by Lucy Monroe
Verica stared. “You truly are a warrior, aren’t you?” Somehow she must have missed the import of the words exchanged between Sabrine and Brigit, or simply refused to acknowledge them.
Sabrine stood tall and proud, her battle mask dropping over her face. “I am.”
Verica flinched and then rallied. You said you were of the royal line of the Éan. Showing she had some self-protective instincts, Verica had switched to their silent form of communication.
I am.
Is that why we can mindspeak?
Yes. Those of the royal line can do so with all the Éan.
You knew I was a raven, from the beginning.
I did.
But I hid my scent.
Very nicely, too. However, none but our line have hair the color of a raven’s feathers. The blue sheen over black as midnight did not occur among the humans or the wolves they had accepted into their clans.
Oh. I did not know that.
They had both had their instances of ignorance. I did not know any of the Éan lived amongst the clans. She would never have believed they could survive among the wolves so intent on destroying them. Our leaders are unaware of this fact.
We have much to discuss.
Yes, but now, we must save your new mate’s life.
I cannot believe he claimed me for mate just to protect Circin from having to fight Rowland.
Earc is a man of honor, even if he is a wolf.
Verica tilted her head, giving Sabrine an odd perusal. Not all wolves hate the Éan. Surely you realize this, having mated Barr. My father loved my mother very much. Though, in the end, he was not there to protect her from those who did not.
He died for his love, too, didn’t he?
That is what I have always believed. My mother warned me to never let any of the other wolves know of my double animal nature.
She was a wise woman.
She was.
They waited for the soldiers to arrive and take up their post outside Barr’s door before Sabrine used her Éan power over what was perceived to make it possible for her and Verica to duck into the healer’s room.
She rushed to a storage chest against the far wall and shoved it open.
Verica dug through the contents until she raised a plaid triumphantly. “This will fit you better than one of Circin’s plaids, for though you’re tall for a woman, your frame is slighter than his.”
Sabrine stripped out of her current clothes quickly and donned the shorter, more familiar styled plaid.
The healer moved more things around in the trunk until she pulled out a leather-wrapped bundle.
Sabrine knew what it was before Verica pulled the leather away. A female Éan warrior’s weapons: the knife and sword would be balanced for her slighter build.
“These were my grandmother’s. I always thought my mother meant they had come down from my great-grandfather, or something, but now I realized my dam’s mother must have been a warrior like you.”
Sabrine handled the weapons with proper reverence. “Yes. These are very well made. You have taken care of them, too.”
“My mother made me promise. She said I might need them one day. I didn’t understand. I am a healer.”
But even a healer might be required to raise a sword in self-defense if her secret nature was discovered.
“I would have been a healer if my mother had lived,” Sabrine told the other woman as she finished dressing and attached the sword to the belt at her waist. She tied the knife with the leather straps found with it to her thigh.
“Do you regret not following your mother’s path?”
“I regret her death that made my sacrifice necessary.”
Verica nodded, her expression filled with empathy.
The two women snuck from the keep, Verica seeming oblivious to the special Éan power that made it possible for them to do so wholly unseen.
Verica took to the sky as soon as they were a fair distance from the keep and the two women stayed in constant contact via the mind link Sabrine provided. One of the strongest of her line with this gift, she would be able to hear Verica now the link had been established even a league distant.
He is going to be hiding in a good spot with a vantage point to the clearing in which the challenge is to take place. Sabrine gave the other woman her best advice based on her years protecting her people against enemies just like Rowland.
It will be close enough he’ll be able to kill Earc with his first arrow, but as far away as possible within that limitation.
It all depends on how good he is with the bow and arrow, Verica sent back.
You know Rowland and his cronies best. Who is he likely to get to do this cowardly act?
Every Chrechte has been ordered to the clearing.
Does he have human friends with the skill?
He doesn’t have human friends at all.
Then one he could intimidate?
One of the men who hunts for the clan, Verica guessed. The hunters live in great fear of Rowland, who has a way of making any who disagree with him disappear while they are out securing meat for the clan.
Sabrine did not relish killing a human whose only guilt was fearing his former laird.
Sabrine made her way through the forest, keeping a direction toward the clearing Verica had told her would be the meeting place for the Chrechte challenge. Verica flew above, her raven’s body a tiny black dot in the sky.
I see him. Verica’s voice was a triumphant shout in Sabrine’s head. He did not think to remove his plaid.
He is not expecting eyes looking down on him from the sky.
It is young Connor. Sadness sounded in Verica’s mental voice, a true grief that tugged at Sabrine, even as she increased her pace to rival that of any wolf. Shifted or not. He is related to Rowland, but his father cannot shift. He was born to a Chrechte mother and human father.
Verica described where to find the young man and Sabrine ran on silent feet through the forest until she was only a few feet distant. She crept up to him and had her knife to his throat before he even realized she was there.
“Drop your bow and I may let you live.” She spoke right into his ear, her raven so close to the surface, her voice was as harsh as a caw.
Chapter 10
The man���s bow went slack in nerveless fingers. “I wasn’t going to kill him.”
“The evidence does not support your claim.”
“I was only going to wound him, but if I don’t shoot him, Rowland will hurt my father.”
Just as Verica had surmised, the man had been coerced, but still—he was not entirely blameless. “Rowland will die this day. It is your choice if you join him or not.”
The bow dropped to the stone perch the man had been standing on. Sabrine kept her knife to his throat and silently called Verica to them.
Verica landed on a nearby branch behind them and changed before coming forward.
Tie his hands, Sabrine instructed in mindspeak.
Verica did it without a word and Sabrine made sure the human hunter kept his head facing forward so he could not see the healer. She would not be the reason the woman’s secrets became common knowledge.
“So, Rowland threatened your family if you did not kill for him?” Sabrine demanded, once the man was secure.
“I would not kill our laird’s second. I meant only to wound him,” the young Connor claimed again, his sincerity an even more pungent scent than his fear.
“You think that makes your treason any more palatable?”
Defeat settled over the hunter with the pall of impending death. “You don’t understand. Rowland always gets what he wants.”
“I repeat, Rowland, that demon pig, will die this day.”
“If that happens, I will rejoice louder than anyone, but if it doesn’t, who will protect my father? He has no Chrechte strength. He is gaining in years.” Connor’s voice shook with his grief on his father’s behalf.
“I will not let anything happen to your father,” Sabr
ine found herself promising.
“How can you protect him? You are a woman.”
These clansmen. So ignorant. “I stopped you shooting Earc, didn’t I?”
“I’m not good at fighting. I would be good for nothing to this clan if I could not shoot an accurate line with my bow for hunting.”
“Is that what Rowland told you?” Sabrine asked, appalled by the cruel and demeaning words.
“Aye.”
“Well, he lies. Barr is training human men to protect the clan, too.” As any good laird should do.
“I heard it, but Rowland said it would make no difference. No human could ever best a Chrechte.”
“You did. By not shooting Earc, you’ve bested him.”
“But I would have shot him if you had not intervened.”
Sabrine nodded. She believed him. No matter how much Connor disliked the idea of wounding the other Chrechte at Rowland’s behest. Or his fear of the consequences. She knew what it was to sacrifice everything for family. The steady nearing of her younger brother’s coming of age ceremony had prompted her to infiltrate a clan redolent with Faol.
“Barr must be told of your collusion with Rowland.”
Connor’s head dropped, his chin settling against his chest in defeat. “I know.”
“I will speak on your behalf.”
“What can you say? You found me with my bow pointed toward his second. Will you allow me to watch the challenge? If I am to die for my treason, I would do it knowing Rowland was on his way to hell first.”
“You’ll not die this day.” She did not know how to accomplish that feat, but this boy was a result of the disease of hatred and fear Rowland had infected the Donegal clan with.
She was tempted to let the boy go after the challenge was over and simply not tell Barr about the aborted attempt to circumvent the challenge. On the other hand, doing so would feel like a betrayal of Barr. Sabrine could not make herself take that path.
“What is going on here?” Circin demanded as he arrived.
Verica jumped up, shifted into her raven and left in a swish of feathers.
Sabrine smiled. “I would not have known you were approaching, but for the sound you made through the forest.”
He had far to go before he was a warrior of Barr’s skill, but he had already made improvements since they met.
Circin looked at her and then looked away again, a burnished line appearing along his cheekbones. “What are you doing out here? Dressed like a male?”
Oh, for goodness sake. “You act as if you’ve never seen a woman’s legs before.”
“I haven’t.”
“How is that possible? I thought the Faol hunted together.”
“We do, but the females make their change before joining the men.”
This clan had taken on more of the human mores than others further north in the Highlands, at least from what her distant observations had revealed. Barr had certainly not shown any modest regard for his own nakedness.
“Your laird sent you searching for the assassin?” she asked rather than continue their unnecessary discussion of her clothing. If he was so disturbed, he could look at something besides her knees.
The laird in training nodded.
“Good.”
Of course, Circin would have been too late to prevent the arrow that might well have killed Earc. Still, she liked knowing the man doing such a fine job of claiming her heart was a cunning warrior.
“Connor?” Circin asked, his voice tinged with shocked unhappiness. “You were happier than any other when the king demanded Rowland step down from his place as laird.”
“The bastard threatened the boy’s father.”
Circin cursed.
He looked toward the sky, where Verica had disappeared to, and then back to Sabrine. “You know.”
She nodded but added nothing else in front of the man Connor.
Circin asked the man, “Are there any others in on this cowardly plot to kill Earc?”
“Nay. Rowland could not risk going to his Chrechte friends and being discovered when one of them did not show for the challenge.”
Far too intent on the challenge happening below them, Sabrine did not comment. She already knew there were no others since Verica had continued to scan the forest while Sabrine made her way to the man with the bow.
Barr instructed the Chrechte to create a circle around the challengers, further hindering any plot the former laird had hatched in his puling brain. He hoped Circin would be able to find any cohort Rowland had convinced to help him, but Barr’s wolf was on full alert all the same.
He commanded silence among the witnesses, so that should a twig break, he would hear it.
He measured the onlookers with his gaze. “You have been enjoined to come here to witness the challenge fight between Earc and Rowland.”
“You would pit a younger warrior against our former laird?” one of the older men asked with anger.
“If he survives the challenge, I’ll tear his throat out myself for crimes committed against those under his protection.”
Everyone in the clearing went as silent as he desired at his promise.
He found it interesting to note that no one stepped forward to protest the man’s innocence, but not surprising. A man did not start with murder and rape. Barr didn’t doubt that Rowland had been abusing his position within the pack for as long as he’d held it.
Maybe even before it had been officially his.
Rowland, who had come into the clearing looking smug, was starting to sweat. He had spent the time since arriving in the clearing talking to some of his old cronies, sending darting glances to the north. His conceited arrogance was just starting to show wear like a plaid made of inferior weave. Rowland looked off into the distance once again and probably saw exactly what Barr did at the same moment.
Wearing a man’s plaid and holding a sword, Sabrine stood in front of a rock outcropping that would make ideal cover for a bowman. The top of Circin’s head could be seen behind her.
She raised her arm in a typical warrior’s sign that all was well. Barr found himself biting back a laugh, though his mind told him he should be furious. Anger that she had disregarded his instructions warred with a sense of pride that the magnificent woman was his mate. What she thought she was doing dressed as a warrior and carrying a sword, he could not begin to guess, but it was enough to send fire through his loins.
The foul word that came out of Rowland’s mouth at that moment tipped Barr’s feelings toward the pride.
“You will fight my second,” he promised the honor-less cur.
Rowland spun away, giving his former pack something that was probably supposed to be a look of entreaty. It didn’t work well on the man’s contemptuous features.
“Will none of my brothers step forward to fight this challenge for your old laird?” His emphasis on the word old made Barr roll his eyes.
Some of the Chrechte winced, but not one of them looked ready to fall on his sword for the old bastard.
Earc stripped off his plaid, tossing it aside. As Chrechte law allowed for a wolf who was not yet in control of his change, he held his dagger in his dominant hand.
Rowland eyed it with disdain. “What do you plan to do with that, boy? You’ll not be able to hold it once you shift.”
“I only shift at the full moon,” Earc said, no shame in his voice.
Rowland’s grimace could hardly be called a smile, but the man was pleased at the news. No doubt. Evil satisfaction glowed in his eyes.
Fool.
Perhaps he had not trained his Chrechte warriors to fight their brethren in changed form, but Talorc had the Sinclairs. He’d made sure every soldier in his clan could hold his own against a Chrechte in battle. And the Chrechte were all drilled until they could fight another wolf in shifted form or not. Earc had never been bested, except by Talorc, Niall or Barr.
Since no other warrior had ever bested them, either, that did not imply any kind of weakness in Earc’s f
ighting ability.
In the blink of an eye, Rowland had shifted into wolf form and leapt toward Earc without warning. No wonder so many feared him in wolf form. Rowland was easily as big as Barr with a wild look in his canine eyes that would make most Chrechte pause before facing him in battle. Earc was not most Chrechte, nor was Barr. One day, God willing, they would train the Donegal Chrechte to be such soldiers.
Rowland’s fast change and leap showed he was still as agile as many a younger canine as well. Not that it would do him any good.
The action, while impressive, was a dirty trick. Though not strictly against the rules of combat, it bordered on breaking them. Barr’s jaw went rigid, but he checked his initial instinct, at the blatant show of disrespect, to shift and tear the wolf’s throat out.
Earc would handle the challenge without a problem, Barr was confident. His confidence proved true when Rowland’s lack of honor bought the former laird nothing.
Earc was ready for the powerful beast, deflecting him with a well-timed shove to the wolf’s chest, sending the huge beast tumbling. Rowland rolled onto his feet, snarling and showing a set of sharp teeth, spit flying as he tossed his head.
Earc grinned and mocked, “Am I supposed to be impressed, you ugly son of a bitch?”
The wolf sprang again, but Earc wasn’t giving the beast any openings, and this time he swiped at the wolf’s flank with his dagger as he twisted out of the way.
Talorc had taught them to weaken a wolf with blood loss before moving in for the kill. To go in for the final blow too early was to risk sustaining an injury that might well lead to a soldier’s lingering death after a fight was long over. Especially if the fight was far from the full moon and the Chrechte did not have control of his change. Shifting would not heal a wound, but it helped make sure the wound healed well and did not get infected.
He did not understand the why of it, but assumed it had to do with the same magic that brought the change over a wolf’s body to begin with.
Earc was following their former laird’s instructions with flawless follow-through in this battle. He avoided going down under Rowland’s repeated attacks, wounding the wolf on each pass. Despite snapping again and again, Rowland’s powerful jaws never closed on any part of Earc’s body. It was clear the massive wolf was tiring, but he was growing more and more enraged as well.
