Aye, so it must be, for the man riding in front of the messenger wore one also. Indeed, Murtray received royalty.
If the Caledonian party had wished to make an impression, they succeeded. The crowd of many onlookers went silent in a wave at their approach. Rohr swore under his breath.
When the party reached the open gate and flowed through, when they crossed the bailey and paused at the bottom of the stone stairs, the silence became so complete that Deathan could hear the tinkle of tiny bells tied to their ponies’ manes.
“Welcome!” Da stepped down the stairs and held out his hands. “Welcome to Murtray.”
The messenger had already dismounted, alighting with that same lithe grace. He caught the king’s bridle and bowed as he called out, “Caerdoc, King of the Caledonii.”
Deathan tore his gaze from the princess to look at the king, even as the man swung down with an assessing glance for the keep. What did he think of the place? Impressive, with its strong walls? Rough and humble? Unworthy of his daughter?
He was middling tall and every bit as well dressed as the princess, with a similar mane of brown beneath his bronze circlet, and gray in his beard. A thin face, far haughtier than Deathan had expected. He turned to Da but did not smile.
Da bowed again. “Herve MacMurtray,” he introduced himself. “We are”—a brief pause as Da sought a word—“honored by your presence.”
Caerdoc bowed his head slightly. Not truly a bow.
Da turned to Rohr. “And this is my son, Rohr MacMurtray.”
Rohr went down the steps. He had dressed in ordinary clothing, not knowing or not caring that the arrival would be today, and his hair hung unplaited and undressed. The color still came and went in his face.
Kind Caerdoc did not look impressed. He had a long, rather thin nose, and he employed it to gaze down at Rohr.
“My daughter, Princess Darlei.”
Darlei.
The four Caledonian guards who had flanked the wagon dismounted and stood close as if—what, they expected someone here to do her harm?
A thought came into Deathan’s head.As if they expected her to flee.
She disembarked from the wagon without any assistance from anyone, ignoring the hand the driver offered. On her feet she was tall, slim, and graceful. Her hair—och, but it was magnificent and shone in the sunlight. Her face—not so. If anyone could look less happy with the situation than Rohr, it was she.
Not a bonny face at first glance. Not soft enough to be called bonny. Like her father’s, it was thin and carried an enormous amount of strength.
By all that was holy, though, Rohr should not dare complain.
Deathan switched his gaze to his brother, who now bowed to the woman he would wed.
“Welcome, welcome!” Da bowed again, not seeming to know what else to say. “All is in readiness for your stay.”
The party filed into the keep. Deathan, who remained on the steps, moved back to afford the visitors room to pass.
She would pass right by him. On Rohr’s arm.
He acknowledged, as she came up the stairs, that she did not appear a wild woman. Aye so, that hair was wild, barely disciplined, but the rest of her spewed dignity.
That was until she reached the step on which Deathan stood, turned her head, and looked directly at him.
Her eyes were silver. Not gray, as might be considered ordinary, but bright as two shards of armor. And they were wild, entirely wild, like those of a hawk confined, defying her comportment.
A feeling started at the root of Deathan’s spine and crawled its way upward. Through his groin, through his belly and stomach, growing claws as it came, claws that eventually sank into his heart.
She hated them, did this princess. She hated them all.
*
The first difficultycame when Da again tried assigning someone to care for the Caledonians’ ponies. They had reached the hall by then, just inside the arched doorway, and there came a flurry of displeasure.
