Come the Morning by Heather Graham Page A

Lion had led the men engaged in the fighting.
    But then, as yet, King David hadn’t informed Laird Lion of his coming nuptials, either. It hadn’t been until Adin had so suddenly died that the king had firmly decided that Mellyora was the right reward for the lad who had grown to become his most respected warrior knight. Other rich properties had become available over the years, but they’d been encumbered with aging heiresses who could not give the man the family he had lost. Young women were always available, but those as richly landed as this Viking’s daughter were few and far between. The question of Waryk’s future had remained a concern until now since David had never imagined Adin’s death at such a time as this—the Norseman had seemed like a god himself, a Wodin to live forever. He’d been young when he’d taken his Gaelic bride, still little more than a boy himself when he’d produced his daughter. David had not thought that the lass and the riches of the property would have been his for the granting so soon.
    The king’s head pounded. Laird Lion would ride in triumphant; a warrior loyal to the king, a sword arm strong in valor and ability, and his king would present him with a bride who was not only unwilling, but brashly determined to make quite certain everyone should know it.
    â€œMellyora,” he said angrily, “you will honor me, cease this fight, and leave me be.”
    â€œWell, sire, then, as you wish, I shall obediently leave you be,” she said quietly, but her blue eyes still carried dangerous light, and despite the soft way she spoke, her voice was edged with anger.
    â€œShall you?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
    â€œI’m disturbing you, so I will take my powerless wits and leave you. Your prisoner—no, your guest—since I couldn’t possibly escape your great strength or that of this fortress.”
    â€œLady, you test my patience.”
    â€œDo I? Your pardon, it is not my wish to cause you trouble, merely to allow you to see that the mind is an incredibly powerful tool. Especially when it seems I am challenged to prove its force and potential.”
    â€œM’lady,” the king said, inclining his head politely, “do let your mind work as it will. One of my men awaits just beyond the door to escort you back to your chambers.”
    â€œYou know, sire,” she said, “before God, not even a king can force a maid to marry.”
    The very quiet of her tone made the words an irritating rebuke. She was maintaining her temper, he was losing his. He wouldn’t have it. He was the king, and she was a pawn—his pawn, to be moved where and when he deemed it important.
    â€œBefore God, my dear, you may be surprised. Two can play a game of power and wit. Don’t underestimate what I can and can’t do. And as to force, perhaps I will leave that matter to your future husband!”
    She smiled at him suddenly, sweetly. Even his determined, angry, and aging heart felt a warming trend—if not a melting. She was lovely, volatile, one minute so furious, and the next, gazing at him in a manner which could be almost tender and caring. She was his godchild.
    â€œSire, I am thus challenged. Of course, we both know that I can’t possibly manage to escape your fortress here at Stirling, but if I did … would I then be free to choose my own future?”
    â€œYou will not escape.”
    â€œOf course not, but if I did …?”
    â€œYou will not escape. My mind is set.”
    â€œIf you are so certain, then surely we have a bargain?”
    â€œMy lady—”
    â€œIf I escape, then I am free,” she said, as if that settled that matter. Her smile remained radiant, and she stepped forward suddenly—just as she had as a child. She touched his shoulders, came to her toes, and kissed his cheek.
    â€œI make you no such promise!” he said sternly.
    â€œBut if