by Lucy Monroe
His attempt to speak quietly was of little consequence considering the fact that the Chrechte would be able to hear him quite clearly.
Verica frowned at her husband to be, but her harsh breathing decreased slightly and the set of her shoulders relaxed.
Earc’s words had been the right ones.
He took her hand and when she very obviously tried to tug it away with another chagrined look around them, he tightened his grip. Humans could be funny about affection between mates, but Sabrine approved Earc’s actions. Because as soon as he’d taken Verica’s hand, the other woman’s heart rate had become less erratic and her breathing had evened out completely.
After another unsuccessful tug on her hand, Verica settled beside Earc, her gaze set on his face as if the group of clan members that had made her so nervous had ceased to exist.
The priest opened his mouth to speak, looked at Barr, and closed it again.
Sabrine cast Barr a glance to see what had caused Father Thomas to hesitate. Barr stood, his arms crossed, muscles bulging, his stance rigid and controlled. The glare on his face was hot enough to burn stone and the man of God was looking singed.
Neither Earc nor Verica seemed to notice, too caught up in staring into one another’s eyes. It was really almost sweet but not particularly helpful in the current situation.
Sabrine decided she would have to take moving things forward upon herself. Perhaps that was why Verica had asked her to stand up for her?
“Is something amiss, Barr?” she asked.
He cast her a sideways glance, his expression showing no appreciable lightening. “No.”
“Can the priest begin?”
“Aye. I would prefer he would. ’Tis taking longer than it should, I’m thinking.”
Father Thomas flinched.
“Perhaps if you were not scowling like an angry bear, he would believe this proceeding had the approval of this clan’s laird.”
Finally, Barr’s scowl lessened, his brows drawing together in confusion now. “What would I be doing standing here otherwise?”
“I am certain the priest was wondering that very thing himself.” She’d made no effort to keep the mockery from her tone. “I do not believe your job as laird requires you to intimidate the priest assigned to serve your people.”
Barr looked at Father Thomas. “Do I intimidate you, Father?”
The gray-haired man with gentle eyes swallowed but nodded. “A wee bit, laird.”
“’Tis not intentional.” Barr looked at her, his expression asking if she was happy now.
She gave him a slight nod.
His lips tilted slightly at the corners.
The priest let out a small sigh, his relief apparent. “That is good to hear.”
“You will proceed.”
“Yes, laird.”
Sabrine wasn’t sure, but she suspected even a laird should not treat the humans’ spiritual leader with such arrogance. She said nothing however, not wanting to hold the ceremony up further.
Father Thomas took a deep breath, let it out slowly, swallowed, cleared his throat and finally began speaking. He said a few words about marriage and the honor they should all feel to participate in the ceremony binding two lives like a braided cord. It was an odd thing to say, she thought, but strangely touching.
When the priest invited those gathered to join in a hymn, Sabrine was shocked when almost everyone present did exactly that. Children’s high voices mixed with the warbling elders and deep baritones of the warriors. The women’s voices wove through the others like the connecting threads of a tapestry, making the communal music both lovely and poignant. No matter the ugliness that resided among this clan, there was more. So much more than Sabrine would have believed possible before she came among them.
The wolves were not all evil murderers and the humans not dunces for allowing them among them. This group, singing so joyously, was a family, in the truest sense of the word.
While some no doubt still grieved the loss of their former laird, most were clearly content to look to the future and all were willing to celebrate the wedding of their tenderhearted healer.
Their connection was every bit as strong as that among the Éan and she had not expected that. The Faol had always been monsters in her mind and now they were people, some good, some bad—though too many not to be trusted.
When the song ended, Father Thomas smiled. “That was a thing of heavenly beauty and no one will ever convince me differently.”
Verica smiled and Sabrine was glad the priest’s words had pleased the other raven woman, though Sabrine wasn’t certain what he’d said that was so pleasing. He bowed his head and prayed. Though she did not understand a word he said, she recognized the attitude of reverence. Sabrine spoke enough English to recognize the language, but she found not one syllable he spoke now in any way discernable.
She had not closed her eyes and bowed her head as many around her had done, so she noticed the old man glaring at the wedding couple with such loathing. It was the same man who had been so disagreeable at the evening meal. Wirp, she had heard him called.
She met his gaze and his eyes widened when hers did not drop. She let the warrior that lived inside her show in her face and she gave him silent warning should he attempt to disrupt her friend’s happiness.
His glare intensified, but this time it was fixed fully on her. She let him see his hatred did not frighten her. She had lived her whole life believing all among the Faol hated her to the point of death. Learning some did not made this man’s loathing seem petty. It certainly had no power to hurt her.
The same was not true for Verica, however; Sabrine was certain of it. The healer was vulnerable to her clan’s vagaries and Sabrine was not about to stand by while a bitter old man visited misery on her new friend.
For a brief second, the female warrior descendant from the Éan’s royal line surrounded herself with the image of a golden dragon, ancient ancestor of her people.
Dragon changers no longer flew in the skies, but their memories had not been forgotten like the great beasts the Faol dismissed from their own histories as myth. Just as many of them had dismissed the Éan.
Not this man though.
She sensed he knew the bird shifters still existed and he despised them with his entire being. Right now, there was no room for his hatred though. He was too busy clutching at his heart and falling back several steps.
He’d gone as pale as milk with the cream skimmed off the top. She felt no guilt at causing him such fear.
The man’s thoughts had been as transparent as water. He would do Verica and Earc harm if he could.
She would make sure the evil old bitch’s son would have no opportunity to do so.
She dismissed him with a flick of her eyes and focused her attention on the priest, who had finished praying and was now stepping aside for Padraig to come forward and read from parchment he held with great reverence.
Again he spoke in that language that resembled neither Gaelic nor Chrechte enough for her to understand anything, though the more she heard the more she thought it sounded like a strange type of English perhaps.
It is Latin. Barr’s voice in her head held an underlying growl that had to be his wolf and was not present when he spoke aloud.
For a moment, the implications of hearing him did not strike her. She was gifted among her people with the ability to speak to them all in such a way should she choose to do so, but the Faol had no such gift.
Or did they?
They must. The other prospect, that he was her true mate, was too terrifying to contemplate. Would Heaven be so cruel?
Can you speak thus to others? she asked, knowing her panic tinged the mental connection between them.
My brother, my father before he died. No others. He on the other hand sounded supremely satisfied by their ability to mindspeak. In fact, a burst of joy surged in the air around them enough that Earc and Verica both gave Barr strange and curiosity-filled looks.
Sabrine
’s stomach clenched, sweat broke out on her palms as her hands fisted. I am no relation to you.
You are my mate. My sacred bonded.
Her knees started to buckle and only by sheer will did she remain upright. No.
Aye. Oh, he sounded pleased by her torment.
But he was an arrogant man, a Faol who had no concept of what it meant to lose what you held dearest.
You are wrong. The wolf-tinged tone sought to soothe.
Had she spoken the words in her mind as her thoughts whirled like leaves in a wind devil? She must have, but he did not understand.
I have lost those I hold dear. I will not lose you. Once again he spoke as if reading her thoughts, rather than hearing her mindspeak.
Chapter 14
Barr’s arrogant assurance was too naïve to give her comfort.
Anguish held her in its implacable grip. I cannot stay.
He did not reply, but his scowl returned, fury emanating off of him like heat from the bread oven. No doubt here, the laird and pack alpha found her assertion less than pleasing, but then what did he think the knowledge did for her? Pain in the center of her chest made her gasp, trying to find air, trying to soothe a hurt that could not be touched by comfort.
It was her turn to receive the concerned gazes from the bride and groom. Sabrine did her best to bring forth the stoic façade of her warrior.
It did not work. Verica seemed more worried than before and Earc looked as if he was about to stop the proceedings to find out what was amiss.
Sabrine shot a “don’t you dare” glare at him and, thankfully, he subsided, turning his attention back to the priest.
Thankfully, Father Thomas did not notice any of this. He was too busy handing another parchment to Padraig. The Faol scholar read from it as well. He then handed that parchment to the priest and began speaking, this time in Gaelic, the words sounding memorized like the oral traditions among the Chrechte.
He spoke of the Christ making wine at a wedding from water. When he finished, he stepped back, taking the parchments from Father Thomas with him.
The priest began speaking about the great joy and sacrament of marriage. His words landed like a spring rain on the parched soil of Sabrine’s heart, causing both great joy and an even deeper sorrow. She’d never thought to have a mate, much less a husband.
She could no longer deny the true bond between her and Barr, but it did not change her future. It could not. No matter how much her heart might long for a different ending. Knowing this truth sliced into her soul with the destruction of a halberd.
The fact she felt such strong emotions for a wolf should astonish her. Somehow, it did not. Which was more proof, had she needed it, that he was her true mate. Only such a bond could overcome her aversion to the Faol to make her actually desire mating one for life. And no matter how she might wish it otherwise, love grew in her heart like tender shoots in the spring.
She knew, no matter what she might wish, this ceremony could never happen with her as a primary participant. Yet hearing the words of blessing and promise spoken for her friend moved Sabrine so deeply, she was near tears. And despite the pain ripping the heart she had so long denied to shreds, they were not tears of sadness.
She had given her life to the protection of her people just so others could have the families she had to deny herself. And perhaps Verica would live with greater freedom than any of the Éan hiding so deep in the forest. She would have children and, because of Barr and Earc, not worry the young ones would be hunted by the Faol that called themselves Donegal family.
Barr would weed out the evil among the clan and stop their threat to his own pack and perhaps even make life safer for the Éan who lived apart as well. Sabrine had to believe that he could at least make a difference for those he was sworn to protect and lead.
When the speaking of the vows came, it was every bit as profound as the promises spoken by the Chrechte in their ancient rite of mating. Though somewhat different. The attitudes of both bride and groom lent solemnity as well as joy to the occasion.
Whatever their differences, Earc and Verica were happy to be mating.
When Verica promised to obey Earc, Sabrine had to bite her tongue. It was not in a Chrechte’s nature to submit to anyone without question, but no doubt the Faol man knew that. He would never expect Verica to be as biddable as the vow implied. Though as her mate and the pack beta, he would be no husband gifted with unending tolerance, either.
To Sabrine’s mind, that made them a strong match, a good mating that would provide children for both the pack and the clan.
The priest spoke another blessing over them and then made a motion with his hand. “The peace of our Lord and Father be with you.”
Suddenly the people around them were repeating the words to each other, clasping hands and smiling.
Sabrine found it odd and held back until Barr took her hand. “Peace be with you.”
She stared at him. Peace was not the emotion most paramount when she was in his presence. At this moment in time, she could not imagine peace in any form attached to her feelings for him. Yet his hand covering hers brought forth an inexplicable delight she could not quite mask.
Her mind whirling once again, while her emotions chose to follow suit, she stared up at him.
A smile dawned on his rugged features and his finger caressed her palm as he pulled his hand away. “The proper response is: and also with you.”
“I do wish you peace, though I fear you are far from it yet as laird of this clan.” Not to mention a Chrechte male whose true mate would have no choice but to abandon him sooner than either would be happy with.
His eyes said he read her thoughts and still his smile grew. “You are a unique woman, my little warrior princess.” He spoke the last words in an undertone, but she heard them.
Her father had used to call her his little princess. The emotions that welled up as Barr reminded her of those halcyon days before her parents’ murders threatened to choke Sabrine.
He touched the small of her back, his action both possessive and comforting. The future is not so bleak as you believe, he said into her mind.
The rest of the clan settled back to their original places, but now Barr stood beside her rather than near Earc. His hand remained at the small of her back as well and she could feel the close scrutiny of many around them.
Father Thomas and Padraig offered Communion. She’d heard of it, from the humans that lived among the Éan, but had never seen it administered. The sense of connecting with the spiritual during the ritual was as strong as the communal worship the Chrechte practiced. It should not have surprised her, but it did.
After all had partaken of the bread and sipped from the chalice, the clan and the priest spoke that strange language, the Latin, in unison.
Father Thomas presented Earc and Verica as a married couple, though Sabrine was sure all present were well aware they had spoken their vows.
Everyone dispersed, though some she recognized from that morning headed toward the forest rather than to their cottages. They did not take a direct route, she noted, but their destination was clear to her.
She turned to Barr. Will there be a Chrechte mating?
The ability to speak to him thus and ask what she was curious about without worrying about being overheard was an amazing freedom. Even with her abilities among her people, she did not take it for granted.
Aye.
The sacred springs are a day’s journey away.
There is a nearer set of caves the clan uses.
Why?
He shrugged. Rowland led the pack to do things differently, but ’tis the intent behind those present at the ceremony, not where it is held, that holds importance.
Perhaps for the Faol, but there is power in the caves of the sacred springs for the Éan. It was not only the Clach Gealach Gra that impacted the strength of the coming of age ceremony.
What do you mean?
She shook her head, unwilling to discuss the topic further
.
Barr stood alone as the last howls of the Chrechte mating ceremony faded into silence. He wanted Sabrine beside him, but she’d refused to come, saying her Chrechte nature would be obvious to her enemies if she accompanied him. He thought she’d let that particular secret into the light when she’d saved Earc and stayed with Barr through the funeral pyre burning for Rowland.
However the Éan lived, one thing was certain. She was so used to her role as female warrior, she had not realized the fact that slipping into it amidst a traditional clan would give away her odd origins. Even a Highland clan was not accustomed to women dressing as men and carrying swords.
But he’d liked it. It had made him hot. And knowing she had put herself at risk to save Earc had scared the arrogance right out of Barr. This woman would be hard to protect, and while that worried him, it also intrigued him.
He’d heard the tales of warrior women among the Chrechte in times past, but never thought to meet one. Did not believe any yet remained.
His beautiful mate proved him wrong and showed her prowess while doing it. What would it be like to hunt with her in the sky and him on the ground?
He got hard just thinking about it.
No matter how different she was from the other females he had known, Sabrine was the ideal mate for him.
Not that she agreed. Damn it. Even though she could not deny their sacred bond, she refused to be recognized as his mate before his clan. Her rejection was like a splinter in his soul he did not know how to draw out. It felt like a betrayal of not only his wolf but the man who had put duty above personal desires his entire life. She, his beautiful, perfectly-matched-for-him mate, was his reward. As only a sacred mate could be.
Only she refused to be counted as such.
He had always believed that his prize merely waited on the other side of one more sacrifice, that elusive mate he had wanted since learning what a sacred bond could bring. He had watched his brother finally find joy with his own true mate. Their family increased by one, Barr had begun to hope, if only in the most secret recesses of his soul. A tiny voice, barely recognized had whispered that mayhap he would not die without knowing his own.
