Page 35 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

A nother stranger. Quite likely, if he was a widower, an old man. Nay, that was not the way it was meant to be.

Clamor filled Darlei’s head as she walked from the hall, silent. Angry thoughts, protests, desperate longings. She could not feel her feet hitting the ground. The pain inside was far too bright.

Deathan.

As she passed him by there at the rear of the hall, she cried out to him. Her heart did and her spirit. Save me. Please save me.

The look on his face showed him as shocked as she. He had not seen this coming. Neither of them had.

Curse King Kenneth MacAlpin and all that belonged to him down through eternity.

What was she to do? Oh, what?

She’d believed all this while that the worst that could happen would be an order to carry through with the marriage to Rohr. Unbearable, yes. But at least she’d live here, where she could see Deathan every day. Mayhap talk with him. Survive on whatever crumbs they might share.

Or she would journey home, and he would follow. Yes, she’d believed in that promise.

This… This! To be snatched away from him. Given like a prize heifer to a stranger, a widower. As if her heart did not matter in the least.

She was not a woman to weep and moan. She might scream, yes, but only in anger.

She managed to keep a grasp on her dignity till she reached her chamber. Orle was there waiting and swung round to gaze at her in alarm when she entered.

Darlei cast herself onto the bed and sobbed. Sobbed and sobbed.

Two days. In two days, she must leave her heart behind.

*

No one seemed to notice that Deathan remained in the back of the hall after King Caerdoc left, gone to take his rest. Da, mightily displeased, lit into Rohr as Deathan had rarely seen him do.

Rohr, the lucky bastard. Once more, things had worked out for him as they always seemed to do. Off the hook he was, and at liberty to wed the woman he loved. What was a tongue lashing in the face of that?

Though, aye, Da did tear into Rohr without reserve.

“Look wha’ ye ha’ done, ye fool o’ a lad! Cast us into disgrace. Disgrace wi’ the king! Did ye no’ understand that choosing ye to wed wi’ a Caledonian princess and help unite the country meant we were held in the highest favor? No more.”

“I did not know,” Rohr said. “When I started seeing Caragh, I did not know I would be held in high favor by the king. Or chosen to marry some savage lass from the dark lands—some woman I do no’ want.”

I want her , Deathan thought, and could have hollered it with his anger and frustration.

“And for ye to get yer bairn in yon lass’s belly beforehand—I did no’ need the king to know that is how I run my house.”

“Does it matter? I always meant to wed wi’ Caragh. I did before all this happened. At least the succession will be seen to.”

“If ye got her a son,” Da said scathingly. “I doubt ye can do e’en that right. Look at ye. Coming here before our guests half dressed and reeking o’ ale! I am fair ashamed o’ ye.”

That seemed to penetrate Rohr’s indignation. He sobered abruptly.

“I do no’ doubt King Caerdoc believes his daughter has had a narrow escape.”

“I am sorry, Da. But I did no’ ken—”

“Neither did ye conduct yersel’ as I would expect from my son. We shall ha’ to do our best to mak’ it up to the Caledonians before they leave.”

“Aye, Da.”

“And wha’ am I to tell yer mother? Sore eager has she been for this wedding. Now I maun tell her ye are in disgrace.”

Rohr bent his head, but Deathan, watching, did not quite believe in his remorse. He’d got what he wanted after all.

Yet again.

Deathan left the hall, and his father did not see him go. Outside, he stood and took great breaths of air, trying to calm his tripping heart. Unbearable, this was. He had to see Darlei, speak to her. Make this right. But how?

If he tried to get word to her, her woman would know. Could she trust her woman? The last thing he wanted to do was place Darlei in greater difficulty.

As if there could be aught worse than going away from him.

He went out and walked the walls, just for space to think. The men on guard there shot him sharp looks, which made him think his distress must show. He stared out over the land he loved and beseeched, “Gi’ me an answer.”

And received one.

He ran down from the walls and into the keep, stopping the first servant he saw. A young girl, she was, who usually served in the kitchens.

“Go to the princess’s chamber,” he bade her swiftly, “and tell her Mistress MacMurtray wishes to see her at once.”

“But Master Deathan, I—”

“At once,” he reiterated. “Your mistress is distressed.”

“Aye.”

The girl ran off up the stairs toward Darlei’s chamber. Would she do as asked? Trying to act as if his stomach did not roil and his heart did not pound, Deathan walked to the corridor outside his mother’s chamber and waited.

Waited.

Would she come? If anything could bring her, it would be his mam’s request.

He could hear faint sounds from inside his mam’s chamber, the door shut. The voice of Mam’s woman and Mam’s murmurs from time to time in reply. He hated to use his mother this way, but…

Soft footsteps skittered on stone. Darlei came, head bent and long brown hair streaming over her shoulders. When she saw him, she froze for an instant.

He caught her hands and drew her into his arms. Light flared to silver in her eyes.

He held her for one precious moment. “This was the only way I could see ye,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“I had to see ye. Go up the shore alone, if ye can manage it. The place we walked before. Can ye?”

“Yes.” She did not question the request or argue the difficulties of getting away alone. Only gazed into his eyes, her spirit finding and clinging to his.

He wanted to tell her it would be all right. But how could he? He wanted desperately to tell her he could solve this dilemma in which they found themselves, but he did not know how.

“I will go ahead,” he told her, and left. One of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

The cold air followed him up the shore, a hint of the winter to come. Winter of his spirit, perhaps. If he lost Darlei, if she went away from him where he could not follow, there would be naught ahead for him but winter.

Far up the shore, out of sight of the settlement, he paced the stones. He wondered about the past and about fate. About facing destiny.

If all this had in some fashion happened before—in a previous life—if he had known Darlei and loved her with a love that would not die, what was the meaning in what befell them now? What was he intended to learn? What must he do to be with her?

It could not all be about hurting and pain. The turn of the wheel, life into life, could not be meant only to torture him.

She came walking up the shore path with her cloak wrapped around her. When she saw him waiting, she ran.

Ran to him.

Their hands met first, grasping. She’d been crying—his wild and valiant maiden—as he could clearly see here in the strong light.

He did not want her ever to weep.

Their bodies met next as he drew her in. Then their lips, as irresistibly as breathing.

An effort at comfort it was, on his part. But she needed more than comfort from him now.