by Lucy Monroe
“I apologize,” Rowland said quickly, though the words were clearly sour in his mouth.
“Are you satisfied to withdraw your challenge?” Barr asked Earc.
Earc turned to Verica and repeated the question to her. She looked at him with too many emotions for him to name, but predominant was that old grief he had noticed the night before. “I’m not. He does not mean the words.”
“What do you want? Me to debase myself before the whole clan?”
“Yes. If you apologize more politely to me before the soldiers in the hall over nooning meal, I will accept your words.” There was something in her expression that said she knew without doubt the older Chrechte would never accept those terms.
Rowland shook with bitter fury, the power of a very strong wolf right under the surface. “I’ll do no such thing, you worthless bitch daughter of a filthy raven.”
Verica’s gaze shot to Earc’s, a new emotion overriding every other. Fear.
He did not know what caused it, but it did not matter. He smiled at her; he’d claimed her as his mate. She might not understand what that meant yet, but she would learn. He would always protect her. From anything.
He turned back to the bastard causing his new mate such distress. “We will meet in the forest in thirty minutes’ time. If you do not come, I will hunt you down and end your miserable existence without hesitation.”
Rowland finally had pulled together enough thought to be truly afraid; it showed in the panicked whites of his eyes. But it was too late.
Barr looked at Circin. “Assemble the Chrechte in the clearing near the small loch. All of them. Any who refuse to show will be considered outcasts from this day forward.”
“You cannot do this. The king guaranteed me my place in the clan,” Rowland tried one last time.
Barr was unmoved. “And your actions have destroyed the gift he gave you.”
“You think you’ve won, but you’ll see. No one wins over me.” Spittle flew from the man’s mouth as he screamed those words and then rushed from the cottage.
“You daft man,” Sorcha said and then gasped and closed her mouth so tight her lips disappeared.
“You do not think I can best him in a challenge?” But then Earc chastised himself. Of course she wouldn’t. She did not know he had a wolf living inside him, too.
“She thinks you gave a deceiving wretch thirty minutes to plan your murder,” Verica answered with undisguised worry.
He liked knowing she was concerned for him, though it was not clear whether she cared if Earc died as much as whether that would leave her human friend at risk until Barr disposed of the self-admitted murderer.
There had been no lie in Sorcha’s voice when she claimed Rowland took responsibility for her husband’s death.
Regardless of the reasons behind his alluring mate’s worry, he sought to alleviate it. “I’ll not let that miserable pile of horse’s dung get the best of me.”
“Do you not think my father believed the same?” Verica’s distress had only intensified.
“Your father trusted him; no doubt he believed the other man’s Chrechte nature would keep him from deeds too foul against his own kind, and particularly against the leader of his pack.”
“He did.”
“I am not that naïve.”
“Do not die,” she ordered.
“I will not.”
She nodded, but said nothing more. He decided that if he was to kill the old buzzard he would do it with the taste of his mate on his tongue. He leaned down and kissed her. It was no gentle bussing of lips, but a full, claiming kiss—the woman needed to know that from this day forward, she was his.
Chapter 9
Sabrine stood outside the cottage, unnoticed as the old wolf stormed by.
Barr had told her to stay in his bed and rest. She’d waited until he’d made it down the stairs before following him.
She could not forget her purpose here among the Donegals. She had to find the Clach Gealach Gra and return it to her people before her brother’s coming of age ceremony. It only made sense she keep apprised of what was happening in the clan.
Eavesdropping on Barr arguing with the old bastard that used to lead this poor clan was clearly a must in that regard.
Without a word to anyone in the cottage, Barr came out the door. Sabrine made no effort to hide her presence.
He leaned against the outer wall of the small building, his huge arms crossed over a chest only partially covered by his plaid. “You do not listen well.”
He didn’t sound particularly bothered by that fact. In point of truth, if she could believe the evidence of her ears, he almost sounded pleased.
“I can listen.” She could even obey. When she agreed with the instructions.
“I’ve no doubt you can.”
“You will allow Earc to kill the evil one they call Rowland.”
“Aye.”
“Because he offended a Chrechte woman?”
“Because he admitted to killing a human male and mistreating a human female in a way no Chrechte should ever do.”
It was not what she had expected him to say, but then his words raised another concern. Her heart wanted to believe Barr was different from other Faol, but her mind rejected an easy dismissal of a lifetime of teaching. “So, his offense toward Verica does not matter, because you now know she had a raven mother.”
Barr’s brow furrowed for a moment as he did a very good impression of a man who did not know what she was talking about. And then understanding dawned, his face clearing, and a new certainty settled over his features.
“You are a raven.” Pride in his deductive reasoning rang through his voice, though he spoke quietly so even a Chrechte would have difficulty hearing. “Verica’s mother was raven.”
“Rowland already told you that.” But she finally realized Barr had not believed the old man, had perhaps thought his words no more than a figure of speech.
Regret for revealing Verica’s heritage, if not her dual-shifting nature, pricked Sabrine.
Wonder filled his gray gaze. “I thought the Éan were mere myth.”
He really had. Nothing but truth and wonder came from him. How could this be?
“The Faol hate the Éan.” All bird Chrechte knew this. Even Verica and Circin made obvious efforts to hide their raven natures. “Your people have done your best to destroy mine since long before the Faol joined the human clans.”
“Chrechte are a warlike people. We all fought amongst ourselves until the packs were dying out. We joined the human clans, agreeing to cease hostilities amongst ourselves.” He said it as if giving a child a history lesson.
She bristled. She knew the wolves’ history, but their joining the humans did not change their need to kill the Éan. “The Faol never stopped murdering my people.”
“But we don’t even know you exist.”
“Your pack may not.” Though how that could be, she was uncertain. “But others do.”
“I would have heard something.”
She shook her head. Barr’s arrogance, so different from Rowland’s conceit, was such a part of him, his claim did not even surprise her. His absolute certainty that he knew all there was to know about the Chrechte both frustrated and amused her.
“Whatever ancient enmity existed no longer holds sway, just as the wolf packs no longer wage war with each other.”
“You are wrong.”
“Sabrine.” Just that one word. Her name, but it held a wealth of meaning.
He was astonished she would so blatantly disregard his words, but then she had lived her life among the Chrechte, not the humans. The Éan were a matrilineal people, as they had been since time immemorial, just as the Faol had been before joining the human clans and MacAlpin’s infamous betrayal of his royal relatives.
While respect was given to any in a position of authority over an Éan, men did not hold a position of superiority merely by the nature of their sex. It would not have taken so many years for Rowland to face an i
mminent death had he lived among the Chrechte of old.
“Do you really claim that the packs never war with one another?”
“Only when the clans are involved.”
“And the clans of the Highlands are almost as volatile as the Chrechte that have joined them.”
Barr shrugged. “That does not mean wolves continue to harbor some age-old grudge against the ravens.”
“The Éan are more than raven, though we are the biggest remaining group.”
“And the wolves of the Sinclair pack or those of the Balomoral would be nothing but happy to learn of your existence.”
“I notice you did not mention the Donegals.”
“Rowland’s prejudices are clear. I would not assume he had no influence on others within his clan; he led them more than a decade.”
“That prejudice is more than unpleasant. It is deadly.”
“That is where I think you are wrong,” Barr said, showing he still had too much honor to understand men who had none.
“My parents died at the hands of the Faol. They still hunt in the forest for us.”
Barr’s storm-cloud eyes widened and then narrowed. “Impossible.”
“How did this happen?” She indicated her wounded arm, annoyance overcoming any other feeling in regard to his arrogance. How dare he doubt her words? “One of your Faol hunters shot me from the sky.”
“Nay.”
“Oh, yes.” There was so much more she wanted to say, but this was not the place to do it. In a clan with Chrechte, she would far too easily be overheard.
“Laird?” Verica asked from the door, one hand on the doorjamb.
He flashed her a look. “Aye?”
The raven-wolf’s gaze jumped from Barr to Sabrine and back to Barr again, her curiosity regarding what they had been discussing a spicy scent that clung to the air around her. “Rowland will try to kill Earc rather than face him in fair challenge.”
“Aye, of that I am certain you are right. The man has less honor than the English.” Barr pushed away from the wall of the cottage. He moved to stand right in front of Sabrine, placing his hand on her neck in a possessive as well as comforting gesture—for a wolf. “We will continue this discussion later.”
She did not argue. Barr had to protect his friend, or that evil old Faol would kill him. And she’d almost grown fond of Earc after hearing him defend Verica so staunchly, not to mention the way he had protected the raven-wolf youth from facing Rowland in challenge.
Barr went back into the cottage and Sabrine found herself following without thought. Brigit was awake now, clinging to her mother’s hand, her innocent gaze filled with worry. Who knew how much of the confrontation she had heard.
Sorcha was a beautiful woman, but lines of worry and unhappiness marred what once must have been a face that often creased in smiles. She clung to her daughter’s hand just as tightly and watched the Chrechte men with a level of wariness Sabrine understood all too well.
Barr reached down and tucked a stray lock of Brigit’s cinnamon-colored hair behind her ear. “You have naught to fear. I give you my word.”
“I believe you.” The child tried for a smile, and her attempt was passable.
Barr turned his gaze to the finely trembling mother.
“Sorcha, you and Brigit are to return to the keep with Sabrine. She will keep you safe in my room while the problem of Rowland is dealt with by those who have pledged you their protection.”
The human woman did not manage quite as passable a smile as her daughter, but her attempt showed her courage. “Thank you.”
“You do not thank your laird for doing his duty, Sorcha. A man of Rowland’s lack of honor should never have led this clan and never will again.”
She nodded.
He shifted so he faced Verica.
“Fetch Muin and Brigit’s cousins, then join the other women in my room.”
“I am Chrechte, I should witness the challenge.”
“You are Earc’s mate now. Rowland, or those loyal to him, may find a way to use you against him. That is not acceptable. He will be safer with you here, out of harm’s way in the keep.”
Verica opened her mouth, looking as if she was ready to argue again with her laird.
Agree, Sabrine commanded her through mindspeak.
The other woman’s eyes widened and she stared at Sabrine with a mouth dropped open.
Close your mouth. Barr is unaware of the powers of the Éan. Were these clan women truly not taught anything of self-defense, not even how to hide their emotions?
Can you hear me? Verica responded via the mental link Sabrine had created between them.
If I choose to, yes.
But…
I will explain further later. “Do as your laird bids,” Sabrine said, speaking the last sentence aloud.
With no further discussion, spoken or otherwise, Verica turned and left, her confusion following her like a cloud.
“What just happened?” Barr asked with amusement.
Sabrine’s heart stopped and then resumed at a faster beat.
He frowned. “Do not get upset. I’m shocked she listened to you over me, but I am not angry.” He still looked bemused. “’Tis a woman thing I suppose.”
More like a raven thing, but Sabrine nodded anyway. Revealing the secrets of the Éan was not something she was willing to do, not today, or ever. Not even to this man to whom she was rapidly losing the heart she’d thought long turned to stone.
Verica arrived in Barr’s sleeping quarters only moments after Sabrine and the others. Verica’s nose wrinkled and her brow furrowed as she looked around the room, her gaze finally setting on the bed. Stunned disbelief showed in her blue eyes as she met Sabrine’s gaze.
“You mated our laird?” she blurted out.
Sabrine frowned. “That is not important right now. Barr is no doubt sending Muin and the human soldiers to guard this room.”
“Yes, I think so.”
We must leave before they get here then, Sabrine sent over the mind link.
But we can’t leave Sorcha and Brigit unprotected. It was good to see the Chrechte woman recognize she was some measure of protection for the human and her child, even if she didn’t hide the fact she was speaking with her mind any better than a child might.
Sorcha was too preoccupied with her own worries to notice, but Brigit was giving her mentor in the healing arts a strange look.
Sabrine straightened the plaid on the bed, her attention apparently on no one else in the room. We will not leave the keep until the men arrive.
Though Sabrine doubted Rowland would bother with the human woman right now. He would be too focused on finding a way to dispose of Earc before the challenge, and most likely Barr as well.
That Sabrine would not allow. She might not be able to stay among the Donegals, but she would not allow the man she had given her body, and part of her soul, to die. Not while she could protect him.
We can hide ourselves in the alcove between my room and Circin’s. We can watch the laird’s door from there.
Sabrine went to stand in front of the terrified human woman. “Listen to me, Verica and I must leave you here. You will be safe. Guards will arrive momentarily to watch over you. Do not inform them of our absence, please.”
“What do you think to do?” This from Brigit, not her still-stunned mother.
“Save the laird and his second-in-command.”
Sorcha jerked, proving she’d been listening, even in her shocked state. “But you are women.”
Sabrine didn’t give that foolish sentiment an answer. “You will hide our departure from them?”
Sorcha nodded.
Brigit grinned. “You are a warrior, aren’t you?”
“I am a descendant of the royal line of my people. I have bested men in battle and I will again.” She didn’t mind bragging a little if it would put the child’s mind at rest.
Sorcha stared at her as if Sabrine spoke gibberish, but Brigit’s grin grew until it split
her face. “And you will teach us to fight?”
“I will, but right now I must go.”
Brigit nodded while her mother looked on in clear horror, but the human woman did nothing to stop them. Sabrine only hoped she would not alert the soon-to-arrive guards to the other women’s departure.
They rushed toward the alcove, the unfamiliar long skirts getting in Sabrine’s way. “Do you have a plaid from Circin’s youth?”
“He’s still a youth,” Verica grumbled.
Perhaps in this clan, but among her people, a sixteen-year-old male would be well on his way to being trained as a warrior, especially one expected to lead. Sabrine had been fifteen summers when she picked up her first real sword, but she’d been in training and living among the other warriors for years by then. “His plaid would probably fit me without too many extra pleats,” she mused.
Verica stopped dead. “You want to wear my brother’s plaid?”
“You do not expect me to wear this long skirt in battle.”
“We’re going into battle?” Verica’s fear was right there, though she’d made a respectable effort to mask it. However, her determination did not waver.
“I am going into battle. You will take to the sky and act as my eyes.” Sabrine’s damaged wing prevented her from doing her own search of the area. “You must be very careful, but you should be able to spot an assassin hiding amidst the trees.”
“You think Rowland will have a cohort attack Earc for him?” Verica asked, not sounding like it would take any stretch of imagination for her to envision the same.
“I think he’s a puling coward and that sort of man will have an ally in the trees armed with a bow. The cohort will attempt to shoot Earc from a distance and hope to escape in the ensuing confusion.”
“I do not think he will escape Barr’s wrath.”
With that, Sabrine agreed. But Rowland was too stupid and conceited to realize it. “No doubt Rowland believes he and those loyal to him can keep Barr occupied.”
Or, more likely if his cohort was human, he would not care and had no plans to try to protect the other man.
“What will we do?”
“You will find the assassin. You will tell me where he is and I will kill him.”
