Come the Morning by Heather Graham

were her kind, so perhaps she didn’t realize that the Vikings were dangerous no matter how many alliances and treaties were made. They were a proud, fierce people, and fond of ruling in their own way. The king ruled a united Scotland, but David was aware that he was never really safe on his throne, that they lived in violent times. Maintaining his united Scotland was always a battle.
    Still …
    He felt a moment’s pity for the girl out in the boat. She was young, he thought, and he had known from the moment he seized her that she was of noble birth—and in a dangerous position. She had been lovely, despite her temper and determination. Exceptional, in truth, regally tall, young, and beautiful, tender, ripe—magic. He had thought so, listening to her tale, watching her dance. She was a prize, certainly, and David was a king to recognize any asset he might control—and he was in debt to many of the Norman knights who had ridden with him and helped put down the small insurrections against him when he had first ridden north to take the crown of Scotland. Waryk could well imagine the girl’s aversion to becoming the wife of an old decrepit Norman—a man perhaps two or three times her age whom she would still consider a foreigner.
    Ah, but if the king discovered her treachery, she would be sorrier still. And no matter what Waryk’s sympathy for her, there was little that could be done if David had made up his mind. When the king discovered her escape, he would be furious.
    He was glad once again that he had been the one sent to fight the madmen and that Sir Harry had been given the task of watching the heiress. Still …
    He would retrieve her from the boat himself, Waryk decided, in due time, without saying a word to the king. He could try to make her understand that kings often had no choice in their course of action. He could try—yes. He doubted that he would be successful.
    He looked up at the sky. She might have played havoc with his dreams, and he knew that she and her party had considered him part of the king’s Norman contingent last night, but still, tonight, the lady on the lake had caused him a great deal of amusement. Thanks to Eleanora, he was certain. Remembering her ways always soothed his temper. She was an Englishwoman, loyal to England, but that loyalty was such a part of her exquisite making that he had to forgive it. She spoke her mind, but paid heed to his every thought and opinion. She was aware and discreet; passionate and adventurous. She was both his friend and his mistress, a companion to entertain him, a vixen to stir his senses. Marriage to Eleanora, however, had never actually occurred to him until recently, not because she’d been widowed but because she was an Englishwoman—and because he’d known that his fortune and future would most probably be made through marriage to a landed heiress. However, he wasn’t poor, nor was Eleanora. He had lands of his own, left through his mother, a Strathearn heiress. Eleanora had a fair amount of wealth in jewels and coin from the incomes granted her after her husband’s death.
    Marriage just might make sense. The king had grown up among the English, surely meant to stretch his borders with the English civil unrest, and Waryk had begun to muse that David might see a match between Eleanora and Waryk as advantageous.
    Eleanora had not spoken so bluntly, but Waryk knew that marriage would please her. She’d served Henry of England as she had been ordered, and now she was free to marry where she wished. He’d almost mentioned the possibility to her when they had last lain together, yet he’d refrained, disturbed about the battle he had just fought and aware that he would need to do some convincing with David of Scotland. Still, the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that David would surely realize that she would make him the perfect wife.
    Waryk looked to the water and