Their eyes met.Oh, my love.
She stumbled toward her father, who reached out and snagged her arm. Drew her to him.
“You are mad, boy. Go home. Turn about and go back home.”
“I will not.” Deathan could not be more implacable had his back been set to an oak. “I am taking Princess Darlei wi’ me.”
Darlei’s heart bounded. Poor, abused heart. For it came crashing down so hard again, it nearly shattered.
“Deathan,” she said.
No one heard. Except he did. His gaze moved to her and back again to focus on Father. He said, “I will no’ let ye take her away to a marriage she does no’ want.”
Father, clearly shocked, sneered, “Oh, and I suppose she wants you?”
“She does.”
“I do,” Darlei echoed, but no one heard. No one heard. Her life—her being—at stake, and no one heard.
“You fool,” Father barked, “she goes by order o’ the king.”
“The king will ha’ to be disappointed, as will the chosen bridegroom. She comes wi’ me.”
“He is mad!” Father declared, and the men around him echoed it.
Deathan raised his chin and his sword. “I issue a challenge. I will fight any o’ yer men for Princess Darlei’s freedom. To the death, if it be your demand.”
Nay. Nay!
Darlei tried to step forward. Father’s grip on her arm prevented it.
“Any of us?” It was Urfet who stepped forward. Even through the rain Darlei could see the confident smile on his face. In anaside to Father, he said, “King Caerdoc, allow me. I can end this. It may prove amusing.”
Nay.
Not Urfet. Not this.
“Father,” Darlei began. She could not look at Deathan now. She turned instead and stared at her father beseechingly. “Do not agree to this.”
For an instant, Father’s gaze met hers. She beheld speculation there. Did he wonder or suspect what lay between her and Murtray’s second son?
“Nonsense,” he said from between clenched teeth, and then called to Deathan, “We accept your challenge.” To Urfet, he said, “Go ahead and end it.”
Chapter Forty-One
They stepped outinto 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.Theywould 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.
