Deathan stepped back. He had to be in that meeting.
His father came hurrying, alarm hovering in his eyes. He shot one look at Deathan and said, “Find your brother.” Swiftly, he stepped to Caerdoc and extended his hand. “Greetings, King Caerdoc. Ye ha’ brought an answer?”
“I have,” Caerdoc replied, very grimly indeed.
“Come, we will meet in the hall.”
Da shot another look at Deathan as they passed, one that made Deathan turn and pelt down toward the shore.
Even though that was not what he wanted to do. Every instinct bade him go to Darlei, seek to reassure her. For, aye, having seen King Caerdoc, he feared she’d been all too right. Something dire came rushing toward them.
He found Rohr lying in his hidey-hole above the shore, half slumped on a stack of cloth used to make sails, the inevitable jug beside him. Not till Deathan tried to revive his brother did he realize Rohr was more than half drunk.
“Wha’ is the matter wi’ ye?” he bellowed, the emotions that roiled in his gut making him impatient. “Lyin’ here wi’ the sun up. Where is yer shirt?” For Rohr lay there in no more than his leggings.
Rohr opened a bleary eye and looked at Deathan. “Leave me be.”
“I will no’. I canna.” Rohr’s hair was uncombed, the front of his leggings untied. It came to Deathan then—while he had been performing his brother’s duties, organizing the guard and drilling the men, Rohr had been here with his woman.
“Where is she?” Sharply, he pushed his brother upright. “Caragh?”
“To be sure, long gone. But she comes here to me.” A besotted smile curved Rohr’s lips. “She is carrying my child, ye ken.”
“I ken it, aye.” It was unfair for Rohr to have a lover and possibly Darlei also. Did he mean to keep Caragh on the side after the marriage?
“She comes,” Rohr reiterated, “so we can decide wha’ to do about our s-situation.”
“Well, ye ha’ run clean out o’ time. Da wants ye.”
“Da?”
“Aye. The Caledonians ha’ returned, no doubt wi’ an answer from the king. Ye canna go looking like that. Where are the rest o’ your clothes?”
“Somewhere about.” Rohr climbed to his feet, looking like a man who’d been struck a hard blow, one that had at least partly cleared his head. “I do no’ wish to wed wi’ that wild woman.”
And I do no’ wish for ye to wed wi’ her. She is mine.
“I do no’ like her.” Rohr wrinkled his nose. “Conceited bitch.”
A little more of Deathan’s patience slipped from his grasp. “Where is yer self-respect, man? Pull yoursel’ together.”
“I wish to wed wi’ Caragh. Even though she often carps at me and leads me on a merry chase. She is the woman I—”
“Aye, well, it scarce matters wha’ ye want, does it? ’Tis all down to the king.”
Deathan was to recall speaking those words a few moments later, after he dragged Rohr up the slope most hastily clad and the object of stares.
Under the guise of bringing his brother into the hall, he lingered. Because he just had to hear.
Darlei was there ahead of them, standing not far from her father, and his. King Caerdoc’s face bore a heavy frown. Several of Da’s advisors stood by.
No one else.
Darlei turned to look at them, and Deathan’s heart fair seized in his chest. Silvery eyes bright, she held hard to her composure, fighting for it with every sinew, but he could feel her apprehension.
“There ye be!” Da cried as Deathan pulled Rohr forward. “Step up, step up. We ha’ an answer from the king.”
Rohr went forward to stand beside Darlei, who cast one more look at Deathan before turning her attention to her father.
