Highland Wolf Pact Compromising Positions: A Scottish Werewolf Shifter Romance

by Selena Kitt

  She poked her finger into the middle of Donal’s chest, punctuating her words, hearing Darrow sputter a laugh behind her, which just made her madder.

  “How did I get in t’middle o’this?” Donal held his hands up in surrender. “’Twas Alistair who trapped Laina, not I. And Sibyl’s marriage t’Alistair was arranged by King Henry, not I. I’ve gone outta me way t’honor t’wolf pact, I’ve taken in wulvers into me castle, which, I might add, has most of me men and all of t’women afeared, in spite of my assurance of their safety. I fail t’see how anythin’ I’ve done could possibly be construed as... “

  “Oh ,what could ye possibly know about it?” Kirstin snapped, crossing her arms over her chest and uttering an exasperated sigh. “D’ye know what it’s like to be afeared the one ye love’s gonna die, and ye might be t’cause? Because that’s the weight that woman carried on ’er lil shoulders, and that’s the reason she came ’ere to yer castle. T’satisfy yer brother’s demands.”

  Donal’s spine stiffened and he frowned down at her. “I fail t’see how me brother’s actions have anythin’ to—”

  “Give it up, man,” Darrow called, his mouth half-full with stew-soaked bread. “No use arguin’ wit’ a woman—especially not a wulver woman.”

  “What would ye like me t’say?” Donal asked, giving Kirstin a truly puzzled look. “That yer right?”

  “That would do well, fer a start,” she agreed, realizing she’d been directing her anger at the wrong man—Donal wasn’t even a wulver, or part of her pack. He was their host, and had clearly been generous and kind. She’d overreacted, and she knew it, but she wasn’t quite sure how to fix that, especially with Darrow snickering and Raife growling.

  “If King Henry’s gonna send ye another English bride, ye might as well get used to sayin’ that phrase,” Darrow remarked, licking his fingers clean and grinning over at them.

  Even Raife had to chuckle at that.

  “What’re ye babblin’ about?” It was Kirstin’s turn to scowl, raising a quizzical eyebrow at Donal.

  “Well, Sibyl was s’posed t’marry t’eldest son, Alistair,” Darrow explained, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Now he’s dead and Donal’s The MacFalon. I imagine King Henry’ll jus’ decide t’give ’er to this brother instead...”

  “Enough, Darrow.” Raife snarled at his brother, moving to draw the sword at his side. “Unless ye want another hole in yer belly.”

  “What would ye care?” Kirstin snapped. “Ye don’t want Sibyl anymore—do ye?”

  “Kirstin...” Raife said her name through gritted teeth, looking at the chuckling Darrow, not at her. “Do’na make me cut off that sharp tongue of yers.”

  “Enough.” Donal spoke, his voice clear and definitive. He turned to Kirstin, taking her by the elbow, putting his hand at the small of her back, and steering her toward the door. “Come wit’ me.”

  As soon as they were in the hallway and Donal had closed the door behind them, Kirstin hissed at him, “That man’s insufferable! How can ye sit by and watch ’im treat ’er that way? He’s actin’ like—”

  “Aye, he is.” Donal put a finger to her lips to keep them from moving anymore, and the motion startled Kirstin. Her breath stopped, and for a moment, so did her heart. Those slate-blue eyes of his pinned her in place and she stilled, listening to him. “But he’s in pain. He feels betrayed, and e’en if he realizes she did’na love m’brother—and I can attest to the fact that she mos’ definitely did’na—his pride’s hurt. Give ’im time. He’ll come ’round.”

  She nodded, not saying anything, feeling the press of his finger against her mouth, suddenly aware of how close they were standing in the hallway with no one around. There were distant sounds of people, and the low rumble of Darrow and Raife talking behind the closed door, but she swore the beating of her own heart was much louder than any of that.

  Donal didn’t say anything either, but his gaze moved down from her eyes to focus on her lips, where his finger was tracing their outline, so lightly she felt as if a butterfly was kissing her. She shivered, feeling something thick and hot pumping through her veins, forcing blood into places that throbbed in sweet, swollen torture.

  She heard him draw a sharp breath in when her tongue peeked nervously between her lips for a moment, and then Donal took a step back, his hand moving to the door knob.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and she was, but not because of what she’d said. She was sorry that he’d moved away, instead of toward her. She was sorry she hadn’t bridged the distance herself.

  He cleared his throat. “Ye mus’ be hungry.”

  You have no idea.

  “Aye.” She nodded, agreeing, although it wasn’t her stomach that was growling.

  “The kitchens’re downstairs, through t’great hall,” he told her, pointing to the staircase he’d brought her up. “Moira’ll be feedin’ Sibyl and Laina. She’ll be happy t’feed ye, too.”

  “Smooth as silk,” Kirstin murmured, giving him a bemused smile. “Ye’re a true politician, aren’t ye?”

  Donal chuckled, shaking his head.

  “Open yer mouth,” he directed, putting a thumb against her chin to try to get her to comply.

  “What?” She smiled, waving him away. “Why?”

  “I jus’ wanted t’see fer m’self if that tongue’s as sharp as it feels.”

  “Oh fer heaven’s sake...” She couldn’t help laughing, but she also couldn’t help feeling a little bad about what she’d said. “I did’na mean—”

  “Och, lass, I understand.” He smiled, too, and that good-natured warmth had returned to his eyes “Ye show a great deal of love fer yer pack, and e’en more spirit in defendin’ it. Tis a fine and lovely thing. As are ye.”

  “Smooth as silk...” she said again, feeling the warmth of his words filling her all the way to her toes.

  “Trust me when I tell ye, I’ve been doin’ e’erythin’ I can t’help pave t’way fer a reunion a’tween Sibyl and Raife.” He rolled his eyes at the closed door. “I intend t’see’t happen a’fore the wulvers leave.”

  “Ye mean—ye don’t wanna marry ’er yerself?” The words escaped her mouth before she could even think and she felt her cheeks redden when he looked at her, nonplussed.

  “Marry Sibyl?” He blinked in surprise at the thought, then he chuckled. “And risk me head being divided from me shoulders by that half-beast in there?”

  “Oh, so that’s all that’s stopping ye?” Kirstin asked, arms crossed, eyes narrowing, as she turned to go.

  “Och! No, lass.” Donal caught her around the waist, whirling her toward him, and she found herself pressed fully against his big, solid frame. The hilt of his sword dug into the soft flesh of her belly and his hands pressed against her lower back, keeping her close. “Mayhaps, yesterday, if King Henry’d offered the woman t’me, and she hadn’t already been claimed by the insufferable wulver in there, I would’ve accepted...”

  “Would ye?” she challenged, feeling a slow fire heating her chest at the thought. For some reason, thinking about any other woman with this man filled her with such a rage it made her tremble. She didn’t understand it, and she wondered if her own confusion showed on her face, because Donal looked at her with such warmth and sympathy, it made her legs weak.

  “Mayhaps yesterday,” Donal said softly. “But not today.”

  Kirstin swallowed. “What changed between yesterday and today?”

  “I met a beautiful wulver woman wit’ a big heart an’a sharp tongue.”

  “Oh...” Kirstin felt like she couldn’t breathe.

  “I want ye t’get some food in yer belly,” he told her. “And I’ll have Moira find ye s’more clothes—a good pair’a boots fer walkin’ and ridin’.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him, but his arms tightened around her in protest.

  “I’d like t’take ye ridin’ on the morrow, Kirstin,” he said. “I’d like to show ye somethin’, if’n ye let me.”

  “Oh...” She hes
itated. She barely knew him—and this was a man, not a wulver. She knew well enough from Sibyl that it wasn’t proper for a Scotswoman or Englishwoman to be alone with any man—but she remembered the ride in from the forest on the back of his horse, and couldn’t resist.

  “I’ll understand if ye wanna stay ’ere and nurse the ailin’ Darrow, but...” His gaze moved to the closed door, then back to her.

  “Nuh.” She shook her head, seeing the disappointment in his eyes, feeling it in her gut, and she was quick to dispel it. “I mean, aye. Aye, I’ll go wit’ ye.”

  “Good.” A smile lit up his features. “And we’ll talk more about what we can do, t’bring those two together. Because somethin’ needs doin’.”

  “Aye, that it does,” she agreed, scowling at Raife as if she could see him through the door.

  “I’m glad ye came.” Donal turned her chin back to look at him, and the look in his eyes, so full of emotion, turned her knees to jelly. But he had her, held against him. She wasn’t going anywhere. His gaze moved down to her mouth, and his head inclined, and for one breathless moment, she thought for sure he was going to press his lips to hers.

  “Sir, I came fer the dishes.” Behind them, the voice was small and unsure and Donal let Kirstin go, whirling around. “Moira sent me.”

  Kirstin looked at the little kitchen maid who had somehow snuck up behind Donal. She was a small blonde with big, round blue eyes and a gap between her teeth. She stood, looking between the two of them, curious.

  “Go ’head.” Donal waved her into the room so she could retrieve Darrow’s supper dishes.

  “Ye were sayin’?” Kirstin prompted him, but the moment was gone. Kirstin could still feel the steel heat of his body against hers, even though they now stood a doorway apart. “Somethin’ about bein’ glad I was ’ere...?”

  “Aye.” He cleared his throat as the maid hurried out with the dishes on a tray. “I know ye’ll be a great help t’Sibyl and Laina.”

  “Gayle.” He smiled down at the maid as she scuttled by him. “Will ye take Lady Kirstin down to the kitchens so she may join ’er kin?”

  “I’m not a lady,” Kirstin protested before Gayle’s eyes even fell to study Kirstin’s plaid—and lack of footwear. Or any other adornment.

  “Her kin?” Gayle’s eyes widened then and she took a step back. “She’s a wulver, then?”

  “Aye, but I promise, she will’na bite ye,” Donal assured the maid, giving Kirstin a pointed look.

  The blonde, Gayle, didn’t look so confident.

  “I’ll see ye on the morrow,” Donal called after her and Kirstin smiled back at him as she followed the maid down the hall. He watched them head down the stairs before going back into Darrow’s room.

  As Donal had promised, Sibyl and Laina were in the kitchen, being fussed over by a stout old woman who kept bringing more food to the table. Gayle deposited the dishes and was quickly off again, giving them all a long, fearful, sidelong glance as she slipped through the door.

  “Ye look pale,” Kirstin observed, putting a cool hand against Sibyl’s cheek. “How long’s it been since she’s eaten anything?”

  The question was directed at Laina, who shook her head.

  “I’m not hungry.” Sibyl pushed the bowl of stew away from her. Kirstin caught the delicious scent and her stomach growled.

  “Ye still need t’eat, banrighinn.” Kirstin pushed the bowl closer,

  “Don’t call me that.” Sibyl’s eyes filled with tears.

  “But ye’re, banrighinn,” Laina agreed, smiling as Moira put a newly baked loaf of bread on the table. It was warm and Kirstin couldn’t resist tearing off the end, dipping it into `

  “Here, you eat it.” Sibyl pushed it toward her. “You must be starving.”

  “I ate a rabbit on the way,” Kirstin confessed, her mouth full of warm bread. “But this is delicious.”

  “There’s more where that came from, lass,” Moira assured her with a pat of her hand on Kirstin’s. “I’ll get ye a bowl. Ye see if ye can get this one t’eat.”

  “Thank ye.” Kirstin washed the bread down with a swallow of mead from the cup Moira set in front of her.

  “Moira, this is Kirstin,” Laina said, making the introductions. “She’s a midwife in our den—and a healer. She came t’help wit’ Darrow.”

  “Och, well he’s a handful,” Moira agreed with a laugh, putting a bowl of stew down in front of Kirstin, who dug in, her stomach making grateful, growling sounds. “We can certainly always use an extra set of hands ’round ’ere.”

  She glanced at the door where the maid had disappeared.

  “They’re afeared of us,” Laina explained to Kirstin, speaking of the maid who’d left soon after bringing Darrow’s dishes down. “Wulvers. Demons.”

  “They’re young and foolish.” Moira brought out a knife and began slicing the bread. “Do’na pay attention to ’em. Lady Sibyl, please will ye eat some bread? I’ll butter it fer ye. Mayhaps some jam?”

  Moira brightened at this, rushing off to get some.

  “Och, I need me bairn.” Laina gave a little groan, sitting back in her seat and pressing her breasts with both hands, her face pained. “He’s not ready t’wean.”

  “Ye can express yer milk,” Moira suggested. “Since yer bairn’s away and yer husband’s not yet up to the task.”

  The old woman chuckled at the way Kirstin gasped, looking at the younger woman’s shocked face.

  “She’s not married, this one?” Moira observed with a toothy grin.

  Kirstin flushed, eating stew faster.

  “Kirstin?” Laina laughed. “Nay, she’s not found ’er mate, nor had ’er first estrus.”

  “Isn’t she a little old?” Moira blinked in surprise.

  “Oh, she’s had ’er first moonblood,” Laina told her, explaining to the confused Scotswoman. “Wulver woman have their first moonblood sometime during our thirteenth summer. That’s when we can starting changin’. Into wulvers, ye ken?”

  “Hm.” Moira’s face didn’t smooth out—she still looked puzzled.

  “After our first moonblood, we’re ready to be mated,” Laina explained.

  Laina’s words even had Sibyl interested, Kirstin noticed. Sibyl was listening, spreading the brambleberry jam Moira had brought over onto a piece of buttered bread.

  “But we do’na have our first estrus—when we go into heat—until we find our mate.”

  “So ye only bleed once?” Moira asked in awe. “And then not again until you mate?”

  “Aye.” Kirstin agreed, dunking her bread into her stew. It was venison, thick, fatty and rich. And utterly delicious.

  “Och, I wish I was a wulver then!” Moira exclaimed with a laugh, taking a seat at the low table with them. “I’d stay a maiden forever.”

  “Well, there’s something to that.” Laina smiled, glancing over at Kirstin. “A wulver woman who’s never mated always has control over her change.”

  Kirstin nodded in agreement. She still had full control over when she changed from woman to wulver and back again. There were very few wulver women who went their whole lives without finding their true mate, although Kirstin often thought she might end up like the old midwife, Beitrus, who had trained her and taught her all her healing skills. Mayhaps that was her calling after all, she mused, taking another swig of mead.

  “But it isn’t matin’ that brings on estrus,” Kirstin interjected. “It’s findin’ yer mate.”

  Moira gave them a puzzled shake of her head, looking between the two wulver women as if trying to figure something out. Then, slowly, realization dawned on her, even before Kirstin explained.

  “A wulver woman doesn’t hafta remain chaste,” she told Moira, knowing how shocking that sounded to the Scotswoman. It had been even more shocking to the Englishwoman who was now their banrighinn—their queen. Maidenhood was highly prized in the human world, she’d discovered. “After our thirteenth year, we reach maturity. We can be wit’ whomever we choose after that. But we can�
�na become wit’ child ’til we meet our true mate.”

  “Yer true mate?” Moira mused, mulling this over.

  “Aye. Wulvers have one true mate.” Laina smiled, glancing toward the ceiling. Darrow was upstairs, recovering—her one true mate, the father of her bairn. “Fer life.”

  “How d’ye know ye’ve found ’im?” Moira asked. “Yer one true mate?”

  “Oh, believe me, ye know.” Laina’s smiled widened, her eyes dancing. “Besides, a month later, ye change into a wulver during yer estrus, and ye can’na change back ’til it’s through.”

  “Ye can’na control it?” Moira asked, eyes growing big. “And I thought bein’ a Scotswoman was bad!”

  Sibyl snorted, saying through a mouthful of bread and jam, “Try being an Englishwoman.”

  “Sibyl’s been workin’ on our cure.” Laina put her arm around the redhead’s shoulder. Sibyl almost smiled, which made Kirstin’s heart feel a little bit lighter.

  “A cure for the curse?” Moira laughed. “Oh what a happy day that would be!”

  “Well, the wulver’s curse,” Laina countered. “It wasn’t broken soon enough for my mother, but maybe it can be for our daughters.”

  “Raife and Darrow think it’s a fool’s errand.” Sibyl picked the crust off her bread. “They keep telling me I’m wasting my time. But too many wulver women have paid the price for not having control over their cycles.”

  “Men, they never understand the woman’s plight.” Moira sighed. “No matter their species, do they?”

  “They’re stubborn animals, regardless.” Laina squeezed her arm around Sibyl, who rested her head on the blonde’s shoulder.

  “Especially wulvers.” Sibyl wrinkled her freckled nose and sighed.

  “He loves ye,” Kirstin assured her. She knew it was true—she’d seen it in his eyes. Sibyl was his one true mate, and always would be. “He’ll come ’round. He’s jus’...”