Page 14 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

A s the ponies were led out across the green sward, the sun came out. Darlei could see a bank of clouds far over the ocean, and the sky had been churning with light and darkness all the while. Now radiance, however brief it might be, illuminated the scene.

It showed Urfet leading his wild beast across to Darlei. He would sit out this contest, which surely he might have won, in order to offer her a victory.

She could not squander the opportunity.

Without hesitation or undue modesty, she hiked up her skirts, tying them high. Across the way she could see Rohr leading out his own mount, a light-coated pony that looked very fine.

Yes, would not the son of the chief have the best?

And there—her bridegroom’s brother, who also intended to ride, his pony chestnut brown with a black mane.

They made a fine picture coming across the green turf, the sun in Deathan’s hair.

Rohr marched up to Darlei and Urfet. “Can we expect your riders to bump and shove us aside here too? So long as I am fairly warned.”

Darlei answered him. “We would not so endanger our animals.”

He tossed his head and moved off to the starting line.

“Beat the bastard,” Urfet said in their own tongue, and boosted her up on the back of his pony. “You know you can.”

“Yes.” She did.

They formed a ragged line where a post had been set in the ground. Chief MacMurtray gave instructions. They would make two circuits of the field, passing the post without stopping on the first. The pony to pass the post the second time was winner.

There would, as Darlei saw when she nudged Urfet’s mount, Cai, into line with her knees, be a certain amount of jockeying for room. Eight mounts started—four Gaels and four Caledonians. She found herself next to Deathan. He sat his pony well, with unthinking grace.

She need not fear being bumped by him. She did not understand quite how she knew that. She just did.

He slanted her a glance before the chief gave the signal. Cai gathered himself beneath her and ran.

For one terrible moment, she thought she would not be able to control him. Far too strong for her, he was. Far too wild, barely disciplined. Then some corresponding wildness deep within her stirred and arose. She cried to the animal.

“Go. Go!”

Deathan MacMurtray had got out ahead of her, as had one of their own men. Deathan gave her a glance as she passed him and saw him lean into his mount. He meant to give her a run for the victory.

She stretched herself along Cai’s back, hair fluttering, bare skin of her thighs against his rough, shaggy coat.

They flew.

She almost lost control of Cai again at the bottom of the field when they rounded the tree. Perhaps she did lose control. It did not matter, for by then she and the pony were one. Cai made the turn, turf flying from his hooves, and she hollered for joy.

She had passed their own man and was out in front when they gained the post for the first time and turned again. The faces of the onlookers blurred. They dashed on.

Who was behind her? All of them! But who was closest? She tried to look, but her streaming hair prevented it.

No matter. Her heart had now joined with Cai’s. His magnificent wildness was her own. No one could catch them.

As they approached the post to win, she caught a glimpse of brown to her left. Brown, and a stream of gold. Deathan—he was catching them.

She stretched herself higher on Cai’s neck and called to him in her own tongue.

“Faster. For Caledonia.”

They thundered past the post and several strides beyond. It took all Darlei’s strength to halt the pony.

Deathan drew up beside her. He was smiling, and admiration shone in his eyes.

“A fine race, princess. I congratulate ye.”

She nodded regally, then turned back to her father and the chief.

Urfet took Cai’s lead from her and helped her down, smiling broadly. “Well done.”

“He nearly caught me there at the end.”

“Nay, he never had a chance. Now go face your furious bridegroom.”

Yes, Urfet had taken a dislike to Rohr MacMurtray and wished only to annoy him. He led Cai away, still smiling.

Darlei turned to the waiting party.

Rohr looked more than annoyed. He appeared enraged. Where had he finished in the race?

He handed his pony off to a lad and gave Darlei a scathing look.

“Pray, mistress, lower your skirts.”

Ignoring him, skirts still kilted up, she turned to the chief.

“An astounding ride, princess,” he had the grace to tell her. “I maun say I have never seen the like.”

“Lower your skirts, daughter,” Father said softly in their own tongue.

She did, moving without haste. Did she embarrass him? But the men here had to learn she was not like their women.

Or any other woman.

Chief MacMurtray said, “’Tis safe to assume, princess, ye will no’ wish to compete in the next contest—a combat wi’ knives.”

She could if she chose. But after a glance at her father, she lifted her chin.

“Certainly not.”

*

Deathan led his pony away toward the sheds, barely able to feel the ground beneath his feet. He still floated on the remnants of the chase. Himself, chasing Princess Darlei.

Had there ever been such a woman?

Rohr came up beside him, scowling deeply. “Ye blocked my way,” he said.

“Eh?” Deathan glanced across at him. Rohr had already sent his mount off with one of the lads and jogged after Deathan, apparently just to complain.

“Ye blocked me there at the start,” he accused. “I could no’ get clear awa’.”

Deathan stopped walking. He often took a place behind his brother, aye, since Rohr had been born to be at the front. He would not stand unjustly accused.

“Impossible. We started at opposite ends o’ the line.”

“Aye, but”—Rohr’s face went red—“when we cleared the pack, ye got out in front o’ me and prevented me getting by.”

Deathan narrowed his eyes. Rohr might have ridden around him. Only he could not.

“At the very least,” Rohr carped, “ye might ha’ beat her.”

“I did try. She rides like the wind.”

“A shameful performance! Everyone there saw her legs. I think she and that guide o’ theirs—Urfet—cooked it up between them. ’Twas his pony, and I saw them whispering together.”

“No doubt.” Deathan suggested mildly, “Their pride required a win—as did ours.”

“The two o’ them are likely lovers. I wonder if he has had her.” Rohr tossed his head. “She is likely no’ even unbreeched.”

Deathan stared, too appalled for words. It took some gall for Rohr to make such an accusation with his own lover and unborn child at his back.

He started moving again. “A word o’ advice, brother.”

“From ye?”

“Do no’ destroy your marriage before it has begun.” She was extraordinary, was Darlei. Any man should be grateful to wed with her.

“Wha d’ye know o’ it?” Rohr turned back. “Do no’ compete in the next round. Stay and groom yer pony.”

Deathan did not compete in the next contest, nay, but not because his mount required his attention. One of the lads was more than happy to take that duty.

He went to watch instead. The contest—meant to be friendly—was held in the bailey, and the princess had a seat in the tent with her woman beside her.

Deathan edged into the back where he could watch her as well as the competition.

Several of the Caledonians were competing, including Urfet. It should have been clear from the first footrace that these men threw themselves into competition whole. No one expected blood to be drawn.

Deathan could tell by his brother’s expression how badly Rohr wanted to win. As future chief, he should be best among the many.

He could also tell by the glow in Urfet’s eye that the fellow meant to prevent it.

It came down to the two of them in the end. The last two standing who had not been disarmed.

The two Caledonian women watched closely, their heads together. No doubt speaking in their own tongue. The competitors circled, circled, half crouched. The spark in Urfet’s eye made Deathan wonder if the man toyed with Rohr or if—

The flurry came quickly and to exclamations from the crowd. The goal was for one man to disarm the other, but when the encounter ended, it was with a rush of blood.

Down Urfet’s arm.

Da, also seated and watching, surged to his feet. King Caerdoc followed more slowly. The Caledonians edged in. Would it come to blows?

But nay, for Urfet made nothing of it. He smiled and shook his arm—the skin of which Rohr had laid open with his blade.

Da quickly waved the healer forward, but Urfet wagged his head and said something to Rohr.

Congratulating him?

It was not a clean win. But the Caledonians, seeming to fight—and play—hard, made nothing of it.

Princess Darlei, though, jumped to her feet, looking as if she wanted to go to Urfet. Her companion urged her back.

Was Rohr right? Could there be something between the two?

It should not matter to Deathan either way, save that what he’d said to his brother was true. It would be a shame for his marriage to be doomed before it began.