Everything came to a halt then. To give Urfet credit, he pulled his pony up immediately. The other riders split and rode around the fallen pair, stopping beyond.
The scene burned itself into Deathan’s mind. The light streaming in, the huge sky. The color of the fallen pony’s pale coat and his brother lying on the green turf.
Hurt?
To be sure, he was. He must be. Deathan had known all the while that this would end badly.
He ran forward. To his immense relief, Rohr was sitting up when he reached him. Urfet, who had got there first, stood over him, an expression of either mock or real concern on his face.
Deathan shot him a glare. “Wha’ were ye about? Did ye want him to break his neck? Or harm the pony?”
Urfet held up both hands in a calming gesture and backed off a step. “Now, Master Deathan, I would ne’er wish harm on that fine pony.”
Deathan dismissed him and focused on his brother. “Are ye hurt?”
Others of their men, as he could see from the corner of his eye, had got Rohr’s pony up and felt him over. Rohr, though, sat in the grass, face streaked with sweat and lips pressed tight. He did not make to rise.
“Rohr?”
“My arm.” It was all Rohr said. He did not want to admit to pain, not here in front of this company, but aye, he felt it.
Deathan stooped and hauled him up, then asked in a low voice for Rohr’s ears alone, “Is it broken?”
“Aye.” Rohr stared into Deathan’s face, his eyes wide, not with pain but rage. “He cheated. Ye saw.”
“Aye.” Deathan had seen. But how to prove it? Would Urfet not just argue—again—that the Caledonians played harder at their games?
Others of their men came running. The Caledonians stepped back, leading their ponies away.
“We need to get him to the healer’s,” Deathan told the nearest of his men, Dermot.
“Aye. The rest o’ ye, tend our ponies.”
“My mount,” Rohr muttered.
“He is fine,” Dermot assured him.
They led Rohr away between them. As they passed Urfet, Deathan could not help but see that the Caledonian was smiling.
*
He cursed tohimself as he waited outside the healer’s hut, hearing far more vociferous language from inside. He’d wanted a chance to talk with Rohr about Caragh and the threat to Darlei—that opportunity now had flown. How would this affect relations with the Caledonians? Affect the wedding?
It did not take long for Da to come hurrying up with King Caerdoc at his side. Da focused on Deathan and asked in a tone that implied it was all his fault, “What’s happened?”
“Rohr took a fall from his pony. They were playing—racing.” Deathan looked at King Caerdoc. “Urfet took him out o’ it.”
King Caerdoc said nothing, though he looked thoughtful. Father added to the curses filling the air and ducked inside.
“An accident,” King Caerdoc said mildly. “You saw, young Master Deathan?”
“I saw, and ’twas no accident.”
King Caerdoc’s dark eyes met his. Something hovered there, as wild and dangerous as the streak in Darlei’s heart. “I am sure you are mistaken. Our young men play hard. Urfet especially.He is used to being at the head of our men. He would never endanger—”
“A pony?” Deathan interrupted, angry enough to lose his hold on courtesy. Angry and still with a ball of dread in his gut. “I think Rohr has broken his arm. Wha’ if it had been his neck?”
King Caerdoc shrugged. He did not have to say. Then they would all have gone home, any obligation to Kenneth MacAlpin flown.
