He was near to her, so near she could feel him. Only, how could he be?
She had sent him away. Back home.
Yet she dreamed he spoke to her. Made love to her in all his guises. She woke longing to weep and would not give in to the tears.
The dreams made her begin to understand, to comprehend what Deathan had tried so hard to tell her. Their love was not new. They had loved each other before on previous turns of the wheel.
That meant she had lost him before, this man she adored. She must have parted from him, if only at the impetus of old age.
More merciful, perhaps, not to remember. And if this dream of living life after life proved true, was that not so? People did fail mostly to remember.
She knew why. Remembering hurt too terribly.
Almost better never to have known Deathan MacMurtray.
Nay, not that.She would trade her very life for what she’d had of him.
She began to believe she would die here, shut away in this dim, airless room. Prey to her fear and her dread.
Only her anger, and her love, kept her alive.
Chapter Forty-Six
The knock atthe chamber door caused both Darlei and Orle to jump violently. For days uncounted they had been left alone. That was, a maid brought their food and drink. A lad brought fuel for their meager fire and took away the soiled chamber pot. A furtive-looking woman did some minimal cleaning.
When the knock sounded, it was the wrong time of day for any of them.
She and Orle looked at each other. Dread clenched Darlei’s belly, enough to turn her sick.
“I must answer it,” Orle said.
Oh, and what would she have done all this while without the brave Orle? Loyal and steadfast she was, even while sharing this dreadful imprisonment.
“If it is him,” Darlei said, “pray, do not leave me.” They spoke in their native tongue so they did not fear being overheard.
Orle nodded and hauled open the door.
It was not MacNabh but his aged mother.
The old woman came pushing into the chamber wrapped in her ragged shawl, already squawking. Of all the Gaels Darlei had met so far, she found this woman most difficult to understand.
The old woman tottered past Orle and half mumbled, half screeched something at Darlei.
Darlei shook her head. “I am sorry?”
“Are ye deaf, wench?”
Even a deaf person would be able to catch that penetrating whine.
“I said my son sent me.”
Apprehension tightened Darlei’s stomach still farther.
“He wants to ken, are ye bleedin’?”
“What?”
“Ha’ ye had yer monthly! Daft bitch,” Mistress MacNabh added, not quite under her breath. “He needs tae ken.”
