Page 12 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)
S ay what you would about the folk of Murtray. They were hardworking. Loyal. Dour at times and suspicious of strangers. When all was said and done, they loved a good contest, and they showed up in droves for what their chief had planned today.
The weather, always capricious here along the coast, did not prove quite so accommodating. In Deathan’s opinion, it looked like rain, but he thought it might hold off till later in the day, keeping to the offshore islands before suppertime.
Father had arranged a number of contests, mock combats, which Deathan considered potentially dangerous, given the participants were old enemies. A footrace and one on horseback. A friendly knife battle and an archery contest.
Most these had been set up in the area between the keep and the outer wall, though the races would be held in the field outside the gate. Deathan did not doubt Da intended for Rohr to win all and show up in the very best light.
Rohr no doubt expected the same. When it came to such matters, his confidence knew no bounds.
He was, after all, the future chief of a clan that held a place of prominence on this coast. Cherished by his parents, admired by his people. Expected to be the best of the best.
Deathan, not two years his junior, had learned early not to eclipse him.
It was fine for him to be fleet of foot—just not more fleet of foot than Rohr.
Oh, his mam was full of praise for him, but Da did not approve.
Rohr was meant to be first in everything.
By the age of eight or so, Deathan, no fool, noticed that if he bested his brother, Da got a look on his face like a man who’d taken a mouthful of sour heather ale.
So Deathan had learned. Always finish second or worse. Never show all of what he could do. It sometimes caused a bitter feeling. More bitter than his father’s disapproval? Cursed if he could tell.
He told himself he would be content with his place. Second to his brother, the eventual war chief and defender of this place he loved so well. More, he sometimes thought, than Rohr loved it.
Content, aye.
But that had been before. Before he had laid eyes upon Princess Darlei.
He rarely wanted things for himself, especially the things his brother had. Aye, he’d trained himself better. But och, he wanted Darlei with a raw kind of longing utterly foreign to him. One that made him ache inside. That fair lit him up with desire.
Why should Rohr be gifted with such a treasure, rather than him? Beyond unfair, it was.
He lurked in the bailey lost among the members of the clan and watched while his father came out in company with King Caerdoc, the two conversing amiably. Two strong men, easy in their confidence—both subject to a higher law. The king’s edict had to gall.
Caerdoc’s party followed, and Deathan eyed them with speculation. Their guide—Urfet—might well prove a problem for Rohr. The man was impressive in every way. Deathan wondered what Rohr would make of him.
In truth, though, Deathan waited for but one person to appear—Princess Darlei.
He liked the way she’d been with his mother, soft and gentle, and would have lingered to watch, just for the pleasure of looking at her.
The grace with which she’d leaned toward the bed.
The line of her profile, strong and beautiful.
The heavy brown hair, all woven and braided, hanging down her back.
But that had been a time meant for Rohr and Darlei to bond. Had they? Would they? Did Rohr have too much else standing in his way?
Deathan looked around for Caragh but did not see her. Then Darlei exited the main door of the keep and he forgot everything else.
She was no longer with Rohr—he did not know where his brother was—but in the company of another young Caledonian woman, one with still-darker hair. They spoke together quietly, unsmiling.
Father had ordered a tent set up against the wall of the keep where the women were expected to sit and observe. Princess Darlei did not go there but walked up to Urfet and began a conversation.
And Deathan could tell, even from a distance and just from the way she spoke to him, that the princess felt an attraction for the man. Her admiration was in her every line and gesture. Not surprising. Deathan wondered if she entreated Urfet to win the competitions for the pride of Caledonia.
Aye so, if Father offered this for a pleasurable pastime, it might well turn into something else entirely.
Father stepped up to the Caledonians and very politely invited the women to take places beneath the shelter of the pavilion, gesturing to it. Princess Darlei shook her head.
Where was Rohr?
Sweeping his gaze across the crowd, Deathan caught sight of his brother standing over against the wall. Speaking with Caragh.
The lass looked unhappy and, in truth, half frantic. Rohr clearly attempted to calm or comfort her, but he appeared equally upset.
Androch, the clan’s current war chief, stepped up to Deathan. For an instant his gaze followed Deathan’s before he looked away.
Rohr needed to be far more discreet if he wanted to keep his secret.
“Master Deathan, are ye planning to compete?”
Deathan shrugged. “No’ sure.” There was not much point, was there, if Rohr needed to win?
“I think ye could win the footrace,” Androch said. “And possibly the pony race as well. And ye be a good eye wi’ tossing a knife.”
Deathan shrugged. “That man o’ the Caledonians’”—he nodded at Urfet—“just might tak’ it all.”
“Aye, he is impressive. But I will wager still on ye. Master Deathan, if I might say—’tis time for ye to quit hiding yer abilities.”
Deathan stared at the man in surprise.
“Och,” Androch said, giving a rueful grimace, “I understand why ye do so. But ye maun be true to yoursel’. A man’s first duty is to himself.”
“We both know that is no’ true. A man’s first duty is to his clan. And naught is better for the clan than a strong chief.”
“Aye so.” Androch flicked another look at Rohr, who had now parted from his lover and made his way over to Da. “And mayhap your brother would prove himself stronger, if ye challenged him.”
“That is no’ what is expected o’ me,” Deathan said.
“Aye, but there is only so much a man can shove down his craw.” Androch patted Deathan on the shoulder. “Go and compete.”
He stepped away then, and Deathan wondered—if he did compete, would he impress Princess Darlei?
But it was no more his place to impress her than to best his brother.
How furious would Da be if he did best Rohr here before all the clan? Before the Caledonians.
He walked up to the group that included Da, King Caerdoc, Urfet, the princess, and now Rohr.
Father was speaking. “But Princess Darlei, we ha’ a place specially prepared for ye from whence ye may observe all the contests.”
“I was hoping,” she said very politely, “I might rather take part.”
All the men stared at her with varying expressions. Her father frowned; Da looked disbelieving, Rohr offended. Urfet favored her with a grin.
“I am sorry…” Da faltered. “I do no’ think I understand. Ye wish to compete in—”
“The games. I am a fine rider. Tell them, Urfet.” She turned to the man beside her.
“She is a fine rider,” he said in very heavily accented Gaelic. “And a better archer.”
“It is no’ done,” Rohr said. “Women do no’ compete in such contests.”
“Not here, perhaps.” Darlei lifted her chin. “Where I come from, we have broader minds.”
The inherent insult made the king’s frown deepen. “Now, daughter—”
Very swiftly, and eyeing Rohr, Urfet said, “Surely you are not afraid to compete with a woman?”
Rohr’s face went red. “’Tis no’ seemly. A well-bred woman does no’—”
Da trod on his foot. He went silent.
“Ah, well,” Darlei said sweetly. “Perhaps by your standards, I am not well bred. As well that you best me, then, and put me in my place.”
The dare was outrageous, somehow more so because her voice remained polite and kind. But in her eyes…in her eyes Deathan glimpsed a wild woman.
What could Rohr say? He exchanged a glance with Da and choked back any further protestations.
Urfet began speaking very low in Darlei’s ear, in their own tongue.
“Daughter,” King Caerdoc said sharply, “it is rude to whisper in company.”
“Yes, Father. Urfet just reminded me, my own pony is lame. I shall have to use another.” And her gaze moved to Rohr’s face. “I begin with a handicap, it seems.”