Page 56 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

I t took Darlei three tries to snag the pony’s mane and convince him to stand. He did not know her, so was skittish, and wore no bridle or lead, so she had no way to hold him.

She would never catch a second of the beasts, the others having scattered. She swiftly decided the one would have to do both her and Orle.

She vaulted onto the animal’s back and reached down for Orle. “Come up. Behind me.”

She did not know if Orle could hear her through the pounding rain. With a panicked look and a shake of the head, the maid mouthed, I cannot!

Orle, not the rider Darlei was, might well be afraid. But there was no time to waste. They might be discovered, and would not be able to hear any pursuit.

“Come!” She seized Orle’s arm and yanked with desperate strength. Her maid came up behind her onto the bare, sopping-wet pony’s hide. “Hold on.”

Darlei had been riding from the age of two, and though this was not her own Bradh, and though the beast balked a little, she soon had him in line.

She made for the main gate, the paddock where the ponies were located being surrounded by a wall.

She did not know if some unfortunate guard stood there, but intended to ride him down if he did.

They had very little time.

Something had been happening in the stables, some disturbance that, thank all the powers, must have called MacNabh away. But the young guard would send the healer and it would be discovered they were gone, and then—

She could think it through no farther.

The main gate stood open and empty. The miracle of it hurtled toward Darlei as they rode through unhindered by anything but the rain. Her pony’s hooves tore up the turf and they rode blind and headlong, not knowing where, save away.

She could not let this pony stumble, as she had Bradh back at the beginning of this journey. Before she’d ever met Deathan.

Deathan.

Her thoughts darted to the glimpse she’d had of the man pushing the barrow, out her chamber window. Had it been him? Her heart argued so. But if he was there at MacNabh, that meant she had just left him behind.

And it might have been no more than a fancy. A longing. She thought about him so much, dreamed of him so often, she might have imagined what was not there. For she had not seen the man’s face.

And yet…

“Darlei, I am falling!” Orle’s panicked plea in her ear had Darlei slowing their hectic pace. Open land lay all around MacNabh’s stronghold, now curtained with rain. They needed to head for cover before the chief mounted a pursuit.

“Here. Push up closer behind me,” she gasped to Orle. “Hug the pony with your knees. Hold to me, tighter.”

She moved off, though not as swiftly, toward a line of trees on the northern horizon.

How far off was their cover? She could not tell, with everything blurred and gray.

Farther, mayhap, than it looked. The rain might help obscure their tracks.

Then again, the pony’s hooves might leave deep marks anywhere he trod in mud.

Naught to be done about it.

The pony seemed to have settled to her will, and Orle clutched her fiercely. Darlei increased the pace a little, doubt and hope warring inside her. If they did manage to elude any pursuit…

They had nothing. Not so much as a cloak between them. No food. No flask for water. Not even a flint.

Nowhere to go.

Her heart bade her to head for Murtray. Find Deathan. He would help her. But could he, with MacNabh being her husband?

Mayhap not. She would have to look after herself. And Orle. But oh, it would break her heart if never she saw him again.

*

The breath surged in Deathan’s lungs and he cursed himself again for failing to fetch his pony. But he would run forever, if it meant finding Darlei. He had soon lost sight of MacNabh and his party, falling behind. And the world seemed a mad place, devoid of direction.

How did MacNabh know which way to head?

The party had originally ridden roughly northward, after studying the ground.

Deathan followed the trail left by MacNabh’s ponies.

But he was alone, stranded in a world that contained naught but sodden turf, bracken, and wet.

Rivulets ran in all directions, the water tumbling down from higher ground.

Streams where none had been before. He leaped them, wondering what he would do if he caught up to MacNabh. To MacNabh and Darlei.

He wanted to kill the man.

But he could not, not in front of MacNabh’s men. Not unless he could convince MacNabh to finish the fight they’d begun back in the stables. A fair fight.

His sodden hair slapped against his back with every step. His boots were heavy with wet, and the rain ran down his face like tears, but he loped on. How much of a head start had Darlei got?

If she made it away from MacNabh, he would find her. Find her even if it took him the rest of his life. They would live wild as vagabonds if they must. So long as they were together.

He gave a fleeting thought to his mother, whom he might nevermore see alive. Mam. Those bonds were strong.

Was it true that they met with the same people, the same souls, life after life? If so, he might hope to meet with his mam again.

She’d been so ill when he left. By all that was holy, he hoped he would meet her in some other life, if not this one. Would feel the love and comfort of her presence.

It seemed, as he ran along that trail toward either failure or his future, that he could feel his life—his lives—stretching behind him, the places he had been and the deeds he had done reaching back and back, as night extended past the mist of morning.

He ran a line connecting the long-ago with the future.

He must believe. If he failed to reach Darlei now, the wheel would turn and they would, aye, meet again. He must hold that as his reality.

But och, he wanted her now.

Ahead, he thought he caught a hint of movement and paused, his lungs working like bellows. Through the rain he could just glimpse a row of trees, dark through the gray. Was that where Darlei had gone? If so, she might have a chance, once under cover.

He blinked furiously and thought he saw three blurry forms hesitating there. The grass ahead was thick. Perhaps MacNabh and his men sought to determine which way the women had gone.

He must be there, if and when MacNabh found them. He must be in position to draw his sword and challenge the man, end it once and for all.

He drew breath and ran on.