Page 5 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

F or reasons unknown to Darlei, the gods had doomed her escape. Brought this storm down upon her head. Put the steep stream bank in their path. Rendered her pony lame.

This, despite the fact that the same gods—those of blessed Caledonia—had favored her so often in the past. Favored her boldness and her daring. Smiled upon her exploits.

Not this night.

She stood there with the wild weather crashing all around her, Bradh’s lead in her hand, and equally wild emotions pouring through her. Frustration and anger. Protest and denial.

Why would the gods want her to leave the home she loved and travel to the west? Almost as far west as a woman could go and yet be in Scotland. Why would they want her to wed with a stranger, a Gael at that?

It made no sense, and her heart rebelled. What was she to do now? Caught here with a lamed pony.

She could abandon him, she supposed, and move off on foot, but her heart protested doing that. Injured and possibly disoriented, would he find his way home?

Could she be so selfish?

Her bow and quiver had fallen during the crash. She had to slide back down the bank and search for them. She feared Bradh would take flight once she left him, but he was still there when she clawed her way up again, muddy and wet.

The pony’s head drooped dispiritedly. She had not the heart to leave him.

“Come, then.”

She began leading him one careful step at a time, back the way they had come. Fortunately, they had come up the same side of the stream where they’d fallen, but it would be a long, slow journey.

Her mind simmered and steamed. If any good fortune remained to her, she might slip back into her tent before dawn—surely the light would come late in this weather—and pretend ignorance over Bradh’s state.

But her luck had not been good this night.

The storm began to move off at length, and the night’s darkness fled with it. Step by painful step, she led the pony. She could feel her own hurts now, bruises coming up all over her body.

None could rival the ache in her heart.

She heard them before she saw them—a party moving through the trees up ahead. Rough, impatient voices calling to one another. Her absence had been discovered.

The gods well and truly had abandoned her.

For the pony’s sake, she stopped and waited for them to reach her. Yes, that was her father’s voice. As the air began to lighten to gray, she caught sight of him down off his own pony and, no doubt, following her trail.

“There!” cried one of his men.

Father’s head came up and he caught sight of her. She braced herself for what would come.

Anger filled his every line as he stalked toward her.

A man of goodly height he was, built along graceful lines with brown hair like her own and a pair of canny, dark eyes now narrowed in annoyance.

He wore his good cloak—thoroughly wetted—and a narrow bronze crown that denoted his status as a king.

Long had their ancestors fought the Celtic invaders who pushed them back and back eastward, and stole their lands.

So long as Darlei could remember, and years before that.

How could Father so betray his own, those who had fought and died before him, and send her to wed with one of those invaders?

“Darlei!” he bellowed. “What have you done?” His voice echoed the distant thunder. His outrage came at her in a wave that found her even before he stepped up.

Those dark eyes examined her and moved over Bradh even before he demanded, “Explain yourself!”

Did he truly need an explanation? It must be clear, all of it, from the moment he had discovered her absence.

She lifted her chin. “I told you I did not want this marriage.”

“So, what? You go creeping off in the night like a craven coward too weak to face her duty?”

That stung. “I am no coward.”

“You might have fooled me. A woman of courage, you are not.”

“Father—”

He raised his voice to a bellow. “A woman of courage accepts her future and her fate with strength and grace. A woman of courage would make me proud.”

A veritable blow to the heart, that. Some of the anger drained from Darlei, but not all.

His quick gaze moved over her again. “Have you injured yourself?”

“Nay, but Bradh is hurt. We suffered a fall.”

“So it is not enough you have betrayed me—you have ruined your good pony.”

Betrayed? Now Darlei’s eyes narrowed in an unconscious parody of his.

“I? Betray you?” It was he who had done that, giving her away at the orders of a presumptive king. “You have sold me into this marriage.”

His fingers twitched as if they longed to give her a slap. “It was not of my choosing, which I have told you time after time, but that of a higher power.”

“And who are we, to obey a Gaelic king?” she could not help but retort.

“We are Caledonians and proud with it. The queen is one of our own. She speaks into her husband’s ear. If we want a stake in this land, we must obey.” His eyes flashed. “Is a marriage good enough for a queen not also good enough for you?”

She had nothing to say to that.

Father lowered his voice. “I should give you a good hiding, daughter. Perhaps that is what is required to tame you. But I would not put marks upon you when you go to your new husband. It appears you have already gathered bruises enough.”

He turned and called over his shoulder to his men. “One of you, come and take this pony. Examine him for harm. The rest of you, back to the camping place.”

The dawning sun came out, slanting through the trees. Just like Darlei’s hopes of escape, the storm had faded into the distance.

*

It soon became apparent that Darlei had done nothing but make things worse for herself. Not only was she bruised and battered with damaged clothing, but her father’s man had determined Bradh was too sorely injured to go on.

Darlei would be forced to ride in the wagon with Orle, or go on foot.

Ah well, she was acquainted with consequences.

From an early age, if her parents were to be believed, she had been strongheaded.

Often wrongheaded, going about her own escapades and pursuing her desires with little thought for any harm that might ensue.

In the past she’d been punished with lack of privileges, confinement, and, from time to time, even physical admonishments.

None of it had proven particularly effective.

No punishment could match this. Being forced to walk to meet her ill fate.

“Mistress Darlei, why do you not ride with me?” Orle called from the ponderous wagon that also carried their baggage. “It pains me to watch you.”

Darlei eyed her friend. To her knowledge, Orle had received none of her father’s ire; he apparently accepted she’d had no part in what Darlei had done. A mere serving girl could not be expected to curb the will of a princess when Father could not.

Darlei felt grateful for that. Bad enough to go to her doom without her pony, who should have remained at their destination with her. Unthinkable to go without Orle.

“I am fine,” she called back. A lie. She had bruises all down one side where her body had met the stones of the stream, and she must have landed first on her left shoulder, for it ached abominably. She did not want to admit it, though.

“Do not be foolish,” Orle called back in the guise of friend rather than servant. “Morgal,” she said to the young man who drove the cart, “please to stop so Princess Darlei can come aboard.”

An amiable young man, Morgal did so. Darlei scrambled up, at a cost in pain.

“Are you bleeding anywhere?” Orle asked while Morgal tried to pretend he could not hear.

“Nay.”

Darlei tried to get comfortable amid their various belongings. In addition to her possessions, the wagon also contained a small chest that held her marriage price.

Why she should have to pay a price while the unknown dog of a Gael toward whom she journeyed did not, she still failed to understand. All she knew was, the king had instituted the rules.

Or perhaps it had been the new queen.

Misery loved company, so it was said. As the queen had to wed with a Gael, so might she countenance dooming Darlei also.

“What happened?” Orle whispered. There had been no time for explanations when Father hauled Darlei back and she hastily changed her clothing. The men had been taking the tent down around them, almost.

Darlei shook her head. “It was an ill-fated venture.”

“Please tell me you will not try again.”

Darlei turned her head and looked into her friend’s eyes, beheld great concern.

“Would you have me go meekly to my fate?”

“Nay, but—”

“Do not tell me you are eager to be banished to live among strangers.”

“Nay, but—”

“Orle, my heart cannot accept this thing.”

“I know.” Orle bit her lip. “Yet I fear somehow you must.”

Nay, and nay, and nay . Darlei carried Caledonia’s wild heart within her. Whatever awaited her at the end of this journey, she would never surrender the bold woman she was.