Come the Morning by Heather Graham

that any of that mattered in this; David had made up his mind about Blue Isle, Adin’s fortress.
    â€œLady Mellyora, you will bear in mind that I am your king. Your overlord, and your godfather. Your well-being was entrusted to me by both your father and your mother. And it is your welfare that I have in mind. Though I do applaud that strength and will of which we speak, I must still repeat—”
    â€œStrength and will and wit, my liege,” she corrected him. “When a stronghold is besieged, it is not saved by one sword arm alone, but rather by the talents of the main defender—directing others to action. Of that, I am highly capable.”
    â€œMellyora,” David said, losing patience completely, “I have spoken. You will trust in my ability to see what is best for you—and Scotland.”
    â€œSince I am a woman too weak and witless to judge for myself, sire?”
    David stood and approached her, amazed by her blunt sarcasm and the force of her resistance. When he stood directly before her, she still met his gaze steadily. Then her lashes swept her cheeks and he could see that she was trembling, though with fear that she might have pushed him too far at last, or with simple fury that she had not gotten her way, he did not know.
    â€œI have chosen a man for you—”
    â€œYou have chosen a man to whom to give my property. I am but an appendage to it.” Her eyes flashed to his. He had known her since she was a child, and she was taking grave advantage of that relationship now. A fact which tempted him to treat her as he might a very young child of his own—and take her right over his knee.
    She was too old for such treatment—and so was his knee. But he grew tired of this argument. He would win, because he was king—he commanded great armies, and since he did, he could surely get one small woman to the altar. Yet it was irritating that he could not feel that he was truly winning the battle with his words and logic alone.
    â€œYou may retire, Mellyora,” he told her curtly.
    â€œBut, sire—”
    â€œYou may retire!”
    â€œRetire, indeed,” she said. “As you wish. I give you all homage, King David, as is rightful. But now, though the hour is late, I will take my leave and return home—”
    â€œNay, lady, you will not.”
    Her elegant, honey-shaded brow arched. “Am I a prisoner then, sire?”
    â€œYou are my guest.”
    â€œYour guest.”
    â€œIndeed, my lady.”
    â€œAnd if I wished to leave—until the wedding, of course?”
    â€œPray, my lady, do not wish to do so. You would find it most difficult.”
    â€œAh. Because my sword arm is not so strong.”
    â€œGood evening, my lady,” he said firmly. But she refused to go down without a further fight.
    â€œI feel, sire, that you do not truly appreciate the strength that may lie within one’s mind, and that neither gender nor muscle power has a thing to do with that strength.”
    â€œI have heard you, Mellyora.”
    â€œYou have the power, my lord king. But if wits were to allow me to leave, then I would be free. Wouldn’t that be true, my lord?”
    He leaned toward her then, wagging a stern finger beneath her nose. “My lady, you should take care. You’ll find yourself not only confined to Stirling, but to your chambers,” he warned.
    â€œPerhaps.”
    â€œOh?”
    Again, her lashes lowered. “Sire—”
    â€œBy God, Mellyora, leave me be!” David thundered, and at that, at last, she braced herself with clenched teeth, pausing. It was on the tip of his tongue to inform her that he hadn’t summoned her to Stirling just to hear about his decision regarding her future, but to meet her prospective bridegroom as well. A messenger had recently assured him that his fighting men were nearly home, that they had tarried only to follow after the escort given to Mellyora.
    The