He, himself, had been soaked to the skin. Hidden, invisible.
Now the rain had ceased—thank all the powers—and a chill struck him as he thought of her inside that place. Trapped. Frightened. He could feel her heart beating, sense her agitation.
“Please.” He spoke to the air and the trees and the land itself. He did not know to whom else, save God. “Please.”
He knew not what to do. How to make this terrible thing come right. He could not go riding in. They would not admit him. He could not challenge this MacNabh for her hand.
She had sent him away.
The morning light grew stronger around him. A gray sort of day it was, yesterday’s clouds lingering. He could feel autumn in the air, the year beginning to die.
As must his heart, if Darlei was lost to him. He had followed her as always he must. He did not know how to win her free.
All the same, he did not,couldnot accept she had passed beyond his reach. If all he’d been imagining were true, if he had known her, loved her before in other lives, did that not mean they were meant to be together again in this one?
Mayhap not. They had met. Loved. He had possessed her for those fleeting, magical moments in his room and later, while his father’s harper played.
Mayhap that was all. A kind of solace, as she’d claimed, meant to last the rest of his life.
For, eyeing the grim edifice of the house, he did not know—he did not know how to win her free.
His pony stirred behind him and snorted, as miserable as he. The poor beast wanted to go home. Deathan did not know if he could.
Yet he could not remain here forever, watching a stranger’s dwelling while Darlei sought to take up a new life.
The trees around him dripped moisture. It sounded like a heartbeat. Hers, perhaps.
A spear of alarm went through him as the gates of the house opened and men began to spill through. Darlei’s father, it was, emerging first, and was that MacNabh also, come after him? All King Caerdoc’s men. Was Darlei with them? Had the plan changed? His own heart began to hammer double time.
With hope.
But nay. He did not see Darlei. Or her woman.
The Caledonians were leaving. The ponies were led out, and the wagon. King Caerdoc spoke with the dark-haired man whocould only be MacNabh, and who after a few words stepped back.
The Caledonians rode out in fine order, moving in that fluid, almost magical way they did, heading east.
Without Darlei.
She had stayed. Stayed with the man Deathan could now see reentering the house.
Her new husband.
Aye. Aye, it must be over and done, that wedding.
Grief swamped him. Grief and loss and despair so black that for several moments he could not see beyond it. Could not think, could not breathe.
How cruel, that the turning of the wheel had brought her to him, only to take her from his reach once more.
*
“Get out,” MacNabhsaid to Orle as he came through the chamber door. He had not knocked or otherwise requested leave before he entered. He owned the place. Darlei supposed he believed he owned her.
Orle clung to Darlei, bless her, until MacNabh fixed those pale eyes on her and again snarled, “Get out.”
Orle went with a terrified, regretful look for Darlei. Where, Darlei could not begin to guess.
MacNabh turned his gaze on her. Eyed her up and down slowly.
