“As ye should.”
“I think,” Darlei told him, putting the pups away from her with regret and getting to her feet, “I should wait till we learn the high king’s decision. For though I should love one of these pups for company, there is one thing my heart desires more.”
Emotions chased one another through Deathan’s eyes. “Ye think—”
“I think if it comes to it and you have to follow after me in truth, my father may not approve of the match.”
He took it like a blow, which was not her intention, to hurt him. With far less enthusiasm he said, “Aye, I see. As naught but a second son, I ha’ little to recommend me to a king o’ the Caledonians.”
She stepped closer and touched the front of his tunic with both hands. “It would be my greatest honor to wed wi’ ye, Deathan MacMurtray. I cannot imagine anything finer in all the world.”
“But your father will no’ see it that way.”
“Perhaps not. And”—she tossed her head—“if he does not give his permission, then we will have to flee together. Because as you have promised that you will always find me, I so promise to always follow when you do.”
“Darlei.” He barely breathed her name, yet the emotions leaped in his eyes. The future was the future, unknowable. The past, with its secrets unfolding inside her, was the past. He was here, warm and strong beneath her fingers, love brimming in his eyes.
Love.
She leaned up, not even pausing to wonder if there was anyone save the dam and her pups to see. Their lips met, warm on warm, and the world snapped into such perfect focus, it made her ache. For a few precious moments she drank of him before remembering where they were and what they should not do. She stepped away.
Not far.
“I think,” she mused again, “I should wait to find out how things lie before claiming a pup. If I am to stay here”—if themarriage to his brother must take place—“then yes. I will choose one, and gladly.” For consolation in a life most unbearable.
But would parting from him, subject to her father’s will, be still more unbearable than living in his proximity while married to his brother? In truth, she did not know. She did not know for what to hope.
“Come,” he said with rueful regret. “This was a poor idea.”
“It was a wonderful idea.”
“’Tis only that”—his beautiful, broad-palmed hands came up but did not touch her—“when I think o’ ye, I see ye wi’ a great hound at your side.”
“Do you think of me?”
“Constantly. Darlei—”
The lad came in and they stepped apart, Darlei’s pulse leaping.
In a voice not quite steady, Deathan asked the boy, “How many o’ the pups are spoken for, Kai?”
“Only about four o’ them, Master Deathan.”
“Well, hold one back. Princess Darlei may wish for one. She is no’ yet decided.”
The lad gave an easy smile. “Which one, mistress?”
“It does not matter.” Darlei had a sudden and near-overwhelming prescience of doom. Something dire and terrible came to them. She found it difficult to smile at the lad when she said, “They are all splendid.”
“’Tis a fine litter,” Kai agreed. “Very well so.”
“Wha’ is it?” Deathan asked Darlei when they stepped outside. “I felt yer mood change back there. Is it because ye canna choose a pup? I am that sorry. I would no’ ha’ brought ye here if—”
“It is not that. Walk with me.”
They went away up the shore, their steps matching without thought or intention, Darlei wrapping herself tight in her shawl against the cool breeze.
So close did they walk that several times Deathan’s elbow bumped hers. Not till they were well out of sight from the settlement did he stop walking and turn to her. “Tell, Darlei.”
