by Selena Kitt
Murmurs went through the crowd, some doubt. Darrow groaned and smacked his forehead. But he relented. Raife had made a decision, and they would follow him.
“I’m sure Donal would be happy t’schedule a public floggin’ fer me and another fer Sibyl if ye wanted one,” Kirstin said happily, grinning at him. “I do’na really care, as long as we’re all away from ’ere when that witch and ’er consort show up.”
“Aye,” Raife agreed, speaking now to the whole pack. “Take only what ye can carry. We’ll go on horseback. We’ll take the horses through the mountain—it’s faster—women paired up wit’ men. Strap your bairns and wee ones to yer back or yer belly. We leave in one hour.”
They were the last to leave the den.
Raife had to make sure every wulver was on a horse or had a traveling companion, every last bairn strapped in. The younglings rode in front of or behind their parents. They strapped what they could to the horses and left the sheep in the valley. The last time they’d brought the horses through the mountain, the wulver warriors had been riding them in full armor. They’d thundered down the high, wide mountain tunnels, the sound of the horses’ hooves echoing off the walls, trembling the earth, leaving their mates and young behind. That’s when the wulver army had gone to out confront the MacFalons, to rescue Laina and save Sibyl.
This time, the war horses whinnied and pawed the ground as they plodded along, impatient to be off, weighed down not by armor but blankets and women and children, as well as their wulver warriors. Once out of the mountain, they rode slowly into the woods, single file. There were too many of them to travel too fast, although Kirstin’s heart raced with urgency, her body trembling. She wanted them to be off, to ride fast and furious to the MacFalon castle, to be safe, already.
“The den’s empty.” Darrow rode toward them—Raife and Sibyl, Lorien and Kirstin—where they waited at the den entrance, Laina on his saddle in front of him, little Garaith strapped across her front. “’Tis time t’go.”
Raife stood by his steed, holding the reins. Sibyl was already seated in the saddle. Raife gave Darrow a nod and mounted his horse, sliding in behind Sibyl, who had tears streaking down her freckled cheeks. Raife tenderly kissed the top of her head, slipping an arm around her waist, his big hand covering her belly, rubbing gently. “We’ll make a new home, lass. T’will be a’righ’.”
Kirstin was the only one left on the ground. She mounted Lorien’s steed, allowing him to give her a hand up, settling in front of him. Laina had loaned her a plaid and a pair of boots to go along with her shirt. She felt Lorien’s steadying arm go around her. The top of her head only came to the bottom of the big man’s chin.
They rode slowly, silently, out of the den for the last time. Kirstin leaned back against Lorien, feeling sad, deflated. What if she was wrong? What if Lord Eldred’s men hadn’t found the location of the den after all? What if Darrow was right, and they were safer staying, instead of running? She doubted herself, but she also trusted her instincts. Something had told her she had to get home, she had to warn them. They had to go—now. Before something horrible happened.
The tail end of the wulver riders were out ahead of them by a ways. Kirsten glimpsed a toddler strapped to his father’s big back. The little towhead was smiling, waving at them, and Kirstin waved back, her heart lightening. Even if she was wrong, it was better to be safe than sorry. All of the wulver women she’d tended, all the bairns that had been born, would be safe at Castle MacFalon before nightfall. They would all be under Donal’s protection, and she knew he would defend them, no matter what the English king had in mind. She had no idea how many men Donal could call in from the surrounding clans, but if it meant war... would he go that far? She thought he would.
For her, he would.
The thought of seeing Donal again made her heart race even faster. He would be furious with her for leaving, of course, but he’d forgive her. Raife had forgiven Sibyl, in the end, hadn’t he? She wondered if Lady Cecilia Witcombe had arrived at Castle MacFalon yet. That thought made her hackles rise. She’d almost forgotten the reason she’d left the castle in the first place.
The book...
Sibyl had it, strapped to her, across her breasts, like a baby. It was that precious, Kirstin supposed. It contained the cure to their curse, somewhere inside of it. Mayhaps, when they were at the castle, Sibyl could work more on a solution. Kirstin hadn’t had the time to ask her about it, in the hurry to get everyone ready to ride.
Kirstin straightened as three riders came barreling toward them, doubling back.
“’Tis jus’ the scouts,” Lorien assured her softly when she stiffened in the saddle. “Comin’ in t’report t’Raife.”
She nodded, seeing them pull up next to his horse, turning and riding alongside him, one on either side, another slipping in behind. Raife consulted with both wulvers, nodding at their report. Kirstin could only see him in profile as he turned to talk to them and she tried to judge if he looked worried, but his face was impassive.
Raife said something to the three scouts and they dropped back, letting him ride into the lead. Kirstin relaxed. Nothing to worry about then. She was so exhausted, she thought she might collapse and fall off the horse, if Lorien didn’t have an arm around her waist. But she couldn’t sleep. She was too tense, too wired.
They weren’t fifteen minutes out from the den when it happened.
The only warning she had was that Kirstin felt Lorien straighten in his saddle.
“E’erythin’ a’righ’?” she asked, but it happened so fast, the wulver didn’t have time to answer her.
Someone dropped from a tree above, right onto Raife’s horse. He wasn’t a big man, but he had the advantage of surprise. And he had a knife. The man jabbed it into expertly into Raife’s side, between his ribs, unseating the big wulver. The horse bucked and nearly threw Sibyl and the stranger, but the man was able to hang on, grabbing the reins and urging the animal forward.
Kirstin screamed. She heard Sibyl screaming, calling for Raife, but the war horse was already tearing through the woods. Kirstin was shocked by the horse’s behavior—but then she realized the man was wearing something on his boots, something sharp he dug into the horse’s flanks.
Raife had already transformed to wulver warrior, and behind her, so had Lorien. They barked orders, snapped at each other, the scouting warriors already racing after the runaway horse, with Sibyl and the stranger atop.
Darrow barked something to Lorien about keeping the women safe, leaving Laina and his bairn with him. Kirstin climbed down from the horse, putting her arms around Laina and Garaith, still not understanding what was happening.
Darrow and Raife wasted time fighting, snarling at one another, and Lorien threw Kirstin the reins of his horse, stepping in to help Darrow restrain their wulver pack leader. It took the two of them, snapping and circling, to keep the big wulver from going after Sibyl straightaway.
Raife howled, a sound so full of anguish and pain it echoed through the woods, and Kirstin knew it had nothing to do with the wound in his side.
The rest of the pack had heard and were doubling back toward them.
Kirstin realized, far too late, screaming at Raife, “No! Ye can’na go after ’er! Yer what they want! They need yer blood!”
But they already had it, didn’t they?
The man had slipped a knife between Raife’s ribs and had run off with Sibyl.
It wasn’t Sibyl they wanted, though, Kirstin realized.
It was the book strapped to her chest.
This is my fault, she thought, watching in horror as Raife got free and pulled his sword, threatening his own brother with it if Darrow kept him from pursuing their attackers.
This is all my fault.
They’d been waiting for them, she realized. Mayhaps they knew Kirstin would run straight back to the den with her escape plan, leading Raife out into the open where they could get what they needed to take back to the witch. But Darrow was right after all. They would ha
ve been safer staying in the den.
Raife took off—Darrow and Lorien couldn’t hold him—running after Sibyl. Lorien stayed, on Darrow’s orders, but Darrow went after his brother. Kirstin looked at Laina, tears streaked down her face, and felt her own tears wetting her cheeks. Little Garaith howled between them.
“’Tis all m’fault,” Kirstin sobbed against her sister’s shoulder as the wulver pack began to gather around them on horseback. “They’ve got ’is blood, Laina. ’Tis all they needed.”
“Shhhh.” Laina stroked her hair, comforting both Kirstin and her bairn at once.
Kirstin couldn’t bear it. She’d led them straight to the wulver den, had put everyone in danger in the hopes of trying to save them. She sobbed in Laina’s arms, wishing the earth would open up and swallow her whole. If anything happened to Sibyl, or Raife, or any of her family, because of what she’d done, she knew she could never forgive herself.
“Kirstin,” Laina whispered, shaking her gently. “Look!”
Kirstin lifted her head, blinking through her tears, seeing Raife carrying Sibyl in his arms. Darrow followed on foot, and Laina broke away from Kirstin to meet her husband, putting her arms around him. Both wulvers were men again.
“Is she hurt?” Kirstin barely got the words out as Raife approached. Sibyl was, at the very least, unconscious, her body limp.
“He took the book.” Raife blinked down at woman in his arms. “Then he pushed ’er off m’horse.”
“No,” Kirstin whispered, her hands already moving over Sibyl’s inert form, looking for broken bones. “She’s alive, Raife. She’ll be a’righ’, here, put ’er on the ground, I’ll—”
And that’s when Kirstin saw the blood. Sibyl’s plaid was all greens and blues, but there was a dark spot on it that was growing by the moment. She didn’t say anything about to Raife as he knelt, gently depositing Sibyl’s body on the forest floor.
“Where’s t’attacker?” Lorien growled as Darrow approached. Raife and Darrow were transformed into men again, but Lorien was still half-man, half-wolf, prepared for battle.
“They went after ’im.” Darrow jerked his head toward the woods, Laina and his bairn drawn into one arm, his sword drawn in the other.
Lorien, now freed up from having to protect Kirstin and Laina, took off on his horse, barking to three more scouts to join him, so there were now seven out pursuing the man.
“She was thrown from the horse,” Kirstin told Laina as the two women bent over Sibyl. Kirstin was sure there were no broken bones, at least any she could feel. Raife watched them work over her, his eyes full of fire.
“I think she may be losin’ the bairn,” Laina whispered to Kirstin. They both saw the blood on her thighs, the way her plaid was twisted, high up on her legs.
Raife heard them and closed his eyes, his head going back with a long, sustained howl. It made gooseflesh rise all over Kirstin’s body as Laina ran to Darrow’s horse, unpacking blankets and what medicine she could find.
“I’ve got black haw and cramp bark.” Beitrus made her way to the front of the crowd. The old woman, who had taught Kirstin everything she knew, held out two vials. “It may save the pup.”
“Thank ye.” Kirstin uncapped one and poured it past Sibyl’s lips. The woman coughed at the sudden introduction of liquid into her mouth and Raife grabbed her to him, ignoring their protests.
“Sibyl,” he whispered, holding her close. “Can ye hear me? Are ye a’righ’?”
“I’ll be fine,” she gasped, her eyes opening wide. “If you quit crushing me, you beast!”
Raife chuckled at that, rocking her against his chest, bringing her face to his so he could kiss her.
Sibyl sobbed when she realized she was bleeding. Laina, Kirstin and Beitrus all worked to reassure her that the bairn was likely fine, that bleeding happened sometimes, and they’d done everything they could to help them both.
Kirstin hoped their reassurances turned out to be true. The bleeding did seem to be ebbing, and Sibyl was awake, and coherent. Laina tended Raife’s wound—it was superficial, not deep at all. Whoever had slipped the knife in had known exactly what he was doing, and hadn’t been aiming for anything vital.
Of course, not—they want him to be able to fight.
They only wanted his blood...
Sibyl finally calmed, but didn’t want to get on Raife’s horse, when Lorien returned with him. But without the attacker. Or the book.
“What if it hurts the baby?” Sibyl sobbed. “What if I start bleeding again?”
They spent time reassuring her, giving her sips of water, waiting for the tonics to work. It helped stop the blood, and that was a good sign, Kirstin assured her.
Darrow and Raife talked together, low and out of earshot, with Lorien.
“Can’t we stay here now?” Sibyl suggested, as Raife came over to get her, lifting her easily off the ground. “In the den? Isn’t it the safest place? We can block the exits, like Darrow said, we can—”
“No, lass.” Raife pressed his lips to her forehead. “’Tis no longer safe, if they know where the den is. We have to ride to the MacFalon castle.”
“I’m scared,” Sibyl told him, burying her face against his neck.
“Aye.” Raife mounted his horse, pulling Sibyl with him, settling her side saddle. Lorien had tended the animal’s wounds, from whatever the stranger had been digging into its sides, with a balm Kirstin gave him.
“I haven’t ridden side-saddle in years,” she told him, pressing her cheek to his chest.
“Aye, but Kirstin says ’tis safest for t’bairn.” He kissed the top of her head. “We’ll go slow.”
Raife sent the rest of the pack on ahead, toward the castle. They would bring up the rear.
“D’ye want me t’stay ’ere and wait fer t’scouts?” Lorien asked them.
“Ye should ride wit’ us,” Darrow told him, getting on his horse behind Laina and the baby. “We may need ye if they return fer Raife again.”
“They won’t,” Kirstin said miserably as Lorien gave her a hand up onto his mount. ”They a’ready ’ave e’erythin’ they need.”
She scanned the woods as they began to ride, taking it slow, as Raife had promised, hoping, praying, the scouts would catch up to the thief before he could make it back to his camp to give the book and the knife to the waiting witch and her wicked consort.
Chapter Ten
“Where is she?”
Kirstin heard his voice before she saw him. She was leaning back against Lorien, his arm the only thing keeping her from falling face first out of the saddle, drifting in and out of nightmares that would occasionally jolt her awake with a start. It was full dark by the time their little party reached the castle—they’d had to travel much slower than the others—but a large bonfire had been lit out front to guide them in.
Donal’s voice came to her out of a dream. She thought she must be dreaming when he lifted her down from the saddle, scowling at the wulver who held her close, and kissed her so long and deeply she could barely catch her breath.
“I do’na wanna wake up,” she whispered against his shoulder as he put an arm under her knees and carried her into the castle.
“Shh.” Donal’s arms tightened as he took the stairs with her in his arms, two at a time.
Moira followed them, clucking over Kirstin as Donal put her on the bed. Now she was sure she was dreaming, because nothing had ever been so soft. She must be in heaven, in the clouds, warm under the sun.
“Sibyl!” Kirstin came awake, sitting bolt upright in the bed. “Raife! Where is e’eryone? Donal, ye hafta keep ’em safe! You hafta—!”
“Easy, lass.” Donal undressed her like a child. “E’eryone’s safe as they can be.”
“Sibyl’s bleedin’.” Kirstin tried to clear the fuzz from her head. She was so tired. She must still be dreaming, she reasoned. “Someone attacked Raife... they stabbed him. Donal, oh, ’tis all m’fault.”
“Shhh.” He eased her shirt over her head. Someone w
as knocking hard on the locked door. “’Tisn’t yer fault. None of it.”
He picked her up, completely nude now, and carried her over to a bath in front of the big fireplace, placing her into the warm water. He looked at her for a moment, dark hair floating, and she stared him at him as if in a dream. Surely, it was. He couldn’t be here, touching her, undressing her, leaning in to cup her face and kiss her like he thought he might never see her again.
“MacFalon!” It was Raife, pounding on the door.
“Keep her ’ere,” Donal told Moira, who knelt beside the tub with a washing cloth. “Do’na let ’er outta yer sight. I’ll be righ ‘back.”
Donal unlocked the door and slipped out into the hallway, closing it behind him.
“Moira, ’tis all m’fault,” Kirstin lamented, as the old woman began to wash her hair. “I led them straight to t’den. I was such a fool. Are t’wulvers all ’ere?”
“Oh, aye, lass,” Moira assured, rinsing her hair with a bucket of warm water. “Most of ’em have camped out on m’kitchen floor in front of the fireplace.”
Kirstin smiled at that, but it faded as soon as she remembered.
“He got away. He stabbed Raife, and took t’book, and he got away...” She covered her face with her hands.
“The wulver scouts brought ’em in an hour ago,” Donal told her as he came back into the room. “We’ve got t’book.”
“And the knife?” Kirstin gripped the edge of the tub, looking up at him with big eyes. She’d been able to think of nothing else since, memories of the witch flitting through her mind. “With Raife’s blood?”
“Aye, m’love.” He stroked her hair away from her face. “The wulver scouts brought back four men. Geoffrey, William, and two others.”
“Salt and Sedgewick.” She shuddered, remembering the way they’d tracked her in the woods, how they’d come up on her out of nowhere. She was sure, now, that they’d been the ‘poachers’ who they’d come upon in the forest that very first day. They’d been Lord Eldred’s men all along, hiding and doing his bidding. “What about Lord Eldred and the witch, Moraga?”
