Page 57 of For a Wild Woman’s Heart (Ancient Songs #3)

D ark gathered beneath the trees, a dense stand of fir, but the higher branches shut out some of the rain that had hit Darlei’s skin so hard it felt fit to flay her. Perhaps, she thought a bit frantically, it merely began to grow dark.

How would they see to ride when dark did fall? Oh, but their situation proved perilous. MacNabh followed them. That was, someone followed. She’d stolen a glance over her shoulder at one point and seen blurry shapes behind. She could not tell who it was. But it would be MacNabh or his men.

“Can we stop?” Orle begged in Darlei’s ear. “I do not think I can hold on.” Her arms, tight around Darlei’s body, trembled with strain.

“Nay.” Darlei could say no more.

A soft sob broke from Orle’s throat. What would MacNabh do to the maid, if he got them back? Darlei had a pretty fair idea what he would do to her . Confinement would be the least of it. But a disobedient servant?

He would likely separate them so they could not scheme again. He might beat Orle, this gentle soul who had proved to be so constant a friend, with none to stop him, if they retreated to his stronghold.

Urgency enveloped Darlei, making her start to sweat. They had to move slowly here, or risk injuring the pony as she’d injured Bradh, back when all this began.

She might never see her dear pony again. Silent tears slipped down her face. Or her mother, or father, or anyone back home. She might never see Deathan—

She stopped herself there, for the longing was too bright. She could not think on it. It would steal her strength.

They crossed a shallow stream, and she tried to look behind, through the dark boles of the trees.

Movement.

She turned her pony’s head and…

A piercing whistle came through the woodland.

Darlei cursed, then urged the pony on with her knees and her hands in his mane.

The beast stopped and stood with his head turned, looking back just as she had.

Darlei sobbed at him, a plea. “Go!” He did not move, for he’d been trained to stand at a whistle.

“What is it?” Orle asked. “What?”

“Stay there.” Darlei slid down onto her feet. Her legs threatened to go out beneath her, and she very nearly fell.

Strength , she ordered herself.

The rain now sounded at a distance, high up in the boughs of the trees. She could see two—nay, three forms on horseback, approaching. She could hear them, so close were they.

She had no weapon. No way to defend Orle and herself. She had only what MacNabh wanted.

She turned on the pony, thrust her face into his mane. “Go,” she beseeched him. And to Orle, more loudly, “Go! It is me he wants. Not you.”

Orle stared at her in horror. “But I can barely ride—”

“You will manage. You are strong. Ride for help. Go home—it is north and east of here. Tell Father all that has transpired.”

The approaching riders were now so close, Darlei heard the hooves of the ponies on the fallen branches.

Orle reached for her. “I cannot—”

“You must. I am counting upon you.” Darlei gave the pony a hard swat on the rump. It went against everything within her to cause an animal pain. She had one glimpse of Orle sliding up to grasp the beast’s mane before the pony took off across the rivulets ahead and on northward.

Would MacNabh whistle for him again?

He did not. Instead he quickened his pace toward Darlei, who stood, her heart beating so hard in her chest that it made her lightheaded.

She watched him come, a big, dim shape on his pony. The three riders surrounded her, so close she could clearly see the rage in MacNabh’s eyes.

“Do no’ try to run. If ye do, I will ride ye down.”

She believed him. Fury flared in his eyes. She had rarely seen a man so angry. If she ran, the next thing she would feel would be his pony’s hooves on her back.

“Chief, should we go after the other lass?”

“Dunna bother. She is but a servant. Though I hate to lose a fine pony, ’tis good riddance to the woman.”

He slid down off his horse and stepped up to Darlei, looming oversized in the gloom. “Ye ha’ cost me a great deal o’ trouble.”

The words were accompanied by a blow, one Darlei only half saw coming.

The shock of it kept her from feeling immediate pain, but rocked her on her feet.

“Cost me a good pony.” The second blow did knock her down.

The pine-needle-strewn forest floor rushed up at her.

Blood started at one corner of her mouth.

The place Deathan had so often kissed.

She could fight. She was a Caledonian princess. But if she fought, he just might beat her to death.

Mayhap better dead. Better than what would come.

MacNabh seized her bodily and, with a grunt, threw her up onto the back of his pony. He mounted behind her and spoke into her ear.

“Run fro’ me again and I will mak’ ye regret it.”

Again, she believed him.

*

Deathan heard the whistle just as he entered the woodland. He had run as far as he could and now paced quickly, following the sounds of the party ahead.

Why would MacNabh whistle?

The way through the trees was mercifully clear. Boughs and fir needles lay underfoot. His sodden boots made nothing of them.

Ahead lay a stream. On the other side of it, a clutch of figures. How many? Three ponies. Men on foot. Another, smaller form.

He halted, drawing his sword from the loop at his belt.

If he had to fight for Darlei, so be it. If he had to fight three of them, he would. If he had to die for her…

Before that happened, he must make certain he freed her.

He stepped forward just in time to hear an angry voice. To see the smaller figure fall to the ground.

He leaped the stream. He could see two of MacNabh’s guards, still mounted. The man himself on his feet. He watched MacNabh grab a woman—Darlei—up from the ground and toss her onto his horse.

Och, by the gods, by all the gods, he had to—

MacNabh mounted and turned his pony. Deathan drew breath to call out. To challenge the man. They would finish what had started in the stable.

He stepped out in front of MacNabh’s pony, his sword raised. The man’s horse reared and MacNabh drew it around with a cruel hand. He stared at Deathan as at a ghost before crying to his mount and charging by.

Darlei, clutched hard in MacNabh’s grasp, saw him.

She saw him.

A world of communication lay in her gaze, as if she’d cried aloud to him. Caution. Fear. Love.

Do not come after me. Do not try to fight for me. Do not risk yourself for me.

How could he do anything else? He lived for her. Breathed for her. In this life and any other.

MacNabh’s two guards passed him with startled looks. He thrust his sword back into the loop at his belt and followed after them.