He had hair the color of ripe grain, too dark to be called blond and too light to be brown. And freckles.
Like a little boy.
She could scarce imagine a man to attract her less. The very idea that she could be required to lie down with him—
Nay, do not think about that.She could come up with a means for escape before that happened.
And yet this did not look an easy place from which to escape. She raised her eyes to the stone walls—stout—and the rafters far overhead, topped with thatch. The place, a keep, they called it, had been built to shut enemies out.
It might also keep her in.
The doors—there were two of them out of the place, and she sat near neither. The closest, to one side, was traversed by a horde of women all bearing food and must lead to what passed here for a kitchen. The other wide door through which they’d entered lay at the far end of the hall. Score upon score of people between.
All staring.
It made her feel…well, desperate. It sent an impulse up her spine. To be alert for the fight, to stab, to kill if need be. To break free.
Yet she sat with her hands folded hoping it did not show.
Why could she not have been born a man? Then she would not be in this predicament. She could flounce around at liberty like the men of her party, and no one would question it. Except…
She stole another look at the man seated beside her. A man, yes, yet every bit as miserable as she. Where washisliberty?
Herve MacMurtray rose to his feet and the noise level in the chamber dropped. The Murtray, he was called here, so Father said, as if he were the only member of his clan of any significance. He had schooled her in such details, had Father, who did not want her to appear ignorant.
The Murtray was about to make a speech. She set herself to listen.
Though she was able to understand and speak the Gaelic language—Father had made certain of that also—it seemed arduous to listen. The Murtray spoke interminably about honor and the king—MacAlpin, he meant—and their duties to crown and country. Darlei knew all this. She rebelled at most of it.
Her endurance began to erode.
The faces before her blurred into an indeterminate sea. She avoided the stares, gazing into the middle distance, shut them away and imagined herself back home, riding through the meadows with the sun shining down on her head and the wind at her back.
All the avid faces narrowed to one, which quite unaccountably caught her attention.
He sat directly in front of her at the end of a board running in the other direction down the room. He should be listening to the Murtray, who was presumably his chief. He watched her, instead.
To be sure, everyone looked at her. Hewatched. There was a difference.
Through narrowed eyes, she frowned back at him.
A young man he was, no doubt one of the Murtray’s warriors, for he had the look of a fighting man. He sat in his seat with his legs spread out—relaxed and yet not relaxed. Difficult to judge the Gaels by their clothing, but his appeared fine. Was he someone of importance?
Curious now, she inspected him further. Brown hair, light brown—the color a blond child’s hair tended to turn as he grew. A face that was neither what she’d consider handsome or ill favored, with a strong nose that lent it character. His eyes…
Too much distance divided the two of them for her to see their color, but they were nice eyes, set beneath level brows. And his mouth—wide, mobile. She had a sudden image of him using those lips to drop a kiss into the palm of her hand.
Now, why should she imagine such a thing? She had no desire for it. And he meant naught to her. He was no sort of man to catch her eye. And above all else, he was a Gael.
The Murtray finished his speech at last and sat down. Father rose and began to speak in turn. Darlei jerked her gaze away from the young man. She truly should listen.
Her gaze fluttered to Urfet, who had stationed himself beside the main door. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his head high, proud.
Now, Urfet was the sort of man to attract her. Graceful, strong, and competent, marked by tattoos and with that indefinable something that characterized Caledonian men. She had long followed him with her eyes, though she would die rather than let him know it, and in truth she certainly wanted naught to do with him or any other man.
She wanted her independence.
And Urfet had more women after him than any man should fairly wish. Only—why could it not be one such as he, if she had to wed, rather than the poor specimen who sat beside her?
