She hadn't noted his touch, didn't pull away as his fingers stroked her face.

“Do you remember what tomorrow is?” he asked her quietly.

“Indeed, how could I forget? The wedding.”

He shook his head. “Tomorrow night will be the full moon. Don't you remember? The time when you promised to meet me—a stranger you barely knew—at the hunter's cottage in the woods if I let you escape my room that night.”

She lowered her head. “Aye, I was desperate.”

“You swore that you'd be there.”

“I was
very
desperate.”

“I told you that you'd keep your promise.”

“Did you?”

“So you shall. There will be nothing public between us. What I want will be in private. The perfection of my bride proven to me alone. When the ceremony and banquet are done, we will leave. And you will keep your promises to me, sweetly, gently—and for the love of God—quietly, with no arguments, taunts, or disagreement at all.”

She tried to keep her temper, he saw. She had come here, meaning to do so. She simply couldn't. “How dare you be so wretched—” she began.

“Ah, but my love! There is the king's way …”

She exhaled, shaking, meeting his eyes. Now upset and angry, she suddenly realized that she was at his bath, looking at his naked body in the water. She pulled back, face softly flushed.

“Just what do you want?” she demanded.

“To know what I'm getting,” he said sternly.

“A lot of land!” she reminded him angrily.

“I get the land with or without you,” he reminded her bluntly. “I told you what I wanted,” he said, wearily. But she had caused him endless torment, and if he were being cruel now, there was little else he could do. Long years ahead were at stake here, his son, his family, his dream of life itself. Besides, she deserved a little torment. “You, soft, sweet, perfumed, pleasant—and silent. Listening avidly to my every word.”

“And then—” she broke off, swallowing. “And then there will be no public … entertainment?”

“Aye.”

“You swear?”

“Aye, and I do keep my word.” He had no intention of letting his wife be anyone else's entertainment.

She sprang up, anxious now to flee his room.

“Mellyora,” he said, calling her back, “you haven't lied to me.”

“No, I swear it.”

“I warn you, my love, don't ever lie.”

She shook her head again, turned, and was gone.

He sank back into the tub, thoughtful, curious. She was going to be in for a surprise on their wedding night, and she might even be furious for the anxiety he had caused her. He also meant to carry on his charade until she realized just how serious he was about the future, but then …

Well, then, she would probably be quite grateful for a while. She would be reprieved. For a time.

And he would be the one in torment.

C
HAPTER
14

Mellyora slept most of the following morning, having fallen asleep very late. Father Hedgewick had come to her so that she could give him her confession, and she'd struggled long and hard deciding just what was and wasn't sin. In the end, she begged forgiveness for the sins of pride and disobedience, and left it at that. She'd then paced her room endlessly, certain that God couldn't really expect her to be
obedient
to the king when he was asking her to defy the laws of love, or how she could possibly
honor
a husband who disliked and distrusted her—even if she had possibly caused a bit of that distrust. She was angry with everyone, even her father. He'd had no right to die, and leave her to the mercy of others.

When she slept, she prayed she'd wake up and it would have all been a nightmare. When she woke at last, she knew instantly that it was not. Jillian had been anxiously waiting for her to awaken. She had to prepare for her wedding.

By early afternoon, preparations were fully under way. Three of the ladies of the court had come to help her dress—it was the way such things were done, though she would have dearly loved to have been alone. Among the women, however, was Lady Dougall, once her mother's friend.

“Oh, dear girl, if only your mother were here to see you!” she exclaimed when Mellyora was dressed in the fine, erminetrimmed linen she was to wear for the ceremony. Lady Mary Dougall was slender and elegant, beautiful in a sad way, for she'd lost her husband and daughter to a sweating sickness, and her eldest son had died fighting in the king's service. Her youngest child, Darrin, served the king now as well, and she seemed constantly afraid that she would lose him, too.

“Thank you,” Mellyora told her. “I wish my mother were here, I wish I remembered more about her.”

“She was not so tall as you, and her hair was auburn, her eyes were greener, but you have her smile, the shape of her face … she was beautiful, full of laughter, and she captured your father's heart.”

“Aye, and tamed a beast!” said Lady Judith Rutherford, coming forward with a necklace, a jewel-studded cross dangling from a delicate link chain.