by Selena Kitt
“And start a war?” she cried. “Bring King Henry and ’is army down on yer head, so soon after reaffirming t’wolf pact? Put me pack and yer family in danger? At the vera least, lose everythin’ ye own?”
“I do’na care ’bout that...” he told her hoarsely.
“But I do,” she replied softly. “And we both know, e’en if... e’en if Lady Cecilia Witcombe wasn’t on ’er way t’marry ye... no one would accept the laird of Clan MacFalon marryin’ a wulver.”
“’Tis not true...” He denied it, but she heard the hesitation in his voice.
“Aye, ’tis,” she insisted. “I’ve heard what they say ’bout us. They all talk, when ye’re not ’round to silence ’em. They say things like ‘I’d love to lie wit’er, but I’d be afeared t’get fleas’.”
“Who said it?” he growled. “I’ll ’ave their heads.”
“You can’na quell hundreds of years of prejudice and superstition with yer sword, m’love.” She smiled. She didn’t want to tell him about the Alistair loyalists, the ones who continued to hate the wulvers. There was one man in particular, Gregor, who had said very rude, crude things, but she’d done her best to ignore him. “Ye’d hafta chop off e’ery head in the land t’were that yer solution.”
“There’s a way...” he insisted. “There mus’ be.”
“If’n there is, I do’na know’t.” She sighed, closing her eyes against the truth, not wanting to face it.
“Leave’t t’me.” He lifted her chin and kissed her lips, soft and sweet. “I should’na’ve burdened ye wit’this. But I wanted ye t’hear’t from me, a’fore...”
“A’fore?” She raised her eyebrows.
He sighed, a pained look crossing his face. “A’fore ye heard it from someone else. Like Lord Eldred.”
She shuddered at the mention of that man’s name. Of course he would make it a point to make that sort of announcement at his leisure. He liked to take the spotlight, and he would likely see it as a good opportunity to do so.
“What’re we gonna do, m’love?” she lamented, searching his eyes for an answer.
“Right now?” He brushed hair away from her face. “We’re goin’t’go out there, put on smiles, an’dance.”
“I can’na dance wit’ ye,” she protested with a shake of her head. “Not now...”
“I can’na dance wit’out ye.” He pressed his mouth full to hers and she tasted the salt of her tears slipping between their lips.
She would do as he asked, although, the thought of joining the gathering after this news made her stomach turn. And then she remembered Sibyl’s morning sickness.
“Oh, Donal, there’s somethin’ else,” she said.
He sighed. “I do’na think I can stand another thing...”
“It’s Sibyl... she’s wit’ child.”
He blinked in surprise. “Well, this is good news, isn’t it? It solves our problem of tryin’ t’get those two together, doesn’t it?”
“No.” Kirstin laughed, shaking her head. “Sibyl refuses t’tell him. She says she will’na use it t’get him back.”
“Och.” He smacked his forehead with his hand, rolling his eyes. “Women!”
“We’re the bain of man’s existence, aren’t we?” She giggled.
“Aye,” he agreed, grinning. “And the boon.”
“I love ye, Donal MacFalon,” she said suddenly. “No matter wha’appens, I’ll always love ye.”
“And I love ye, Kirstin MacFalon.” He pressed his forehead to hers, looking deeply into her eyes.
“I do like the sound of that.” She sighed.
“Good, because I’m goin’ t’marry ye. Some way, somehow, I’ll make ye mine. I promise ye that.”
Kirstin nodded, kissing him back when he touched his lips to hers again, not protesting in the least—because she wanted so very much to believe him.
Chapter Six
“Raife, I can’na go back wit’ ye.” Kirstin wrung her hands, meeting her pack leader’s concerned gaze with her own pleading one. “He’s me one true mate.”
Raife scowled at her over the breakfast table, although she wasn’t surprised. He wore a scowl most of the time now. They were leaving on the morrow, and still, his face hadn’t cracked a smile. She couldn’t believe he was still holding out, keeping his mate at arm’s length. This was their last-ditch effort to bring the two of them together, and it had better work, because they’d run out of other options.
Unless they locked them in a room together that neither could escape, she couldn’t fathom any other plan but this one.
“He’s not a wulver,” Raife protested, glancing over at his brother, Darrow, who snorted at this from behind his mug of mead. Laina just looked into her bowl of meal, scraping the bottom brown bits, ignoring Raife’s cool look in their direction.
Kirstin had to point out the obvious. “Neither’s Sibyl”
“We’re talkin’ about ye, nuh me.” Raife’s scowl deepened. And here she thought that wasn’t even possible.
“I love ’im.” Kirstin confessed, glancing up as Moira brought a bowl of hard-boiled eggs to the table. It was dangerous, telling Raife this in front of Moira and the servant girls who hurried around bringing food out to the gathering hall and the people there. The wulvers ate in the kitchen with the servants, not because they were forced to, but to avoid the stares and whispers of most of the MacFalons.
Raife frowned, but for the first time, he looked like he was taking her seriously. “You’ve given yerself t’him?”
She nodded, glancing at her sister. “Laina says I’ll go into estrus soon.”
“But ye can’na ’ave bairns wit’ this man,” Raife reminded her, his voice soft, more concerned than angry now.
“Aye.” She swallowed, nodding again.
“And he knows that?”
“Aye.”
“Kirstin, he’s the laird of Clan MacFalon.” Raife reached across the table to take her hand in his. “How well d’ye think those people out there’re goin’ to accept ye? They do’na e’en like havin’ us eatin’ at t’same table beside ’em.”
What he said was true and made her eyes fill with tears. Raife frowned at that and sighed, watching her tears fall into her lap as she lowered her head, letting a dark curtain of hair hide her face.
“Kirstin, I’m not sayin’ it t’be cruel,” he murmured. She knew he wasn’t, and his kindness and sympathy hurt more than anything else. Raife had been chosen their pack leader for a reason. He was both intelligent and shrewd, and he almost always knew the right thing to do—unless it involved his own love life, apparently. “Besides, I do’na b’lieve King Henry’ll e’er allow the match.”
“But he upheld t’wolf pact.” She lifted her tear-filled gaze to meet his.
“There’s a difference a’tween livin’ peacefully alongside wulvers and marryin’ them, ye ken?” He squeezed her small hands in his giant ones. “But if it’s what ye really want, I’ll n’stop ye.”
“Thank ye.” Kirstin’s lower lip trembled. She wasn’t even acting—she didn’t have to. “I’m afeared ye may be right ’bout King Henry. He’s... he’s sent a royal decree.”
“What decree?” Raife glanced up at Darrow and Laina to see if they knew about such a decree but they both kept quiet, busying themselves with their breakfast.
“King Henry’s promised Donal another bride. An English one.” She wasn’t lying. She comforted herself with that as Raife’s eyebrows went up in surprise.
“I was afeared of that.” He shook his dark head, frowning.
“He sent a sealed scroll wit’ his royal huntsman. King Henry’s ordered ’im t’marry S—” She stopped herself mid-sentence, biting her lip. Mayhaps now she was putting on a bit of an act for his benefit. But it worked. His eyes widened when she wouldn’t finish the sibilant word and simply said, “An Englishwoman.”
“An Englishwoman,” Raife murmured. He was an intelligent wulver and could put a puzzle together. She was counting on it. His gaze skipped to
Laina and Darrow, who avoided it. Even Moira rushed off to busy herself with something at the other end of the kitchen. “What Englishwoman?”
Kirsten lowered her head, feeling his hands tightening over hers in a vise-like grip. She nearly yelped, but used it to elicit a sob of pain from her throat.
“Kirstin!” he growled, letting go her hands—he’d realized he was hurting her—and grabbed her little shoulders, shaking her. His eyes were wild. She saw the fear in them—and knew his pain. It wasn’t Raife who would have to fight to keep his mate from marrying someone else. Sibyl was no longer promised to anyone but him. And mayhaps, after this little ruse, he’d finally realize that it was only Raife she’d ever loved.
“What Englishwoman?” Raife thundered, standing and knocking the chair out from under him.
She shook her head, remaining mute, pretending she couldn’t talk because she was sobbing so hard—and it wasn’t hard to do. Because the tears were real. There was an Englishwoman who would soon be at the MacFalon doorstep who expected to marry Donal and bear his children on orders from her king. It brought up pain so great for Kirstin, she could barely breathe, let alone talk, and she just sobbed into her hands, unable to answer Raife’s questions.
“Sibyl...?” Raife’s big fingers dug into her shoulders. “Is it Sibyl?”
“Enough, Raife!” Darrow snapped, glaring at his brother.
“Look at ’er!” Laina clucked, shaking her head. “She’s so upset, she can’na e’en speak...”
“D’ye know?” Raife pointed a finger at Darrow, then Laina. “Who’s this Englishwoman?”
“I—” Laina looked at Darrow, blinking innocently. “I... uh...”
“Well...” Darrow cleared his throat, leaning back in his seat. “Uh...”
“Ne’ermind!” Raife kicked the toppled chair out of his way as he stormed toward the exit. He nearly knocked over the little blonde maid, the one with the gap between her teeth called Gayle, as she came in. She shrank away from him, pressing herself flat against the wall, clearly afraid of the wulver warrior.
“I’ll speak to The MacFalon meself and wring it out of his scrawny neck...” Raife growled, sweeping past the maid without even seeing her.
“He’s in the chancery!” Moira called helpfully after him, chuckling when the door swung closed.
“Did it work?” Kirstin lifted her tear-filled cheeks, lowering her hands completely. She’d been peeking out of them between her fingers until that moment.
“Aye. That was quite a performance.” Darrow scowled, tearing roast chicken off the carcass in front of him. His appetite had come back threefold, his body requiring more protein to heal faster, and Moira had been happy to roast a chicken or two a day for him. “I hope so. Now it’s up to The MacFalon.”
Kirstin wasn’t about to tell them how little she’d had to pretend.
“The MacFalon plans t’keep Sibyl in the chancery ’til Raife arrives?” Moira asked, pouring more mead into Darrow’s empty glass.
“Aye.” Kirstin sniffed, cooling her red cheeks with the wave of her hands. “Angus’ll signal ’im when Raife’s almost there, so Donal knows just when he should propose to Sibyl.”
That thought brought more tears to Kirstin’s eyes, even though she knew it was all a ruse. She didn’t like the thought of Donal proposing to anyone—except her. And he’d done that, several times already, in the past couple weeks. If only she could accept him...
“Nothin’ like jealousy and possessiveness t’motivate a wulver t’action.” Laina smiled coyly, nudging her husband with her elbow.
“Since t’dawn of man, when Eve took that first bite of apple.” Darrow sighed, reaching to the middle of the table to grab one out of a bowl of fruit, taking a large chunk of apple flesh out with his teeth and chewing noisily. “Ye women’ve been so vera cruel.”
Kirstin wiped her face with the edge of her plaid, and both Darrow’s words and the bulge beneath it reminded her.
“Speakin’ of the dawn of time...” Kirstin produced the book from where she’d hidden it in the folds of her Scots garment. “I’ve somethin’ I wanna show ye.”
“What’s this?” Laina frowned at the leather-bound tome as Kirstin put it up on the table.
“I found it in t’first den,” she confessed, flushing when Laina gave her a knowing smile. Did everyone know that she and Donal had been sneaking off to meet there? “Hidden in t’pack leader’s room.”
“Is that what I think ’tis?” Moira saw the book, her craggy gray eyebrows going up in surprised.
“Is it a witches book?” Gayle, the blonde maid, peered over Moira’s shoulder at it, her eyes wide. “It looks like witchcraft t’me.”
“It’s the Book of the Moon Wives.” Moira scoffed at the girl’s assumption, retrieving the chair Raife had kicked and sitting upon it so she could look through the book in question. “I thought t’was jus’ the stuff of legend...”
“I’ve ne’er heard of such a thing.” Laina stood to go look over Moira’s shoulder as well, watching the woman turn pages.
“I’d heard such a book existed,” Moira told her. “But I thought t’was jus’ a tale, or mayhaps that it’d once existed but it’d been lost long ago.”
“T’was well concealed,” Kirstin said, blushing at the memory of how they’d discovered the book, but no one noticed. They were all too interested in its contents—everyone except Darrow, who continued to pick meat off the chicken carcass with his fingers.
“What kinda book is’t?” Gayle inquired, curious but at the same time looking as if she might bolt at any moment should the book do something untoward.
“It’s said t’be a history of wulvers’n’men,” Moira informed them. Then she chuckled. “Well, mayhaps a history of wulvers’n’women might be a better description. It’s a sort of midwives’n’healer’s guide.”
Laina perked up at that. “Not many words...”
It was true, the guide was mostly pictures, although there were some words. Those words they saw were written mostly in Gaelic, and sometimes another, ancient language. The handwriting was mixed, making the assumption that the book had been written by more than one hand a good one.
“At the time, neither human women nor wulver women were allowed t’learn t’read or write,” Moira said.
“Only ladies need to learn t’read.” Gayle wrinkled her nose. “I can’na waste m’time learnin’ nonsense.”
“If we start teachin’ women t’read, mankind is doomed,” Darrow joked, ducking when Laina reached out to smack his head.
“I wish I’d learned.” She stuck her tongue out at him.
“I can’na read the words...” Kirstin lamented with a sigh.
“Nor I...” Gayle shrugged.
“I can,” Moira said, surprising them all. “But I do’na know all of the plants. Some, but n’all...
Laina and Kirstin looked at each other and they both said, “Sibyl.”
“Aye,” Laina nodded, her eyes shining. “She can read—and she knows all t’plants. Likely more than all of us combined.”
“Mayhaps the cure lies within these pages...” Kirstin smiled at her sister.
“’Tis my greatest hope,” Laina confessed. “For yer sake, and mine... and the sake of our daughters.”
“Gayle, more mead!” Another servant girl stuck her head into the kitchen and the little blonde sighed, moving to get back to work.
Moira abandoned the book to fetch a pitcher for Gayle to take out to the guests.
Laina came over, standing beside Kirstin’s chair, gently stroking her long, unbraided hair. Kirstin put her arms around her, resting her cheek against Laina’s belly.
“I do’na like th’ idea of ye stayin ’ere, sister.” Laina sighed. “What’ll we do fer a midwife? Who’ll deliver the wulver heir?”
Darrow’s head came up at that, distracted from his mission of debriding the chicken of all its meat. She had told Laina and Darrow, but had sworn them to secrecy.
“Shhh!” Kirstin ur
ged her sister to be quiet, glancing around at the servants. They were all busy, but still, you never knew who was listening. “Do’na give ’way that secret a’fore our banrighinn’s ready t’reveal it.”
“’T’would bring Raife ’round in a heartbeat,” Darrow said again, for the hundredth time. He’d been quick to suggest they just outright tell their pack leader about Sibyl’s condition, but the women had talked him out of the idea. He kept pushing it though, saying it was the one sure thing that would be certain to endear Sibyl to him again.
“Aye, but I ken Sibyl’s hesitation,” Laina told her husband. “She’d ne’er know if Raife wanted ’er—or the bairn...”
“No man’d walk away from a woman carryin’ his heir.” Darrow licked his fingers noisily. “That woman’s more precious than gold.”
She knew he wasn’t talking about her, but Kirstin couldn’t help the tears that welled up at his words. She saw Gayle looking at her curiously as she carried a tray toward the door and Kirstin averted her eyes, not wanting her to see. She didn’t want anyone to see.
So she bolted. She heard Laina calling after her, alternately berating Darrow for his thoughtlessness, but Kirstin didn’t stick around to hear the rest. She pushed past Gayle, who nearly spilled her tray, and ran down the hallway blindly, her chest tight with Darrow’s words.
More precious than gold.
Would she be worth nothing, then, if she could not bear Donal an heir? Even Raife had been doubtful about that aspect of their relationship. He and Sibyl had no such restrictions, as her budding pregnancy proved.
Kirstin heard men’s laughter at the end of the hall and slowed, seeing Angus and Aiden slapping each other on the back. Donal stood to the side, head cocked, listening. She wiped her tears, considering turning around and running the other way, when she heard it.
Shouting. Banging. Someone was pounding on Donal’s chancery door—from the inside. Too curious to resist, Kirstin approached. Donal smiled when he saw her, slipping an arm around her waist and bending his head to her ear.
“I locked ’em in.”
“What?” She startled, hearing Raife demanding to be let out. “Ye did what?”
