Deathan left the hall, and his father did not see him go. Outside, he stood and took great breaths of air, trying to calm his tripping heart. Unbearable, this was. He had to see Darlei, speak to her. Make this right. But how?
If he tried to get word to her, her woman would know. Could she trust her woman? The last thing he wanted to do was place Darlei in greater difficulty.
As if there could be aught worse than going away from him.
He went out and walked the walls, just for space to think. The men on guard there shot him sharp looks, which made him think his distress must show. He stared out over the land he loved and beseeched, “Gi’ me an answer.”
And received one.
He ran down from the walls and into the keep, stopping the first servant he saw. A young girl, she was, who usually served in the kitchens.
“Go to the princess’s chamber,” he bade her swiftly, “and tell her Mistress MacMurtray wishes to see her at once.”
“But Master Deathan, I—”
“At once,” he reiterated. “Your mistress is distressed.”
“Aye.”
The girl ran off up the stairs toward Darlei’s chamber. Would she do as asked? Trying to act as if his stomach did not roil and his heart did not pound, Deathan walked to the corridor outside his mother’s chamber and waited.
Waited.
Would she come? If anything could bring her, it would be his mam’s request.
He could hear faint sounds from inside his mam’s chamber, the door shut. The voice of Mam’s woman and Mam’s murmurs from time to time in reply. He hated to use his mother this way, but…
Soft footsteps skittered on stone. Darlei came, head bent and long brown hair streaming over her shoulders. When she saw him, she froze for an instant.
He caught her hands and drew her into his arms. Light flared to silver in her eyes.
He held her for one precious moment. “This was the only way I could see ye,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“I had to see ye. Go up the shore alone, if ye can manage it. The place we walked before. Can ye?”
“Yes.” She did not question the request or argue the difficulties of getting away alone. Only gazed into his eyes, her spirit finding and clinging to his.
He wanted to tell her it would be all right. But how could he? He wanted desperately to tell her he could solve this dilemma in which they found themselves, but he did not know how.
“I will go ahead,” he told her, and left. One of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.
The cold air followed him up the shore, a hint of the winter to come. Winter of his spirit, perhaps. If he lost Darlei, if she went away from him where he could not follow, there would be naught ahead for him but winter.
Far up the shore, out of sight of the settlement, he paced the stones. He wondered about the past and about fate. About facing destiny.
If all this had in some fashion happened before—in a previous life—if he had known Darlei and loved her with a love that would not die, what was the meaning in what befell them now? What was he intended to learn? What must he do to be with her?
It could not all be about hurting and pain. The turn of the wheel, life into life, could not be meant only to torture him.
She came walking up the shore path with her cloak wrapped around her. When she saw him waiting, she ran.
Ran to him.
Their hands met first, grasping. She’d been crying—his wild and valiant maiden—as he could clearly see here in the strong light.
He did not want her ever to weep.
