Father spoke on of old battles and the new king. Darlei’s gaze crept back to the young man sitting nearly at her feet.
A good place for him, she tried to tell herself. And now that she thought on it, surely she’d seen him outside, on her way in. But who was he?
No one special. The hall thronged with men, very similar men, one like the other.
Father finished his interminable speech and sat down. The women began circulating with the food.
“Did ye ha’ a good journey?” the man beside her asked. Rohr. That was his name. She had best remember it.
It took her a moment to interpret what he said, her ear not accustomed to the tongue. She thought about the journey. Her attempted escape. Nay, it had not been a good journey.
She wondered what would happen if she told him,I am already sick for home.
“Yes,” she said instead. And then, repeating it in his tongue, “Aye.”
“Murtray is one o’ the grandest holdings on the western coast,” he said boastfully. “I suppose that is why the king chose us for,” he concluded without conviction, “this honor.”
Darlei considered all she might say, the polite things and the not so polite. She chose among them. “I gather you are as unhappy with this proposed union as I.”
He stared at her, wide blue eyes gone wider, and a look of astonishment on his face. He had not expected honesty from her, nay.
She leaned toward him confidingly. “Mayhap if we work together, we can find a way to escape this unjust demand the king has made.”
Chapter Eight
Deathan watched theCaledonian princess simply because he could not seem to do otherwise. She was not beautiful, nay, not in the ordinary way. Too much strength in that face. But there were beautiful things about her. That glorious hair, all wild and tumbled. The graceful way she moved. A body like a goddess from an ancient tale.
She fascinated him.
Well, that was not so unusual, was it? A royal party of Caledonians did not turn up at the keep every day. At least, not without knives and spears in their hands.
Now they drew their knives only to cut their meat. He was impressed by their manners and by the fact that they spoke his tongue.
She—Princess Darlei—produced a knife from her belt and cut her own meat, a service Rohr might well have offered to perform for her. He was meant to be looking after her, was Rohr. But, keeping a close eye on Rohr, Deathan could see his brother, usually all bold confidence, appeared cautious and careful. Cowed.
She put him off, did the princess. Not what he had expected, perhaps.
Would he fall for her? Abandon his lover who already carried his child and tumble into the princess’s arms?
How could he help it?
That thought startled Deathan, so he turned his gaze away from the two at the high table and concentrated on his food. Spoke to those around him.
Yet something made him look back again. The princess leaned toward Rohr and said something that brought the color to his face.
A strange reaction on the part of his brother. A very strange one.
The welcome feast went on and on, Da doing his best to make an impression. He and the Caledonian king spoke at length and most earnestly. Deathan began to see what perhaps King Kenneth had been trying to accomplish with this union—with these unions all over Scotland. Bring together people who otherwise might not have met except on the field of battle.
The princess and Rohr did not speak for long, and Rohr wore an expression like a man who had been kicked in the face. What had she said to him?
Her gaze fell upon him, Deathan, a few times, but she turned her eyes as swiftly away. She had plenty to look upon, did the woman who was to be—
His sister. As good as.
The realization started a sick feeling in his gut, a churning conviction of a wrong done. An odd familiarity, as if all this had happened before.
Only it had not.
