Page 18 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

D arlei feared the worst when her father called her to him later that afternoon. Some scolding, she supposed, for an unperceived misstep, all too perceived by their hosts. A further upbraiding for her behavior.

Instead, he told her that the wedding—her dreaded and misguided wedding—was to be delayed.

“Some matter relating to the health of the groom’s mother, so I perceive,” Father said.

“Mistress MacMurtray?” That did cause Darlei some dismay. “Has she taken a turn for the worse?” She should not care. Anything that put off the marriage was welcome to her. But she found she had developed a fondness for Mistress MacMurtray.

“I do not know,” Father told her frankly. “She is unwell but, it seems, wishes to gather enough strength to be at the wedding.”

“Oh, I see.”

“So we shall be staying a few days longer before we depart.” Father frowned. “I hope all is well with your mother at home.”

“Mother will manage wonderfully. She is a strong woman.”

Father lifted a brow. “You do not have to tell me so. I found that out as soon as I married her.”

Indeed, that marriage had been arranged, her mother born of a neighboring Caledonian tribe. But they had grown to care for one another.

Hence her mother’s entreaty— give it time.

Well, she had a few more days. A reprieve.

It had been a good day. She and Orle had spent part of it watching their men, including Urfet, tussling at games and informal contests with some of Murtray’s warriors. Deathan had not been there, but she had enjoyed marking Urfet’s prowess.

And in the afternoon they’d sat out on the hillside in the sunshine with that glorious seascape spread out in front of them, while the master harper, Coll, played for the company.

She had felt close to content. Almost happy. More so now with her wedding sentence temporarily lifted.

“What should we do to celebrate?” she asked when she left her father and shared the news with Orle outside.

“ Should you celebrate?” Orle asked cautiously. She had spent a woeful amount of time earlier eyeing not their own men, but certain among the Gaels. Could she truly be attracted to any of them?

Of course, if Orle were to stay here with Darlei, she would eventually marry a Gael—were she to wed at all.

Darlei wanted to visit Mistress MacMurtray and make certain she was not unwell, but that might be better left for morning.

“I feel I must. I know what we shall do. There is a trail that runs along the shore. Let us explore that.”

“Should we?” Orle asked again. “After what happened this morning?”

“This is to be my home. Surely I have leave to explore it.”

Orle appeared dubious. She ran off, though, to change her slippers, which she did not want ruined.

Darlei, who gave not a care to her slippers, refused to wait.

The residents of the settlement once more watched her as she made her way down to the shore. It was the same back home. Everyone knew where the princess was and what she was doing, at most any time. But there she could escape. Take Bradh and go for a wild ride. Hike by herself into the forest.

What did these foolish people think she was going to do? Cast herself into the sea?

It was an idea.

Perhaps an ultimate course of action, later on, when she found herself wed to a stranger. After her father left, abandoning her here. When she discovered she could not endure taking Rohr MacMurtray to her bed. Bearing his children.

A thought came into her head: it would be cowardly of a Caledonian princess, taking her own life. But a kind of last hope to tuck away, yes.

A path led away in both directions from the trail that ended down at the sea. When Darlei reached it she stood looking. To her right, the path led to a series of sheds, and she could see people working.

She turned left.

She would walk but a short way beyond the curious eyes and wait for Orle to catch her up.

But oh, being alone here—with the waves sucking and clawing at the shingle, the sky endlessly blue, and the seabirds wheeling above—brought her back to life.

A different sort of wild than when she ran off on her own back home, but healing all the same.

She drew a salty breath and felt her anger, fear, and distress abate.

Perhaps she could endure this after all.

Her feet found their own way in and out of the foam. The tension left her shoulders. The rolling of the waves on the stones was like music.

Deep in her mind she heard someone say, We are like these two stones, aye? Together on the shore for a time—

It took her a moment to grasp that the quick pat-patter meeting her ears was not part of her thoughts, or a movement of the clattering stones. She turned to look back.

The strong sunlight half blinded her, so she saw only an approaching shape. A man, it was, loping toward her.

She wanted to run also, away from him up along the shore. But he came far too swiftly, and once he neared enough for her to see his face, she no longer wanted to flee.

He looked a beautiful sight, his body all in motion, strides swift and graceful, hair lit by the sun. Something clenched her heart, hard. As if her past ran to her and her future both.

This moment, it will change everything.

She stood with her feet in the foam and the hem of her gown wet when he reached her. He wore a look of concern on his face.

“Princess, wha’ are ye doing here? Are ye lost?”

“I do not believe so.”

“Ye should no’ go walking out on your own.”

“Why not?”

“Some harm might befall ye.”

She gave him a long look. Tall, with those graceful, long limbs. Dressed casually in a rough tunic and plain kilt with well-worn hide boots. Hair loose streaming over his shoulders in an ashen-colored mane, with threads of gold and even copper in it.

Those eyes.

So intense was his stare, she had to look away from it. “Good thing you are here then, Master Deathan, is it not?” She resumed walking. He came at her side. “So I am not alone.”

A curious thing—she could feel his emotions. They surged inside him precisely the way the waves did, at her feet. High and wild one moment, gentler the next. How did it come to be he who had found her?

“Does yer woman ken where ye be?”

“She has gone back to change her shoes.”

He looked down at her feet.

She added, “I do not care for mine.”

“D’ye no’ think ye should wait for her?”

Oh, but she liked his voice. Deep and somehow, well, satisfying, it reached right inside her. He was not the sort of man to attract her in the ordinary way, being a Gael, but by all that was holy, he did attract her.

“I do not like waiting. Or taking time to change my shoes.”

“I see.” Was that a note of amusement she heard? “I suppose ye ha’ so many pairs ye can just replace them as ye need.”

“Pairs?”

“O’ slippers.”

“’Tis not that. Though I have ruined a good many over the years. I just keep wearing them till they come to pieces.”

“Most practical.”

She stole a look at him. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Och, to be sure, nay, I would no’ dare.”

“What do you think of me, then? Am I the savage princess determined to have her way?”

“I think a thousand things o’ ye. Far too much to say.” He drew a breath. “No’ that ye be savage. I think ye do enjoy having yer way. Which o’ us does not?”

“Where does this path lead, Master Deathan?”

“Nowhere much. Just up along the rocks and then eventually it peters out. Ye can climb on, if ye wish, to a headland. The view fro’ there is grand, but ye will no’ have a path.”

His accent was wonderful and danced in her ears.

“No fit place to escape, then?”

He slanted a look at her. “Is that wha’ ye wish? To escape?”

“Oh, yes.”

He gave that some thought while they walked side by side, their feet hitting the path in time.

The rhythm to another song, she thought. One he and she made together.

“I suppose that makes sense,” he said at last. “But ’twould do ye no good, would it? For if ye left and ran, how would ye live, off on your own?”

She glanced back—to see how far they had come, she told herself, though it gave her a good excuse to eye him again. Large as life and right here beside her.

“I do not know what I would do besides not wed wi’ your brother.”

“Aye so.” That seemed to bring heavy thoughts down on him.

“The wedding has been put off,” she said.

“Aye, for but a few days.”

“Do you know why?”

“I do.” He shot her a look. “I canna say.”

“Father claims it is because your mother wishes to attend the joining and needs to gain strength.”

“That may be what my father told him, aye.”

“It is not true?”

He hesitated and shook his head.

“There is a mystery in it,” she said. “Still, I should be grateful. Your lady mother is not worse?”

“She is not.”

“I am glad. I like her very much.”

Did his hand brush hers? If so, it was but a fleeting touch and as swiftly gone.

She stopped walking. Took one look back. No sign of Orle. No one and nothing followed them.

She looked at the man beside her, who had also paused. Suddenly she wanted to touch him, wanted it so much she ached. The desire burgeoned inside her from a place so deep, she scarce recognized it.

She scarce recognized him. But he mattered to her. He did.

“Tell me of yourself, Master Deathan.”

Those beautiful eyes of his examined her face, touched the corners of her mouth, her brow. “There is no’ much to tell. I am a second son. I mak’ myself useful as I may.”

“What will you inherit, of this place?”

He shrugged. “Naught.”

“But you love it, do you not?”

“I love it most deeply.” He glanced at the sea, the land, the sky. “More than I could ever say.”

“And who is to decide you are not worthier of inheriting it than your brother?” Their eyes met, held for a long instant. Or of marrying me , her heart whispered.

“Fate says it.” His lips twisted. “Destiny.”

“Ah. Destiny can be a cruel goddess.” To keep from reaching for his hand, she resumed walking. “Talk to me of this place you love.”

He did.