Highland Wolf Pact Compromising Positions: A Scottish Werewolf Shifter Romance

by Selena Kitt

  Kirstin heard the men talking, just their voices, a low rumble, not the words. They rounded a corner in the passage and the cavern opened up into a wide space. An altar stood at one end, unadorned, a slab of rock. That’s where Donal and Raife were talking. Surrounding them were the catacombs, hundreds of slotted tombs, sealed off with the remains of the MacFalon’s ancestors.

  “Raife.” Sibyl put her torch on the wall—the men had lit several around the room, making it far brighter than the passageway they’d traversed. “I brought you something you need.”

  Kirstin hung back, letting Sibyl move forward toward the men. She saw Donal glance over at her, his face breaking into a smile, those grey-blue eyes lighting up in delight. She knew the feeling—it felt as if a bird had just taken flight in her chest, soaring, leaving her breathless at the sight of him.

  She remembered the way he’d pulled her aside that morning, telling her about his meeting with Raife at the catacombs, the planned reaffirmation of the wolf pact.

  “I’d like ye to come t’me there after the ceremony,” he told her softly. She was very aware of everyone’s eyes on them. “There’s somethin’ I’d like t’show ye.”

  She’d agreed. It was when she told Moira, Laina and Sibyl about her intention to go out to the catacombs to meet Donal that Moira had expressed her concern about the lack of silvermoon at the ceremony. That’s when this plan had been hatched. Sibyl and Kirstin had quickly made preparations to follow the men to the catacombs, while Laina stayed behind to tend to her husband’s needs—and he, to hers, Kirstin thought with a smile.

  Now that they were here, silvermoon in hand. Kirstin wondered if it had been such a good plan. Raife scowled at the interruption, which wasn’t an unusual expression for him lately, but it was a dark scowl. His mood had shifted suddenly from somber to wary as Sibyl approached. Kirstin felt as if she was watching some priceless vase toppling back and forth, waiting to see if it would fall or right itself again, unable to do anything but observe.

  “You, too, Donal.” Sibyl smiled at the laird, remembering him only when he greeted her warmly, and Kirstin saw instantly that this was a mistake. Raife’s scowl deepened as he glanced between the two of them, and she saw the green of jealousy move into his eyes.

  Sibyl went on, not realizing, holding out the plant leaves as a peace offering.

  “It’s silvermoon,” Sibyl announced happily. “Moira said it’s always been used at the wolf pact ceremony, to bind things, and I thought—”

  “Ye thought what?” Raife’s lip curled in anger. “Ye’d come down ’ere on sacred ground and violate t’wulver’s ancient first den t’bring me some leaves?”

  “Well, I...” Sibyl hesitated, glancing back at Kirstin. “I was told... a wulver woman usually brings them...”

  “Ye’re nuh a wulver,” Raife reminded her coldly, straightening and crossing his big arms over his chest. “And ye do’na have business ’ere.”

  “Raife,” Kirstin protested, seeing the crestfallen look on Sibyl’s face.

  “’Twas a kind thought, Sibyl.” Donal reached out and touched the Englishwoman’s arm. “Thank ye. Leave it on t’altar.”

  “I brought the new spring mead instead,” Raife told Sibyl as she brushed by him to put the leaves on the altar next to two cups and an uncorked bottle. “We do’na need the silvermoon.”

  Sibyl didn’t answer him. She walked by, head held high, moving toward Kirstin, who was the only one who saw the tears she was blinking back. She also saw the look of pain flash over Raife’s face as he looked at his mate’s retreating form. Kirstin thought, for a moment, that he might say something to bridge the gap between them.

  He did call out, but it wasn’t what Kirstin expected.

  “Why don’t ye put the silvermoon on Alistair’s tomb?” Raife reached out and grabbed the leaves in his big fist that Sibyl had so carefully pulled, stalking over to where Sibyl stood next to Kirsten. “Or mayhaps ye’d like t’give’t to the other MacFalon brother?”

  Raife whirled to glare at Donal. Kirstin had heard them talking, even chuckling together, before the two women had come in. Now Raife looked at him like he wanted to tear his limbs off.

  “Here, Donal, mayhaps this’ll bind ’er to ye better than I could cleave ’er to’me.” Raife tossed the leaves up in the air toward Donal and they floated down toward the dirt.

  “Raife!” Sibyl called as he brushed past her, staring, aghast, as he stalked around the corner, headed toward the exit. She turned to Donal, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. “I’m so sorry. He’s... just...”

  “Raife.” Kirstin sighed, shaking her head and looking after him.

  “Do’na concern yerself, Sibyl.” Donal shook his head too, sighing. “The man’s more stubborn than most. And most men’re stubborn.”

  “Should ye go after ’im?” Kirstin wondered aloud.

  “I’ve tried.” Sibyl shook her head. “He won’t talk to me.”

  “Banrighinn, I’m so sorry.” Kirstin put a soothing hand on her shoulder.

  “I should go back and tend Darrow.” Sibyl stooped to carefully retrieve the silvermoon Raife had cast aside, her head bent. Kirstin’s gaze met Donal’s and they exchanged a knowing, sympathetic look. Sibyl stood, putting the leaves into a pocket in her plaid, turning to look at them with a sniff, blinking quickly to clear her eyes. “Mayhaps Moira will have some idea how the silvermoon might help his wound.”

  “Mayhaps,” Kirstin agreed as Sibyl went by her.

  Donal was still looking at Kirstin, and his gaze made her feel warm all over.

  “Are you coming, Kirstin?” Sibyl called, reaching for the torch she’d brought in.

  “Oh... aye.” Kirstin sighed, turning to follow her, but Donal’s hand on her arm stopped her.

  “I beg yer pardon, banrighinn,” Donal called to Sibyl, his gaze never leaving Kirstin’s face.

  “Why do people keep calling me that?” Sibyl sighed, rolling her eyes as she turned back toward them. “Can’t you see that he doesn’t want me to be his... whatever it is...”

  Sibyl looked at them, her gaze moving from Kirstin’s face to Donal’s and back again, then flitting down to see the way Donal was holding onto Kirstin’s arm.

  “I’d asked Lady Kirstin t’come to the catacombs so that I might show ’er somethin’...” Donal’s hand tightened on Kirstin’s arm, a slow, steady squeeze. She felt the blood rushing through her, suddenly hotter than she remembered. “Might ye find yer way back t’Castle MacFalon on yer own?”

  “Unaccompanied?” Kirstin shook her head in protest. “But—”

  “Absolutely!” A slow, secret smile started at the corners of the redhead’s mouth. The way she looked at them made Kirstin blush. “Don’t you even think of coming with me, Kirstin. I’m heading straight back to the castle with this silvermoon. I know the way—and so does the horse. You two don’t worry about me.”

  “Thank ye.” Donal winked. “We’ll be back to the castle in time fer dinner.”

  “Oh, you both take your time!” Sibyl backed toward the passageway. Her smile was almost a grin, now, her eyes sparkling with a life Kirstin hadn’t seen in them since she’d arrived at the castle. “All the time in the world! I’ll tell them not to expect you any time soon.”

  “Sibyl!” Kirstin protested, her cheeks flaming now, and she was glad for the darkness of the environment. “Please.”

  “I won’t say a word.” Sibyl mimicked locking her lips with a key. “I’m good at making excuses. You two... just... enjoy yourselves!”

  “Oh fer heaven’s sake,” Kirstin muttered as Sibyl gave them a wave and ducked down the passage where Raife had recently disappeared. She glanced up at Donal, seeing the laughter in his eyes, and couldn’t help breaking into a smile. “What did she think we were goin’ t’do, make a fire and strip naked t’dance ’round it?”

  “I would’na be averse to either of those things.” Donal laughed when she punched him in the upper arm. He rubbed it like she’d actuall
y hurt him. “What man would say no to a pretty woman offerin’ t’strip and dance naked in front of the fire fer ’im?”

  “’Twasn’t an offer.” She nudged him with her shoulder.

  “Och, that’s a shame.” He grinned.

  She felt the heat in her face and decided to change the subject. “So—what is it ye wanted t’show me?”

  “This.” He waved his hand around at the MacFalon tomb. “And the ruins of t’first den, a’course—but it seems Sibyl beat me to it?”

  “Aye, we went to the spring to get the silvermoon,” Kirstin admitted. “But we had to be quick. I’d love to really explore.”

  “Good.” He smiled, hands behind his back, rocking onto his heels. “I thought ye might.”

  “So this is where ye buried yer brother?” she mused, moving forward toward the newest tomb.

  “Aye.” Donal sighed.

  “I’m so sorry.” Kirstin put her hand against the cool stone. “’Tis not easy t’lose a sibling, e’en if—”

  She couldn’t finish, wouldn’t hurt him with the words.

  “Ye can say it, lass.” Donal moved in behind her, his voice close to her ear. “I hold no delusions ’bout me brother.”

  “I’m sure ye had a lot of good times, when ye were young.” She gently stroked the stone, wondering what Donal had been like, when he was a wee lad. She could imagine him, bright-eyed, mischievous, always laughing. Not so different from now, mayhaps.

  “Aye, some. He changed when I was... vera young.” Donal pressed his hand to the front of the tomb, his fingers overlapping hers. “But after our mother passed—she died of a fever, soon after she weaned me, and the healers could’na cure her—Alistair became an angry child. Bitter. Cruel.”

  Kirstin sighed. “It’s so hard t’lose a mother.”

  “Me father said Alistair was born with a black streak in his heart only our mother could lessen. Alistair was her shinin’ star. They loved each other overmuch.” Donal gave another sigh, dropping his hand from the tomb’s cold surface. “Me father said Alistair was always proud to show off t’her—whether t’was his skill wit’ sword or bow, or jus’ a boast about ’is ridin’ and wrestlin’. She indulged ’im.”

  “She sounds like a lovely woman,” Kirstin murmured, turning to face him.

  They were very close in the dimness. She saw the way his gaze moved over her face in the light of a torch.

  “All I remember of her is golden hair fallin’ into me face, a rosy-cheeked smile, and the warmth of fallin’ asleep against her breast.” Donal’s gaze moved over these parts of Kirstin as he spoke, from the cascade of dark hair over her shoulders to her definitely flushed cheeks, and then down, to her bosom, exposed at the V of the white shirt Moira had brought her to wear under her plaid.

  “Alistair had far more of me mother than I ever did,” Donal confessed. “And when she died, me father said... Alistair’s heart caved in.”

  “Nothin’ can e’er replace a mother’s love,” Kirstin agreed softly.

  “So what about yer parents, Kirstin?” he inquired as they turned together and started walking slowly through the catacombs.

  “Oh, me mother was a healer and a midwife,” she told him. “Me father—he was the warmaster fer Raife’s father, Garaith.”

  “But I thought Raife’s father... was...?” Donal hesitated, looking at her, as if wondering, but she put his mind at ease.

  “King Henry?” Kirstin smiled, nodding. “’Tis not a secret in the pack. In fact, ’tis the stuff of legend. But Raife never even met King Henry. Garaith raised him, and Raife always thought of him as his father. And Garaith treated him as such, passin’ on leadership of the pack to him, even though Darrow was his blood, not Raife.”

  Donal sighed. “I wish me father’d been s’wise.”

  “Ye mean, by makin’ ye laird instead of Alistair?”

  “Aye. He could’ve,” Donal told her. “Scots do’na hold to the ‘first-born’ standards of t’English. But I think he felt he owed memother. And he hoped it’d change Alistair, givin’ him that kind of responsibility.”

  “But it did’na.”

  “Nuh. It only made things worse,” he said sadly. Then he brightened, looking sidelong at her. “So yer father was Alaric, the Gray Ghost, then?”

  “Aye.” Kirstin laughed, surprised he knew her pack’s history. “But t’me, he was jus’ me father. Not grim at all. He loved t’tell stories and laugh—at least, he did, until me mother didn’t return from her fall medicinal gathering one year.”

  “Och.” Donal’s face fell. “Wha’happened, lass?”

  “He rode out t’find me mother,” she said, frowning at the memory. “T’was t’last night I saw ’im.”

  “They searched?”

  “A’course.” she nodded. “But they found no sign of either of ’em.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, I was a mature wulver by then, not a child, like ye were when ye lost yer mother,” she said. “I think t’was e’en harder for me adopted sister, Laina.”

  “Laina’s yer sister?” He looked at her in surprise.

  “Not by birth,” she explained. “But when ’er mother was killed by The MacFalon, me mother had just pupped me, and she adopted Laina and suckled ’er as ’er own. T’was hard on Laina t’lose not jus’ one but two mothers.”

  “The MacFalon killed Laina’s mother?” Donal’s voice shook with anger. He stopped walking, leaning against the stone of the tombs to look at her.

  “Yer grandfather.” Kirstin nodded, facing him. “Before t’wolf pact.”

  “She was the one...” Donal breathed, realization dawning.

  So he did know the history then.

  “Aye. She-wulvers can’na change when they’re in estrus or givin’ birth,” she explained. “Both Laina’s mother and Raife’s were caught in one of The MacFalon’s traps. Laina’s mother gave birth to Laina in that cage. The pup was small enough and escaped. But The MacFalon shot an arrow through Laina’s mother’s heart.”

  Donal closed his eyes as if in pain, whispering hoarsely, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Raife’s mother...” Kirstin went on. “Her estrus’d jus’ ended, and she changed back t’human form. I hear tell that The MacFalon put the naked woman over his saddle and brought ’er home as a gift to t’visiting King Henry, and dragged t’body of t’wolf behind ’is horse...”

  “I’ve heard t’same,” he replied, opening his eyes and shaking his head in disgust. “So that’s how Raife was conceived then?”

  “Aye.” She nodded in agreement. “And how t’wolf pact came into bein’. King Henry told t’wulvers he’d deliver the kidnapped Avril—that was Raife’s mother’s name—and swear eternal peace between the MacFalons and the wulvers, if only the wulver warriors would fight for ’im t’gain the throne.”

  “Because he was’na King Henry yet, then, was he?”

  “Not yet,” she told him. “He gained the throne because he had the full force of the wulver warriors behind ’im.”

  “’Tis a horrible tragedy, Kirstin.” He reached out and took her hand, pressing it between both of his. “So many wulver lives lost. Ye know, there was a time when yer number was very great.”

  “Aye,” Kirstin agreed with a little shiver. “’Tis the reason the Scottish king started demanding hunters kill the wolves twice a year.”

  “Yer pack outgrew this den.”

  “Our new den’s far more secret than this one and I’m glad of it, even though we have the protection of t’wolf pact,” she confessed. “Still, wulvers’ve gone missin’. Like me parents. Not as many as a’fore, though. A’fore...”

  She gave another shiver, remembering the stories she’d been told about the days before the wolf pact.

  “I’ve heard ’em, too.” Donal nodded. “Men would, as you say, drag their corpses behind ’em on their horses.”

  “Must’ve been a surprise when they got back t’the castle and discovered they were draggin’ a man or woman instead.”
Kirstin gave a little, strangled laugh at that. “That’s when they knew they’d killed a wulver, not a wolf. The ol’ timers say we lost more’n half our wulver population a’fore t’wolf pact was signed.”

  “I’m glad there’s no longer a feud a’tween us.” Donal squeezed her hand in his. “I meant it when I said I’d defend t’wolf pact wit’ me life, Kirstin.”

  She met his eyes, seeing the hardness there, behind the softness, knowing he meant it.

  “Thank ye.”

  “Ye know, I saw yer father trainin’ in the yard at t’castle when t’wulvers came. I was jus’ a boy,” he told her, not letting go her hand as they started walking again.

  “Did ye?” She smiled up at him as they headed toward the passageway leading between the MacFalon tombs and the first den.

  “He bested e’ery wulver or man that faced him in trainin’,” Donal remembered. “All the boys gathered whisperin’ how like a ghost he really was. I’ve ne’er seen a man or wulver move like that. No one laid a blade on him.”

  “He was a fine warrior,” she agreed as they moved into the tunnel.

  Donal held Kirstin’s hand tight in his own. “I’m glad the Gray Ghost’s daughter isn’t so evasive—I would’na wanna lose ’er in the dark.”

  “If ye think me father was fast, ye shoulda seen me mother.” Kirstin laughed, swinging his hand as they walked. “If she had’na been faster than the Gray Ghost, I would’ve had two dozen brothers and sisters!”

  Donal chuckled at that.

  “Besides, don’t ye know that wulvers can see in the dark?” she asked, glancing over at him.

  “Yes, I did know.” Donal squeezed her hand, smiling.

  “C’mon.” Kirstin was excited to explore as she pulled Donal deeper into the tunnels, following the recent prints she and Sibyl had left in the long accumulated dust.

  Chapter Four

  They made their way down the passage, side by side. Donal carried the torch to light the way. If the den had been inhabited, there would be torches lit along the walls, she knew, both for light and warmth. She didn’t mind the damp or the cold—Scots were a hardy people, and wulvers even moreso.