Come the Morning (46 page)

Ulric had always been a warrior. He had been contemptuous of Etienne, but he'd been eighteen, in the fighting himself, when his father was killed in Lord Renfrew's attack on the Scottish border. Etienne, seventeen but with his tutors back at his father's manor, had become Lord Renfrew, and therefore, Ulric had made his bond. Aye, the old Lord Renfrew had hired on Viking mercenaries. Just as the Scots had hired on Norman mercenaries; MacBeth, when king, had hired Norman mercenaries to fight Malcolm and the
Norman
knights who had come to take his throne during the last century. Men and women, like all other commodities, could be for sale. Almost all had their price.

But though he still thought of Etienne as a poor excuse of a man and respected many of his enemies more, Ulric had learned from him. The Viking way was to attack, to fight hard, to win on one's own bravery and prowess, or so to lose. Etienne was a thinking man who knew he hadn't his father's fighting power. Etienne had taught Ulric the power of chiseling away at his enemies through treachery from within.

And so, this time, when he entered Daro's camp, he sent a messenger ahead, telling Anne that he had heard of her marriage, that he was delighted with her choice of a Viking husband, be he a Norwegian rather than a Dane. He wished to come and bring a wedding present.

He received an effusive reply from Anne. Of course, she was very happy to see her father's kin. She was sorry that her mother's MacInnish family had been so bitter against all Hallsteaders, but they'd heard that Hallsteaders had fought the MacInnish with Renfrew years ago. Since she was now full-grown, a woman and a wife, she was happy to welcome him—as she would continue to welcome her MacInnish kin, as well.

He came to Daro's camp with a retinue of six men, all splendidly attired, well mounted. Men who had not been near Stirling with him before, but who had earned glory in their skirmishes at the border. They ransacked English villages and laid the blame on the Scots just as they ransacked Scottish land and claimed that the English were guilty. What Ulric could not accrue himself, he demanded of Renfrew, and Renfrew gave him. Thus, to get into Daro's camp, he brought his young distant cousin Anne a beautifully forged silver bowl with elegant silver chalices to match.

Greeted outside Daro's great hall, Ulric was chivalrous, charming, polite. He kissed Anne, and welcomed Daro into the family. He was welcomed into the great hall as kin; he was kin. Vikings supported family, they were loyal, welcoming to one another. He was brought the best food, the sweetest wine. They spoke, they laughed. Anne told him excitedly how Waryk, now laird of Blue Isle, had brought her case before the king himself, and talked Michael MacInnish into allowing the marriage. “It's a new time, a new age. There will be peace now. We're all Scottish, even if we've come from different places!”

Ulric lifted his cup. “To peace,” he said, and he smiled, knowing that he was lying through his teeth.

This time, he would see to it that Daro Thorsson and Waryk Graham came at one another with their swords drawn.

In truth, he would very much like to kill Waryk himself. The man who had killed his father and Lord Renfew. But he'd learned a lot from Etienne. He wanted Waryk dead, and he wanted Waryk's wife—and he wanted Blue Isle. Not only would Daro serve him by coming to death blows with Waryk, but he would die himself, and thus would be a possible contender for Blue Isle be taken from the competition as well.

“To peace!” he repeated, and he drank deeply.

Then, of course, he wanted to know about their friendship with Waryk.

“He has married my niece, great Adin's daughter,” Daro told him.

“I heard the lady was less than pleased with the prospect.”

“Oh!” Anne said, and laughed. “Perhaps at first … but I think she's very happy now. I've just received a message from her, and we'll see her quite shortly.”

“Oh?”

“Well, she is quite anxious to spend some time with Daro, and talk with him. Daro and Waryk must meet again. There are vicious attacks occurring in which Daro's name is being cast about, and the problem must be solved!” Anne said passionately.

“Anne!” her husband warned sharply.

Anne waved a hand in the air. “That's all nonsense. But we'll see them both soon. Mellyora received word that Waryk is coming north with Peter of Tyne so that Peter may pay homage to the king. And so she plans to come out and surprise him in some special way, and for a wife to plan such a surprise … well, I believe that she must care very much. I knew that she would once she knew him.”

“I can believe that anyone knowing the man would have strong feelings, one way or the other.”

“Oh?” Anne said curiously. “You know him?”

“By reputation, of course.”

“Oh, of course.”

“To Laird Lion!” Ulric toasted, and then he looked at Daro. “And to your niece, as well, great Adin's daughter, Mellyora.”

“To them both!” Anne said happily.

He was a guest in the hall through the night. In the morning, he left with Daro's banner secreted in his bag, along with one of his host's surcoats, knives, and, most importantly, his antlered bascinet or helmet.
Very Norman attire
, Ulric thought. But it will do nicely.

Of course, it would not be that much longer that he would make use of such trickery. He'd heard from Renfrew. Etienne's troops were on the way to the meeting point. Ulric would shortly be creating havoc throughout Scotland—and all in the name of King Stephen.

Vengeance could be played out, and all in the name of justice. It was a wonderful irony.

David sent orders that Waryk was to come to him at Stirling, where he remained at court, and that he was to ride with Peter of Tyne, who would swear his new allegiance to the Scottish king and, therefore, retain his property, and be strengthened there as a Scottish laird.

David, Waryk thought, must be delighted, thinking that Stephen would be fuming at the loss of Tyne.

Waryk, though Peter's friend, knew the man well. He wondered if David had ever thought that a lord so quickly willing to swear allegiance to him would be equally willing to foreswear that allegiance if it became expedient.

But he was glad of the orders to ride north, and anxious to return to Blue Isle. There was new rumor of a planned English attack, but where it would take place, no one seemed to know. To reach Stirling from Tyne, they traveled northward on the western trail. He would come very close to his home, and it was possible that he might be able to ride there and collect his wife before riding on to Stirling. The last messenger to come from Blue Isle to Tyne had brought the news that Ewan lived, that he appeared to be gaining strength.

Waryk was glad. Ewan had proven himself a decent man.

But Waryk still haunted himself with doubts. Would she feel such gratitude and relief that Ewan had lived that she might find herself alone with him, by his side? Where he lay in bed, naked, regaining his strength? He'd taught her himself the simple ecstasy to be had between a man and a woman. Had she learned that lesson far too well, and now, knowing what it all meant, with Ewan simply there …

Despite the tortures he cast against his own mind, the ride was not unpleasant since they moved slowly. Eleanora, anxious to see the Scottish court, had decided to accompany her brother. She had also decided to haunt him as well, he realized. She was always with him. She needed a hand up on her horse, a hand down. She sat with him at meals, shared his cup, laughed pleasantly. She never chastised him, she simply remained close, teasing his senses, if not his heart. He wondered if he hadn't gone completely insane. He was tormenting himself, sleeping with anguished dreams, and Eleanora was always so near, and so available. It would be easy to forget, easy to reach out and touch this woman who had given years of companionship and pleasure, and who asked nothing in return. So easy …

But he did not. And it was baffling at times to admit that the golden vixen who had fought him with the dogged determination of a berserker could have brought him to this point. And when memories of the things she had done, the things she had said, would taunt him to no end, he would recall the night when he'd told her he must leave, and the way that she had touched him, the look in her endlessly blue eyes …

She had brought him his father's sword. And prayed that he would return.

Still, he didn't want to hurt Eleanora more than he had done; he spent time with her, and allowed her to know that she did tempt him, that she was beautiful still, and that he suffered the tortures of the damned, staying away from her.

At night, as they camped along the way, he took his place between her and Peter at the table they would erect in the woods. He shared his chalice with her, broke bread with her, enjoyed what entertainment came along.

On the night when they neared Blue Isle, he sat next to Eleanora, laughing as she told him a story about her brother's horsemanship. There had been good game and fishing along the way, and they dined well on pheasant and fish cooked over open fires. They had just passed a small village in the valley, and an old man there had come to him earlier, offering entertainment for their evening meal. A sennachie came, and told a rousing tale about King David, then a harpist played, and acrobats performed. Then, the harpist came out again, and in his wake, a masked dancer. She began to tell a tale as well, about a great warlord with a mysterious past, the Gaelic bride he married, and the son they produced. A king's champion, a laird to right all wrongs, who, even as a youth, roused himself from a sea of the dead to avenge his king, to fight for his country, his family's honor, his king.

She moved with a curious grace. Her voice was crystalline, enchanting. When she had begun her story, the group had been chattering. As she continued, all voices fell silent. She was lithe, and shapely, and when she danced, she seduced. And of course, as she continued, he realized that she was telling his story—enhancing it all very nicely. He had grown several inches and had muscles to rival those of the Greek gods.

What was she doing here?

He didn't know whether to be angry, amused, or pleased.

“Dear Lord!” Peter breathed at his side. “The lass is pure temptation! I must know who she is. I'll marry her. My God, I've never felt such pure … lust.”

“Peter, you cannot wed the lass,” Waryk murmured.

“Because she's a village lass? Aye, I would marry her. I'm not a greedy man, I need no great dowry. Lust is reason enough for me!”

“Peter, you've had way too much wine,” Eleanora said, amused, then she leaned over to Waryk. “Tell me, truthfully, Waryk. Is lust so strong among all men? Would the golden sprite before us tempt you from your loyalty to your wife?”

A broad smile touched his face as he whispered back to her. “Eleanora, the blond sprite before us is my wife,” he told her. “And Peter, you cannot marry her, for she's already wed, and if she brings about any more lusting here and now, she's going to be seriously sorry!”

C
HAPTER
22

With that, Waryk rose, uncertain as to whether he was so delighted to see his wife that nothing mattered, or if he should be angry since she had obviously come to see him with Eleanora, and find out exactly what he was doing. Seeing her here also frightened him; he didn't like the idea of her outside the domain of Blue Isle. He knew that she'd be on the mainland, tending to Ewan, but he knew as well that Angus and the other men would guard her like hawks, and that now, on the isle and the mainland, she would be well protected against a surprise attack.

But outside their own realm …

He felt as if they were vulnerable to some strange evil he knew existed—but not how or why. With men attacking the isle and claiming to be there on her uncle's orders, she must surely recognize the danger she was in.

Eleanora arched a brow, reaching for his hand.

“Steady, my lo—friend. You look as if you're about to take her head off.”

“She shouldn't be here.”

“But she is here. She came here for you.”

“Perhaps … perhaps she came to see you.”

Eleanora smiled. “Still, that is for you. I had not been jealous before. I am now.”

He closed his fingers over hers. “You need be jealous of no one, Eleanora. You are a rare beauty and you know it.” He squeezed her hand. “Excuse me …”

“Only if you've controlled your temper.”

“It's controlled.”

“Waryk …”

“I swear it.”

He rose, and started across the clearing. Mellyora saw him, and stopped midstride. She stood poised and still as he approached.

He reached her, and stripped the painted linen mask from her face. Her eyes touched his. “So I am found out!” she said softly. “I meant to finish the story.”

“My lady, I am sorely tempted to strike you senseless.”

“How rude and ungracious!” she retorted, eyes alive with blue fire. “It was a good story, slightly embellished, excellently told. And it had an ending you would have liked.”

“It was told far too well, and I'm afraid you might not have reached an ending! Poor Peter was willing to marry you thinking you a peasant lass and not even knowing your name for the privilege of taking you to bed. God knows what went through the minds of other men!”

She flushed, gnawing her lower lip, and he was pleased to realize that she hadn't known quite what her effect would be.

“It was a good story,” she repeated.

“Aye, you do an excellent job. You could have survived nicely as a singer, dancer—or harlot.”

“Waryk!”

“And you shouldn't be outside of the fortress.” Anger edged his voice.

“I knew that you were coming.”

“You know as well that there is danger all around. Did you come because you were so anxious to see me? I dare say that it was Eleanora who drew you here.”