by Selena Kitt
“Moira, lemme finish up ’ere,” Donal said, taking the soap and washing cloth from the old woman. “Can ye bring us up some food?”
“Aye,” she agreed happily, getting up from the floor and heading to the door.
“Did they catch ’em?” Kirstin asked again, desperate for an answer.
“N’yet.” Donal shook his head, rubbing soap over the washing cloth and pushing up his sleeves as he knelt near the tub. “I’ve got me men out lookin’—and the wulvers are lookin’ too.”
“It’s Raife they want.” She met his eyes—oh how she’d missed looking into those blue-grey eyes—pleading with him. “Donal, ye hafta keep ’im safe. He’s t’one they want. If they capture ’im, if they get a drop of ’is blood…”
“Shh.” He turned her chin to him and kissed her quiet. His first kiss had been like something out of a dream, not possibly real. This kiss was like coming home. She wrapped her soapy, wet arms around his neck, feeling grateful tears slipping down her cheeks.
“They’ve told me e’erythin’,” Donal assured her when they parted. “I should’ve listened t’ye from the beginnin’ about Lord Eldred, lass. If I had...”
“Ye couldn’t’ve known.”
His face darkened in a scowl. “We’ll find ’em. We’ll find ’em both and we’ll bring ’em t’justice.”
Kirstin searched his face, seeing new lines there, dark circles under his eyes. He smelled of whiskey, and there was a good four days’ stubble on his face.
“I missed ye,” she confessed. “Did ye miss me?”
“Did I miss ye?” he repeated, blinking at her as Moira carried in a tray weighed down with food. She put it on the little table in the corner. “I had e’ery available man at m’service out lookin’ for ye. I’ve been in me cups for days. I can’na sleep. I can’na eat. I can’na breathe wit’out ye, lass. Did I miss ye? What d’ye say. Moira, did I miss ’er?”
“He put a huge reward out fer yer capture,” Moira informed her. “Alive, a’course.”
“Ye did?” Kirstin raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“He also had Gregor flogged,” Moira told her, pouring cups of mead. “An’banished. If any man dares ever harm a wulver on MacFalon land again, they’ll be put t’death. Publically.”
“Painfully,” Donal agreed, glowering.
“D’ye need anythin’ else?” Moira asked, looking at both of them, a small smile playing on her face.
“Jus’ tell ’em not t’disturb me,” Donal replied, his gaze raking Kirstin’s nude form. “Unless it’s urgent.”
“Aye.” Moira grinned, opening the door. “Ye better lock in behin’ me, though, jus’ in case.”
“I will,” Donal said, nodding as she went out.
He paused in his bathing of her to go lock the door and Kirstin smiled at that. They were good at locking out the world. She remembered the time they’d spent in the first den, laughing, eating, making love, swimming in the cold spring and drying themselves in front of the fire. She’d known, even then, that their time was limited.
“Is she ’ere yet?” Kirstin asked softly as Donal came back to tend to her.
“Who?” His hands moved over her under the water, big, rough, calloused, they scrubbed her far better than any washing cloth.
“Yer bride,” she reminded him.
“I’ll not be marryin’ anyone else but ye, lass.” He leveled her with a cool look. “Not now, not e’er.”
“Ye didn’t answer me.”
“Nuh.” He sighed.” She’s not ’ere yet.”
“But she will be...”
And what then? Kirstin wondered.
“I can’na stop ’er from comin’—her party will be welcomed ’ere.” Donal scowled. “But I will’na be marryin’ her. I intend t’be married t’ye by then.”
She looked at him in the firelight, the shadows playing on his handsome face. What woman wouldn’t want this man? Lady Cecilia Witcombe would take one look at him and fall instantly in love. Why not? Kirstin had.
And she wouldn’t blame her.
“Donal, ye can’na start a war,” Kirstin told him. “We were all deceived. King Henry wants t’wulvers dead. All of us. Includin’ me. He’ll ne’er let ye marry a wulver. We hafta go into hidin’ somewhere...”
“If t’English king wants t’go t’war wit’ Scotland, then let ’im see if he can take t’border against the Scots and t’wulvers.” Donal’s eyes flashed and she gasped when he roughly scrubbed the cloth over her back.
“I do’na want any more war,” Kirstin whispered, feeling tears stinging her eyes. “N’more bloodshed.”
“Och.” Donal sighed, tossing aside the cloth and reaching for her. His front was soaked from bathing her, his white shirt see-through, clinging to his thickly muscled chest and abdomen. “I’m sorry, lass. I jus’…I will’na let ye go again. I’ll fight fer ye. I’ll die fer ye.”
“No fightin’,” she said, frowning. “And mos’ definitely, no dyin!”
“Jus’ do’na e’er leave me again.” He pulled her close, burying his face in the wet skin of her neck, his stubble hard and prickly, making her squirm, but she didn’t let him go.
“I’m so tired.” She sighed, trying to keep her eyes open, but it wasn’t easy in the warm water, in the heat of the fire.
“Let’s get some food in yer belly.”
He had her stand, shivering, while he rinsed her with a warm bucket of water.
“I’m sorry,” she said when he had her step out and wrapped her in a cloth that had been warming by the fire. “For leavin’ ye...”
Donal chuckled. “When I saw ye, I didn’t know whether to kiss ye or spank ye.”
“Ye could do both...” She bit her lip when his gaze swept over her as he patted her dry.
“Do’na tempt me,” he growled, wrapping her with a dry cloth and leading her over to the table.
“It must’ve been a shock, the wulvers ridin’ up to the gates…” She sat across from him at the table, the smell of the food hitting her, and suddenly, she was ravenous.
“The scouts on t’walls said the entire wulver army was headin’ our way.” Donal chuckled, watching as she starting eating, not bothering with utensils. “I’d been in me cups for days. No one could find ye... and I was… well, let’s jus’ say, I missed ye.”
She smiled, chewing on a bit of buttered roll.
“But when ye have an entire den full of wulvers ride up t’yer gates, it tends t’sober ye’up,” he told her, handing her a napkin to catch the drip of gravy on her chin.
She giggled at that, trying to picture it, her whole pack riding up to Castle MacFalon and begging entry.
“But ye took ’em in?”
“They’re yer kin,” he said simply, which made her heart swell. Then he said something that made tears come to her eyes. “And mine. A’course I took ’em in.”
She was so hungry, she felt faint. Donal watched her eat the salt pork Moira had brought up with her fingers, tearing off thick pieces of dark bread in between bites. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she arrived, like he thought she might disappear, just an apparition. When Kirstin’s belly was full, she sat back with a satisfied sigh. She was still exhausted, and could have fallen asleep right there in the chair, but she didn’t want to close her eyes.
She didn’t want to stop looking at the man across from her.
“What’re we gonna do?” she wondered aloud.
“I’m goin’ t’take ye to bed.” Donal stood, pulling her up, into his arms. The cloth he had wrapped around her dropped to the floor, leaving her nude. “And I’m ne’er lettin’ ye outta m’sight again, lass.”
“Ye know what I mean,” she whispered, and he nodded, but he didn’t answer her with anything but a kiss.
Kirstin woke sometime in the middle of the night, not sure where she was. Then she heard Donal’s soft, even breathing beside her, felt the weight of his arm over her, and knew. She was home. Sighing happily, she snuggled back against him under th
e covers. There was no place on earth she wanted to be more than in this man’s arms.
Her mind drifted as she started to fall asleep again. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was on overdrive. Every time she woke, it was with a panicked thought or new fear. Donal helped dispel those, although even now, she had a sinking feeling, like there was something she was forgetting, some little bit of information she’d forgotten to relay that would be the downfall of everything.
She knew it was ridiculous. There were MacFalon and wulver sentries on the castle walls. There were more out looking for Eldred and Moraga. In fact, they’d probably captured them already and put them down in the dungeons with Eldred’s four trackers, she told herself. The castle was quiet, asleep. The windows were dark, so it was still night. Kirstin closed her eyes and drifted again, comforted by the sound of the man sleeping behind her.
She’d almost drifted off, finally content, when her eyes opened wide, staring into the fading embers of the fire.
Gayle.
That was what she’d forgotten. Eldred’s little spy.
Her heart felt like it was beating in her throat. Could the little maid let him in? Get him a message? Or… worse?
She didn’t want to think about worse.
She considered waking Donal and telling him about the maid, but she knew he’d get up and wake the whole damned castle looking for her. Besides, she wasn’t sure she was still here. Moira had brought up the food, and she hadn’t seen anyone else, but maybe… maybe the maid had left, afraid she was going to be discovered? She didn’t want to worry Donal for nothing.
Kirsten was used to moving around at night without waking anyone. She’d extracted herself from a wulver pile often enough to be able to move silently when she wanted to. Donal slept through her slipping out of bed and getting dressed in a clean shirt, plaid and boots. She left him still sleeping as she unlocked the door and slipped into the hallway.
The maid’s quarters were off the kitchen, and that’s where Kirstin headed. She crept silently down the stairs, heading across the hall. No one was awake yet, she was sure of it, although looking at the windows, they were lighter than they had been a few moments ago. Perhaps it was nearing dawn, after all. She was so exhausted and had missed so much sleep, her internal body clock was off.
Kirstin heard voices at the other end of the hall. She cocked her head. Her hearing was keen and she recognized them both. It was Moira and Sibyl talking. Kirstin’s heart leaped in her chest. Was everything all right? The memory of her banrighinn bleeding filled her mind and she padded down the hall, heading toward the light coming from a room at the end of it.
“Thank you, Moira,” Sibyl said. Her voice was soft, low. “I didn’t know who else to ask…”
“Ye can ask me fer anything, lass,” Moira assured her. “Where’s yer husband?”
“Raife insisted on going to check on the sentries.” Sibyl sighed. “Darrow went with him.”
Kirstin stopped outside the door, listening. She should have knocked, but she didn’t.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Sibyl said again. “You’re so busy, with all the wulvers to feed, in addition to the MacFalons.”
“Aye, ’tis a handful.” Moira agreed with a sigh. “And I’m short maids. Gayle and Shona ran off and I haven’t had time t’go into t’village t’hire anyone new.”
Kirstin blinked in surprise. So Gayle wasn’t at the castle anymore. That was a relief. She almost turned around and went back upstairs. Bed was calling, and she was admonishing herself for eavesdropping, when Sibyl said something that stopped her cold.
“Moira, do you have a good hiding place here in the castle?”
“Fer what, lass?” Moira chuckled. “T’family jewels?”
“No, for this.”
Kirstin couldn’t see her, even through the crack in the door. She leaned in closer, wondering what in the world Sibyl could want to hide.
“What’s this?” Moira asked.
What, indeed. Kirstin held her breath, waiting.
“It’s the cure.”
She thought her heart would stop beating entirely. The cure? The cure? Could it be?
“Fer t’wulver curse?” Moira asked. She sounded as shocked as Kirstin felt. “Ye did it?”
“Yes, thanks to the silvermoon, and the book, and you.” Sibyl sighed. “Laina wants to take it and I… I’m afraid she’ll find it, if I keep it anywhere near me. She knows I have it. And she knows it works. The problem is, it works too well.”
“What d’ye mean?” Moira asked. “How d’ye know it works?”
“Because I tested it,” Sibyl told her. Kirstin gaped at the door, blinking in surprise. Who? But Sibyl went on to say. “The old midwife, Beitrus. She volunteered. Said she’d lived a long life, so if it killed her, she was ready to go—and if it turned out to be permanent, well, she didn’t need to change anymore…”
“Ye let her take it?”
“No, of course not,” Sibyl scoffed. “I told her no. I wanted to come up with a safer way to test it. But… she did it anyway.”
“Wha’ happened?” Moira asked. Kirstin leaned even closer, eager to know herself.
“Well, she’s still alive,” Sibyl said. “And… it worked. She can’t change anymore, even at will.”
“Oh no…” Moira clucked at that and Kirstin’s heart sank.
“Laina keeps trying to take it,” Sibyl explained. “And I can’t do that. I can’t possibly let her.”
“Let me hide it fer ye,” Moira said. “I’ll keep it safe while yer here, at least.”
“Thank you so much.”
So Sibyl had done it. She’d found the cure for the wulver curse—but it had turned out to be permanent. Kirstin could hardly believe it. There was a substance that existed that could keep her from changing when she went into estrus. But it would keep her from ever turning into a wulver again…
She couldn’t think of anything but Donal, sleeping upstairs, and the woman who would arrive any day, expecting to marry him.
What would it mean, to take such a remedy?
Kirstin wouldn’t ever have to worry about changing. There would be no need to lock her up once a month. She could live in the MacFalon castle, side by side with the MacFalons, not as an outsider, but as one of them.
As The MacFalon’s woman. His wife.
And… she could have his children.
So what if it was permanent? She wanted to be with Donal. Now and forever.
Permanently.
She’d already decided that. Sibyl’s cure would make that possible.
She had to get her hands on it.
“Try t’get some sleep, Lady Sibyl,” Moira said softly. “G’nite.”
“Thank you,” Sibyl called. “Good night.”
Kirstin panicked, looking for somewhere to hide. She slipped under the legs of a table that held a vase filled with flowers, crouching in the darkness as Moira came out of the door, closing it behind her.
Did she have the cure? And if she did, what was she going to do with it?
Kirstin watched the old woman carrying her lantern through the hallway. She was heading toward the kitchen. When she saw Moira push open the kitchen door, she slipped out from under the table and followed. The door opened silently and she saw Moira standing with her lantern near the shelves where they kept all the flour and oils she used to cook.
The old woman took down a canister from a high shelf, putting something inside it. Then she put it back up there, standing on her tiptoes and pushing it all the way to the back. Kirstin held her breath, waiting for Moira to turn and discover her. She would say she’d come down for something to eat, she decided, getting her explanation ready, but Moira didn’t turn her way. Instead, she headed toward the back of the kitchen.
Kirstin breathed a silent sigh of relief, seeing Moira lift the lantern, looking down at the floor. Kirstin saw many of her pack mates sleeping in a pile on the kitchen floor in front of the low fire burning there, and smiled. It would be the plac
e that most felt like home, she realized, as Moira looked at them, shaking her grey head.
“Wulvers,” Moira said with an exasperated sigh, and then she chuckled, heading past the wulver pile, toward the servant’s quarters.
Once she was gone, Kirstin made her way over to the shelves, reaching up and finding the canister. Inside, was tiny vial of dark liquid. She stood there holding it in the palm of her hand, looking at it in the dim light of the fire. Was she really going to do this?
She looked at the wulvers sleeping by the fire, realizing if she did take it, she’d never be part of them again. She would live wholly in the human world.
But she would have Donal. And he would have her.
That convinced her.
She had to find a place to take it, a place away from everyone, because she didn’t want anyone to interfere.
Kirstin slipped the vial into the pocket of her plaid to keep it safe.
It was her future.
Hope in a bottle.
She fell asleep in the first den, rolled up completely in her plaid by the spring, the empty vial beside her. The potion had been sweet, tangy, not bitter, as she’d expected. Her last run as a wulver had been through the MacFalon lands, down into the tombs, and had ended in the grotto of Ardis and Asher. She thought of them as she drifted off, not sure if she was sleepy because of the cure, or because she was just plain exhausted.
Donal shook her awake, swearing in Gaelic when her eyes opened to meet his in the early morning sunlight. It came in through the grate above, making the spring look dappled and inviting. Kirstin smiled, remembering the night, putting her arms around his neck.
“I tell ye not t’leave me,” he snapped, pushing her away so he could frown at her. “And what d’ye do? Ye run away again?”
“I did’na run away,” she protested, stretching and yawning. She felt rested for the first time in days.
“Ye left t’castle! I had n’idea where ye were!” Donal exploded, grabbing her to him and shaking her again. Her plaid fell away and he looked down at her nude body. “I swear, lass, if ye e’er do anythin’ like that again, I’ll take ye over m’knee and—”
“Spank me?” A smile played on her lips. “Aye, I think, mayhaps, I deserve t’be spanked…”
