Moon Craving

by Lucy Monroe

  With a spray of blood, the wolf tore out the boar’s throat. The big gray beast put his head back and howled. Heavens above, she really was going mad. She felt an insane and almost irresistible urge to stop the horse and approach the wolf, to commend it for fighting so bravely and effectively.

  The beast turned his head to look at her. Showing she truly had lost all sense, she halted the horse and stared back at the blood-covered wolf. If she didn’t know it was impossible, she would have thought the look the wild animal gave her was one of possession. That made no sense.

  Without warning, the wolf spun and ran into the forest. Filled with trepidation and undeniable curiosity, she kneed the stallion to follow.

  They had only gone a couple of yards when Talorc came striding out of the forest. He was covered in blood, explaining where her husband had been. He must have been fighting another boar. Guaire had told her the wild pigs with deadly tusks sometimes traveled in groups.

  Talorc had been protecting her, and just like the massive wolf, he had clearly won his fight. He gave her an indecipherable look before turning to dive into the lake.

  He did not come out until all the blood was gone.

  Abigail had managed to get her plaid on while her husband bathed. He said nothing as he donned his own clothing.

  “You are not hurt?” she asked. She had not seen any marks, but she could not be sure.

  His jaw set, he shook his head.

  “Did you see the wolf? I believe the beast saved my life.” She bit her lip. “Not that you did not protect me, too. Clearly you were in your own battle in the forest, but a second boar came into the clearing.”

  “A second boar?”

  She nodded and pointed to the bloody carcass. “Over there.”

  Talorc stared at her for several tense seconds but said nothing.

  She had spent years in silence, but this one felt more than a little uncomfortable. “I must rethink my view on wolves. Niall told me the gray wolf I met at the hot springs would never hurt me. You will probably think me mad, but I believe it was that wolf that helped you save me today.”

  “It was.”

  “You know this wolf, too? Is he a mascot for the clan then?”

  “A mascot? No.”

  “But he is a friend to the clan.”

  “That is one way to put it.”

  Wishing her husband did not look so very stern, she nodded. “What caused the boar to charge, do you think?”

  “It is their mating season. Our presence may well have been the only cause.”

  “Oh.”

  He turned and headed for his horse. She followed, not sure what was going on between them. They had been so happy before the wild boars attacked. It had been upsetting to be sure, but Talorc acted angry. Though not overtly. It was like fury simmered under the surface and she did not understand why.

  Was it because he believed he had not protected her enough? If the gray wolf had not shown up, the boar might well have gotten her. Talorc was the sort of man that would find reliance on another, even a wild beast, a trial. He often acted as if he believed he and he alone was responsible for the safety and well-being of his people.

  He pushed himself and his warriors harder than any English baron she had ever seen or heard of.

  Their ride back to the fortress was a silent one. Despite riding pressed one to the other, Talorc held himself apart from her behind an invisible but undeniable wall of hostility. Abigail made no attempt to speak, not knowing what to say. She only wished she understood what had upset Talorc.

  When they returned to the keep, he led her directly to the great hall. She was surprised to find a handful of his elite warriors seated at one of the banquet tables. The evening meal was still a couple of hours off and the warriors did not usually come inside to congregate this early in the day. But Niall, Barr, Earc, Fionn and Airril were all there, along with Osgard’s glowering presence.

  Una served water and mead to the seated warriors before scurrying from the hall with a single, baffled, backward glance at Abigail.

  Guaire was there as well, standing on the other side of the room from the warriors, though he looked as puzzled by the presence of the other men as Abigail.

  Talorc stopped in the middle of the hall with her. “Turn your back to the soldiers,” he instructed.

  “What? Why?” She worriedly bit at her bottom lip. Turning her back on others was a recipe for disaster in Abigail’s silent world.

  Anger simmered in his blue gaze. “Just do it.”

  She did not understand his request and liked it even less, but she did not think now was the time to argue.

  Hoping against hope that he would not speak while her back was to him, she turned. Talorc moved so that he had a view of both her face and the soldiers behind her. Because of his position away from the other soldiers, Guaire was the only other person whose face she coud see.

  With a sick feeling, she suddenly began to realize what might be happening. Her stomach lurched while her hands grew clammy and her head buzzed with dizzy terror. She could not force herself to ask again what was happening because she feared she already knew.

  She was being tested, and if what she suspected was true, the covering she had worked so hard to hide her secret behind was being ripped away with ruthless efficiency. She could pretend to “hear” whatever Talorc had instructed his men to do behind her. She could keep lying through her actions, if not her words, but there was no strength left in her for the subterfuge.

  And it probably wouldn’t work anyway.

  As he stared at her, a look of horrified understanding dawned in Guaire’s usually warm green eyes. The horror turned to unmistakable pity as she felt the color drain from her face.

  Talorc knew. They all knew. Her affliction had been laid bare.

  Somehow Talorc had realized the truth of Abigail’s infirmity at the lake and he had brought her back here to test his new knowledge in front of his warriors. Darkness played at the edges of Abigail’s vision, but she refused to give in to the weakness. She would not faint.

  But it took several deep breaths before her body was in agreement with the conviction of her mind.

  Pain lancing through her, she faced her husband in silent entreaty.

  But there was no mercy to be found in him. His countenance was so dark with anger she flinched away from him.

  A look of disgust crossed his features. “Have you kept so much of yourself hidden you do not know me any better than that? I will never hit you.”

  The words were harsh, but his expression was harsher.

  It was just as she had feared. He knew she was deaf and now he hated her. She was flawed and he did not want her anymore. Like many in the Church, he believed her infirmity deserved punishment rather than compassion.

  “You are deaf,” he said with clear antipathy, confirming her fear.

  Everything inside her stilled as hope drained away to leave her hollow. The time for acknowledging the truth had come. “I—”

  “Dinna lie to me,” he said, interrupting her confession. “Though that is all you have done since the moment of our meeting.”

  She shook her head. That was not true. She had hidden her affliction, but she had not lied about anything else. Not ever.

  His glare turned sulfuric. “You cannot deny it. I shouted a warning when I heard the swine coming through the forest, but you did not react in any way. Then, just now, I had my soldiers yell a war cry and you did not so much as twitch though such a noise would have sent even a seasoned warrior running.”

  “I was concentrating on my pleats.” And she had not been looking at him to read his lips. She did not care about what had just happened. He had only been testing the new knowledge, not discovering it.

  “There were many signs, I cannot believe it took me so long to realize the truth.”

  “I had many years’ experience learning to hide my affliction.” And she had had a compelling reason to keep it hidden, one that grew more important each day—h
er love for and desire to stay with the man who now hated her.

  “How is it that you speak?” he demanded.

  “I did not lose my hearing to a fever until my tenth year.”

  “And you have lied about the truth of your condition since then?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “Emily.”

  “I should have known.”

  “Don’t you denigrate her. She was the only one who cared enough to try to save me. She worked with me, hours every day, so I would continue to speak normally. I learned to read lips with her help and constant guidance. No one in our keep knew of my affliction except my mother and stepfather. And eventually, my sister Jolenta.” She hated sharing the pain of her past but owed her husband as much truth as she could give him.

  He did not ask if her deafness was why her mother hated her so. He must realize it was.

  “I told Osgard there was no deception in you. I was a fool.” She could have stood it if only anger showed in his eyes, but hurt lurked there as well.

  Abigail’s heart broke. “No.”

  “Yes! Perhaps your bitch of a mother convinced you to lie to me initially, but you have had ample opportunity since then to admit the truth.”

  “I was afraid.”

  “Just like the rest of your countrymen, liars and cowards, every one of them.”

  “No, it’s not like that.”

  He looked at Guaire. “Take her to our chamber.”

  “Talorc, please.” She grabbed his arm, but he shook her off.

  “You have already made a fool of me, will you add to my humiliation by disobeying me in front of my warriors?”

  “Why not? You revealed my secret in front of them.”

  “You deceived them as well; they deserved to witness the truth, too.”

  “I wanted a chance to fit in.” She didn’t expect him to understand or care. The only one who ever had was Emily, but she told him the truth anyway.

  “There is no place in our clan for deceivers and cowards.”

  She felt the words like blows and went to her knees from the pain.

  A gentle touch landed on her shoulder. She looked up through eyes swimming in tears to find Guaire’s face covered in compassion.

  He put his arm out. “Come, my lady.”

  Before she had a chance to take it, she was being lifted with jerky movements into Talorc’s arms. He carried her toward the stairs, his entire body radiating fury and repudiation.

  Unwilling to hide from anything any longer and needing to face the full ramifications of her situation, she looked toward the table of Sinclair soldiers. They were glaring at her. The expression on Osgard’s face was one of smug satisfaction, but that did not hurt nearly as much as the revilement she read in Niall’s eyes.

  He had been her first friend among the Sinclairs. Now he was her enemy.

  Chapter 14

  Talorc dropped her onto the pile of furs in their bedchamber. “If you value your safety, you will stay here.”

  She could think of nothing to say to such a threat being issued from the lips of the man she had come to equate with her safety.

  He turned and only then did she realize Guaire had followed them up the stairs. “Stay with her. Allow no one in this room until I return.”

  Guaire nodded without a word.

  Then Talorc left. Guaire locked the door.

  “Am I prisoner?” she asked, making no effort to modulate her voice.

  But Guaire heard. He frowned. “Nay. Talorc does not want you hurt. The clan will need time to adjust to the knowledge that you have been hiding the truth about yourself. If you want my opinion, most of the Sinclairs will understand, even the Chrechte. Only those who saw how much you hurt our laird with your deception will hold it against you.”

  “I did not mean to hurt him.”

  Guaire sighed and leaned against the door. “I believe you.”

  “He won’t.”

  “I have never seen him so happy.” Guaire looked away from her, though she could still read his lips. “I did not believe he would ever grow to trust an Englishwoman. Not even if she was his wife.”

  “I destroyed that trust.” Desolation blanketed her. Would he ever call her his angel again?

  “Aye.”

  “I did not want to be sent away.”

  “He would not send you away, no matter what. You are his true mate.”

  “I do not think Talorc considers me his friend any longer.”

  “Unfortunately, I think you are right.”

  Talorc’s fury was only a thin mask for pain so deep it would buckle his knees if he let it. His wife, the paragon of virtue he claimed as his sacred mate, the woman he had come so close to admitting love to, was a liar. A coward.

  Osgard made a sound of disgust echoed among the other warriors at the table. “I guess you canna expect anything better from an Englishwoman.”

  “I expected better,” Talorc gritted out.

  Just as his father had with Tamara. Talorc had spent years proving himself to his clan, protecting them and being so careful not to share in his father’s act of criminal stupidity.

  To discover he had been deceived just as neatly by a woman he had grown to trust hurt more than Talorc would ever admit out loud.

  Without a word, Niall pressed a cup of mead in front of Talorc and without another word, Talorc drank it.

  Osgard left the table and returned several minutes later with a small cask filled with drink much stronger than mead. Talorc proceeded to imbibe in more than his share over the following hours and through dinner. At some point he called for one of his soldiers to take a message to Scotland’s king, telling him of Sir Hamilton’s treachery and demanding redress.

  He was deep in his cups when Barr said, “You’ve got to admire her ingenuity.”

  Talorc turned on his second-in-command with a glare.

  Barr merely shrugged, not appearing nearly as drunk as his laird. “She didn’t just fool you, she fooled everyone at her father’s keep and within our holding as well. Tamara hoodwinked only your father, and that was only because he was thinking with his little head, not the big one. Our lady is a clever one, not just a woman used to manipulating men with her pretty face.”

  “She’s a sight more than pretty,” Earc said, slurring his words. “Our lady is beautiful.”

  Osgard probably would have argued, but he was slumped over the table, snoring. He’d never been able to hold his whiskey as well as Talorc’s dad.

  “Aye, beautiful and smart,” Fionn intoned drunkenly. “Just like an angel.”

  Talorc frowned at his soldiers, Fionn’s words stinging in a way he would never admit. “She lied to us all.”

  “She hid a frailty. Like a good soldier,” Barr said. “We do not reveal our weaknesses to others.”

  “She is no soldier,” Talorc roared, though perhaps not as impressively as he would have before that last cup of rotgut. “She is my mate.”

  “Aye, she is that.”

  Airril looked at Talorc blearily. “Did you ask her why she hid her affliction?”

  “’Tis not an affliction. She is deaf, not diseased,” Talorc responded angrily.

  “He didn’t ask. We were all right here when he tested her.” Earc was looking distinctly green.

  If he was smart, and all Talorc’s Chrechte elite were intelligent, Earc would not drink any more tonight.

  “Nay, I did not ask. What could it matter her why’s of lying to me?”

  Barr guided Earc to the floor as the man lurched alarmingly. “You won’t know until you learn what they are.”

  “She said she was afraid,” Fionn slurred.

  “There. She’s a coward.” Though the words felt hollow as he said them.

  “She’s your mate. ’Tis your responsibility to find out what had her so feared.” Barr’s tone left no room for argument.

  And that was one of the reasons Talorc valued him so as his second: the other warrior was not afraid to speak his
mind when it was needed. Not that he always agreed.

  Right now, he wasn’t sure what he thought. Except that the table looked damn comfortable as he slumped forward to rest against it.

  After a sleepless night in which Talorc did not return to their bedchamber and Guaire did not leave it, Abigail returned to the great hall just after sunrise. She’d left Guaire sleeping on the pallet she’d insisted making with some of the furs from her and Talorc’s bed.

  She had a feeling her husband wasn’t going to like that, but then he could have come back and told Guaire the man could go to his own chamber for the night. As it was, no matter how many times Abigail assured the seneschal she would be all right on her own, he refused to leave her.

  His presence had stopped her from collapsing in sobs. As much as she might have wanted to do so, she was grateful to him for inadvertently helping her keep her strength up. Then again, considering how astute the man was, his help might have been entirely deliberate.

  At least she still had one true friend among the Sinclairs.

  The stench of stale whiskey assaulted her nose when she was halfway down the stairs, so she was not wholly unprepared for the sight that met her eyes as she looked up after reaching the bottom. The soldiers from the night before, every one of them members of the elite Chrechte, were passed out in various poses of drunken disarray.

  Talorc slept slumped over the table, but at least he was not passed out on the floor like Osgard. And Niall.

  The big, scarred warrior’s eyes opened as Abigail stood staring, contemplating her next move.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he turned away with clear intent to ignore her presence. He rolled to his feet and left the hall without once looking back or speaking to her. So, that was it then. His attitude had not softened with the passage of a night, or drinking a great deal of whiskey apparently.

  His twin brother, Barr, woke next. His eyes looked clearer than Niall’s had, his expression more open as well. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” she whispered, not sure she wanted to wake the others.