Moon Craving

by Lucy Monroe

  “But he and I are married.”

  “Aye. He calls you his. It will make a difference for many.”

  But not all. The big warrior might as well have shouted the unspoken caveat.

  Niall let out a deep sigh that surprised her, but his words shocked her even more. “I do not want your feelings to be hurt.”

  “Um … thank you.”

  He laughed. She couldn’t hear the sound, but recognized the expression coupled with the movement in his Adam’s apple. “You do not understand my concern for you.”

  She shook her head. She didn’t. Her own mother had not cared if Abigail found acceptance in the Highlands, why should this battle-scarred warrior? She asked him as much.

  “You are good for Talorc. You two are connected in ways neither of you are ready to acknowledge.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “I believe you are a romantic, big, fierce Niall.”

  He merely shrugged.

  But she grinned, knowing she was right. “So, is there a maiden who awaits your return?”

  “Many, but none who have claim to do so.” A strange expression took his features, a mixture of sadness and yearning.

  Abigail’s heart twisted at the sight. “There is one you wished did.”

  Again, that annoying, enigmatic shrug. But she saw the truth in his eyes. She was right. He was pining. She wished she knew how to help him, but she did not imagine he would welcome the interference of a deaf Englishwoman into his love life.

  “So, tell me about your family,” she said.

  “There is just me and my brother Barr now. Sean died in the battle that left me this.” He indicated his scar. “And our father in the battle that took our previous laird.”

  “What of your mother?”

  “She died birthing Barr and I. Two babies at once were too much for her human nature.”

  What an odd way to put it. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “Growing up without a mother must have been difficult.”

  “Easier than growing up with that harpy that gave you birth, I’d say.”

  “She was not always so cruel. I …” Abigail bit her lip and fought the urge to tell the truth. Despite her years of practice at hiding her affliction, lying did not sit well with her. “I disappointed her.”

  “Then she is a fool.”

  Abigail wanted to believe that was true. “Talorc’s former second-in-command was your brother?” she asked by way of changing the subject. “Is it a family position or something?”

  “Our families have been close for generations. Sean was the eldest, so he was the first to be chosen as beta, I mean second to our laird.”

  “And now your brother Barr holds his position.”

  “He’s a fine warrior,” Niall said with evident pride.

  “I’m sure he is. For Talorc to choose him over you, he must be incredible.”

  Niall’s face took on a ruddy hue, and Abigail had to bite back the urge to laugh again. She did not want to offend the man. After all, her praise had already obviously embarrassed him.

  “I do not want the responsibility. Being second to our laird requires more than great skills as a warrior; it needs diplomacy.” He said the last word with a distasteful grimace that left no doubt what he thought of that element to his brother’s position. “I would rather knock heads together than help disgruntled clanspeople reach a compromise.”

  If he’d said “diplomacy” with a marked lack of enthusiasm, Niall made it clear that the word compromise left a foul taste in his mouth indeed.

  This time she did laugh and was happy to see that Niall joined her.

  Her laughter dried up as a huge gray wolf stepped into their path. Beside her, Niall jerked as if surprised. Who wouldn’t be, to see a wild predator so close?

  The wolf stepped closer and Abigail went rigid with fear.

  The beast inhaled as if sniffing her and then raised his head and released a mournful howl. Then he barked. And if it wouldn’t have meant she’d gone mad, she would have said he was trying to talk to her. A wolf.

  “You need not fear, he will not hurt you,” Niall spoke from beside her.

  Funny, but she would have expected the big warrior to put his body between hers and the danger. Not that one of her father’s soldiers would, but she had a different place in the Sinclair clan. Or at least, she thought she did. Perhaps they would be just as pleased to be rid of her by whatever means as her mother had been.

  Abigail’s eyes burned with tears, and no matter that she furiously blinked in an attempt to make them go away, one spilled over, burning a trail down her cheek.

  The wolf whined and then barked at Niall, a clear growl of warning issuing from deep in the animal’s chest.

  “I am not the one causing her distress,” Niall said, as if talking to a wolf was the most natural thing in the world.

  Perhaps for the uncivilized Scottish warriors, it was.

  The huge gray wolf barked once more and then turned and ran away, disappearing into the forest as if it had never been there.

  Abigail wanted to turn away from Niall, to take time to collect herself. But as was so often the case, she had no choice but to look at him in case he spoke to her.

  Eyes a shade lighter than the wolf’s coat studied her. “Are you all right?”

  “He didn’t attack,” she observed, rather than answer with a lie. “Why?”

  “He had no desire to harm you. In fact, I think you hurt his feelings.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She was in no mood for some strange soldier’s jesting.

  “I am not.” Indeed, Niall looked all too serious. “Didn’t you hear his sad howl and the way he whined?”

  “I suppose he wanted me to pet him.”

  “Aye. Most likely.”

  “And get my hand bitten off?” Abigail shivered. “I don’t think so.”

  “He would not have bitten you.”

  “How can you possibly sound so certain?”

  “I know that wolf.”

  She shook her head but believed him regardless. “You’re serious. That’s why you did not get between me and the animal.”

  “If I had tried to touch you or stand between you, then things might have gotten ugly.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Yet it is true.”

  “Are you trying to convince me that Scottish wolves are so different from those found in the wilds of England?”

  “Some. That wolf, yes.”

  “I will take your word for it.”

  “So, you do not wish to meet the gray wolf again?”

  “No.” But even as she denied the desire, she wasn’t sure she spoke true. “Perhaps, if I could see him and know he would not hurt me. He was beautiful.”

  Niall nodded, as if satisfied by her answer, though she couldn’t imagine why it should matter to him.

  By the time the hunters who had ridden their horses returned in the early afternoon along with game for the roasting fire, she and Niall had established the beginnings of a true friendship.

  Abigail insisted on helping to prepare the rabbits for the spit. Then she implored the soldiers to hunt again, this time for wild vegetables and berries to eat with the game at the evening meal.

  Chapter 9

  No matter how far into the woods Talorc ventured, the memory of Abigail’s sweet, fresh scent drew him back to the clearing. He followed her and Niall on their walk, his wolf’s paws silent on the forest floor. He masked his scent so that even Niall did not realize Talorc was nearby.

  His wolf wanted to make himself known, to rub up against his angel and allow his full wolf senses the opportunity to take her presence in. He had revealed himself only to discover that Abigail was terrified of his beast. His presence had brought tears to her eyes, and not the good kind.

  He’d forced his wolf to run away rather than risk frightening her further, or worse, making himself known to her. He could not afford to share the secrets of his people with Ab
igail.

  Besides, he was supposed to be hunting. Not that they needed the meat; they could make his keep by nightfall. If they rode out, but they weren’t riding today.

  His gentle bride needed time to heal before getting back on a horse. She had soaked in the restorative waters of the hot springs last night. And he had left instructions with Niall to make sure she did the same today, but Talorc could not be sure that would be enough.

  If the choice was between reaching home tonight but having a wife too sore to mate with and staying an extra day in the hot springs cave, he would choose the extra time away from his clan.

  The only other time he had voluntarily spent time away from the people he was responsible to lead was when he had followed his sister and Emily to Balmoral Island. Caitriona’s safety had taken precedence at that time. He had no such considerations now, but that hadn’t stopped him from dictating a second night spent at the caves.

  He refused to consider how aberrant that choice was for him to make. Nor did he have any interest in contemplating why he would make such a decision.

  He only knew his wolf was in complete agreement and that was enough for him.

  Thinking he should at least make some effort to hunt, he leaned forward and sniffed at a small pile of leaves. There was definitely something there, but it wasn’t prey. Not of the animal variety anyway.

  The smell was not that of his warriors and certainly not the enticing fragrance of his new wife. It was too fresh to be more than an hour old. Which meant someone who wasn’t supposed to be here, had been.

  He lifted his head, taking in the monochromatic image of his surroundings that he got in his wolf form. He was definitely still on his land, newly deeded to him by Scotland’s king. A growl rumbled in his animal chest as he scented the ground around him again. Six distinct traces, two Chrechte and four human. All males.

  A hunting party? A mistake? Or a challenge to Sinclair ownership of the territory dowered him by the king?

  The Donegal laird was aging without a clear successor. He presided over one of the smaller clans and Chrechte pack within it, which was only a mere handful of shape-changers. Even without the king’s intervention, the other laird would have ended up ceding the land to Talorc’s much larger clan and Chrechte pack, and they both knew it.

  Never a large group, the Donegal clan had lost too many to war. The laird’s son had died at the hands of the same English bastards responsible for Talorc’s father’s death. The young warrior had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, patrolling his borders with a small band of soldiers when the English contingent bent on stealing the Sinclair Royal Treasure had crossed Donegal land.

  That was the reason Talorc had not yet used might to press his claim to the disputed territory. His father had been responsible for bringing the betraying English bitch to the Highlands. Talorc did not dismiss the consequences of that act.

  He had gone so far as to offer use of the springs to the Chrechte of the Donegal clan for their mating ceremonies and for use in clan healings, with the understanding that the Sinclair clanspeople’s needs would take precedence. However, he would not tolerate the Donegal clan hunting on the newly claimed Sinclair land. Not in human or wolf form.

  The Donegal laird had accepted both Talorc’s generosity and his stipulation regarding the hunting.

  So, what in the hell were six strangers doing on his land? Were they even from the Donegal clan? Neither of the Chrechte carried the scent of the laird. Talorc would have recognized it.

  No matter where they were from, they didn’t belong here and he meant for them to know it.

  He followed their scent trail until it became clear the four humans and two Chrechte were headed in the direction of the hot springs. Toward his wife. Talorc’s four-legged gait picked up speed until he was flying across the earthen landscape.

  He lifted his head to howl a message of alarm to his warriors. Those that had gone hunting with him would head back toward the clearing, if they were not already there, and those he had left behind to guard his wife would be put on alert.

  Acknowledging it wasn’t merely his warriors who might have already made it to the clearing, Talorc pushed himself to go faster. His huge wolf’s body picked up speed as the plants and trees he passed went by in a blur in shades of black and gray.

  He burst into the clearing at a dead run, his keen wolf’s senses telling him the interlopers were indeed ahead of him. He skidded to a stop behind six youthful warriors wearing the Donegal clan plaid, their stances that of challenge.

  Niall and Airril had taken position in front of the entrance to the cave. They did not look unduly worried, but they were clearly ready to do battle if necessary.

  Of the rest of his hunting party there was no sign.

  Talorc willed his human form to emerge and seconds later the air shimmered around him as he became a man again. He let out a subsonic growl of warning that had two of the young men spinning to face him.

  Damn it, neither could have had more than sixteen summers. The youth on the left showed more intelligence than his companion because the color drained from his face and he offered his neck in instant submission.

  The four humans moved only after they realized their companions had done so. They didn’t seem able to decide who posed the bigger threat, so they angled their bodies to the side. With more experienced warriors, such a maneuver might have been beneficial, but with these near children, all it did was make them more vulnerable.

  Talorc glowered at them all with acute disapproval. The Donegal soldiers needed proper training. Badly.

  The young Chrechte who did not have the sense to look frightened, frowned at his fellow clansmen before facing Talorc defiantly. “These waters belong to the Donegal clan. You can’t have them.”

  “The king says otherwise.”

  The youth made a sound of disgust. “He carries the stench of the Sassenach and mimics their ways.”

  “You do not submit to your king?”

  “I follow the way of the Chrechte. We fight for that which is ours.”

  “You challenge me for the right to this land?” Talorc asked.

  “I do.” The youth’s voice shook, but his stance of defiance did not falter.

  Talorc couldn’t help respecting the boy’s courage if not his wisdom.

  “What is going on?” Abigail peeked from between the two Sinclair warriors blocking her way out of the cave. Her damp hair and glowing skin indicated she had been soaking as directed when the impetuous young Donegal soldiers arrived. He did not think that was the reason for the flush in her lovely face though.

  She was staring at his naked body in a way that would have an effect on his manhood soon. “Do you always cavort around the forest in the altogether, Talorc?”

  “I was hunting.”

  “So I was informed.” She cleared her throat and closed her eyes for a second, only to open them again almost immediately. “I did not realize Scotsman hunted in the nude. You were wearing a plaid when you returned from the hunt the night before our wedding,” she said almost accusingly.

  “You have much to learn of our ways.”

  She sighed, making a production of it. “I suppose I do. I think I need to learn something of them now about why these children are here.”

  “We are men,” the bolder Chrechte soldier insisted.

  Abigail, to her credit, did not gainsay him but merely looked with expectation at Talorc. Obviously, his wife expected an explanation. He just did not know if she was going to like hearing it.

  “These warriors do not cede the right to this land or the hot springs to the Sinclair clan.” He gave them the respect of calling them warriors. More seasoned soldiers of their clan had not thought to challenge Talorc’s claim.

  If they had, Talorc was honest enough with himself to know he would not have been as lenient. More experienced men that had the gall to challenge him would already be dead.

  “They are challenging you?” Abigail asked in confusion. “The
y don’t respect the wishes of their king?”

  “Aye.”

  “I see.” She looked at the young Donegals, measuring each one with her soft brown gaze. Then she shook her head. “Brave, but foolish.”

  Her words so closely reflected his own thoughts that Talorc found his lips almost curving into a smile before he caught himself.

  Showing his first bit of wisdom so far, the Chrechte boy remained silent in the face of Abigail’s observation. His compatriots looked like they were already questioning the intelligence of their actions, but none of them appeared ready to back down.

  Again, he could respect that.

  “Are you going to accept the challenge?” his wife asked after a moment of silence.

  “Yes.”

  Five of the six young soldiers flinched, but the bold Chrechte youth merely looked more determined.

  Abigail crossed her arms and nodded. “Good.”

  “You approve?” he asked in shock.

  He would have thought his gentle wife too compassionate to commend behavior so far from her civilized world.

  “It is obvious these young men’s honor demands you win the land.”

  He nodded, still bemused by his wife’s easy acceptance, not to mention her insight into the ways of their people.

  “Besides, you will not kill him.” She did not make it a question.

  “I won’t?”

  She just looked at him.

  It bothered him that she seemed able to read his intentions so clearly, but she was right. He would not make the cost of bravery for these young soldiers be their lives.

  Before he could say anything else, the hunting party returned. Though he did not know where they had been. The fragrance of roasting meat told him they had been back to the clearing at least once already.

  “Were you able to find anything?” Abigail asked them.

  They both looked at him for instruction, having responded to his warning howl.

  “My wife sent you on an errand?”

  “Aye, she did,” Niall answered for them. “She wanted vegetables and berries for the evening meal.”

  “And did you find any?”

  The two men nodded.

  “Enough?” he asked.

  Both men looked unsure, eyeing his wife with something between respect and apprehension.