Page 32 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

E ager to see Deathan in his mother’s room the next morning, Darlei once more arrived ahead of time and so sat long chatting to Mistress MacMurtray before he arrived.

He entered the chamber with a soft sigh from the door and a slight rattle of his light weapons. He moved so quietly, this man she adored.

How could he change the very complexion of the air when he stepped in?

He looked tall and very composed, wearing his sword and that leather tunic. A warrior’s garb—a Celtic warrior’s. Her people had spent generations battling his for this land.

This land they both loved as desperately as she loved him.

He must have been out about his duties already, for he brought the scent of the morning into the stale room, as well as the other scent particularly his own. The one that made Darlei go dizzy with longing.

“Master Deathan.” Her voice quivered, but surely Mistress MacMurtray would not notice.

“Princess.” He gave her a slight bow. “Mother, I trust you feel well this morn.”

“Och, Deathan, ha’ ye spoken wi’ yer brother? Will ye no’ ask him to come and see me?”

Deathan stepped forward, bringing him close to Darlei. Not close enough.

“I ha’ not seen Rohr, nay. He must be hiding himself awa’. I ha’ no idea where.”

“He will be feeling the disapproval, aye, and the condemnation. But I must speak wi’ him concerning this lass, Caragh, and the child.” Mistress MacMurtray blinked rapidly. “My first grandchild. ’Tis my duty as Rohr’s mother to speak wi’ him. He must do what is right by the girl.”

Darlei’s heart rose in a bound. If Mistress MacMurtray urged Rohr to wed with Caragh, would that not open a path for her and Deathan?

She cast a look at him and he returned it, a cautionary flash between long brown lashes.

Yes, as Orle had said, she needed to be careful.

“Mam, all must wait upon what the king decides.”

“Aye so, and King Caerdoc has gone to consult wi’ him. I understand all that. But wha’ will become o’ my grandchild? I so want to see it born before—” Mistress MacMurtray paused abruptly.

“Mam.” Deathan brushed by Darlei’s skirts to take a place on the side of the bed and capture his mother’s hands. “Ye ha’ been growing stronger. Are ye no’ working at getting out o’ this bed? Ye will soon be well.”

Doubt clouded Mistress MacMurtray’s pale eyes. “I ha’ been working at it, aye. I do no’ ken if I will ever leave this bed.”

Deathan touched his mother’s hair with the gentleness that characterized him. As much a part of him, Darlei decided, as his strength. “So ye will.”

“Perhaps, if ye carry me.”

“Nay, Mam, ye must believe.”

“Deathan, ye be a fine son. Will ye tell Rohr that I need to see him?”

“I will.” Deathan leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I go now to lead the men at practice, since Rohr is no’ there to do it. I wanted to see ye first.”

He rose from the edge of the bed, brushing past Darlei again. Unable to help herself, she followed him to the door.

“I need to see you,” she whispered under the guise of opening it for him.

A check in his step betrayed his reaction. “How?”

“I do not know. Or care—”

For the briefest instant, his gaze touched hers. It said, I will find a way.

Too brief a time together, she thought as she regained her seat beside Mistress MacMurtray. Too few moments with him. She looked up and encountered Mistress MacMurtray’s gaze.

“Darlei, ye ha’ become gey friendly wi’ my son. Wi’ Deathan.”

I cannot live without him. Suddenly, Darlei wanted to confess it all to this kind woman, even as she had to Orle. But how could she? Mistress MacMurtray was sorely ill and as bound by the restraints of their society as she.

Gazing into Mistress MacMurtray’s pale-blue eyes, she wondered if she needed to confess, and what this woman suspected.

Orle was right. She needed to be far more careful. If not for her own sake, then for Deathan’s.

But how to balance her desire for him—what had become more than desire—with caution?

She was not the woman to answer that.

*

A morning spent sweating on the training field did not help relieve Deathan’s feelings as much as he’d hoped.

Anger kept assailing him, and frustration.

His brother should be here in his place.

What was Rohr about? Where was he? Though Deathan had asked around as discreetly as possible, no one seemed to know.

The men just rolled their eyes. Everyone, to be sure, had heard the tale of Rohr and Caragh by now. Deathan supposed he could not blame Rohr for wishing to avoid the gossip and Da’s condemnation. But he’d expected his brother to have more backbone.

So he worked beneath the autumn sun, and he tried without success to discipline the emotions that swamped him. Anger at Rohr, aye. Frustration at the wishes of kings who knew nothing of the lives they affected.

Desire.

What was he to do about the desire?

He never should have kissed Darlei in the first place—or more precisely, let her kiss him.

He never should have touched her, for it had opened up a need inside him, gaping as a mortal wound.

Not just for the taste of her, sharp and sweet.

Or the feel of her in his arms. But for her company, her presence, the way his very world shimmered to rightness when she was near.

Naught but the promise of passion had ridden him hard all night. He’d had very little sleep, his thoughts running like a maddened creature in a cage. Seeking ways and means for them to be together.

As he saw it, the best thing that could happen would be for King Kenneth, hearing of the situation, to withdraw his insistence upon the marriage. Caerdoc would take his daughter home. As soon as decently possible, Deathan would follow and make his suit, plead his case to the Caledonian king.

The thing was…

What had he to offer for a princess? Him, a second son. What, besides his heart?

Would what Darlei wanted matter to Caerdoc? Perhaps if they both pleaded with him, he would relent and allow them to wed.

And if nothing could persuade Caerdoc that Deathan was good enough for his daughter?

Do not think about it , he bade himself sternly. If it is true ye knew her before, loved her before, then ye have come together now for good reason. There must be a way.

His father came down at the end of the training session and watched as Deathan finished up and dismissed the men. He stood watching until Deathan put aside his weapons and joined him.

“Deathan,” he said heavily and with rare approval, “’tis good in ye to tak’ over your brother’s duties. D’ye know where he may be found?”

“Nay, Da. D’ye no’?”

Da shook his head. “I am troubled,” he admitted, “sorely troubled. No’ so much by wha’ he has done—after all, young men ha’ needs, and he had no way o’ knowing what the king would decree.

I believe he intended to wed this lass, Caragh.

But the way he is behaving now… A man, a chief’s son, should hold his head high even when things become difficult. ”

Especially then, Deathan thought, but did not say so.

“Instead, he hides. It fair makes me ashamed.”

Father had never said such a thing before, not of Rohr.

“Mam has been asking for him, but I could no’ find him to give the message.”

Da looked rueful. “All yer mother hears is that she has a grandchild on the way. Something she did not hope to see before. I do no’ ken whether she grasps the bigger ramifications o’ all this.

’Tis good to have King Kenneth’s favor, to be singled out as leaders in this new, united Scotland. I would do naught to spoil that.”

Deathan looked at his father with new attention. “Ye think he will still insist upon the marriage despite the changed circumstances.”

“I do not know.”

“How soon can we expect King Caerdoc to return?”

“I do no’ ken that either. Only that we maun take the best care o’ the princess until the answer comes down. She may be my daughter yet.”