Come the Morning by Heather Graham Page B

I escape, I am free,” she said. “I learned well from you and my father. Possession gives a man great power to hold a property. Freedom gives a woman great power to negotiate. I’m also, sire, adept with a sword, a knife, and especially, my mind. I’m stronger than you see, sire, and I pray that you understand,” she said with determined dignity. Then she turned at last to leave.
    Shoulders squared. Head very high. She didn’t run from the room, but walked, as graceful as a goddess floating upon clouds. She walked with confidence. Slowly.
    She was giving him a chance to summon her back. To talk more, argue, come to some different conclusion regarding her future.
    Despite her sudden smile, and even the old affection of her kiss, she remained a stubborn, determined, and seething young goddess.
    â€œI should wed you to a pruned old wife-beater, lass!” he swore after her, following her suddenly with long, angry strides. Oh, yes, he granted her a will of pure steel; she would argue with God himself on Judgment Day, so it seemed.
    Just outside the great hall, he found that Sir Harry Wakefield—an old friend, a knight who had served him long before he had become king—waited as he had expected, as escort for the Lady Mellyora.
    â€œSir Harry!” the king said.
    â€œSire?”
    â€œThe lady and I have engaged in something of a game of combat—of wills, so it seems. You will see that she is returned safely to her chambers, and that she does not depart her chambers again until she is summoned before me once again.”
    â€œIndeed, sire.”
    Mellyora merely smiled. Yet even as she smiled, she cast the king a sharp, challenging assessment, then slipped her arm within Sir Harry’s. “As if I could best the king at any combat!” she said, and laughed as if the possibility of such a thing was entirely absurd. “It will be good, Sir Harry, to know that you’re guarding me.”
    They departed down the hall. David watched them, telling himself that he had a trained knight decked in partial mail watching one lone woman.
    He decided to double the guard on her door, and to let it be known that the Lady Mellyora was not—under any circumstance—to leave the stronghold at Stirling without his express permission.
    If she so much as tried …
    Well, she’d be brought back.
    In chains, he thought grimly.
    Easy, my fine sir, easy …
    After their first passion had been spent, Eleanora had seen his wound. A scratch, he’d told her. A wound, still, she’d told him. Vulnerable to infection .
    Easy, mine is a gentle touch …
    With such sweet words, Eleanora worked her balm into the slash he’d received against his upper arm. And when she was done, she’d crawled atop him, naked, sleek, glistening in the light of the fire, entirely comfortable with him, with herself . They’d been together so many times through the last years, she knew how and where to stroke, she made love like a tigress, she had a throaty laugh, a way about her … battle might be fierce, the world a wearying place. They’d had so little time before he’d been summoned back to the king. He’d been puzzled, angry, and disturbed about the fighting, not a good companion. Yet he often came to her angry or weary, and she never minded, in a matter of days, hours, minutes, whatever time he had, she would offer her own brand of distraction. She asked nothing in return …
    â€œWaryk?”
    Interrupted from the depths of his thoughts, Waryk glanced at Angus, riding next to him. “We’ve almost reached the king.”
    â€œAye.”
    Waryk turned slightly, looking back at the armed men who rode behind him. They had fared well in the fighting; they were mounted men, trained in the use of a multitude of weapons. The past action remained puzzling, and one that Waryk found more disturbing since he grew more certain it had been instigated from