Page 29 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

T hey would have to be careful. Darlei told herself as she watched her father and much of their party ride away from Murtray’s stronghold the next morning.

Eyes were everywhere, particularly avid eyes given the gossip flying around the keep. Murtray’s folk did not want to miss a look, a reaction.

They certainly would not miss her running to Deathan as she longed to do. But oh, she longed to!

She had to be clever about this. Even though she felt a bit like a hound let off the lead with Father gone. No one to chastise her. She doubted Chief MacMurtray would, in their present circumstances, even though she’d been committed to his protection.

But nay, she could not be obvious about her interest in her need for Rohr’s brother. And she could not go out alone in the dark. A sharp knife might be waiting.

Her death would yet serve Rohr and Caragh well. And she would not put it past the young woman to shove the blade between her ribs, or employ a brother, if she had one, to do so.

She still felt uneasy about it and longed to tell Deathan so, to seek his reassurance. She hoped having seen her father’s party off without catching sight of him, he might be with his mother when Darlei stopped in to see her.

He was not.

Mistress MacMurtray, though, was clearly troubled. The gossip had penetrated even into the peaceful space of her chamber, Chief MacMurtray having told her just enough to keep her from worrying—so he thought. She worried all the same.

“My dear?” She caught Darlei’s hand. “What is all this my husband tells me? Your wedding is put off again?” Her kindly, faded blue eyes met Darlei’s, full of chagrin. “And for such a reason!”

“Yes. But naught that should trouble you, mistress.”

She might have saved her breath for all the difference the words made. “I am so ashamed. That my son should do such a thing.”

Compassion touched Darlei—not a particularly frequent visitor to her heart.

Leaning toward the woman in the bed, she said, “I do not doubt Master Rohr loves this young woman. He has no such feelings for me and no more wishes to wed with me than I wish to wed with him. Love…love makes us do mad things.”

Disconcerting tears filled Mistress MacMurtray’s eyes. “But I so wanted ye for my daughter. My own girl, Kearana, is wed and moved far away. I ha’ enjoyed spending time wi’ ye.”

“And I with you, mistress. We will have to trust my father to work this out.”

The chamber door whispered open. Deathan stepped in.

Every part of Darlei’s being came to life. As if she’d spent the morning half asleep, her senses awoke, stirred to his presence.

He must have been outside after all. He was clad for it, wearing his weapons and a leather tunic. His hair—that sandy golden mane—spilled down his back, and he brought with him the scents of the morning. He seemed overly large, overly male, in this quiet place.

His gaze moved to Darlei even before it found his mother.

“Och, forgive me interrupting.”

“Nay,” Darlei said. “Pray, come in.”

Darlei wanted to fly to him. Lay her hands upon his bared forearms. Drink in his scent. She remained where she was, and he came to her instead, standing as near as the room allowed.

“Mam. Princess Darlei.”

“Och, Deathan! Come sit wi’ me. Explain to me wha’ has happened. Your father came and spoke wi’ me—but I confess, I canna believe wha’ he said.”

Deathan sat on the edge of the bed. “I canna speak for Da, Mam,” he said. “Or for Rohr. He will ha’ to come and tell ye all himself.”

“I have been saying,” Darlei put in carefully, “that Master Rohr no doubt has feelings for the young woman in question and likely always meant to wed wi’ her. He had no idea King Kenneth would impose this marriage upon us.”

“Aye. Aye so.”

“Love”—Darlei captured Deathan’s gaze—“can make us do many things.”

“Is she no’ a generous lass?” Mistress MacMurtray patted Darlei’s hand. “To take such a view when my son has so damaged her.”

“Mistress Darlei has no reason to feel damaged. She is beyond reproach.”

“Aye, son. I agree wi’ ye, and I did so want her for a daughter. I was looking forward to this wedding. And to attending it, even if I did ha’ to be carried.” Her eyes still brimmed with tears.

“Well but, Mam, this will afford ye more time to gather yer strength. And since Princess Darlei is staying here while her father is awa’, ’twill give ye longer to spend wi’ her.”

“That is so. Tell me, Deathan, what people are saying. I wish to understand all.”

With a rueful look at Darlei, Deathan spoke softly in a calm voice of what a scandal this had proven to be. He held his own opinions and said nothing of the conversation Darlei had overheard.

Troubled, Mistress MacMurtray said, “I know little o’ this young lass, Caragh. MacDroit’s daughter, is she?”

“Aye, Mam.”

“A beauty?”

“Most would think so.” Again Deathan’s gaze touched Darlei. An assertion. A vow. None so beautiful as ye.

He thought her beautiful, this man she adored. She’d been many things in her life—headstrong, stubborn. Rarely had she felt wholly beautiful.

They talked on of other matters till Mistress MacMurtray seemed to calm. Darlei rose and made her excuses, pushing past Deathan just for the pleasure of touching him in passing.

He sprang to his feet. For the third time, their eyes met.

And it was alive with them in the room, this feeling—this intense desire and sense of belonging.

Could Mistress MacMurtray not feel it?

Darlei went out, nearly stumbling. Deathan followed her.

“Princess?”

She turned. The corridor appeared empty, but Mistress MacMurtray’s woman would be hovering nearby. They must be careful.

“Come outside,” she said.

The morning broke upon them, wild and beautiful, everything in motion. The trees upon the rise, the sailing clouds, the raking sea. Darlei drew in a breath.

“Are ye all right?” Deathan asked in a low voice.

“I do not know. Now that word of Rohr’s lover is out, everyone expects me to be humiliated and cast down, but my heart rejoices because I might not have to marry him.”

“Ye ha’ no reason but to hold yer head high.”

“Still, I wish I could escape all this. I have not seen your brother and do not wish to.”

“Wi’ your father and most o’ his party gone, there will be no more grand dinners for the time. I do no’ doubt Caragh’s parents will keep her close to home. All the same, ’tis no’ a good idea for ye to venture out alone.”

Her gaze clung to his. “I do not suppose there is any way you might be assigned as my personal guard?”

She meant it lightly, but he did not take it that way. “Let me speak to my father about it. The post might be better taken by one o’ the men yer father has left behind.”

“But he, a Caledonian, could not show me around the settlement.”

“Aye so.” Deathan’s gaze moved over her face, intimate as a touch. “And if ye could do aught ye wished, what would it be?”

I would kiss you. The answer flooded not only her mind but her body from fingertips to toes. I would kiss you for a day and a night.

She said, “Escape this place. The stares and the whispers. If only for a short time.”

“Let me speak wi’ my father. Wait here for me. I will no’ be long.”

He hurried away back into the keep, and Darlei lingered outside in the sun, becoming aware only then of—yes—the stares. The uncomfortable truth of being at the center of much gossip.

Being the woman she was—a princess—she gazed back defiantly and the clan’s folk looked away. But there was a next stare, and a next.

It seemed an age before Deathan returned to her, though it could not have been long. He had lost his sword and his leather tunic, and gladness burned in his eyes.

“Father has bidden me entertain ye—at least for the morning. He insists yer woman must come along, though. For the sake o’ propriety, ye understand. He has had enough o’ scandal.”

She had a chance to be with him. Who cared for propriety?

“Orle was not feeling well this morning,” she lied barefacedly.

“I suppose, then, she would not enjoy a sail out on the sea.”

“A sail?” Her heart rose impossibly.

“Aye. I thought to get ye awa’ from all this, for a time.”

“I should like nothing better, nothing in all the world.”