Every part of Darlei’s being came to life. As if she’d spent the morning half asleep, her senses awoke, stirred to his presence.
He must have been outside after all. He was clad for it, wearing his weapons and a leather tunic. His hair—that sandy golden mane—spilled down his back, and he brought with him the scents of the morning. He seemed overly large, overly male, in this quiet place.
His gaze moved to Darlei even before it found his mother.
“Och, forgive me interrupting.”
“Nay,” Darlei said. “Pray, come in.”
Darlei wanted to fly to him. Lay her hands upon his bared forearms. Drink in his scent. She remained where she was, and he came to her instead, standing as near as the room allowed.
“Mam. Princess Darlei.”
“Och, Deathan! Come sit wi’ me. Explain to me wha’ has happened. Your father came and spoke wi’ me—but I confess, I canna believe wha’ he said.”
Deathan sat on the edge of the bed. “I canna speak for Da, Mam,” he said. “Or for Rohr. He will ha’ to come and tell ye all himself.”
“I have been saying,” Darlei put in carefully, “that Master Rohr no doubt has feelings for the young woman in question and likely always meant to wed wi’ her. He had no idea King Kenneth would impose this marriage upon us.”
“Aye. Aye so.”
“Love”—Darlei captured Deathan’s gaze—“can make us do many things.”
“Is she no’ a generous lass?” Mistress MacMurtray patted Darlei’s hand. “To take such a view when my son has so damaged her.”
“Mistress Darlei has no reason to feel damaged. She is beyond reproach.”
“Aye, son. I agree wi’ ye, and I did so want her for a daughter. I was looking forward to this wedding. And to attending it, even if I did ha’ to be carried.” Her eyes still brimmed with tears.
“Well but, Mam, this will afford ye more time to gather yer strength. And since Princess Darlei is staying here while her father is awa’, ’twill give ye longer to spend wi’ her.”
“That is so. Tell me, Deathan, what people are saying. I wish to understand all.”
With a rueful look at Darlei, Deathan spoke softly in a calm voice of what a scandal this had proven to be. He held hisown opinions and said nothing of the conversation Darlei had overheard.
Troubled, Mistress MacMurtray said, “I know little o’ this young lass, Caragh. MacDroit’s daughter, is she?”
“Aye, Mam.”
“A beauty?”
“Most would think so.” Again Deathan’s gaze touched Darlei. An assertion. A vow.None so beautiful as ye.
He thought her beautiful, this man she adored. She’d been many things in her life—headstrong, stubborn. Rarely had she felt wholly beautiful.
They talked on of other matters till Mistress MacMurtray seemed to calm. Darlei rose and made her excuses, pushing past Deathan just for the pleasure of touching him in passing.
He sprang to his feet. For the third time, their eyes met.
And it was alive with them in the room, this feeling—this intense desire and sense of belonging.
Could Mistress MacMurtray not feel it?
Darlei went out, nearly stumbling. Deathan followed her.
“Princess?”
She turned. The corridor appeared empty, but Mistress MacMurtray’s woman would be hovering nearby. They must be careful.
