Come the Morning by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page A

Norse king. What could she think? She knew herself that Vikings were dangerous. They had proven it time and again over the years. David himself had made treaties with the Vikings, he respected the Vikings, and many northern islands were ruled by Viking jarls. Adin, her father, however, had been unique. Different, powerful, he had seen fit to become a part of Scotland. Not many of his kind were quite so willing to settle into the political structure of a unified Scotland under one king, and kin of Adin’s still ruled many of the isles off the coast of Scotland. His brother, Daro, Laird of Skul Island, was camped just outside Stirling now, here to negotiate with the king. Mellyora still had powerful family from her father’s homeland to help her if she saw fit to go to them. Still, the king was strong himself in his own domains, and he would have his way.
    Mellyora was also a descendant of one of the most ancient Gaelic families in all of Scotland. Through her mother’s kin, she should have been his most loyal subject. David was aware that although he had spent many of his formative years in a Norman court, it was acknowledged by his subjects that his mother had been Saxon royalty. And from his father’s side, he could trace his heritage back to the great Kenneth MacAlpin, and some believed that the line of Scottish kings went back even farther, with their royal line descending back first to ancient Egypt, then on to Spain, Ireland, and from there, on to Scotland. As king, in holding his country together, he had learned that bloodlines could be important, and that sometimes, one had to be very, very careful in mixing blood.
    Not that much care had gone into the mingling when Mellyora had been born, so legend went. Adin had simply come, seen, and conquered, and whether his bride had been willing or not at the beginning was anyone’s guess. No matter, the blood mixed in Mellyora’s veins had created a young woman with the best of both parents—truly an asset to any king. She was perfectly formed, with a slim, supple body, beautifully curved. The bone structure in her face was exceptionally fine. She moved with the grace of an angel, and her striking blue eyes gave her both power and a sense of the mythical or mysterious, as if she might have been bred from old Adin’s Nordic gods. Her hair was purely golden, nothing pale about her blond at all—it was touched with a hint of red fire, and it was thick and rich and lustrous and fell down her back now freed from any plaiting or restraint. He was certain that she had worn her hair down, flowing freely, just as she had come to him dressed in a blue-linen shift—not a piece of jewelry or adornment upon her—because she had calculated that such plain apparel would signify more than mere loyalty to him. She had come before him as she might have come before her own father, a true daughter who most naturally swore love and devotion, and therefore deserved to be completely trusted in return.
    Simply clad, she appeared all the more noble. She was tall for a woman, a regal gift from her father, for he had towered over men. She was incredibly still, shoulders set, back straight. Despite her height, she was delicately built, as her mother had been, with fine, chiseled features, high-set cheekbones. Her face was in perfect proportion with her large blue eyes. Honeyed brows handsomely arched above them; she had a small, well-formed nose, and full, generous lips. Perhaps those lips were just a bit grim now—her one telltale reaction to his dictates.
    Ah, yes.
    And there … along the elegant line of her throat, a pulse ticked furiously. She was angry with him. Livid.
    David smiled. At least she knew her place, and did her very best not to betray her anger.
    His smile faded. Either that, or she plotted against him. She was part Viking. Too much Viking. And Vikings were dangerous .
    He determined her marriage would take place as soon as was humanly