Page 40 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

S o great was Darlei’s sorrow when she rode away from the keep at Murtray, she felt sick from it. He had lifted her onto her pony, touching her once more, for the last time. She had looked into his blue-green eyes and beheld the weight of his grief, backed by another emotion that terrified her.

Determination.

Please, my love, please do not risk yourself for me. I am lost.

The morning was crisp, and all around her Caledonian voices filled the air. She had grown accustomed to the sound of Gaelic in her ears. His voice, like music.

Like the music that had played for them last night.

She had no doubt old Coll had played for them, woven his magic for them as they joined flesh to flesh and spirit to spirit for the last time.

She was doomed, and Deathan MacMurtray was better forgetting her, if he could.

He would not.

He’d best try, because she rode to a fate from which no one could rescue her.

Headstrong and willful all her life, a princess most often granted her way, she’d run up against the stone wall of the high king’s decree.

She saw no escape, and the knowledge made her want to lose her hastily consumed breakfast in the heather.

The rest of their party seemed so happy, giddy with escaping the keep beside the sea. She alone contemplated disaster. She closed her eyes and recalled the day they’d had out upon the sea in the wee boat. The first time they had kissed.

If only she could have sailed away with him forever.

Now she rode in silence, and no one noticed. Or if they did, they left her alone. Spoke around her, leaving her wrapped in misery. Father knew how she felt about all this. But Father had taken his fill of it. He wanted only to go home and resume his life. A Caledonian king in a new Scotland.

Darlei choked down the sickness inside. Better, better she be sacrificed to an old man, a stranger, than endanger Deathan. She would live for that now.

She would live for him.

*

Deathan went to Rohr, since he could not approach Da and he had not the heart to tell Mam. And anyway, Rohr had a part in this, whether or not he acknowledged it.

After a search, he found his brother on the shore. Not in the stone hut where he’d spent so much time hiding after his lover threatened Darlei, but bareheaded beneath the morning sun, working at repairing one of the boats there.

Excepting himself from clan life, Deathan could not help but think. From the gossip and the staring eyes, as was his way. Fool. Did his brother not know he would be chief here someday?

“Wha’ d’ye want?” Rohr asked with scant respect and no welcome. He straightened from his task of scraping at the hull of the craft overturned at his feet. “Are they gone? The accursed Caledonians?”

Deathan had to bite back his ire. Ignoring the query, he said, “I want ye to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Gi’ Da a message.”

Rohr snorted. “I am going nowhere near Da for the time being. He—”

“I am leaving.”

“Wha’?” If Deathan had drawn a sgian-dubh and attacked his brother, Rohr could not look more surprised. His gaze moved over Deathan with more attention. “Going? Where?”

“Where does no’ matter.”

“If ye are goin’ off hunting, I will go wi’ ye. I could use some time awa’.”

“I am going alone. And I may no’ come back. You ha’ responsibilities here. A child on the way. A clan to someday lead—”

“What are ye talkin’ about?” He had all Rohr’s attention now.

“Tak’ up yer place, brother, for I will do it no longer.” Deathan had done that far too long. Organized the watch. Drilled the men. Looked to the safety of the holding.

Being the dutiful son.

“I know my place fine,” Rohr said.

“Then step into it. Tell Da I ha’ gone off to clear my head.”

“Yer head!”

“And no’ to follow me. I will come back when I am ready. If at all.” Deathan had no idea how this would work out.

“Have ye lost yer mind?”

“Do no’ let Mam worry. That above all else, Rohr.”

“Listen to me, Deathan. This is madness. Ye canna—”

“I take naught but my pony. My weapons. Naught but what belongs to me.”

“’Tis no’ that.” Rohr’s eyes widened. “Wha’ will we do wi’out ye?”

Rohr had never before said such a thing. Deathan would have sworn he’d never thought it. “Ye will manage, I do no’ doubt.”

Rohr snagged Deathan’s arm in a hard grip. “How long—”

“I do no’ ken. Just do no’ let them worry, eh? And do no’ let them come after me.”

He turned away, and Rohr stood open-mouthed and watched him, only calling at the last moment, “Go, then. Get whatever it is out o’ yer system. Ye’ll come back. Ye’ve nowhere else.”

He might come back. Or he might end up dead and buried in the breast of this land he loved. Impossible to tell.

At least the Caledonian party was easy to follow. Such a large group left a clear trail, and he was not all that far behind. They had a wagon and baggage. He could catch up.

First he had to decide what to do. How to handle matters when he did.

He thought he should speak with King Caerdoc, explain the situation and how things were with him and Darlei. The man loved his daughter. Mayhap the two of them together could persuade him.

To act against the high king?

Another choice was to steal Darlei away, perhaps under cover of darkness. The two of them could approach King Kenneth at Forteviot. Petition him and explain their feelings for one another. Seek permission to wed.

If he sought a union between Caledonian and Scot, well, they were that, were they not? Just because Deathan was second-born and had no claim upon his own lands…

A third option: Deathan could seek to win Darlei’s hand. Challenge her father for her, just like in the old stories. Fight for and win her.

This was what Darlei feared, so he knew—a fear buried so deep within her, it did not answer to reason. She did not believe he could win such a challenge.

And if he could not?

He refused to countenance that. Fighting for her, he could not lose. This he believed down to the root of his soul.

Yet if fate proved unkind, if the turn upon the tortuous wheel allowed Darlei to watch him die for her sake?

She would never recover. Never.

If he loved her, he had to consider her physical safety, her heart, her spirit.

He rode on and the morning strengthened around him. A beautiful day did Scotland offer her son.

And he could feel her, Darlei. As if an invisible cord ran from him through the very blessed ground, to her. And he had to be careful of that, mindful of his thoughts. He did not want her to know he followed, lest she worry and fret for him.

Best, mayhap, if she did not know he was there until she saw him. And so as he rode, he prayed to the very soil of Scotland: Protect her. Do no’ let her worry. Bring her comfort. And let her forgive me what I do.