Page 38 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

D arlei could locate Deathan nowhere. Though she walked the settlement while Orle finished packing, searching high and low while trying to pretend she did not, she caught no glimpse of him.

Not on the walls where he so often shared the duty of keeping watch.

Not over in the training field. Not on the shore.

She even walked a way up along the rocky trail beside the water, thinking he might have gone there ahead of her, and they might snatch a few moments alone.

The water was restless, dark blue flecked with green, like Deathan’s eyes. The seethe and pull of it matched the emotions that filled her.

He was nowhere, and walking back her heart broke all over again. They had so little time. She wanted only to see him before it ran out.

But ah, she lied to herself, for she wanted far more. She wanted to touch him. To lie with him once again.

As, if she could manage it, she would.

She did see Rohr in passing. He jerked his head away when he encountered her gaze and pretended she was not there.

She might despise Deathan’s brother, yes, and had never wanted to wed with him.

But better to accept even marriage without love than to be snatched away from this place where Deathan remained.

Why must life be so cruel? If she was indeed pinned to the wheel of fate, she wanted off.

Not until after she and Orle had shared a few bites to eat at noontime, sitting among their gathered possessions in Darlei’s chamber, did she go back out and catch a glimpse of the man she sought.

He was in the field where the Caledonians so often gathered and saw to their ponies. Indeed, when she caught sight of him, he stood speaking with Urfet in what looked like stilted conversation.

The emotions that filled her as she hurried thence made her breathless. Gladness—yes, gladness first. Great relief and joy at merely seeing him. Regret. Grief.

He looked round as she joined him and Urfet, and as swiftly away again. But she had seen, yes, seen the flare of joy in his eyes, the hope, the desire.

“Princess.” Urfet bowed to her.

As did Deathan. “Princess Darlei.”

And just the sound of his voice affected her right down to her bones. That soft voice in her ear as he’d caressed her. When he was inside her.

“I came to make sure there will be a pony available to me so I will not have to ride in the wagon all the journey.” It seemed like forever ago that she had injured Bradh in her futile attempt at escape. She added for Deathan’s benefit, “Father says we are to leave at dawn.”

“Yes,” Urfet said, “I have spoken with the king. It is why we are here. The ponies are in good condition and will be eager to leave.” As would he, his tone implied.

“Good, for we have very little time.” Darlei’s gaze stole to Deathan’s face, which looked like a mask. Gazing away at nothing.

“Leave it to me, princess.”

Darlei nodded, reached out to pat the nearest pony, and walked away praying Deathan would follow.

After several moments, he did.

She dawdled, abandoning her usual swift stride till he caught up with her.

“Darlei—”

“Where have you been? I looked everywhere.”

“There is much that must be done for your father’s party before morning.”

“I have to see you. Talk with you.” But that was not all she needed. She needed to touch him, taste him. Needed it with a raw kind of desperation.

He shot her one look that betrayed only a small measure of what he felt. “Aye. But ’tis impossible.”

“It cannot be.” She would not allow for it. She felt sick with wanting him.

“Darlei—”

“Take me for a sail. One last sail.”

“There is no chance for that. The feast is set to begin—”

“Curse the feast. Walk with me up the shore.”

“There are eyes everywhere.”

“List to me. During the feast, everyone will be occupied.” She ached to touch his hand but refrained. “If I get up during the feast and leave—when I get up, follow me out.”

“But—”

“Folk absent themselves from the hall all the time. No one will think aught of it. I have to be with you.”

“Madness,” he breathed.

It might well be just the wildness in a woman’s heart.

“You will follow me?”

He nodded and veered away, saying no more.

After that, it was all waiting. Waiting while Father engaged her in conversation, seeking to determine whether she was going to make a fuss here at the end of their prolonged stay at Murtray.

If she would continue to battle against her fate.

While Orle prepared her for the farewell feast, all their possessions piled ready for leaving.

While they took their places in the hall, the clan’s folk filing in, the tables loaded with food, Rohr was there looking sullen—though what reason did he have?—and refusing to so much as look at her.

Deathan was there sitting at the other end of the head table where she could barely see him.

She tried to choke down some of the food presented to her and found she could not. The honey wine went down better and managed to calm her a mite by the time Chief MacMurtray’s harper came in. A final show of entertainment for the guests.

The man began with a long and winding tale, telling of Murtray’s ancestors, in particular a warrior called Ardahl, of Ireland. Beyond compare, this warrior was said to be. With scattered notes upon the harp, the shanachie related his attributes.

Darlei could wait no longer.

With a murmured word for her father beside her, she rose and, moving discreetly around the perimeter of the place, left the hall. She did not look back to see if Deathan noticed. If he followed.

He could not follow too soon.

She lingered just outside the hall. Dark had fallen—the season moved into autumn, and it came earlier now.

She waited like a shadow, her back against the wall of the building, still listening to the old Coll’s voice rising and falling within, a beautiful cadence marked with notes that sparkled through the dark air.

A shadow moved beside her and her whole being breathed for the first time all day.

“Deathan—”

“We canna stay here. Come.”

He led her not away but around the side of the hall and through a small doorway in the rear. The music immediately grew louder.

“What is this place?”

“Hush. ’Tis my father’s meeting chamber, and the hall is just there.” He nodded to a curtained doorway, through which the exquisite music flowed. Deathan drew Darlei into his arms, hard up against him, proving his need matched her own. He buried his face in her neck and breathed in, trembling.

For several moments there was no more than this.

Only their heartbeats falling into time and the music beyond—for the bard had concluded his tale and now played an intricate tune, glorious music that sparkled and danced and filled the hall.

An occasional rustle and cough from the assembly reminded Darlei that the entire clan—and her own people—sat just beyond.

For yes, this tiny, dark chamber separated them by no more than the width of the wall.

“Darlei.” Her name was but a breath on his tongue. When his mouth claimed hers, she melted so swiftly that she had to clutch at him to remain upright.

That kiss told her everything she needed to know. That he ached even as she did. That he wanted her the way she wanted him. That he loved her.

“Darlei, I canna see ye go from me,” he gasped when it ended.

“Then please. Deathan, please. Make love to me.”