Page 42 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

T hey stepped out into the cleared space beside the wagon where there was room to fight, Deathan facing Urfet, who wore a broad smile. Indeed, the Caledonian champion wore that accursed, confident look on his face, the same as when they’d contested at games together back home.

This, though, could not be more serious.

As if to emphasize it, Urfet called to Deathan in his heavily accented Gaelic, “To the death, you said, MacMurtray? Then say goodbye to the world.”

Deathan did not waste breath in answering, too busy seeking his bearings. The world looked blurry with rain. It might well affect his aim and timing. At the same time, he felt something rising within him, a kind of fire that stilled his quivering knees and lent sure strength.

If he won this battle, Darlei would ride away with him. They would win.

But he could not look into her face and behold the protest there—even through the rain he could see that. More than protest. Terror.

She still did not believe he could win.

He wanted to tell her not to fear so, but no time for that either. Urfet was circling, circling. His blade in his hand. That smile on his face.

The Caledonian blade was a beautiful thing, not as long as Deathan’s own—he should have the advantage in reach. But the weapon, touched with bronze, looked magical, and it moved in a blur. No shields. No protection. Only metal and flesh.

As Deathan might have expected, Urfet became the aggressor. Almost before Deathan could draw breath, the warrior came swooping in, the strike so swift that Deathan barely caught the blade on his own.

He shook his head and tossed the wet hair back out of his eyes. Urfet struck again. Again.

Let him tire , said something or someone in the back of Deathan’s mind.

Would the man tire? He was like a young horse, swift and full of power.

Deathan circled, back and back. Urfet struck once more and Deathan turned the blade, stepped in to give the man a taste of what he had.

Urfet’s smile widened.

He struck for Deathan’s legs. Deathan leaped aside, barely in time. So it was to be that way, was it? As he should have expected.

He waved his sword around his head and came in crashing upon his opponent. Somehow, Urfet caught the blade before it took his head. His smile slipped.

A few more like that and the man would lie dead, or as good as. Deathan and Darlei would ride off together.

A flurry, a desperate struggle, the slip of a blade. Reengagement, and a line of red appeared on Deathan’s sword arm. He did not feel the pain.

But Darlei cried out. He heard her even above the crash of the rain. He heard her inside his head.

Nay, my love. I will not allow you to die for me.

Deathan set himself to fight on. But, tearing free from her father, Darlei ran forward. With a wordless cry, she planted her body between Deathan and Urfet, her back to the Caledonian champion.

Urfet stilled his sword just in time. Darlei did not seem to notice how close she had come to death. Eyes huge, staring into Deathan’s face, she hollered, “Stop. Stop! I will not allow this!”

No one made a sound. The pounding of the rain became twice as loud. The pounding of Deathan’s heart fair possessed him.

“Father!” Darlei spoke with her gaze still fastened to Deathan’s. “This man is mistaken. Mistaken. I do not wish to go with him. I do not want him. ”

Deathan took a step toward her. “Ye do no’ mean that.”

“I do. Believe that I do. Turn right around. Get on your pony and—”

She still did not believe he could win this fight. Even though the hard part—convincing King Caerdoc to countenance the challenge—was already done.

That hurt far more than any wound. Yet he could see in her wide silver eyes that her fear was greater still than any belief.

Ignoring the men behind her, ignoring the rain, she stepped forward and gazed at him earnestly. There were just the two of them, naught else existing, when she said, “You should not die for me. No man will ever again die for me.”

“Darlei, come!” King Caerdoc, with a livid glare for Deathan, leaped forward and seized her arm. “You heard her,” he spat at Deathan. “She does not want you. It is done.”

A greater lie had never been spoken. But the lie stood behind the silver war shields of Darlei’s eyes. She let herself be pulled away back toward the wagon. Urfet stepped back also, not without a glance of speculation.

Deathan stood there in the rain, his world crashing down around him and blood running from his arm.

As he saw it, he had two choices left to him. He could ride away back home. He could battle against that lie in her eyes and follow her.

For now he must take his answer, the one that was a lie.

He mounted his pony, which stood as miserable as he, and rode away. Rode away with nothing more than his life.

*

Darlei sobbed. She had never wept so, not in all her life. As she had discovered, especially lately, a woman wept tears from time to time, no matter how strong she thought she was. Most of hers had been angry tears, or those born of pride.

This, this was grief. Grief such as she had not known existed.

He had come for her. She had sent him away again.

She had sent him away in order to save his life. At least he had that, still.

She had seen Urfet fight before, as Deathan had not. She knew the ins and outs of the man’s tricky mind. He never played fair. And when the blood had flowed, she had reacted without thought.

The fear that had fountained up through her was deep and fierce as fire. It had roots in her soul.

It had overwhelmed her. Spoken for her. But…

Had she done the right thing?

Yes. Yes, never doubt it. For nothing—not even marriage to a stranger—could be worse than seeing Deathan lying dead on the ground.

Nothing.

Yet had he won, she might have ridden away with him. Free.

She had condemned herself for his sake. Was it so different from what he had tried to do for hers?

She wept so long that Orle begged her to stop and then despaired of her. She must at last have gone out to fetch Father, for suddenly he was there beside her.

“Darlei, daughter.” His hand on her hair was not unkind. “You must get hold of yourself. This will not do.”

Darlei said nothing. She could not speak.

“Do you love him, that young man?”

Love. Could the meaning of the word even approach what she felt for Deathan?

“Life is not easy, daughter, and often not as we would choose.” His hand still rested on her hair. “The path ahead of you is cast. You have done right to obey the king.”

Was that what he thought she had done? Was it, truly?

“It will go well for our people to be in King Kenneth’s favor. So if you have made a sacrifice, it is a worthy one.”

She had not sacrificed for her people. For him, only for him .

“But you are a princess and must behave like one. Now call upon your pride and make up your mind to accept your fate gracefully.”

Pride, yes, she’d always had that. Could it see her forward?

She had chosen this. Could she be woman enough to live with it?

She pictured Deathan riding away through the rain. Returning to the settlement he loved so well, the place beside the wide sea. She’d once rued the necessity of spending her life there.

Now she could imagine nothing better, so long as it was with him.

His trail lay in one direction and hers another. Blessed she had been that their trails had ever crossed, that she’d known him for a time. Gazed into his eyes. Held him inside her.

She held him inside her still.

She sat up and mopped her eyes. That, if anything, would be her strength.