“That pony o’ yours is half wild,” Rohr declared. “It but ran awa’ wi’ her during that race.”
“You think so? Let us put it to the test here and now.”
Do not take the bait, Deathan beseeched his brother silently. It could not end well—he felt that in his bones.
Too late. Urfet had Rohr’s measure and then some. “Aye so, we will do just that.”
Desperate now, Deathan said, “Brother, Father needs ye. He is looking—”
Rohr turned on him. “Father bade me entertain our guests.” His tone made of the word an epithet. “And that I will do.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Under the great,wide sky with streamers of clouds sailing in from the sea, Deathan stood and sweated. A beautiful scene it should have been, with the young men and the healthy ponies all in motion. Lining up in a row, all the Caledonian ponies on one side and the Gaels’ newly trotted out on the other.
Rohr and Urfet beside each other.
“Twice around the field?” Urfet proposed with that wicked gleam in his eye. As if, Deathan could not help but think, he still goaded Rohr for his own amusement. As if he knew he would win. And would further humiliate his host’s prideful son.
“Just like the last race,” he added. For an instant, his gaze met Deathan’s.
“Aye!” Rohr called, and vaulted onto his pony. A good beast, but one that had lost to Urfet’s half-wild animal before.
With Darlei on its back.
“Your brother can give the signal.” Urfet waved an arm at Deathan, perhaps prodding him a bit also. “When we pass him twice, the leader will be the winner.”
“I think—” Deathan began, but Rohr overrode him.
“Aye. Deathan, gi’ the signal.”
The ponies danced. Deathan raised his arm and brought it down again.
The animals, barely restrained, thundered by him, their hooves tearing the green turf. Misgiving rose to his head, and in that instant he knew what a bad idea this was.
No mild, orderly race this. More like the footrace that had pitted these very men against each other. This time the Caledonians did not play fair but jostled their ponies into one another. Barging, shoving, hoping to knock each other out of the running, they ran the length of the field in a mob that had Deathan’s heart up in his throat.
At the turn, down the bottom of the field, he was sure they would crash in a knot and all go down. It sorted itself somehow and they headed back toward him, Rohr and Urfet neck and neck in the lead.
Only…
He narrowed his eyes. To him it looked like Urfet played with Rohr still, kept pace with him. As if he and his wild pony could outrun Rohr at any time the Caledonian chose.
He preferred this game instead. He would wait till the final moment, let Rohr think he could win.
A final humiliation of the Gael.
King Kenneth could give any order he liked—the animosity in the new Scotland would not die so easily.
They thundered past him, turned again. Did Urfet’s tribe mates hold the other Gaels back? So fierce was the jostling, Deathan could not tell.
He caught a glimpse of his brother’s face, stark white with determination. He did not mean to let Urfet win. Not at any cost.
Down to the bottom of the field once more with Urfet bumping Rohr’s mount again and again. Rohr tried to follow suit but his pony was not used to such contact and balked, losing some ground.
Still, Urfet did not surge ahead.
It happened as they were heading back up the field for the final circuit, Rohr and Urfet still in the lead. Just as they were to pass Deathan for the final time, still nose to nose, Urfet crashed his mount sideways into Rohr’s in a flurry of motion almost tooswift to see. Rohr’s pony shied and lost its footing, and Rohr flew off. Both pony and rider crashed to the ground.
