Come the Morning Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Heather Graham
Waryk. âI will leave you to your rest, mâlaird.â
Matthew turned his mount to cover a distance of the northern road. As the light from Sir Harryâs torch faded, Waryk saw the glow of the campfires where the lady and her escort rested. They were some distance away through a thicket of foliage and trees, yet Waryk found himself drawn curiously to a sudden flow of movement in the night. He strode to the side of the trail, and, setting a hand upon a large oak, looked through to the group of men, shadowy figures all, drawn around the fire.
The campfire burned brightly in the center of a large clearing, flames licking upward in the night, blue and gold, mauve and crimson. From his distance, Waryk could see that a girl spun before it. He was too far away to make out her features, but close enough to feel there was a pretty sense of magic in the scene. Perhaps it was the late hour of the night, the slight blanketing of fog rising around her like an ethereal mist. Her dress was long, silver-white, touched strangely by the fire glow to embrace a rainbow of netherworld shades. Her hair was the color of the blaze, yellow-gold, highlighted with just a touch of fire. Like a sprite, she glided around the fire, dancing with the seductive allure of an ancient Celtic princess, capturing the breathless attention of everyone present. And then she spoke. Her voice was magic, crystal clear, and he realized she was telling the tale of St. Columba.
âWhat sin he committed, no man is sure, but he crossed the Irish Sea, and came to our sacred Iona, his strength created by Godâs own hand. And there he built a great monastery, and the people began to come to him. There had been men before, come with tales of Christ and the Church, but none was Columba. He was an artist, preserving our Celtic beauty, a scholar, and his monks toiled hard and long, creating pages of beautiful script. But most of all, he was a warrior knight, and he proved to the people the power of his will, and his God, for he came upon Loch Ness, and there he was defied by a great dragon. A sorry, wretched creature, it had plagued the people, stolen the children, consumed, as homage, many a fair maiden. Columba would have no more. He challenged the dragon to come for him. The creature rose from the deepest, blackest depths of the loch and, shedding the crystal water it shook from its great head, breathed fire upon Columba, yet he raised his great shield, and the fire returned to singe the dragon, and thus, the dragon was blinded. And Columba drew his great broadsword, and slew the dragon, and the people, who had grown hungry, feasted upon their enemy.â She raised her arms, stretched to the heavens on her toes, then bent low, her hair sweeping around her in golden rain as she bowed deeply, laughing even as she did so. As she rose again, lifting her hands, Waryk thought she was indeed enchanting, and she had great pride, a spirit of independenceâand a definite wild streak. He was glad Sir Harry was her escort, and that he had been left to battle madmen.
Her tale was completed, and applause rang through the forest. Then the sound of a lute could be heard, and the gentle tone of a harp came as well, and there was laughter, light voices, dancing in the trees.
Then suddenly, the music hit a discordant note, and the sweet sounds of it faded into the night. âThe kingâs Normans are here,â he heard someone say. The words were spoken quietly, but somehow they carried through the night. Then a strange whispering began, and then there was silence.
He remained against the oak, teeth gritted. Aye, David had brought many Normans with him. He fought with Normans, and he fought against Normans. Still, somehow, the words were disturbing. Heâd received many advantages in the kingâs court; he fought with good armor, steel protecting him over the wool of his tartan. Many of the men escorting the young heiress had been clad in the typical leine
Matthew turned his mount to cover a distance of the northern road. As the light from Sir Harryâs torch faded, Waryk saw the glow of the campfires where the lady and her escort rested. They were some distance away through a thicket of foliage and trees, yet Waryk found himself drawn curiously to a sudden flow of movement in the night. He strode to the side of the trail, and, setting a hand upon a large oak, looked through to the group of men, shadowy figures all, drawn around the fire.
The campfire burned brightly in the center of a large clearing, flames licking upward in the night, blue and gold, mauve and crimson. From his distance, Waryk could see that a girl spun before it. He was too far away to make out her features, but close enough to feel there was a pretty sense of magic in the scene. Perhaps it was the late hour of the night, the slight blanketing of fog rising around her like an ethereal mist. Her dress was long, silver-white, touched strangely by the fire glow to embrace a rainbow of netherworld shades. Her hair was the color of the blaze, yellow-gold, highlighted with just a touch of fire. Like a sprite, she glided around the fire, dancing with the seductive allure of an ancient Celtic princess, capturing the breathless attention of everyone present. And then she spoke. Her voice was magic, crystal clear, and he realized she was telling the tale of St. Columba.
âWhat sin he committed, no man is sure, but he crossed the Irish Sea, and came to our sacred Iona, his strength created by Godâs own hand. And there he built a great monastery, and the people began to come to him. There had been men before, come with tales of Christ and the Church, but none was Columba. He was an artist, preserving our Celtic beauty, a scholar, and his monks toiled hard and long, creating pages of beautiful script. But most of all, he was a warrior knight, and he proved to the people the power of his will, and his God, for he came upon Loch Ness, and there he was defied by a great dragon. A sorry, wretched creature, it had plagued the people, stolen the children, consumed, as homage, many a fair maiden. Columba would have no more. He challenged the dragon to come for him. The creature rose from the deepest, blackest depths of the loch and, shedding the crystal water it shook from its great head, breathed fire upon Columba, yet he raised his great shield, and the fire returned to singe the dragon, and thus, the dragon was blinded. And Columba drew his great broadsword, and slew the dragon, and the people, who had grown hungry, feasted upon their enemy.â She raised her arms, stretched to the heavens on her toes, then bent low, her hair sweeping around her in golden rain as she bowed deeply, laughing even as she did so. As she rose again, lifting her hands, Waryk thought she was indeed enchanting, and she had great pride, a spirit of independenceâand a definite wild streak. He was glad Sir Harry was her escort, and that he had been left to battle madmen.
Her tale was completed, and applause rang through the forest. Then the sound of a lute could be heard, and the gentle tone of a harp came as well, and there was laughter, light voices, dancing in the trees.
Then suddenly, the music hit a discordant note, and the sweet sounds of it faded into the night. âThe kingâs Normans are here,â he heard someone say. The words were spoken quietly, but somehow they carried through the night. Then a strange whispering began, and then there was silence.
He remained against the oak, teeth gritted. Aye, David had brought many Normans with him. He fought with Normans, and he fought against Normans. Still, somehow, the words were disturbing. Heâd received many advantages in the kingâs court; he fought with good armor, steel protecting him over the wool of his tartan. Many of the men escorting the young heiress had been clad in the typical leine