Chapter 3 #2
“Mellyora, I know that you are well aware of the history of our country. Most of these people you speak about have been here for hundreds of years, but the Vikings often remain separate, and as you say, they rule many of the islands. King David is wary of your Viking relations as it is, Mellyora. Yes, you are a danger. Become too great a danger, and he will crush you before he lets you threaten him,” Jillian warned carefully.
“Please, you simply must take a good long look at your situation and realize that the king has no choice but to step in and decide your fate.”
Mellyora paused, watching Jillian. She was sorry to see her so distressed, yet at a loss as to why she couldn’t make her understand her position.
She bit into her lower lip, dismayed by the sudden, almost overwhelming desire to burst into tears that seized her.
She could not believe that her father had died.
She had loved him dearly, the world was so empty without him.
She’d never known anyone quite like him.
Adin had possessed the strength of ten men; he had been born a Viking.
Yet his greatest power had always been his intelligence, his greatest strength, his gentleness.
He had talked to her endlessly about her mother, keeping her alive through the years for Mellyora.
He had attracted warriors, priests, artists, and poets to their home, he had made their great hall one of the most hospitable residences in all of the country.
He had taught her to ride, to defend herself with a sword, even how to wield a heavy crossbow.
Through his eyes, she had seen their world, as it had been.
He had taught her that all men and women were worthy of interest and respect, no matter what their beliefs or the land or circumstances of their birth.
From him, she had learned that friends were priceless, and that power and riches were gifts and responsibilities, and that she must always take care of those who called her lady, rather than seek for them to take care of her.
He had loved her, taught her strength, kindness, independence, just as her mother, who had been uniquely wonderful as well, had taught her to have spirit, to believe in herself.
She had given her a taste of a different magic, telling her the ancient Gaelic tales, and showing her the beauty of Celtic crafts.
She’d been blessed with a lilting laugh, and flashing eyes, and a smile that was as warm and brilliant as the sun.
She’d been proud and assured, a perfect wife for her warrior husband, and she’d taught Mellyora always to speak her mind, and to fight for her rights.
But now, they were both gone. And even as she learned to live with the pain of her father’s death, she was discovering that her position was far more perilous than she had ever imagined.
She wasn’t just alone, bereft of those she had loved most in the world.
She was in danger of losing her independence and becoming nothing more than someone’s acquisition.
She had been a cherished daughter, treated with kindness and respect.
After Adin’s death, Ewan had been there, keeping everyone from intruding on her grief.
But now she was alone, and about to be cast to a wretched stranger who would simply seize everything that was rightfully hers.
And what was she to do? Forget the man who had been her friend, her support, and her comfort forever?
Her heart was not so fickle, her love not so lightly given.
“Mellyora, you’re frightening me, I beg of you, you must take some time with this matter. Be calm.”
Mellyora walked to Jillian, taking Jillian’s small hands into her own. “I can’t possibly be calm. I tried to be calm, I tried to talk to David, to be logical, intelligent, and reasonable. He refused to listen to me. I’ve heard of this Laird Lion before. I’m to be wed to a Norman.”
Jillian shook her head. “That’s not what I’ve heard!”
“An old, slimy, hoary, battle-scarred Norman who served the king while he was in England. Jillian! You saw the king’s men when we camped—they were all Normans!”
“I saw the king’s men at a distance, and decent armor does not make a man a Norman.
Mellyora, I don’t believe that this man the king intends for you is a Norman.
I have ears as well. I’ve listened in the servants’ quarters, and I tell you, that servants’ gossip is by far the best. They call this knight Laird Lion.
He is no Norman, but a lad found single-handedly taking on a raiding party of Normans when the king came upon him.
He is a warrior covered in glory, so I have heard. ”
“A lion, indeed!” Mellyora muttered. “Certainly, compare the man to a lion. Like all Normans, he most probably likes to hear himself roar. There is simply no justice in this world, yet maybe the name is apt. Even with the animals, it’s the lioness who hunts for food, while the lion sits about and sleeps in the sun.
There you have it—exactly. This male beast would lie in the sun upon my land and reap the rewards of my family. ”
“You’ve not even met him.”
“I’ve no desire to meet him. I’m very afraid that once I’ve met him, I’ll find my fate is sealed,” Mellyora said, gazing past Jillian’s shoulder to the window again. Then she met Jillian’s eyes firmly. “You’re also forgetting the fact that I have vowed my hand, my life, my love, elsewhere.”
Jillian stared back at her. “And that, my dear, was foolish. You hadn’t the right to vow anything anywhere to anyone.”
“I had my father’s blessings on my choice!
” Mellyora insisted somewhat desperately.
Adin hadn’t actually granted her permission to marry Ewan MacKinny, but he had been aware of their friendship, and that it had been very close.
She’d known Ewan ever since she could remember.
They were just three years apart in age and since she had been very young, he had been trusted as her guardian about her father’s lands.
His father had been what they called “The” MacKinny, a chieftain in his own right, the head of the largest family who held their lands from Adin.
When Ewan’s father’s had died, Ewan had taken on the cloak of being The MacKinny.
Ewan was a quiet, gentle man, as he had been a quiet, gentle boy, listening to her rages, angering her only when he pointed out that she might not be quite fair in her assessment of one situation or another.
She couldn’t forget the way he had looked at her when they’d parted.
As if they’d been saying good-bye.
They had swum together in the lochs, ridden fields, cliffs, and hills, studied Latin, French, English, Gaelic, and even Norse together, played at science and mathematics, and read endlessly, translations of the Greek tragedies, Italian romances, so much more.
They could laugh together, argue together, roll in the grass together, sit in long silences.
Ewan held no surprises for her; he listened when she spoke.
Life with him would be all that she wanted.
She could not accept the thought that she would not only have to bear the agony of losing her father, but endure seeing a strange Norman lackey of the king take his place.
She really wasn’t a fool; she understood the way the world worked, just as she understood King David.
But while she had breath to fight, she could not allow the king’s lackey to take her father’s place—or her own.
She couldn’t simply lie back and allow her life to be taken without fighting the best battle she could wage.
Mellyora looked to the window in her room at the fortress. It was very small; this was a defensive fortress, built strongly from stone.
Yet the river ran by it; if she could just get to the river, she could reach her cousin Daro’s men.
“I cannot argue this any longer!” she announced with sudden determination.
Forgetting Jillian, Mellyora hurried from her own larger chamber into the smaller one behind it where Jillian slept. The window here was cut a bit larger—and let out onto a wooden platform of battlements.