If he loved her, he had to consider her physical safety, her heart, her spirit.
He rode on and the morning strengthened around him. A beautiful day did Scotland offer her son.
And he could feel her, Darlei. As if an invisible cord ran from him through the very blessed ground, to her. And he had to be careful of that, mindful of his thoughts. He did not want her to know he followed, lest she worry and fret for him.
Best, mayhap, if she did not know he was there until she saw him. And so as he rode, he prayed to the very soil of Scotland:Protect her. Do no’ let her worry. Bring her comfort. And let her forgive me what I do.
Chapter Forty
“Darlei, you musteat something. Please, before we resume travel. You will fall ill,” Orle beseeched Darlei, a portion of barley cake in her hand. After one swift glance, Darlei refused to so much as consider accepting the food.
They had just passed their first night upon the trail, Darlei and Orle together in their narrow tent. Darlei, unable to sleep, had considered flight even as she lay in her blankets, though she knew her father’s men stood on guard and she could not possibly get far.
Now, as inevitably as every other aspect of her life, morning had come. They mounted up for another day’s travel.
She must face her fate and, as Deathan put it, keep faith. For his sake.
But oh, she did not feel well, had not since they left Murtray, and she swayed on her feet. Father, who had more or less ignored her all day yesterday, walked up and looked at the proffered cake in Orle’s hand.
“Daughter, will you eat?”
“Nay, Father.”
His dark, impatient gaze swept over her. “You had best ride with Orle this morning. I do not trust you on the back of a pony.”
He did not trust her? Because he believed her too ill to ride, or because he thought she might break away?
She scarce cared. She crawled into the bed of the wagon and curled up tight, seeking to shut the world away. They soon jerked into motion.
Yesterday had been a glorious day of bright sunshine with a cool, rattling wind. Today, clouds closed in and promised rain. A reflection of her mood, perhaps. She squeezed her eyes shut and—
She could feel him. By all the gods, she could. As if he hovered with her in spirit. A warmth at the place where he had been. And his face danced in her mind, the way he looked when he smiled. The light that came and flickered in his eyes when he spoke to her. Kisses dropped into the palms of her hands.
She wept.
Orle let her be, or perhaps she did not hear, for it began to rain, the drops pelting against the wooden awning of the wagon.
Darlei slept. She dreamed.
She dreamed of a man riding a chariot. Tall and slender he was, and taut with strength, a red-brown mane of hair tumbling down his back. Eyes of bright hazel, eyes that anchored her world.
He rode away from her into battle. A terrible, fierce battle it would be. If he did not return—
She awoke to the jolting of the wagon and a crashing cacophony that she realized meant it rained still harder. She sat up to find the interior of the wagon full of gloom.
“Where are we?”
“I am not sure.” Orle tried to peer out. “Do you feel better for the sleep?”
Darlei did not. Had her heart been pulled out by the roots, it might be better. At least then it would eventually stop hurting.
“Have we traveled far?”
“It is difficult to tell. We go slowly for the rain.”
A terrible thought burst upon Darlei’s mind. He could catch them if he tried. Deathan could.
He will not, she assured herself.Did he not promise?
