They rounded the tree, Urfet making a neat loop of it, Deathan losing a few steps. He could no longer hear the onlookers hollering, so loud did the blood rush in his ears.
He passed Rohr heading the other way to round the tree.
Waiting for them was the crowd of Caledonian runners they would have to pass going the other way. They let Urfet through and looked to bar Deathan’s way, but they did not, merely held out their arms and made good-natured faces, letting him pass.
He was right on Urfet’s heels.
He could see his father and the king waiting. He could see Darlei.
Darlei.
He put down his head and ran.
For all that, he did not know he had won till he skidded to a halt in front of his father and King Caerdoc—with Urfet now at his heels.
Urfet slapped him on the back. “A good race!”
King Caerdoc beamed. “How close it was. But your man, Chief MacMurtray, won.”
“I am his son,” Deathan said.
No one heard him. Rohr came running up, face red with either effort or anger, and spat in Urfet’s face, “That was no’ fair! Wha’ kind o’ race is it where the runners attack one another?”
Urfet’s expression went from congratulatory to cold. “It is our way,” he said, “to try to trip one another. All in fun.”
“It is cheating!” Rohr stepped up. “I would ha’ won but for it.”
“As your brother did?” Urfet gestured at Deathan. He at least had heard him identify himself.
It was the wrong thing to say if he wanted to allay Rohr’s anger. Deathan thought he did not.
“It is cheating, and ye will pay for it!”
Princess Darlei appeared and inserted herself between Rohr and Urfet. It brought her so close to Deathan that he could smell the fragrance coming off her hair.
“It is our way,” she told Rohr, “in friendly competition.” Her eyes glowed wild silver. “If you have a difficulty with that—”
Rohr backed down, but Deathan could see it cost him. Cost him in pride and self-discipline.
“As ye say, princess.”
“A misunderstanding only.” King Caerdoc stepped forward. “We are not used to one another’s ways.”
“Indeed.” Da did not look at all happy. His gaze slid over Deathan as if he did not exist.
But Princess Darlei turned to him. “Congratulations. You ran well.”
All the reward he could fairly ask.
*
Darlei gazed intothe face of the man who stood before her. He who had beaten her hero, Urfet, in the race. Wild emotions pumped through her. Annoyance, yes, that Urfet had not won, though Urfet himself did not seem upset by the loss and, indeed,at least a Caledonian had not been last. Disquiet with her bridegroom and his ill-tempered acceptance of his defeat.
Deathan MacMurtray—the victor—returned her look in full from his curiously colored eyes, which held an equally curious expression, one she could not quite identify.
His skin glowed with moisture; his chest still rose and fell from exertion. His hair, loosed during the run, tumbled down his back. Unlike earlier in the muted light of his mother’s chamber, she could see it was indeed a shade darker than his brother’s, and made up of half a score colors from golden to brown.
No more the type of man she preferred than his brother, especially standing there next to Urfet. And yet—something about him made it difficult to look away.
