How?
“That is not much of a recommendation,” she said flatly. Her anger over this—being forced to this marriage—had hardened into something that surpassed mere distress.
Father sent her another sharp look. “He is of a good age and not ill favored. I am certain that once you get to know him—”
“He no more desires this marriage than do I. he barely speaks to me.”
“Do you speak to him? Do you make yourself gracious and charming?”
Darlei turned from the mirror to face her father. “I do not wish tomakemyself anything. I am the woman I am.”
“In this instance, daughter, I fear you must try to be accommodating. There are expectations. You—”
Again she interrupted him, something unthinkable back home. “In a few days you—you and all the company, save Orle—will go home. Abandon me here among strangers.” To her horror, tears came to her eyes.
“Daughter, I am sorry. It cannot be helped. I came here this morning for that very reason. Let today be better. Go forth into it open and accepting.”
“Accept my fate, you mean?” Her lips tightened.
“Yes. I entreat you to this for your own good.”
“You would have me ingratiate myself with a man who does not want me.” She thought fleetingly of Deathan, standing by the rear wall of the hall. Watching her.
“As you do not want him. His father means to speak with him also. The sooner you make up your mind, the better for all.”
“I see.” Darlei rose to her feet.
“We are entering a new age. A new Scotland. Old hostilities must be laid aside.”
“Tell that to my bridegroom. He behaves like a small boy kicking his feet because his toy has been withheld. He is jealous of Urfet and angry he did not win those competitions. I cannot respect him.”
Grief came to her father’s eyes. “I regret hearing that. Respect means much to you, as I know very well.”
“Rohr MacMurtray does not respect me. Not anything about me.” Her chin jerked up.
“I am hoping that will change as he grows to know you. But, daughter, you will not help yourself by acting aloof and hard. Is there nothing here you like?”
“The sea. And”—another bright image of Deathan flooded her mind—“Mistress MacMurtray is sweet and kind.”
Father’s face softened. “Make yourself a good daughter to her, then.”
Indeed, if she felt a prisoner, how much worse for that gentle woman confined to her bed?
Last night’s rain had cleared, so Darlei and Orle, having shared breakfast in Darlei’s chamber, went outside for the first time on their own. Only they were not on their own.
The clansfolk were everywhere hurrying about their business. They stared. And they bowed to her, but with very little warmth in their eyes.
She was the savage princess from Caledonia’s heart. The bride who had won the pony race. So foreign she might have stepped down out of the clouds.
But she had a destination.
The sea beckoned to her. With Orle at her side, she picked her way down the stony path that led to the shore.
A lovely day, yes, all the rain clouds chased by a lively wind blowing inland from the west. The sky had turned deep blue with streamers like the tail of a pony, and the sea—even deeper blue—mirrored it with white combers that swept majestically to breakover the gray rocks. Darlei lost her breath when she reached that place, the spray making showers of radiance, and stood on one of the rocks, unmoving.
She might stand forever so.
Far out in the blue water she could see other lands, which surprised her. She had not known there were other lands west of the sea. Oh, there was Ireland, but that was farther south.
