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 theweapon, 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 herbody 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.
*
