by Selena Kitt
“Is that all?” Kirstin asked, filled with relief. Sibyl blinked at her, looking so hurt Kirstin couldn’t help but go and put her arms around her. “I ju’t mean—a’course he is. He’s a wulver. I knew he would be. Ye had t’know he’d be angry...”
“Well... yes.” Sibyl sighed, wringing the cloth in her hands as Kirstin knelt by her chair. “Of course, I expected he’d be angry with me for leaving. But I did it to save him, Kirstin!”
“Aye.” She patted the Englishwoman’s worried hands. “Ye should’ve seen him when I told ’im ye’d gone.”
Kirstin paled at the memory alone. She’d never seen Raife in such a state. Sibyl searched her eyes, and Kirstin knew what she was looking for. She wanted proof that Raife loved her, that he wanted her, that he had truly meant it when he said that Sibyl was his one true mate.
“I thought he was goin’ to take me head right offa me shoulders,” Kirstin confessed, swallowing hard. “He was crazed. He could’na b’lieve ye’d gone.”
“I couldn’t believe it either.” Sibyl lowered her head at the memory. “I really thought, if I came back here, and told Alistair I’d marry him, that the wulvers would be safe...”
“Aye.” Kirstin nodded. “I know Raife’ll be angry when he discovers I’ve come ’ere. But Sibyl, I could’na stay ’way. Not when I knew Darrow was hurt—and ’tis all my fault. If I hadna put ye on that horse...”
“But we couldn’t have known,” Sibyl whispered. “We both thought we were doing the right thing.”
“Och, what a fine mess this is,” Donal said softly from the doorway, and when Kirstin met his eyes, she saw the sympathy in them.
Kirstin opened her mouth to speak, to explain, but a voice interrupted her.
“Kirstin! What in the da world’re ye doin ’ere?” Laina exclaimed from the doorway, carrying a tray. She was so startled, she nearly dropped it—Donal’s quick reaction kept that from happening. He carried the tray over to the bedside table while the women gathered together.
“I came t’bring all’ye home, safe’n’sound.” Kirstin put her arms around her. Laina’s thick, white-blonde hair was pulled into a long plait down her back. She was dressed in her plaid, just like Sibyl. “How’s Darrow?”
“Cranky.” Laina smiled at him and Darrow moaned in his sleep, like he’d heard her. “But I s’pose that’s understandable, given he was run-through with a broad sword.”
“And how’re ye?” Kirstin asked, touching the other woman’s bruised and battered face. Laina was a stunning beauty, and Kirstin could tell the marks had already begun to heal. Wulver women didn’t mend quite as quickly as the warriors, but they still had a significant ability to mend themselves. “They hurt you?”
“Alistair’s men—a few of them.” Laina shook her head, glancing over at Donal, who looked like he wanted to make yet another apology for his brother’s conduct. “But I’m no worse fer t’wear.”
“How’s me bairn?” Laina grasped her shoulders, searching Kirstin’s face with the hungry eyes of a mother who had been without her babe overlong. “Garaith’s well?”
“Aye, he misses ye,” Kirstin replied, smiling at the memory of Laina and Darrow’s dark-haired little boy. “But Beitris is taking good care of him in your absence.”
“I miss ’im so.” Laina sighed. “I need t’return soon a’fore me milk disappears altogether.”
“He’ll be well enough t’travel soon.” Kirstin assured her, glancing at Darrow, thrashing on the bed now. He was clearly waking up.
“I’m well enough now,” Darrow muttered. Kirstin smiled. It was good to hear his voice. “If ye’d stop givin’ me that witch’s brew, I’d be on me horse and... Laina?”
Darrow went up on an elbow, the sheet falling down his chest to his waist, revealing the bandage that wrapped around his middle. He rubbed his eyes, blinking.
“Where’s Laina?”
“She’s here,” Sibyl assured him, pressing Laina closer to the bed so he could peer at his mate. “You’re feeling no pain because of that witches brew, Darrow. But if you keep pushing yourself, you’re going to pull those stitches and bleed out.”
“He’s a wulver, not a man.” Laina pushed him back on the bed in spite of her words, covering him again with the sheet as she pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “He’ll heal much faster than ye’re used to.”
“I understand that, but he’s a very lucky wulver, given his wounds,” Sibyl reminded her softly.
“Raife.” Darrow blinked up at the ceiling. “We need t’go. Where’s Raife? And what’s that MacFalon doin’ in m’room?”
He tried to get up again, but Laina succeeded in keeping him down with another kiss, this one pressed to his lips.
“The tonic I give him for pain makes him wake confused,” Sibyl explained softly to Kirstin. Then she spoke loudly to Darrow. “Donal is the laird of Clan MacFalon now, Darrow. He is honoring the wolf pact. We’re safe here. I don’t want you riding a horse just yet.”
“Where’s Raife?” Darrow asked the ceiling, then looked at his mate, frowning. “Where’s m’brother? Raife! Raife!”
He yelled Raife’s name so loudly Kirstin thought he might tear his stitches just from the force of the word. It seemed to echo throughout the whole castle.
“Donal, do you know where Raife is?” Sibyl asked, standing and pressing a hand to Darrow’s chest, helping Laina keep him in bed.
Donal gave her a pained look. “He will’na come, if’n yer in ’ere, Sibyl...”
“Why?” Darrow pushed Laina aside, glaring at Donal.
“He won’t be in the same room with me,” Sibyl confessed, tears coming to her eyes.
“He b’lieves ye left ’im fer Alistair.” Darrow’s gaze narrowed at her. “Did ye? Why did ye come ’ere, Sibyl?”
“She was tryin’ t’save yer hide,” Kirstin snapped, wagging her finger at him. Then she looked around the room, putting a hand on Sibyl’s quivering shoulder. “All of ye. She was goin’ t’exchange herself for Laina, t’keep t’wulver pack safe.”
“Alistair would never’ve let t’wulver woman go,” Donal said softly. He was speaking to Kirstin—she had the feeling that the rest of the people in the room had heard this already. “His intention was t’kill all t’wulvers.”
“Why?” Kirstin asked, giving him a long, puzzled look. “The MacFalons’ve honored t’wolf pact fer years.”
“He claimed t’was an order from King Henry, but given that Henry’s sent ’is huntsman t’help us dismantle the wulver traps, I do’na b’lieve it.” Donal glanced around the room, from person to person, and Kirstin felt the weight of his words as he spoke. “I think m’brother felt threatened by t’wulvers. Especially after they kidnapped ’is bride.”
“I wasn’t kidnapped,” Sibyl protested with a snarl that any wulver would have been proud of. “I ran away.”
“Aye,” Donal agreed. “But Alistair did’na wanna b’lieve that, ye ken?”
“But why defy t’English King’s wishes and break t’wolf pact?” Kirstin asked him. “I do’na understand...”
“He was m’kin, but I will’na make excuses fer ’im.” Donal told her with a sad shake of his head. “He was a cruel and duplicitous man.”
“It’s been awful.” Sibyl’s voice shook and she cleared her throat, blinking back her tears. “But Darrow’s healing nicely and the wulvers are safe. That’s the important thing.”
“Aye,” Donal agreed. “Thanks to ye, Lady Sibyl.”
“And if we can keep Darrow in bed,” Sibyl said, giving him a long, quelling look. “Mayhaps he’ll be ready to travel within the month.”
“The month?” Darrow exploded, struggling against Laina’s hold—she was a woman, but she was a wulver, after all. “I’ll be ready t’go in two days! Less, if ye stop makin’ me drink that godawful—”
“Laina, keep your mate in bed, please.” Sibyl crossed her arms and glared at him.
“Mayhaps I should show Kirstin to a room?” Donal suggested, smi
ling as Kirstin glanced over at him. “I thought I’d have Moira find ’er a more suitable wardrobe?”
“She’s a wulver and a Scot, MacFalon.” Darrow glared at him, eyes narrowed. “D’ye expect ’er t’wear more’n ’er plaid?”
“I notice yer wearin’ a plaid, Lady Sibyl,” Donal noted with a smile, ignoring Darrow’s obvious hostility. “In spite of the closet full of English clothes me brother had made fer ye.”
“Sibyl might have been born English, but she’s been chosen by our pack leader as his mate,” Kirstin reminded him—reminded all of them. “She is banrighinn now.”
“Banrighinn?” Sibyl stumbled over the Gaelic word.
“Queen.” Donal translated quietly, looking at Sibyl with soft eyes.
“Aye,” Laina agreed. “Banrighinn.”
“I’m no one’s b-banrighinn,” Sibyl muttered, flushing. “Besides, Raife won’t even talk to me, let alone mark me.”
Kirstin saw Sibyl look longingly at the intricate tattoo that decorated Darrow’s shoulder. A matching one was inked on Laina’s hip and thigh, marking them as one another’s.
“Raife’s a stubborn fool,” Kirstin snapped, putting an arm around Sibyl’s shoulders.
“Kirstin!” Raife’s voice boomed as he appeared in the doorway, his big frame filling it completely. His face was a thundercloud, his brow low and drawn. There were new worry lines on his face, and his eyes were as dark as a night sky. “What’re ye doin’ere?”
“I came t’tend the wounded,” Kirstin said simply, feeling Sibyl shrink against her side at the sight of Raife.
“There’s only one wounded, and from t’sound of ’im yellin’ fer me, he’s jus’ fine,” Raife snapped, pointing at his half-naked brother. “I want m’pack back in the den. Darrow, are ye well enough t’travel?”
“Aye, brother.” Darrow’s voice sounded strong as he pushed the covers back, sitting up and swinging his bare legs over the side obediently. He clearly thought he was ready to follow his leader, but bright red blood bloomed on the sheet Sibyl had tied as a bandage and he winced.
“No, Darrow,” Laina soothed softly, trying to press him back onto bed.
“Raife, he’s not well enough to travel!” Sibyl cried, fleeing to Darrow’s side in order to look at his wound. Kirstin could see, when she slid the bandage aside, that some of the stitches had been pulled by his motion. “Please, don’t move him! I beg you.”
“He’s a wulver,” Raife growled, glowering at his brother. He wouldn’t even look at Sibyl, even if he was speaking counter to her words. “If he’s awake, he can travel now.”
“He was run-through with a sword, you man-beast!” Sibyl hissed with anger.
Kirstin saw rage flicker in Raife’s eyes. The whole room sizzled with the heat of their argument—and it was clearly not the first time they’d had it. Donal was already stepping in, trying to make peace.
“Ye can all stay as long as ye need.” Donal put a hand on Raife’s arm. “We’ve plenty of room.”
“I’m grateful fer yer honorable treatment and hospitality.” Raife straightened, frowning, glancing down at Donal—Raife was a head taller, and Donal was a big man. “But we need t’get home.”
“Don’t be in such a hurry ye lose one of yer own,” Donal said softly, watching as Laina and Sibyl worked to re-bandage Darrow’s now openly-bleeding wound.
“In other words, don’t be a bull-headed fool,” Kirstin translated, glaring at Raife, arms crossed over her chest.
“Kirstin...” Raife snarled in her direction, eyes narrowing, a warning. Then he spoke to Donal. “Can ye make room for one more of m’charges, Donal? I hate t’ask, but she’s clearly taken it upon herself t’impose.”
“’Tis no imposition at all,” Donal soothed. Kirstin caught his eye and saw something in his that made her smile. He was amused by this whole scene—Darrow’s stubborn posturing, Raife’s even more stubborn resolve. Then his words, the warmth in them, made her melt. “She’s more’n welcome. Ye’ll are.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.” Laina brushed her mate’s hair away from his face, looking concerned again. “Darrow stays put until he’s ready t’travel.”
“You’re not going any farther than your chamber pot,” Sibyl insisted, shaking a finger at the wulver in her care. “Not until I’m convinced your outsides are ready to keep your insides in.”
“If yer goin’ t’be ’ere, then ye can keep me posted on Darrow’s progress.” Raife pulled Kirstin aside, speaking quietly. His gaze softened as he glanced at his brother, growling at the two women who fussed over his wound. “I’m sure Laina can use t’help.”
“I imagine, so can Sibyl,” she said pointedly, waiting for his response. There was one, but it was deep, buried in the bright blue, gold-flecked recessed of his eyes. It was so brief, a human might not have even noticed, but Kirstin did. Raife was in pain. A lot of pain. And none of it was physical.
“Donal, may I speak wit’ ye?” Raife turned away from Kirstin to talk to the MacFalon.
“Aye,” Donal agreed amiably.
“Darrow, mayhaps ye could come wit’ us?” Raife asked, and Darrow actually started to get out of bed again.
“No!” All three women shouted at once.
“Raife, are you deaf?” Sibyl cried. “I’ve told you over and over—I am not letting him out of this room.”
Raife folded his arms over his chest and glared at her, but he didn’t say a word.
“I think she knows what she’s speakin’ of,” Kirstin reminded her pack leader, poking his shoulder. “She’s been carin’ for him since he almost got himself killed.”
“T’was her doin’,” Raife snarled, speaking lowly, for Kirstin’s ears, not Sibyl’s.
Sibyl had gone back to tending to Darrow, urging Laina to try to get him to eat something, although she did glance up at them, a look of such hurt in her eyes it broke Kirstin’s heart to see it.
“No, Raife, t’was mine,” Kirstin confessed. She swallowed hard, seeing the way Raife’s gaze turned to her, his eyes blazing. “I was t’one told her that Laina’d been taken. I was t’one who put ’er on a horse. If ye want t’blame someone, blame me.”
Kirstin waited, breath held. She waited for him to rage at her, to accuse her. She saw Donal’s eyes flash, saw his hand move to the hilt of the sword at his side, but that was all. He was waiting, too, watching Raife for a reaction.
Raife’s jaw worked, and his gaze skipped over Kirstin to focus on Sibyl. She stood beside the bed, facing him, cheeks pale, pleading at him with her eyes. Kirstin saw the love Sibyl had for him—she felt it. There was a deep, unspoken apology in the way she looked at him that moved Kirstin, and she expected it to move Raife, too. Even Donal was affected by it—there was a great deal of sympathy in him for Sibyl.
Then Raife’s eyes hardened and he turned back to Kirstin, directing his words at her, although his intended target was the petite redhead across the room, and he verbally hit his mark—hard.
“I’m sure ye did’na ’ave t’do much convincin’ t’get ’er t’run back t’marry ’er betrothed.”
Sibyl gasped as if someone had just punched her in the gut. Laina’s arm went around her shoulders, and she drew the redhead close to her, steering her around the bed.
“Why don’t the three of us go down t’get somethin’ t’eat,” Laina suggested softly, guiding a trembling, stricken Sibyl around Raife, toward the door. “Kirsten, let’s go.”
“Ye—” Kirstin pointed at Darrow. “Stay in bed.
“Aye, jus’ hand me t’food then.” Darrow nodded at the tray beside him.
Kirstin slid the tray onto the bed, watching him move to his elbow to tear bread and dunk it into the stew. He was getting his appetite back. That was good.
“And ye.” Kirstin turned back to Raife, who pulled a chair up beside his brother’s bedside and straddled it. Her voice shook as she addressed their pack leader. He was a formidable man on a good day, and a downright frightening one when he was angry and
glowering, like he was now. “Did ye get knocked on t’head out there on the battlefield? Do ye need me t’examine ye?’
“Nuh.” Raife grunted, waving her away. “Leave us.”
“Are ye sure?” Kirstin leaned in and opened one of his eyes wider with her fingers, peering in. “Given t’way yer actin’, I’m not so sure. Might you’ve left most of yer mind out there somewhere on t’field? Should I go look fer it?”
Darrow snorted a laugh from the bed and Raife gave him a cool look.
“Kirstin...” Raife shifted his attention to her, catching on to her not-so-gentle hints at his behavior.
“That woman’s t’best thing that’s e’er happened t’ye.” Kirstin pointed to the door where Sibyl had been led out, so hurt by Raife’s words she could hardly walk. “Yer mad t’let ’er go.”
“She made ’er choice.” Raife’s lip curled in disgust when he spoke. “Leave us, Kirstin.”
“How can ye say that?” Kirstin wasn’t ready to give up—not yet. She imagined Laina had been too distracted by Darrow and his wounds to really take Raife to task, and he wasn’t going to hear it from Sibyl. He clearly wasn’t listening to her at all. Maybe Kirstin could get through that thick skull of his. “How can ye sit here and not understand why she came? What she sacrificed fer ye?”
Raife’s brow lowered as he scowled. “I did’na ask her to.”
“Nuh, you did’na. And she did it anyway,” Kirstin reminded him. “Because she loves ye. God only knows why, ye stubborn, foolish, pig-headed—”
Raife stood, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. Darrow continued to shove stew-soaked bread into his mouth, glancing between the two of them, chuckling to himself.
“A’righ’, a’righ’!” Donal stepped between the two of them, Kirstin barely coming up to Donal’s shoulder, and Raife a head taller than that. She just glared between the two men. “Mayhaps it’s time fer ye t’join t’women in t’kitchen and let us menfolk—”
“Oh, don’t ye start, Donal MacFalon!” Kirstin turned on him, eyes blazing. “The menfolk’re t’ones who made this mess in t’firs’ place! We weren’t t’ones goin’round forcin’ people into marriage or kidnappin’em and holdin’em against their will! Last time I looked, we women were jus’ tryin’ t’clean up after ye ‘menfolk’!”
