Chapter 12 #3
She stared at him a long time, then sank into one of the chairs before the fire. Two huge tears formed in her eyes, and fell upon her hands, like diamonds in the light.
“What am I to do?” she whispered.
“Make a choice,” Daro told her softly. “Ewan loves you, I’m certain. You will not be without recourse if you choose not to accept the king’s ultimatum.”
“People will revolt—they won’t just accept the king’s Norman ways!”
“Aye, they will,” Daro agreed. “But I imagine that a revolt will be put down quickly and harshly to prevent any further insurrection.”
She rose, spinning before the fire.
“If you love young Ewan enough, your choice is clear,” he told her.
She hunched before the fire. “I love the island as well. It’s been my life, it is my heritage. He knows nothing about it. He has never seen it! How can the king so blindly and blithely give away what is mine?”
“He sees the country as his, Mellyora.”
She stared at him suspiciously. “And Waryk simply decided to bring Anne here—to you. Her family would happily have burned all Vikings to a crisp, but Laird Lion speaks, and she is delivered with full blessings!”
“He has a way of making men see reason.”
“Not women!” she said angrily. She wondered if most of her wrath at this moment was directed at him, or herself.
If she’d loved Ewan, really loved him with all the poetic nobility she had thought, she would give up all hope of heaven for him.
And she did love him. But not with the blinding fervor she had believed she had.
She knew that she would not give up her island.
She would never watch another woman take the chamber that had belonged to her parents, see another walk the halls with their exquisite tapestries and hangings.
She clenched her hands into fists, hating herself that these things meant so much to her.
But she loved the chapel and the market, and she was glad to settle the little disputes, watch the children grow …
The people would be hurt, some men, loyal to her, could protest, and in their protesting … die.
She stood. “What do you advise, Daro?”
“Does it matter?” he asked her. “I think that you’ve made up your mind.”
“You don’t dislike him,” she said sharply.
He walked toward her. “Did you want to see the two of us engaged in battle for your rights and honor?”
Her eyes lowered. She shook her head. “Nay.”
“So you would have my advice. Marry him. Young Ewan is a fine lad, but he isn’t the man the king needs.
You hate Waryk not for the man he is, but for the manner in which the king ordered him to command you.
He is in a strong position, but a pawn as well.
No, I do not dislike him. I admire him. He has played this game well, and might prove himself the real victor. ”
“How can he lose? He holds the power. The land—with me, or without me.”
“Aye, think on that. With or without you. He could easily choose without after all that has happened.”
“We were not guilty tonight!”
“But try to prove it.”
“You know the truth!”
“I know it, as do you. But try to prove it.”
Mellyora stood very straight, agitated. She paced before the fire, then, with an oath, she started to leave the hall.
“Mellyora, where are you going now? There’s no need for you to run, if you say that you do not want to marry—”
“I’m not running. I’m going to Waryk.”
“Perhaps you should wait, and give yourself some time. Think about what you’re doing—”
“No matter how long I think, my choices will remain the same,” she said desperately.
“Mellyora, I must admit, if I were the king, I could not think of a better warrior to hold Blue Isle than Waryk.”
She swallowed hard, wondering why it seemed that this logic worked for everyone but her. “I must go. If I tarry any longer, I’ll never go,” she said softly, and she hurried on her way.
He still sat surveying the blue flames that leapt in the hearth when he heard a tapping on the door. Then his name was called, and he knew her voice.
“Laird Waryk?”
He rose, opening the door. She stood there, still as angelic as she had been, lustrous hair free and cascading down the length of her back.
Staring at her, he admitted again to himself that Adin’s daughter was a fair prize.
She possessed a rare beauty, flawless skin with no pockmarks, and all her teeth.
She stared back at him, and he knew why she had come.
Daro had known her well. She would not give up her homeland.
But now, though she had come here, she still seemed unable to speak.
“Come in,” he told her, not at all ashamed to feel pleasure at her discomfort after all the tumult she had caused. “I’ll pour you wine. It will help you swallow down your pride.”
“You’re wretched,” she told him.
“You don’t want the wine?”
“Aye, I want the wine!”
He poured it and indicated the furs on the floor by the fire. “Sit, join me.”
She didn’t sit. She took the chalice from him and swallowed the whole of it before sinking down to sit and stare at him blankly still.
“More?” he inquired. “You do have a great deal of pride to swallow.”
“You are being detestable.”
“Not at all. I’m trying to help,” he said, refilling her chalice.
She accepted the second serving of wine, swallowed quickly. She closed her eyes, and said, “I’ll do this thing.”