Chapter Thirty-Eight
They had notmuch time. Only so long as it might reasonably take either of them to visit the nearest privy and return, before someone would come looking for Darlei.
True, the bard had successfully woven a spell, and the hall full of his listeners, only steps away, had fallen into a kind of enchanted stupor. Silent.
“Please. Please.” Darlei did not mind begging the man she loved. “The last time.”
She could feel Deathan’s hesitation. She could feel the moment his will broke and he capitulated. He kissed her again and his need came flooding upon her, a match in full for her own.
The wondrous music played on, a backdrop to what they would share.
For the last time.
Gently, he laid her down on a rug by the wall. She could barely see him for the gloom, but oh, she could feel. His hands shook as he drew up her skirts and loosened the ties beneath. As he pushed up his kilt and untied his leggings.
Time for little more. She would not have his mouth at her breast. His fingers all over her skin.
At that moment, she did not care. She opened herself to him, drew him in, and, mouths fused, they rocked to the flowing music while everyone they knew sat but a hand’s reach away, unaware of the great need met and answered.
After, when Darlei still had him hot and spent inside her, she wept. Lying with his weight atop her, she listened to the ancient song played upon the magical harp, each separate note passing through her like an echo of longing. The tears ran down into her ears.
I must remember this. How he feels, how he smells, each separate heartbeat, at this moment when he is mine. I must live upon this for a long time.
But they could not remain so, and he withdrew from her, leaving a wound so deep it made her gasp. He kissed her cheeks and found the tears.
“Weeping? Nay.”
What else could she do? What else was left in the wake of these beautiful moments?
“I must go back.”
Beyond the wall, the bard was speaking, saying he would play one last song tonight.
Yes, she must return.
He lifted her up. Smoothed her skirt. Fastened his own clothing.
“Deathan—promise me something.”
“Aye?”
“You will not follow me.” It could only end badly. This, she felt to her heart.
“Ye expect me let ye go?”
“Yes.” This she did ask, rather than expect.
Before he could answer, she ducked outside. The night air struck cool. No colder than the chill that beset her heart.
When she returned to the hall and took her place beside her father, he gave her a questioning look, but she focused all her attention on the harper, who, indeed, played a final song to end the night.
As for Deathan, he did not return.
*
And what lesson,so Deathan wondered amid pain so bright it nearly made him numb, was he to learn from this? Being forced to stand in the morning so young it had not yet earned its light and watch the woman he loved ride away from him. In aid of what seeming enlightenment could he attribute this flaying of his soul?
The morning, crisp and cool, argued good travel, and he was glad of that, glad for Darlei’s sake. Yet old Coll’s song—the one he had given his audience last night while Deathan held Darlei in his arms—continued to play through his head as it had all night, and the pain…
