Struck by the falseness of this speech, Darlei eyed these two men who, in days gone by, might well have met on the battlefield while doing their best to kill one another.
Now they made stilted, hollow conversation. It wasallhollow here, empty. Was that what bothered her so about it?
“We will be pleased to show ye the settlement today. But first, Princess Darlei”—Murtray turned to her and bowed again—“Rohr would like to take ye to make the acquaintance o’ his mother.”
“Ah,” said Father before Darlei could speak. “Darlei would be most honored.”
The mother was ill, Darlei recalled hearing last night. Too ill to leave her bed. She inclined her head at Rohr, who stepped forward.
“This way, mistress.” He offered her his arm.
Did he not mean to address her asprincess, then? For even if she became a member of this clan perforce, she would always remain that. Caledonian royalty to her bones.
That kept her head high and her feet steady as they stepped back into the keep.
“My mother is most anxious to meet ye,” Rohr said as they went. He was a good bit taller than she, and the muscles of his arm felt like iron beneath her hand. “She is pleased to ha’ another daughter.”
“Ah. You have a sister, then?”
“Aye, older than me. She is wed and has been gone from us for some time.”
“Do you have any other siblings?”
“Just my younger brother, Deathan.”
“And if I may ask, what is the nature of your mother’s illness?”
Rohr hesitated. “She was never particularly strong. Of late she suffers from pains in the joints that make it difficult for her to move.”
Darlei stole a glance into his face. Shut down tight. But she caught the merest hint of a smile when he added, “Though she is shut awa’ in her chamber, unable to rise, she is very much still the center o’ life here at Murtray.”
Darlei nodded. They had come to a broad door where Rohr hesitated again. Then he lifted the latch and swung the panel open.
A bright room, much better lit than the one Darlei had been given, with two windows and colorful furnishings. It was as if someone had determined to make the chamber as cheerful as possible for its occupant.
A woman—no doubt a servant—bustled around busily and turned her head to smile at them when they entered. In addition to the servant and the woman who lay in the bed, the room was occupied by a young man.
With a stab of surprise, Darlei recognized him as the man who’d been sitting directly across from her in the hall last night. Now he occupied a chair close beside the bed, his hand extended onto the counterpane. What was he doing here?
Even as he glanced up, her mind put it together. Was he the brother of whom Rohr had spoken? What was his name? Deathan.
Before she could decide for sure, he got to his feet.
“My brother, Deathan,” Rohr said.
And the young man inclined his head at her. “Princess Darlei.”
She nodded back, her gaze clinging to his for an instant before she looked at the woman in the bed.
All her assumptions, and some of her hard-held armor, flew out the nearest window.
In stark contrast to the rest of the room, Mistress MacMurtray looked pale and nearly colorless. Hair that must once have been somewhere near the color of her sons’ had faded to soft gray. A face once round and no doubt pretty now bore lines carved by pain. Her eyes—they too looked faded, the same muted blue as the sky outside.
Yet she had a glow about her, a quiet grace, as if her suffering had worn her down to the sweetest components of her personality. Indeed, the smile she gave Darlei was rife with sweetness, and she held out a wasted hand.
“Daughter.”
It was the warmest welcome Darlei had yet received, and she had to fight back her emotions. She went forward and took the seat Deathan had vacated.
