Moon Craving

by Lucy Monroe

  “Are you and your wolf such different beings?” she asked in her soft voice with new tears shimmering in her eyes. “Emily does not speak of Lachlan as if he and his wolf are different beings.”

  “They are not. My wolf and I are not. We are one in the same, but in my desire to protect myself from making my father’s mistakes, I tried to separate my feelings as a laird from those of my wolf. It does not work. I love you with every bit of my wolf’s essence, but that is even truer as a man because my wolf cannot share physically in that final consummation of our mating.”

  “You love me?”

  “More than my own life. So much that life is not worth living without you in it.”

  “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

  “I can. I do. Please, believe me, sweet wife. My own precious angel.” He looked at her with nothing less than naked longing. “Do not leave me to the loneliness I knew before you.”

  “You had a whole clan before I came.”

  “With not one the true mate of my soul. It took a clever Englishwoman to fill that place inside my heart, to complete the other half of my Chrechte spirit.”

  “You said I am no longer English.”

  “You are not.”

  “I am yours.”

  “And I am yours.”

  He said words in her head that she remembered from their mating. “Say them for me, this time speak the vows with truth in your heart.”

  “I did the first time. I didn’t know what I was saying, but in my heart I was giving everything of myself to you.”

  “But …”

  “I told you I had changed my plans once we wed. I no longer wanted to be reunited with my sister more than anything. I wanted to stay with you.”

  “You meant the oaths you gave,” he repeated in wonder, needing to take in this truth to heal the wounds in his heart.

  “Absolutely.”

  “That is good because I can never let you go.”

  “Never.”

  “You will allow my wolf to scent you now?”

  No fear showed in her brown eyes. “Yes.”

  Dropping to all fours, he let the wolf take him. His already acute senses grew stronger, and the scent of his mate’s emotions mixed with those of the forest. She smiled down at him, love and acceptance glowing on her beautiful features.

  He tilted his head back and howled in joy, sending the sound through their mindspeak link.

  Her smile became a grin.“Your wolf is happy.”

  “I am happy.”

  “I love you, Talorc,” she said inside his head with a conviction her spoken words could not hold.

  “You do not fear me in this form?”

  “Never.”

  He chuffed with happiness as he rubbed his head against her. “Take off your clothes, I need to scent your skin.”

  Giggling with clear delight, Abigail undressed.

  Though the sight of his wife’s nude body would always affect his libido, the most pressing emotion he felt right then was relief. And joy. Finally, he could scent her properly.

  He rubbed her belly, leaving his scent behind for all Chrechte to know she was his.

  She brushed her hands down the sides of his head, laughter lurking in her gaze. “Tag, you are it,” she said with amusement in her mindspeak voice. Then she turned and ran.

  He bounded after her, nuzzling her back when he reached her. The playful nature of his wolf asserted itself and he turned in a circle and loped away, saying, “Your turn.”

  He did not go too fast, knowing she ran with the handicap of having only two legs. She caught him at the edge of the clearing, leaping at him. He let her roll him, hearing the wonder-filled laughter in his head. His mate liked to play, and for that he gave thanks. He was not a lighthearted man, more by circumstance than by nature.

  But she was showing him that with her, he had a place to let his delight with the good things in life have free rein. They kept the game of tag and gentle tussling up until his body reminded him that there were things he liked to do with his mate even more than playing. He allowed his human form to take him over as he rolled her beneath him.

  He slammed his mouth down onto hers and she responded as if she’d been waiting for it. Her mouth was sweet nectar, he could not get enough. His tongue plundered her mouth, but she met every caress of his tongue with one of her own.

  Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding on to him so tightly he thought even he would have trouble prying her loose. Not that he wanted to do that.

  Not at all. “I will never let you go,” he said into her mind.

  “Never. You are my husband, my true mate.” A wry laugh sounded in his head. “I thought you saw me as a friend.”

  “You are my best and truest friend.”

  “As you are mine, but one day I will get even with you for letting me prattle on about being friends when you meant we were married in the Chrechte way.”

  “Duly noted. And one day you will trust me as much as you do your sister.”

  “I already do.”

  Soberness filtered through his happiness. “You were leaving me.”

  “I was going to my sister for advice on how to keep you.”

  Humbled that she would have been willing to fight for him though he had not proved himself worthy of the effort, he broke the kiss to meet her eyes. “Thank you.” Then he could not help himself adding, “But if you had talked to me, I would have told you I will always be yours.”

  “I was angry. You had withheld your wolf from me and the intimacy of this kind of talking. That hurt so much, to know you could deliberately keep something from me that would be so welcome.”

  “I am sorry.” He hoped she could feel his sincerity because there were no words that could express his profound regret at depriving her of their mindspeak. “I am ashamed to say I never thought how doing so would hurt you.”

  “I did not consider how hurt you would be to fi nd out I had hidden my deafness from you. Love does not always make us brilliant.”

  “Or brave.”

  She brushed her fingertip over his lips. “Knowing you love me gives me all the courage I need.”

  “That is as it should be.”

  “Kiss me.”

  How could he deny her? He pressed his lips to hers, his body surging with renewed passion with that small caress of mouths. He cupped her breast, kneading it gently and brushing his thumb over her turgid nipple.

  She moaned into the kiss as a whimper sounded in his head. How could he have held back from sharing in this intimate communication? He did not know, but he did know that he would never do so again.

  Her small hands released their tight clasp behind his neck to rove over his body, and he reveled in every touch.

  Needing to be inside her, he rolled them so she was on top. “Ride me, sweet wife. Please.”

  She did not demur but slid down until her silky wet folds met the tip of his granite-hard cock and then engulfed it. Velvet fire enveloped his dick, and Talorc howled in ecstasy.

  A feral grin worthy of any Chrechte femwolf creased Abigail’s lovely features. She rode him with unfettered passion, freer than she had ever been with him, and he realized that sharing his wolf with her had bridged that final gap between them.

  His orgasm built faster than he was ready for, but Abigail was right there with him, screaming out her pleasure in his head while his wolf howled.

  In that moment, they truly fulfilled the Chrechte mating promise of being one in body, mind and spirit.

  The next morning, Talorc found a small stream for Abigail to bathe in before she dressed and they returned to the beach.

  Guaire and Niall were locked in a kiss, their arms wrapped around each other. The beauty of their passion took her breath away. She said as much through mindspeak to Talorc.

  “’Tis love.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t help noticing they are both dressed.”

  “Aye.”

  “Where did Niall get the pl
aid?”

  “From the cave. We keep some with the boats.”

  “I’m sure there is one in there for you as well, am I right?”

  “Are you saying you do not want to hunt naked with me?”

  “How astute of you to take my meaning.”

  Talorc threw his head back and laughed. Abigail noticed that he sent every sound through mindspeak so she could share in it all with him.

  She turned to him, “I love you so much, Talorc.”

  “I love you, my precious angel.”

  Guaire stepped back from Niall, only to be pulled against the big warrior’s side. Burnished streaks appeared across his cheekbones. “Good morning, my lady. Laird.”

  “Good morning, dear friend. You look happy.”

  Guaire looked up at Niall, the scarred warrior giving him a far sappier smile than she would have thought him capable of. “I am. Very.”

  “I am so glad.”

  “Thank you. You and the laird have worked out your differences?”

  “We have. He won’t let even his king send me away.”

  Guaire nodded in approval. “Of course not. You are our lady.”

  “And you are mated,” Talorc said.

  The brush of pink turned into a full blush that spread right down Guaire’s neck. “We are.”

  “All this time, he has not been afraid of me,” Niall said, directing his words to Talorc.

  Talorc’s brows drew together in confusion. “His actions …”

  “He wanted me.” Oh, Niall looked proud. “So much so that he trembled in my presence. He always avoided being too near because he feared I would realize his secret desire.”

  “Secrets keep mates apart,” Talorc said with certainty.

  Niall nodded, something passing between the two of them that said their communication went deeper than the mere words.

  Niall came to kneel in front of Abigail. “I owe you a sincere apology, my own dear lady and friend.”

  “I am still your friend?”

  “Yes. If you will have me.” He looked down as if ashamed and then lifted his head so she could read his lips again. “I was jealous.”

  “Of the time Guaire spent with me,” she guessed, finally understanding.

  “Yes. I thought he had fallen for you, and though I knew he would never betray his laird, I was furious with envy that he seemed to find in you what he could not see in me—the Chrechte ordained by God to be his mate.”

  “His love for you never wavered.”

  “Secrets,” Niall said with a poignant expression.

  She leaned down and kissed the scarred cheek of her first friend among the Chrechte. “I forgive you and I hope you will forgive me for hiding my own secrets.”

  “Always.”

  “Friends?”

  “Until death.”

  They took two days to return to the fortress, Talorc and Niall insisting on hunting to provide food for their mates along the way. Abigail did not mind because it gave her time to talk to Guaire.

  “What did Niall say about kissing Una?” she asked as soon as she thought the two warriors had gotten far enough away.

  “He said she kissed him. He let her because he saw me coming out of the kitchen. He thought it might make me jealous. Then he realized how stupid that was, but only too late to stop it. He saw the hurt on my face and it gave him the first hope he’d had since realizing I was his mate.”

  “When did he realize that?”

  “Too long ago.” Guaire’s entire demeanor was one of frustration. “My fear of revealing myself and his of frightening or overwhelming me kept us apart.”

  “Perfect love is supposed to cast out fear.”

  “I suppose it does when you admit it.”

  “But when you’re intent on hiding it—”

  “It just causes pain.”

  Abigail nodded and then said, “Let’s make a pact not to regret the past, but rejoice in our present and future.”

  “Pact.” Guaire put his hand out.

  Abigail shook it. “Pact.”

  When they returned to the fortress, Niall made no effort to hide his longtime affection for Guaire. Abigail was delighted to discover that the Highlanders were much more accepting of the love between the two men than her parents or their people would have been. Everyone but Una.

  Abigail knew something would have to be done about the other woman, but it would have to wait. Talorc had told her that he had something to show her. She waited for him in the great hall while he and Barr conferred on the soldier’s duties for the day.

  Finally, everyone else was gone and the only two remaining in the hall were her and Talorc.

  He stopped in front of her, looking her up and down and sending tingles everywhere his gaze traveled. “I cannot believe you are my mate. You are so perfect for me.”

  “I feel the same.”

  They shared a kiss, but when it started to grow passionate, Talorc pulled back. “Come with me.”

  “Anywhere.”

  He smiled, clasping her hand firmly in his. He led her into one of the storage rooms. She looked around in the gloom but did not see anything in particular she could imagine her husband wanting to show her. He lit a torch, though it was hardly dark enough to make that necessary. She understood better when he shut the door and slid a locking bar into place.

  How odd to have a lock on the inside of a storage room. She would have asked him about it, but he looked so intent, she hesitated to say anything.

  He went to the far wall and pressed something on the shelves holding food stores for the tower. The shelves swung out like a heavy door to reveal an opening in the wall about four feet high and two feet wide.

  He transferred the torch to his left hand and put his right one toward her. “Come.”

  She took his hand and let him lead her through the dark opening. They went down a set of steps into a secret room under the tower. All of its walls and even the ceiling were reinforced with stone.

  “What is this place?”

  “The Royal Treasure room.”

  “Royal Treasure?”

  Talorc nodded, pulling her toward a smooth stone casket engraved with carvings of wolves along all the sides and the top. “My father was a direct descendant of one of the seven royal Chrechte lineages through his father. When MacAlpin killed all the living princes of our people, he killed those who had inherited royal blood via their mother’s lineage, as was our tradition.

  “The male lineages were not counted, until holders of the treasure were needed. Then seven men descendant from the seven Chrechte tribes were chosen to be keepers of our last royal gifts. It was this treasure that Tamara’s baron lover was trying to take when he tried to burn down our keep and kill our warriors.”

  “And you are showing it to me?”

  “Yes. I trust you with all that I am.” He put the torch in a holder and took both her hands. “The only one who knows of the treasury is the protector and his chosen helper. My mother did not know of its existence, nor did my sister Cait. I do not know how Tamara learned of it from my father, but she did. His second-in-command was the only other person who knew about it.”

  “Niall and Barr’s father.”

  “Yes. When my father told me of the treasure, on his deathbed, I chose to share the knowledge with Niall rather than his older brothers. My wolf chose him as my partner in protecting the treasure as he chose you to be my mate.”

  “Your own mother did not know about this?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “All that I am is yours.”

  “You really mean that.”

  He nodded. Then he turned to the casket. “Would you like to see it?”

  “If you want to show me.”

  “I do.”

  He lifted the lid of the marble casket. Inside there were bones, a large cross like priests carried during mass, a smaller cross on a chain, a modest crown and a sword without even a jeweled handle.

 
; “These are treasures of the heart, not of gold.”

  He smiled, clearly pleased she understood. “The bones of the right hand of St. Columba, the warrior saint.”

  “The hand that held his sword and his pen.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And the other bones?”

  “The skull and right hand of Uven, son of Oengus, the last king over all the Chrechte tribes. The sword and crown are his as well. The cross on the left belonged to Columba, and the one on the right Uven wore into battle.”

  “Your stepmother was a fool. This treasure may be worth dying to protect, but it is not worth killing to steal. Its value lives in the hearts of the people for whom it signifies history.”

  “You are an amazing woman, Abigail of the Sinclair. Truly, my secrets are safe in your small hands.”

  “And my heart is safe in your big ones, though mighty, they are gentle with it.”

  “Always.” Then he saluted like a warrior, right fist over his heart.

  She was smiling when she threw herself into his arms to kiss him.

  She had found more than a place of security in the world that had been less than friendly since her tenth year; she had found true love and a sacred mate.

  No woman could want for more.

  Epilogue

  Scotland’s king did not send a messenger to his favored laird, Talorc of the Sinclairs, in reply to his laird’s latest words. He came himself. To meet the woman that inspired such loyalty, he said. Though, it soon became clear he had a secondary motive. He wanted Barr to rule the Donegal clan until young Circin had been trained and reached an age to lead the smaller clan.

  Talorc left the choice up to Barr. Barr accepted with the stipulation that Osgard could come with him. The old warrior had admitted to setting both Talorc’s horse after Abigail and putting pebbles on the stairs so she would trip. It was clear from his rambling confession that the old man had begun to confuse the present with the past.

  He had not intended Abigail serious harm, though both pranks could have resulted in her death. He had wanted to show Talorc what a liability she was to the clan, so he would petition to the king for dissolution of the marriage.

  Talorc wanted to kill him, but Abigail pleaded for mercy, and Barr’s suggestion was accepted as a workable compromise. Barr left with the four Donegal youths a week after the king.