Page 20 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

A nother endless supper during which Darlei sat beside her bridegroom at the head table, sunk in gloom.

Rohr did make some effort to speak to her.

He talked of the wealth and riches of the holding—bragged on it, in truth.

The trouble was, he did not allow her to comment, merely droned on and on, displaying no interest in her responses or opinions.

He had no interest in her. As if to prove it, he did not look at her even once.

Once or twice she did assay a thought, he spoke right over her. A recitation, it was, more than a conversation.

The evening had one or two compensations. Murtray’s harper came out to play. Old Coll showered his listeners with beauty, the clear, fragile notes from his harp weaving a sure spell. If Darlei closed her eyes, she could almost imagine herself on the cliff top once more, gazing into eternity.

Holding Deathan MacMurtray’s hand.

And that brought her to the second of her compensations. He had smiled at her. Deathan had.

It happened when they entered the hall, before he went to his place at the other end of the same table where she sat. After that, she was not able to see him, but she held the memory of that smile to her while she thought about him.

Thought about the way he looked tonight. Dressed in a green tunic that picked up the color in his eyes and with the wealth of his hair mostly braided—yes, her one glimpse had showed her all that. He wore a medallion at his throat—his strong, tanned throat.

She thought of his hand that she’d held. Wondered how it would feel if he touched her body with his warm, calloused hands.

Wished he would.

What was happening to her? She never entertained such thoughts.

He is to be my brother.

That reminder brought such sorrow to her mind, she could scarce endure it. An old ache, it seemed, and deeply rooted. But why should she feel that way?

She barely knew the man. How could so many emotions connect her to him?

The bard began to sing a sad, soft song of love and longing. Darlei closed her eyes again as Coll’s sweet voice transported her. Away from this table. Away from this hall. To another place entirely.

She stood in the forest, the tall trees that surrounded her casting their own evening shade. A man stood at one side of her, and a tall, lean, gray hound at the other. Enduring a hard journey, they were, and yet her heart—her heart lacked for nothing.

She looked at the man. A stranger. Not a stranger. Tall and lean, he had brown hair and gray eyes specked with green.

The sight of him made her heart swell and her emotions rise unbearably. He was about to speak to her when—

“You will need to learn our ways, and no mistake. That way, ye will no’ make—well, unseemly blunders. I do no’ ken how it is among yer folk, but here our women tak’ a step back and do no’ speak out o’ turn. They ha’ influence, to be sure. My own mam does. And yet—”

The spell that had been woven shattered. Darlei opened her eyes and looked at the man beside her with loathing.

“You are mistaken in me,” she said.

Rohr goggled at her. She could only guess at the ferocity of her stare, based on the wildness of her feelings.

“Eh?” he said.

“You are mistaken, Master Rohr, if you think I can ever be put in a box or otherwise shut away to speak only when you permit it. I am a princess, do not forget.”

Low and angrily, he replied, “A princess who is to be my wife . Whether or no’ either o’ us likes it. Ye will learn yer place.”

“Nay, you will learn my place, which will never be behind you.”

She was upset that he had ruined the spell, that fragile thing she’d almost had in her grasp, and angry he should speak so to her.

Father glanced at her warningly and several heads turned. The big room had gone quiet in respect for the bard, and their words carried.

“Daughter,” Father grunted.

“Listen to the music, pray,” Darlei told Rohr, but it was too late. Her pleasure was ruined and Master Coll finished playing soon after.

On the whole, so she decided, she preferred it when Rohr did not speak to her at all.

She puzzled over it later when in her bed. Not Rohr’s words—those she understood. She began to realize the kind of man he was. But she puzzled over the glimpse she’d had of the man standing beside her in the forest.

So real had he seemed. So very dear to her. How could he be mere imagining? Naught more than a part of the spell woven by the music?

He could not. Her feelings for him had been too real, too vital. She clung to the thought of him, held as tightly as she did to the memory of Deathan MacMurtray’s smile, while she fell asleep. Her sole comfort in a difficult world.

She and Orle had become accustomed to taking their breakfast in their own chambers, the hall being always in disarray from the previous night’s feasting. That next morning, Darlei wanted nothing to eat and told Orle, who nibbled at a barley cake, “I am going out to take the air.”

Orle dropped her cake hastily. “Hold for but a moment, and I will come with you.”

“No need.”

“ Darlei ”—Orle popped up like a bunny from its burrow—“there is every need after what happened yesterday.”

Darlei gave an impatient sigh. Intolerable, being hedged round this way. “I will stand right outside. I want only to breathe in the morning.”

“I will come.”

Orle had not yet dressed her own hair nor Darlei’s. She snatched up a shawl and followed her mistress out.

The morning felt cool and carried a definite whiff of autumn.

Back home, Darlei loved this time of year, when the colors of the leaves changed and the very ground grew crisp beneath her feet.

She loved the scents that blew in from the far hills and the way the year pared itself down, preparing to die—year after year died, and always in the spring was reborn again.

Was it so for people also? Did life follow life, and might one, perhaps under a spell of music, catch a glimpse of a time that had come before?

“Daughter, what are you about?”

She jumped when her father spoke. He had emerged from the keep with Urfet at his shoulder.

“Naught, Father. I wanted only to see the morning.”

He fixed her with a stern look. “You will not wander off on your own again.”

“To be sure not.”

“Chief MacMurtray is taking a party of us hunting this morning.”

Darlei lit up. “Wonderful! I may come?”

“I am afraid not. This is a party of men only.”

“But at home, I always accompany you.”

Almost gently, he said, “You are no longer at home, daughter. Best to make up your mind to it.”

“Father, that is a thing I do not believe I can do.”

“Best try. Your future happiness relies upon it. I am certain there will be compensations. Children, for instance. You might best lay aside your wild ways in favor of motherhood.”

She did not want to lay aside her wild ways, and she most certainly did not want to bear Rohr MacMurtray’s children.

She tipped up her chin. “I mean to visit Mistress MacMurtray this morning. I will just take the air first. Good hunting, Father.”

Her father did not argue it. Urfet gave her a knowing look and a wink before the men walked away.

“Darlei,” Orle said, “mayhap it would be better to be more…accepting and less defiant. It will make things easier, surely.”

“Yes, Orle. No doubt it would. But easier is not always better.”

Easier might well cost Darlei her spirit.

They paced sedately around the settlement, taking in the sights. A large place to be sure, and a busy one. Everyone seemed to have a task, and to be engaged in it.

The sea…

Well, if ever there were to be a compensation for what Darlei could only call her imprisonment, it must be that. It called to her. Lifted her. Made her long to go wandering again.

Something about its eternal, restless movement matched what lay inside of her.

Could she ever be still?

She stood several moments watching that seascape, marking the clouds far out over the water.

The hunting venture would end in rain.

But for all its magnificence, the sea was not what she’d come out hoping to glimpse.

Only one figure could satisfy the urging of her heart.

Yet she saw him nowhere. Not with the hunting party that formed up with their ponies just inside the curtain wall. Did he not accompany them, then?

Not in front of the hall or on any of the paths she could see. Not on the shore.

Frustrated and disappointed, she turned to go back inside. That was when she spotted her quarry high up on the inner wall, keeping watch over the country beyond.

Was he, then, in charge of the men? Maintaining the watch to make certain all was safe?

The eternal warrior, perhaps. Strong and vigilant. A man to whom a woman could entrust her heart.

He looked down, and their gazes met. For an instant all the bustle and all the uncertainty faded away.

He did not smile, and nor did she. Too serious, this. Far too vital.

Only slightly comforted and far from meek, she went back inside the keep.