Athol loves the knitting sessions. She eyes me like a hawk, waiting to scratch my eyes out over every little mistake. We should use her as witch bait to test their loyalty to the Wards. Of course, Gavin did not approve of that plan when I suggested it, though.
She pushes me like no one else ever has. When I mentioned to Heather that I take a turn at cooking to help out and give Glenna a break, stupid, snoopy Athol just had to butt in…
“Raw meat. If you want to be a proper wife, you need to prepare raw meat for King MacCrae,” Athol suggested, knowing full well how I’d feel about that prospect.
“That’s disgusting and unsanitary.”
The little elephant from Tarzan flashes through my mind. It looks questionable to me!
“Your insults will not endear him to you,” she growls back.
“Endear me? Why would I want that? Besides, that’s the whole point of this mating voodoo witchery. He thinks I’m deserving, no matter how much I screw up. All because his sacred wolf instinct commands it! Isn’t life grand?”
My flippancy was not well received, because shortly after that, Athol got downright hostile during a knitting session . . .
“He thinks we’ll accept you because of some dotty witch’s babble. You may be necessary to our survival, but that doesn’t mean it is necessary for us to respect you. Fate happened to shine favorably upon you, despite your undeservance.”
“First off, ‘undeservance’ is not a word, you backwoods hack. Second off, well . . . Look, I’m like, queen here! I don’t have to take your crap!”
“You will never be true rìgain. You’re one of them, a deamhan. I can smell the taint of your blood and disgrace from a mile away.”
“Yeah, well you smell pretty ripe yourself. It’s called a bath and even wolves take them. Do I need to make it a royal edict?”
“If Rìgain MacCrae so desires,” another female butts in, with a disapproving look toward Athol.
She’s taking my side, even if her remark is mildly sarcastic, and yet I’m angry. She should be able to disagree with me without fear. She shouldn’t have to worry about the next edict Gavin or I might lay down in an attempt to control the pack. I don’t want to lead these people at all, but if I did lead, I wouldn’t do it through fear. I don’t have their respect. That’s fine. But I don’t want their fear either.
“Don’t kowtow to this outsider, Luciah.”
“Athol! Your mate would not be pleased with your attitude,” the girl, Luciah hisses.
That settles it!
“Who cares if your husband is pleased with your attitude? Seriously! You are an individual, entitled to your thoughts and opinions without fear of shame or anger from the men, regardless of how idiotic your opinions are in this case—here’s looking at you, Athol. Aren’t you tired of being second-class citizens in your own pack? In your own homes and families even? You’re female, not cursed or idiotic! So stop acting like you are!”
Athol, for once, almost looks like she agrees with me—must be a trick of the light. Heather and Luciah, on the other hand, look scandalized, like they’re guilty of some crime just from hearing my words.
“And, despite what you may think of my relationship with Gavin, again Athol, I know he would agree with me.”
Athol had shut up then, but I knew it wouldn’t last for long. And so the days pass, as slowly as ever. I count down till the day Gavin will leave, on a suicide mission, to renew a treaty that the witches no longer want renewed.
They’re going to kill him.
I may be a bit of a witch myself, Lord knows I haven’t made it easy on Gavin, but I don’t want him dead. I just want him to keep his crazy, supernatural traditions away from our baby and me. Is that so much to ask?
“Rìgain?”
I look up from my knitting—I do hate it, but a girl’s gotta keep busy somehow!—to see Connor watching me from the doorway.
“Yes, Connor?”
“It’s time for dinner.”
“OK. Thank you.”
He doesn’t leave, and I don’t expect him to. He never leaves. Dude needs a girlfriend badly. But he does turn his back to me once again. I wonder if it irritates him that Silas, Robert, Hawke, and the rest of the men meet with Gavin while he’s stuck guarding me. I bet he still knows more than I do. They probably fill him in at night when Gavin takes over my protection.
Lost in my thoughts, one of the knitting needles jabs into my thumb. They’re not that sharp—if they were, Connor wouldn’t allow the hobby—but in my anger over our situation, I stabbed myself hard enough for a dot of blood to well. It smears across the blue and pink strands of yarn. Glenna and Athol will not be pleased, but I don’t care. I wanted the thing to be green, but they’re all insistent that my baby girl will prefer a blanket with some pink in it for her keepsake chest. Personally, I think Liam will be partial to green.
It’s not worth the constant fighting with them. There are no sonogram machines here to prove me right, and I worry that if I persist in my assertion that my baby will be a boy that they’ll attempt some sort of weird ritual to try and prove me wrong.
I think I remember reading that there’s an old wives’ tale that you can swing a string over a pregnant woman’s stomach or something, but I don’t want to risk anything remotely dealing with magic or sacraments. I have this fear that it’ll somehow summon the witches. I won’t even read the Harry Potter book I bought at the airport for entertainment.
Releasing the loud sigh I’ve been holding onto for the past hour of knitting, the oddly spaced half blanket goes under the bed. There’s no need for anyone to see it. Although, I’m in such a bad mood of late that I’m tempted to push the pinprick on my thumb in Connor’s face to see if he’ll faint at the sight of my blood.
I stare at the drop as it starts to congeal and ponder my own capacity for cruelty. At the last minute, I realize I have a conscience, and instead go to the bathroom to wash up for dinner. When I exit, Connor is standing in the doorway sideways so that he can monitor my progress and still watch the hallway.
As I look at him, I grow even more depressed and frustrated. My conversation with Gavin about possible traitors comes to mind. There should be no need for Connor to guard me in Gavin’s own home, unless he doesn’t trust the pack either.
How could these people spend their entire lives together and still have all of this mistrust between them?
Gavin trusts Connor, but why? What’s to stop the man from killing me to preserve the sanctity of the pack, as Athol refers to it? She likes to gossip when I’m around about how I’m ruining centuries of traditional supremacy. She’s careful never to let Gavin or Hawke hear, but I don’t know if Connor has noticed it or not.
The crazy thing is that in between the constant worrying, fretting, and forced knitting, I’m lonely. Gavin has other things on his mind, and Athol has turned the women against me with ease.
No one wants to play with me.
It’s understandable. I’ve jeopardized the safety of the pack, refused my mate and his throne, and I’m an American. It’s the trifecta of social blunders.
They don’t accept you, because you won’t accept them.
And why would I? Why should I? Any one of them could be working for the opposing team.
“We’re going to be late,” Connor says.
It’s amazing that he’s able to convey a military tough persona with such pretty eyes, but he manages quite well.
I don’t bother antagonizing him. That got old by day three, and we’ve been here for two weeks now. He doesn’t react like a human should, and that just takes the joy right out of it. Instead, I make my way to the door and wait for him to lead the way downstairs. I think he thinks that by going first, he’ll cushion my fall if I stumble down the stairs or something.
When we get to the dining room, I see that the table is almost full already. I’m the last one to arrive for meals, which is ironic considering the fact that I’m pregnant. But I’d rather be a little hungry then spend any m
ore time than necessary with some of these people.
Thankfully, the table isn’t big enough to sit the whole pack. They rotate their meals in here though, ensuring I still see them all at various points in time. Hawke and Connor are regulars, as they comprise the royal guard. Heather is also frequently present, as my midwife. The rest seem to be on some schedule I know nothing about.
Then there are those strangers who live in the little houses around the property. I’ve come to find out that a small, stubborn group within the pack chose not to travel with Gavin when he left for America. They’re allowed to stay on the land for now, but we are not to talk to them. They have been ostracized from the pack for choosing not to follow their alpha. It seems a bit harsh to me, but until we get the witches and vampires sorted out, I’m content not to add more to my possible watch list.
Tonight, Athol and her mate, Robert, are in attendance, along with Silas and Fiona, Piper’s parents. Glenna is serving mashed potatoes, but I know that once the food has been set out she’ll return to the kitchen for her own meal. She insists on eating separately, though I get the sense that no one would object to her eating with the pack if she wanted. Piper also eats in the kitchen, probably because she can’t bear the sight of me now.
The meal is awkward, with Athol too busy pretending to be demure in front of Gavin, and with the rest of them doing their best to avoid letting something secret slip out in front of me. It could be miserable, except Glenna is an amazing cook, and I’m content to let them all stew in silence while I enjoy the feast.
Of course, the contentment doesn’t last, because as soon as I’m done devouring the carbs of plenty, there’s nothing to do but watch the rest of them eat and consider just what they’re hiding from me.
“Gav?”
“Aye, lass?”
His tone is hesitant when he answers me, fearing I’ll start an argument in front of his pack about something. I’ve managed to avoid fighting thus far, at least since the rest of the pack joined us in Scotland. There’s no point in it, and I know it won’t get me what I want anyway, so I’ve been trying to be diplomatic.
“I would like a tour of the land, if you would. I’ve been cooped up in here forever it seems.”
He doesn't answer at first. The silence becoming more awkward than normal.
Then Silas, the huge man who rarely speaks, clears his throat.
“It might be prudent to check the boundaries together, all of us. No one has been to Buchanan since we’ve returned. The lass might enjoy a look,” he offers.
“No,” Connor and Gavin say at once.
I bite my tongue against the “Why not?” and take a sip of my water. I’ll have a chance to plead my case, but it’s not smart to attempt it at the dinner table. I’ve gotten somewhat of a handle on my pregnancy hormones.
“Rìgh, if I may? We could send a contingent beforehand to recheck Buchanan. Duncan and I could make the trek early morn. I’m sure he would be willing to stay and guard the castle while I return with a report.”
Oh! I think I like Silas! He’s gone to bat for me, while still managing to sound like a reasonable, loyal servant toward Gavin.
Gavin’s eyes narrow at the man—and darn it!—his fingers twitch against his silverware. I wonder if he could take him. I mean Silas is like 6’5” with the gait of a grizzly bear, but I’m sure Gavin could overpower him since he’s the king and all.
It’s a fight for dominance I won’t have to witness, because Hawke gets involved, and if anyone can calm Gavin down, it’s Hawke.
“Bràthair, Buchanan could be dangerous if not monitored. With its distance from the main house and proximity to the cinn a chaill, it could be used as a fortress for the enemy. I would like to establish a permanent guard there until the babe is born. I think it would be a good post for Murdoch. It’s been several days since we last patrolled the area.”
“Now tis no’ the time,” Gavin hisses back at Hawke quietly, but due to my sitting next to him, I manage to hear the whisper.
I can either let this go, or I can fight while I have back up.
“Aye, Rìgh,” Hawke replies, making my decision for me.
For once, Hawke’s gaze is hard, his brows straight and his normally quirked up lips set in stone.
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Hawke refer to Gavin with the honorific. It doesn’t suit them, and I can tell Gavin hears it as an insult rather than deference coming from his friend.
“Anybody up for dessert?” I blurt.
There’s a clatter in the kitchen, which I assume is Glenna dropping things. She frequently makes dessert, but I guess tonight is not one of those nights. Poor lady is scrambling now trying to come up with something sweet to serve.
Hawke’s lips loosen their rigid stance, only to turn downward at the corners. The man loves Glenna’s treats.
“If we may?” Heather asks.
Gavin nods and the table shakes with the urgency of the pack’s sudden movement to escape the dining room, or maybe it’s just unstable from the damage Gavin did to it over a week ago.
When I move to stand as well, Gavin grabs my hand.
“I have dessert for you, sweet, but we’ll have tae share.”
Either the king is mercurial, or he’s desperate to forget the almost congenial confrontation that just went down. No harsh words were exchanged, all tones remained level, and no one threw a fist, but the discord was heavy in the room.
“Uhh, sure,” I mutter.
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. I always know his smiles are fake when the little crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes are absent.
From his pocket he pulls a red foil wrapped candy heart.
“Is that chocolate? You can’t eat chocolate!”
My hand is out for the candy, but he’s too fast and evades the movement. I don’t know if I intended to snatch it for myself or to smack it away from him.
“I’m no’ a dog; I can eat chocolate,” he says.
“It’s shaped like a heart!”
“Aye.”
I eye the heart and then glance up to him. His smile is growing more forced by the second.
“No, I don’t want it. It’s like you’re giving me your heart or some wolf tradition like that.”
“That is a moon at which we’ve already howled, lass.”
“Oh. My. God.”
The wolf version of that ship has already sailed? Is he being serious? Is that a thing, or is he just messing with me?
And just like that, he’s grinning ear to ear, the crows’ feet appearing a little late to the party.
“You’re mine,” he clarifies.
“Take it back,” I demand.
“I won’t,” he says back, shaking his head.
“Even if I participate in your deranged fantasy, I’m your mate, not yours.”
“What’s so wrong with being mine? I’ll be yours too.”
So quickly he’s gone from defiant to hurt. I’m tempted to tell him I’ll consider it to get his smile back.
“I don't get you,” I say.
But when he breaks the heart in half, I accept my piece. He pops his into his mouth and licks his lips. Normally, that would get my heart racing and distract me from my purpose, but I’m more determined than normal tonight.
“What does cinn a chaill mean?”
“The lost ones.” He hesitates, then continues, “Hawke speaks when he should no’.”
The lost ones? He must be referring to the pack members who didn’t follow Gavin.
“If they’re lost, can they be found? Does that mean you’d let them back into the pack? Is that why you’ve let them keep their homes?”
“I’m no’ a monster, Natalie. For now, tis safer for the cinn a chaill tae remain separate, but we all have hopes that they will rejoin us in the future.”
“After their penance, I’m sure,” I accuse.
“Eat your sweet, lass.”
The smile is gone again; might as well push my luck now.
/> “I need to get out of this house. Once the baby is born, it’s going to get even harder to have freedom.”
When I see there’s still no give in him, I try a different tact.
“I’d love to see your castle.”
“Tis our castle.”
“All the more then.”
He just watches me, so I give in and nibble on my chocolate. I like to make chocolate last.
Warm hands stop my own when I lean down for another bite.
“Grant me a boon, and I’ll grant one in return,” he says, surprising me.
The way things were going, I assumed that the conversation was over.
“You don’t need practice for the treaty. You’re as bad as a lawyer!”
At my taunt, his smile is back again, but it’s softer now; more intimate. His lips curve up slightly, still hiding his teeth, while his hands direct mine back to my mouth. I take in the rest of my chocolate piece. The way his hands hold mine, I taste him along with the candy. And just like that, my determination begins to crumble.
“I meant for that to last,” I whisper against our fingers.
“I have something better for you.”
“Oh, really, Casanova?”
His laughter has me laughing in return.
“No, no’ that. I requested something special from this morning’s supply run.”
“Coffee?!” I squeal the word.
“Ach! I knew I forgot something!”
He releases one of my hands and slaps his forehead.
Forgot? The man forgets nothing! But, it doesn’t bother me because I’ve been sneaking coffee behind their backs for a couple of days anyway. Connor’s vigilance is just short of perfect, and Glenna has sympathy for me.
“What then?”
“Chocolate milk, little mate. There’s chocolate milk in the cool box for you.”
“What’ll that cost me?”
One of his fingers strokes along my thumb, another sliding down my wrist.
“Am I a mercenary, then?”
When I don’t answer his question, he leans forward.
Die By Night Page 30
