Page 31 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

A time away from time. Deathan did not know how often he termed those moments in the boat so, in his mind. How frequently he returned there in spirit to relive them over again. The sense of eternity that enveloped him when he held Darlei in his arms. The ease and warmth of her.

The familiarity.

He had wanted, aye, to keep on sailing. To journey on—to Ireland, say, just the two of them together. Could they not be happy there? Build a life?

But his roots were here in Scotland, deep in the granite beneath the soil. As were hers, to speak true. His Caledonian wild woman.

Anyway, was he not the levelheaded son? The practical one who saw to his duties and never kicked up a fuss? Not for him arguments or defiance.

Not for him, either, tumbling head over heels into love so deep he could no longer see the surface. Yet here he was. Making promises and talking of past lives and of eternity.

Destiny had him in its grip, aye, as did desire. He’d never known it possible to desire a woman the way he did Darlei. More than her kisses, the feel of her soft body beneath his hands, he longed to be inside her so that their bodies might be joined as were their spirits.

He must be mad, but he could not stop thinking of it even after they arrived back at the settlement to her woman’s frantic search, which had once more brought in others, including his father.

And after he had a fierce dressing-down for keeping their guest out so long, one he endured in silence with the taste of her still on his lips, after they’d parted, his heart protested the separation so loudly that he could scarce believe no one else heard.

Darlei heard. He knew by the look she cast over her shoulder as she walked away from him.

The trick was to keep anyone else from guessing that he’d done aught more than seek to entertain a guest at an awkward time.

Father did indeed holler and rail, saying, “Did I no’ tell ye to tak’ her maid wi’ ye, where’er ye might go?

” Fortunately, he was too distracted by the question of what to do about Rohr and Caragh to spare much more than annoyance for Deathan.

For once, being an afterthought did not bother Deathan much.

Da soon retired to consult further with his holy man and contemplate what should happen when King Caerdoc returned.

No sight of Rohr anywhere, still. Deathan had no inkling as to where his brother might be hiding himself. Not a glimpse to be had of Caragh, either. Her parents must be keeping her close.

Deathan paced the walls and thought. And thought.

Christian monks had long since brought their teachings to these shores, mostly from Ireland but also from the south.

Stories of eternal fire and redemption. But as he had told Darlei, the old beliefs died hard here, as did the old gods.

Just as his roots were down in this stony soil, his spirit clung to what had been.

The old beliefs of life after life. The circular nature of it, all that brought a man around again and again upon the wheel of the gods, just like the wheel of the year, to face the same challenges.

And overcome them.

He’d never thought about what he believed, not consciously.

But aye, he believed that like hard masters, the gods sent them back again and again to face and perhaps overcome their failings.

It would explain so much. How he felt about Darlei.

The way he’d seemed to know her instantly when they met. The intensity of the longing.

But he came to realize, as he pondered, that it did not mean they would be together in this life. It did not, for the obstacles were many. And even if he believed, and believed fiercely, it did not mean they could overcome whatever they must.

Nearly impossible, when he did not even know what it was they must overcome. Circumstances, most certainly. But also something within.

Within each of them.

What was the greatest enemy? He pondered that also as he paced the walkways high up on the stone walls, as he assigned the men. As the sun began to go down upon this day of days unlike any other.

Fear.

Aye so. The greatest enemy must be fear. His. Hers.

He feared, and always had, that he would not be enough. Strong enough, dutiful enough, skilled enough with a sword. It pushed him during times like training sessions to be first among the men, even though he knew he could not be.

Rohr must be first. Best. Their father had always insisted upon it.

Just as Rohr was to have the prize—Darlei—for whom Deathan would be willing to give his life.

The knowledge did not cheer him, for his fear was a deep one. It stemmed from being a second son. Knowing no matter how hard he worked or what talents he possessed, he could never be first.

Save, perhaps, in Darlei’s heart.

Was that why he loved her so? Nay, there were a thousand reasons.

Had it been so for him in past lives? Had he striven for acknowledgement that had not come? Or had he achieved it?

Whatever the case, he feared not being good enough. What did Darlei fear?

He knew her now, on a deep level—he did. Still, he could not answer that question.

*

“You are in love with him, are you not?”

Orle’s question spun Darlei around where she stood, at the window of her chamber. She’d been thinking of Deathan—to be sure, she had—so when Orle spoke, she had no doubt as to whom she referred.

She stared dismayed into her companion’s eyes.

Orle came and stood close, lowering her voice even though there was no one to hear. “You can tell me. I am your friend. I should hope you would tell me anything.”

“I—” It was not that Darlei did not wish to tell. She longed to shout out what she felt for Deathan, the miracle of what had taken place out upon the water. She did not have proper words, however. Only feelings.

Orle’s dark eyes filled with compassion. “Your betrothed’s brother. How did it come to be?”

Darlei sagged where she stood. “I scarce know. With all that has happened—”

“Yes, it is a terrible tangle.”

“How did you guess at my feelings for him?” She had to be more careful, lest others also guess the truth she and Deathan shared.

“I saw the way you looked at him when the two of you came ashore today. The way he looked at you.”

“Do you think anyone else noticed?”

“I could not say. I know you very well, Darlei. You keep going off with him—up the shore, out to sea. Were you not frightened out in that little boat?”

Yes, she’d been frightened. Not so much of the water but of the enormity of what she felt for the man.

“I trust him. He knows how to sail. And…” She could not possibly tell even Orle that it felt as if they’d done all of it before. Sailed off together into the unknown, clinging soul to soul. “I trust him,” she repeated lamely.

Orle shook her head. “It is not like you to fasten your attentions to any man. Well, there were a few, like Urfet, who caught your eye, but this is not the same, is it?”

“Nay.” Not the same.

“What is it about Master Deathan? That is to say, he is handsome enough. So are many of the men here. But he looks very…Celtic.”

Darlei laughed unsteadily. “Orle, it would not matter if he had a head like a turnip and two noses. I would want him anyway. Though, I have to admit, I have come to appreciate everything about him.”

The warmth of his skin beneath her fingers in the little boat. The crisp hair above the opening of his tunic. The strength of his arms cradling her, and the response of his body beneath her own.

The depth of those blue-green eyes, like gazing into eternity.

“Darlei, I do not need to warn you that you must be cautious. We do not know what may happen between your father and the high king. You may still have to marry Master Deathan’s brother.”

“Yes.” He who was in love with someone else even as she was in love with someone else. “I know.”

Orle’s eyes met Darlei’s again. “You would not do anything foolish, would you?”

“Foolish?”

“Like lying with him. You are unbreeched, just like me. And if this wedding goes forth, there will be expectations.”

Ah, did she care what Rohr MacMurtray expected? What his father did, or the high king? She wanted to lie with Deathan the way she wanted to keep breathing.

It would happen. She could not guess how or when. But it would.

“Yes, I must be careful. Orle, you will not tell anyone what I have confided?”

“I will not. But others may guess as I did, by the way you look at him.”

She must try to control her feelings while in company. She had never been what might be called disciplined in her emotions. A wild woman, those here called her, and so she was.

A wild woman in the grip of destiny.