Come the Morning by Heather Graham

Author:Heather Graham
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497673915
Publisher: Open Road Media

PART II

Laird and Lady

CHAPTER 16

From the time he was a boy, Waryk had possessed land. He’d received an inheritance through his mother, and his father had been given lands as well. It was all good land, if not densely populated or boasting great castles. It didn’t matter: He loved the wildness, and the peace to be found in different parts of his own holdings, and in all, he had a passionate love for his home, Scotland. He found the hills and valleys as beautiful as the rugged cliffs; the Grampian mountains were majestic and humbling, the rolling Lowlands were gentle and welcoming. He had ridden into England with the king, he had fought and been feted by the Norse; he had traveled to Brittany, Normandy, Paris, and into many of the Spanish and German kingdoms for tournaments; he had seen many fantastic things. But he had never seen anything so wonderful as his first glimpse of Blue Isle.

A week’s ride from Stirling had brought them here, to this high mainland cliff. They might have traveled much more quickly, but they were accompanied by pack animals and wagons bearing wedding gifts and his personal belongings from his rooms at the king’s court, so the ride had been a long one. Ten servants accompanied them, eight strapping young men and two maids, and ten men-at-arms, including Angus. Jillian rode at Mellyora’s side, her constant companion and protector. Though what Mellyora might need protection from now, he didn’t know. Certainly not him. He had purposely kept himself as busy as possible, and as far as possible from his wife. In turn, through the entirety of the long journey, his new wife had been polite, cool, and aloof. To him. He couldn’t begin to fault her behavior.

He longed to pick her up and shake her—or, with far less chivalry—send her flying.

She was coldly courteous to him; to others, she was charming. She spoke sweetly, properly with all his men, and was equally gentle and courteous with the servants. She raced her horse alongside Thomas, teased Garth about his stubble of beard, set flowers in Sir Harry’s hair. At night, she sang while strumming lightly on a small harp, or moved about, telling more of her tales. She told of the great Pictish war chiefs facing battles with their flesh all painted in blue, told tales of daring Vikings, and a long story, surely taught her by the king’s seneschal, about Kenneth MacAlpin taking the throne of a united Scotland. She was wonderful, captivating. His men-at-arms, just like the servants, sat around the fire in stone silence, watching, listening, with all the enthrallment of little children. She was natural with her stirring tales, she could sway men and women with her words and her passion. So she must be on her isle, he thought. Revered. She was her father’s daughter—the child of a Celtic heiress as well. She was bred to this, she was good at this, and he realized that he hadn’t been generous

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