Chapter 18
For several days, Mellyora moved about in a state of happy oblivion.
She slept far into the day, spent the afternoons on the mainland still tending to the injured, and enjoyed the company of Sir Percy at their dinner table.
She felt somewhat awkward with Ewan, even somewhat afraid that everyone might realize just what part of marriage had given her such a renewed energy and optimism for the future.
The rest of the world couldn’t possibly know that her marriage hadn’t been intimate from the very beginning, she told herself, and certainly, nothing showed in her face.
But Phagin commented almost sourly on the cheerfulness of her disposition; she flirted as outrageously and charmingly at dinner, but did so standing by her husband’s side, feeling his touch, and making her own relationship quite clear.
She did challenge and taunt her husband, but knew that he was not displeased, for though he never said as much, the way that he swept her up the minute they reached the privacy of their chambers was eloquent in itself.
She had discovered power—her own, and that which Waryk wielded. Sometimes, she was afraid. Sometimes, she was glad simply to awaken with him by her side, arms strong around her, giving her a feeling of belonging unlike anything she had ever known.
Sir Percy didn’t leave. One morning, late in the second week of his arrival, she finished breakfasting in the great hall and walked out to the parapets.
From there, she saw that he was out on the hills beyond the castle walls with Waryk, watching while her husband worked with his fighting men, perhaps twenty-five of them, mounted on warhorses.
The men were armed with maces, and one by one they raced across the field to a standing dummy to swing at its vegetable head.
From the parapets, Mellyora viewed the proceedings thoughtfully.
Sir Percy had been charming and entertaining every evening.
Igraina, Ewan’s younger sister, had joined them for a more equable distribution of the sexes, and the evenings had been most pleasant.
But Sir Percy had come for a reason, and, of course, Mellyora realized now, it had to do with the fact that the king would never let Waryk rest; he would be called back to David’s service.
They often talked about the king at dinner.
It was natural, of course, that he take the side of Empress Mathilda in the English question.
Mathilda was his niece, since his sister had been Henry’s first wife.
The English had loved Henry’s sister; she’d been known as Good Queen Maud.
She’d renewed the Roman roads, built numerous religious houses, and she had known humility.
She’d washed the feet of beggars in the church, kissed those feet, and taught humility to others.
She had borne Henry two children, their daughter, Empress Mathilda, and their son, William, named for his grandfather, the Conqueror.
But William had died in a shipwreck returning from Normandy to England, and Stephen, the Conqueror’s grandson as well, had managed to take the English throne.
Mathilda had reigned for eight months, at one time, and now, though agreements had been made, civil unrest went on.
And on. And lawlessness prevailed. Waryk, she knew, disliked the fact that Henry looked to stretch his borders into northern England.
He felt it was most important to make Scotland stronger and more unified.
The kings of Scotland already gave homage to the kings of England, and it seemed to him that the Scots suffered each time they tried to take advantage of any chaos in England.
He said as much at dinner, even while Sir Percy speculated about the present situation; Stephen’s wife was another Mathilda, and she, like the Empress Mathilda, was a cousin of Stephen’s.
There was rumor that while Mathilda and Stephen battled for England, they also shared a wild, passionate love affair, and that Mathilda’s son, Henry, born of her second marriage to Geoffrey of Anjou, was in truth Stephen’s son.
But the older Henry grew, the more it appeared he carried the blood of none other than his great-grandfather, William the Conqueror.
Speculation continued to rage among the English people, unhappy as their government deteriorated, left now to what was often a lawless land.
Mellyora knew her history, especially recent history, as it so affected them all.
And she knew Henry, and that he would indeed, invade England.
Yet the way Sir Percy talked, it seemed as if plans for his invasions were still under way, which made her wonder just exactly why Sir Percy had come, and why he and Waryk worked so strenuously, training more and more men.
The goldsmith’s son, once intended for the church; was now spending his days working with a crossbow.
One of the master mason’s three boys excelled with a sword, and had been taken from his work, repairing a wind-damaged wall.
The sons of tenant farmers, household servants, artisans, and more were entering into the training.
She asked Sir Percy why he had come, but he refused to answer questions at night, diplomatically sidestepping answers. If Waryk were being called back, he could not disobey the king’s direct command, and so it seemed foolish to her that no one would simply tell her what was going on.
Mulling the question, she wondered what she would discover if she just rode out to the field to watch the men practice at arms. So determined, she walked along the corridor to her room for a cloak, then paused as she heard talking within.
Igraina was with Jillian, tending to the chamber, and the two women talked.
“Do others know?” Igraina asked.
“At this time? Well, Sir Percy, of course. He came with the news. And Angus because he knows everything, and—Ewan, because he will defend here.”
“Perhaps Mellyora isn’t aware—”
“Well, there’s nothing to be done.”
That was enough. Mellyora pushed open the door and entered. She stared at Igraina. “Aware of what?”
Igraina paled, and didn’t reply. Mellyora stared at Jillian. “By God, what is this? Jillian, I’ll never forgive you! Obviously, something is going on, and I don’t intend to be a blind idiot, and if you make it so—”
“Waryk has to leave,” Jillian said.
“Aye, I can see that,” she said sharply. “The king has summoned him?”
Neither woman replied.
“All right, both of you, what is going on here?”
Jillian cleared her throat. “David intends to invade England.”
“That’s not a surprise.”
“He has sent Sir Percy to Waryk because they are both good friends with the English border lord, Peter of Tyne. They are to ride in force to visit, and suggest he accept a new overlord in King David of Scotland.”
Mellyora held very still. In the few moments that she stared at the women, she wondered how she would have felt if this had come about earlier. Might she have been pleased that he was going to leave, and she would have her isle alone?
She felt a tightening in her stomach. No.
She had been jealous from the moment she had known about Eleanora of Tyne, even when she had totally despised Waryk.
She was foolish; she was living in a heedless, merciless world, and she had been given by the king to a man in love with his mistress.
She had not simply accepted him at the king’s command, but she had allowed herself to be seduced.
To smile, to laugh, to bask in his warmth.
To savor the feel of his arms through the darkness and the night …
And now he was going to his mistress.
She spun around. Jillian chased after her. “Mellyora, he has to go. It doesn’t mean anything. After all, he thought you were in love with Ewan, he had to be afraid that—”
“I was in love with Ewan,” Mellyora said curtly. “But he came here with me, and threatened Ewan’s life. Can I do the same?”
“Mellyora, please—”
“Leave me be!” Mellyora told her, shaking off Jillian’s gentle touch and hurrying down the corridor. She was feeling reckless, and determined.
She hurried to the stables. She was about to ask that her silver palfrey be saddled, then determined that she’d rather take one of the large warhorses.
Dabney, a huge bay, had been bred from a massive draft animal and a fleet Arabian mare, a gift to her father from a caliph he had chosen not to plunder in his a-Viking days in the Mediterranean.
Dabney had been one of her father’s favorite horses, and she had made a gift of him to Ewan after her father’s death.
Ewan, however, was mounted on Pict today, his own sturdy favorite, and so Dabney remained for the taking.
She quickly ordered him saddled. Mounted, Mellyora waved to the guard and rode out to the field.
She reined in as she neared the men. They were now lined up across the hilltop.
Waryk, comfortably seated atop Mercury, was speaking.
“I’ve seen many an unwary man, fully trained, fall to the fury of a farmer’s hoe.
You must have eyes everywhere, and remember that all armor has weaknesses.
For yourself, you must recognize those weaknesses, and protect yourself against them.
When fighting, you must find those weaknesses in your enemies’ defenses, and be ready to use them, to use any edge against your foes.
You’ve done exceptionally well against an enemy on a pole; live men do not allow themselves to be attacked quite so easily.
Don’t underestimate your enemy, nor should you overestimate.
More battles have been lost by fear than through lack of arms or armor.
Take care against a greater strength; there is strategy in retreat as well as in a hopeless confrontation. ”