The king spoke the Gaelic tongue, just like the messenger, Urfet—Deathan had almost failed to notice that. He had yet to hear the princess speak. But they now gabbed together in their own language, and it was the haughty messenger who steppedforward and said, “It is as I told you before, Chief MacMurtray. We will care for our own animals.”
“But,” Da protested, “I have lads standing by for but that purpose.”
Urfet’s eyes flashed. “No one touches our stock. None but our own hands.”
It felt like a slap in the face. Whether it was meant so, Deathan could not tell. Another flurry occurred as the lads from the stables, who, indeed, stood by, mumbled among themselves.
Da said, “Verra well. Our lads will tell yours where to house yer beasts and lend what assistance they may.”
Did Da appear nettled? Difficult to tell. Rohr did, though he stood unmoving with the princess’s hand on his arm.
“The rest o’ ye,” Da continued, “please come in. Ye will wish to refresh yourselves after yer long journey.”
The refreshments stood ready, a high table having been set across the top of the hall. The principals were led to it while the rest of the party thronged one of the side tables, all together.
King Caerdoc strode beside Da to a place at the center of the high table. Deathan, following, heard Da explain, “Forgive my wife being absent and unable to greet ye as she wished, King Caerdoc. She lies ill and much regrets missing this—er—joyous event.”
“Ah.” King Caerdoc directed a look at Da. “I am most sorry to hear this. My own queen stayed back at home.”
Da nodded. “My wife, Aene, looks forward to meeting Princess Darlei, who will be her new daughter. Please, sit.”
Caerdoc did, with the flair of a man taking a throne. His daughter sat beside him, and Deathan noticed his hand came out to circle her wrist for a moment.
A warning? Restraint?
Aye so, she looked like she could rip into them all, an affinity for Gaelic or no, and tell them what she thought of being here. She no more favored this match than did Rohr.
Deathan could not say how he knew that so well or why he should suppose he understood what lodged in the woman’s heart. But he did.
Indeed, though he should sit on Da’s other side at the high table, he took a place at one of the lower tables instead, among members of the household guard, where he could look on.
Where he could see her.
And his brother. For Rohr once more sat like a man stricken, never looking at nor speaking to his bride.
A woeful beginning.
Chapter Seven
The faces, allthe staring faces. A sea of them turned toward Darlei, all holding avid expressions of curiosity, wonder, or condemnation. Their numbers increased as more and more people filed into the hall, and with each entry her spirit rebelled a little more strongly.
She could not bear it.
No woman could be expected to weather such a storm. The voices. The avid gazes marking her every move. The expectations.
She wanted to rise from her place at the table and flee. Not that it had served her well last time she’d made the attempt. And not that her father was likely to allow it. Already he had squeezed her hand in warning.
Everything she did here—each word and every exposed movement—reflected upon him. She could not shame him.She could not.
Yet nay, neither could she bear this. Rebellion took hold in her heart. There must be a way out of it. There must.
Oh, and her husband—the man destined to be her husband—he sat beside her now. Unspeaking, unmoving, stiff as if carved from stone.
No matter; one look at him had been enough to set her teeth on edge.
Not ill favored, nay, not if one liked men of his ilk. Which she did not. The men who in the common way attracted her were dark. Or red—not unusual among her people.
Rohr MacMurtray was fair. He had what she would consider a typically Gaelic face—broad in the forehead with eyes set wide beneath curving brows, like the carvings on their marker stones—and an unhappy line to his mouth. Well, she could not fault him for being unhappy. So was she.
