Yes, she’d been frightened. Not so much of the water but of the enormity of what she felt for the man.
“I trust him. He knows how to sail. And…” She could not possibly tell even Orle that it felt as if they’d done all of it before. Sailed off together into the unknown, clinging soul to soul. “I trust him,” she repeated lamely.
Orle shook her head. “It is not like you to fasten your attentions to any man. Well, there were a few, like Urfet, who caught your eye, but this is not the same, is it?”
“Nay.” Not the same.
“What is it about Master Deathan? That is to say, he is handsome enough. So are many of the men here. But he looks very…Celtic.”
Darlei laughed unsteadily. “Orle, it would not matter if he had a head like a turnip and two noses. I would want him anyway. Though, I have to admit, I have come to appreciate everything about him.”
The warmth of his skin beneath her fingers in the little boat. The crisp hair above the opening of his tunic. The strength of his arms cradling her, and the response of his body beneath her own.
The depth of those blue-green eyes, like gazing into eternity.
“Darlei, I do not need to warn you that you must be cautious. We do not know what may happen between your father and the high king. You may still have to marry Master Deathan’s brother.”
“Yes.” He who was in love with someone else even as she was in love with someone else. “I know.”
Orle’s eyes met Darlei’s again. “You would not do anything foolish, would you?”
“Foolish?”
“Like lying with him. You are unbreeched, just like me. And if this wedding goes forth, there will be expectations.”
Ah, did she care what Rohr MacMurtray expected? What his father did, or the high king? She wanted to lie with Deathan the way she wanted to keep breathing.
It would happen. She could not guess how or when. But it would.
“Yes, I must be careful. Orle, you will not tell anyone what I have confided?”
“I will not. But others may guess as I did, by the way you look at him.”
She must try to control her feelings while in company. She had never been what might be called disciplined in her emotions. A wild woman, those here called her, and so she was.
A wild woman in the grip of destiny.
Chapter Thirty-One
Eager to seeDeathan in his mother’s room the next morning, Darlei once more arrived ahead of time and so sat long chatting to Mistress MacMurtray before he arrived.
He entered the chamber with a soft sigh from the door and a slight rattle of his light weapons. He moved so quietly, this man she adored.
How could he change the very complexion of the air when he stepped in?
He looked tall and very composed, wearing his sword and that leather tunic. A warrior’s garb—a Celtic warrior’s. Her people had spent generations battling his for this land.
This land they both loved as desperately as she loved him.
He must have been out about his duties already, for he brought the scent of the morning into the stale room, as well as the other scent particularly his own. The one that made Darlei go dizzy with longing.
“Master Deathan.” Her voice quivered, but surely Mistress MacMurtray would not notice.
“Princess.” He gave her a slight bow. “Mother, I trust you feel well this morn.”
“Och, Deathan, ha’ ye spoken wi’ yer brother? Will ye no’ ask him to come and see me?”
Deathan stepped forward, bringing him close to Darlei. Not close enough.
