“I am far from perfect.”
“I ha’ yet to meet anyone who is. If ’tis so—well, to learn the lessons we must, they say we are thrown into similar situations. We even meet the same people in differing guises, in order to understand the meaning they hold for us.”
“Do you believe all that, Deathan?”
“I never gave it much thought, not till now.”
“It would explain much. But if it is true, if I knew and loved you before, how may we now seize hold of the fabric of life, and shape it so we can be together once more?”
He shook his head with regret. “That, I do not know.”
“And how”—her emotions came up in a storm—“having tasted you, been with you this way, am I to go back and behave as if you are naught to me?”
“Faith,” he told her. “Ye must believe that if we were born into this world to be together, all will come right—so long as we believe.”
“Hard. So hard,” she whispered, “when all is in strife and confusion.”
“Save for this,” he reminded her, “ye, and me.”
“Yes. Being with you feels like—well, like I can breathe freely for the first time ever.”
“Aye so. Promise me, Darlei. Promise ye will keep faith wi’ me when we return.”
“I will. I will. But—must we return?”
“Aye.” He sat up, making the little boat rock like a leaf upon a river and setting her from him gently. “’Twill no’ be easy. Yet aye, return we must.”
Chapter Thirty
Atime awayfrom time. Deathan did not know how often he termed those moments in the boat so, in his mind. How frequently he returned there in spirit to relive them over again. The sense of eternity that enveloped him when he held Darlei in his arms. The ease and warmth of her.
The familiarity.
He had wanted, aye, to keep on sailing. To journey on—to Ireland, say, just the two of them together. Could they not be happy there? Build a life?
But his roots were here in Scotland, deep in the granite beneath the soil. As were hers, to speak true. His Caledonian wild woman.
Anyway, was he not the levelheaded son? The practical one who saw to his duties and never kicked up a fuss? Not for him arguments or defiance.
Not for him, either, tumbling head over heels into love so deep he could no longer see the surface. Yet here he was. Making promises and talking of past lives and of eternity.
Destiny had him in its grip, aye, as did desire. He’d never known it possible to desire a woman the way he did Darlei. More than her kisses, the feel of her soft body beneath his hands, he longed to be inside her so that their bodies might be joined as were their spirits.
He must be mad, but he could not stop thinking of it even after they arrived back at the settlement to her woman’s franticsearch, which had once more brought in others, including his father.
And after he had a fierce dressing-down for keeping their guest out so long, one he endured in silence with the taste of her still on his lips, after they’d parted, his heart protested the separation so loudly that he could scarce believe no one else heard.
Darlei heard. He knew by the look she cast over her shoulder as she walked away from him.
The trick was to keep anyone else from guessing that he’d done aught more than seek to entertain a guest at an awkward time.
Father did indeed holler and rail, saying, “Did I no’ tell ye to tak’ her maid wi’ ye, where’er ye might go?” Fortunately, he was too distracted by the question of what to do about Rohr and Caragh to spare much more than annoyance for Deathan. For once, being an afterthought did not bother Deathan much. Da soon retired to consult further with his holy man and contemplate what should happen when King Caerdoc returned.
No sight of Rohr anywhere, still. Deathan had no inkling as to where his brother might be hiding himself. Not a glimpse to be had of Caragh, either. Her parents must be keeping her close.
Deathan paced the walls and thought. And thought.
Christian monks had long since brought their teachings to these shores, mostly from Ireland but also from the south. Stories of eternal fire and redemption. But as he had told Darlei, the old beliefs died hard here, as did the old gods. Just as his roots were down in this stony soil, his spirit clung to what had been. The old beliefs of life after life. The circular nature of it, all that brought a man around again and again upon the wheel of the gods, just like the wheel of the year, to face the same challenges.
