Come the Morning by Heather Graham Page A

spoke softly aloud. “Ah, yes, lass on the lake, whoever you may be. Thanks to Eleanora, I will return you to the safety of the king’s court as quietly as I am able. I will see that your difficulties grow no more serious than they already are!”
    What she planned was damned close to treason, no matter how she tried to word her intentions. He wondered if she was aware of just how serious her actions were, that she could lose her head for conspiring against the king.
    He stood and whistled softly, and his ebony warhorse, Mercury, came trotting toward him along the shoreline, startling the poor old fisherman who was wandering along the embankment. Waryk realized that the old fellow was looking for his boat. It was pure happenstance that Waryk had paused by the boat on the riverbank that the lady had chosen for her night journey. He had always loved the water. Lying on the embankment, studying the stars, the sky, and feeling cool breezes—untainted by the scent of blood—always seemed to soothe his soul. This area of the river just outside Stirling had always been his favorite place. Quiet, with none to disturb him except the occasional fisherman.
    The fellow here now was grizzled beyond belief, and sadly confused. “’Tis here I left her, of that I am sure,” he muttered to himself. He looked at Waryk. “Now, I am not daft, m’laird. I do converse with meself now and agin’, but that merely for some form of company since the fish do not talk much. Great sir, have ya nae seen a boat about, perhaps rowing itself out on the river?”
    â€œIndeed, I’m afraid I have seen such a vessel,” Waryk said. He produced a silver piece—with King David’s image upon it—and presented it to the fisherman. “Take this for your boat, my good fellow. And come tomorrow, I’ll see that your boat is back.”
    The old man’s eyes widened and glazed. “Great God, but I care not if ye make kindling of that rat trap fer a silver piece such as this!”
    â€œGo spend it then,” Waryk said, leaping atop Mercury’s back. “Ah, but wait. If you would be so good. Do me a service as well, and I’ll see you receive another coin. Your boat is there—you can just see it downriver. Keep your eyes trained on the water, and see to it that the boat does not somehow reappear here on the shore. There’s a lady upon it, and I will be back for her.”
    â€œAye, sir! As ye wish it!” the fellow cried delightedly. “I’ll keep my eyes hard upon the water, that I will!”
    â€œHave you a name, man?”
    â€œAye, sir, I am Milford. Who may y’be, me fine, great young laird?”
    â€œI am Waryk—”
    â€œLaird Lion!” the man cried with pleased approval.
    Waryk arched a brow. “I’d not imagined I might be so readily known.”
    Milford laughed happily, the sound of his voice a wheezing cackle.
    â€œLaird Lion—ye be known far and wide. Every Scotsman loves a warrior who bests his enemies—if he not be one of the enemies himself. ’Tis glad I am to make your acquaintance, good sir! Believe it or not, in me younger days I rode with a man named William who served the king. I admired your sire, young Graham. And ye’ve my loyalty yerself this night.”
    Waryk nodded with a wry smile in response to Milford’s accolade to his father’s memory.
    â€œThank you. My father was a great man, and glad I am of your loyalty, Milford. I will return as soon as I’m able.”
    Waryk nudged Mercury and rode the short distance to the fortress, the heart of Stirling. He was hailed by the guard at the gate, identified himself, and entered the courtyard. There, he turned Mercury over to a young groom and hurried to reach his own chambers at the fortress.
    The hour had grown very late, or very early. He hadn’t planned on spending so much time with the lady on the lake. Alan of Ayr,