by Selena Kitt
“Thank you, Kirstin.” Sibyl smiled at the young woman, making her way down the hall, heading to the stairs. “Is he in the chancery?”
“Aye.” Kirstin carried the tray down beside her and they parted ways at the bottom of the stairs, Kirstin going left toward the kitchen, Sibyl right, toward Donal’s chancery.
The place had been Alistair’s chancery just a short time ago. It was the place she had first met her betrothed, she remembered, as she knocked on the door.
“Come in!” Donal called.
Sibyl opened the door, peeking inside to see him sitting at a wide, oak desk, studying a piece of paper in his hand.
“Lady Blackthorne!” He smiled as she came in, leaving the door open as she approached the desk. “I was jus’ askin’ Kirstin t’find ye.”
“She found me.” She smiled, sitting down in a chair opposite him, the fabric cool on the backs of her legs. She had borrowed a plaid from one of the kitchen maids, even though Donal had given her back her dowry, which consisted of an entire English wardrobe fit for a viscountess. She couldn’t go back to wearing velvet and satin, she decided, no matter how much the ladies’ maids Donal had hired to tend her encouraged her to do so.
“I’ve had word.” Donal glanced down at the paper in his hand, squinting at it.
“Goodness, that was fast.” Sibyl’s heart thudded hard in her chest. She had asked him to send a letter as soon as humanly possible, and Donal had agreed.
“I sent a wulver messenger.”
“Ah.” Sibyl nodded. So, faster than humanly possible, then. “And what word?”
“Tis good news.” Donal handed the letter over and she saw that it was written in English. “King Henry will continue to honor the wolf pact.”
“And Alistair’s plan?” Sibyl glanced over the letter and saw the king’s seal, making it official.
“Twas all ‘is own.” Donal shook his head sadly. “King Henry knew naught of it.”
“I’m sorry, Donal.” She reached out and touched his hand across the desk, squeezing gently. “If I could have saved him too…”
“He brought it on himself, lass.” Donal sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “Me brother was always… a problem.”
“At least the wulvers are safe.” She gave her own sigh of relief, sitting back in her chair. “And clan MacFalon is safe.”
“Aye, although King Henry writes that, as new laird of clan MacFalon, I need t’find meself an English bride,” Donal said, cocking his head at her. “Or he’ll find one for me.”
“Is that so?” Sibyl swallowed, meeting his eyes over the big desk.
“I wondered, lass…” He cleared his throat, cheeks turning slightly pink, and Sibyl knew what he was going to ask. She thought of what she might say to perhaps avert the direction he was headed, but could think of nothing.
Instead, she sat, struck dumb, just staring at him.
“I wondered if ye might consider havin’ me?” Donal got the question out, going on, continuing to talk, as if by talking he might stave off her inevitable rejection. “I know ye do’na love me. But that could come, with time. We have everythin’ in place already, I jus’ thought…”
“A marriage of convenience?”
“Aye.” He shrugged helplessly. “It does seem logical and convenient.”
“I wish my heart would listen to logic.” She looked down at her hands, her lower lip trembling as she thought of Raife. It was hard to get him out of her mind, even when she was trying to keep herself busy. “I keep trying to tell it… to stop loving him…”
Her tears overflowed. There was something about this man’s presence that made her feel safe, letting her emotions surface. She looked at him, wondering what life would be like here, if she were to take him up on his offer. What else did she have to do, after all? Raife would not have her, and she had been ruined for anything or anyone else. What did it matter where she lived, how she spent the rest of her days, if she couldn’t be with the man she loved?
But she couldn’t do that to this kind-hearted man. He deserved to be loved, really loved, the way she loved Raife. She remembered the way Kirstin had smiled when she mentioned the man’s name and wondered at it. Did Donal not know or see the girl’s affection? She thought of telling him but held her tongue. She was in no mood to be matchmaker.
“I’m sorry.” Sibyl swallowed, trying to swallow her tears, but they stuck in her throat. She sobbed into her hands, shaking her head, and she felt his hand on her shoulder.
“Och, lass… I’m sorry… I did’na mean…”
“No, it’s not your fault!” She accepted a handkerchief, wiping at her face. “You have been so kind, so generous. I wish I could say yes, but my heart belongs to one man. One… stubborn… awful… horrible… wolf… man…”
She wailed, wishing she could disappear altogether. It was so horribly humiliating, to love someone so much, and have them completely ignore your existence.
“Aye, he’s broken yer heart, hasn’t he, lass?” Donal lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“Into so many pieces I will never put them together again,” she whispered. “I wish he would just talk to me. Or at least listen…”
He nodded, glancing over her shoulder, then back into her eyes.
“What would ye say ta the man?” Donal asked softly.
“That I love him.” She twisted the handkerchief in her hands. “That I only did what I did because I love him. Because I wanted to keep him safe.”
“I understand.” Donal gave a long, deep sigh.
“I wish he did.” Sibyl half-stood, ready to go. She wanted to go hide in her room, bury her face in a pillow and sob the rest of the day away. But there were potatoes to peel in the kitchen. And linens to change on the beds. Anything to keep her hands, and her mind, busy.
“Ask ‘im.” Donal nudged her gently.
“I cannot!” She handed him his handkerchief. “He will not give me the time of day.”
“Mayhaps he has a few minutes now?” He glanced over her shoulder again and Sibyl frowned, turning her head in that direction.
The sight of Raife standing in the doorway made her heart drop to her knees. His face was a mask, unreadable, but his eyes were as blue and expressive as ever. He had heard her, that much was clear. But had he listened? Did he care?
“Raife?” she whispered, using the chair to hold herself up, because her knees turned wobbly.
“Ye asked t’see me?” Raife turned his gaze to Donal, ignoring Sibyl.
“Aye, I did.” Donal waved him in with a sigh. “Come in.”
“I was just leaving.” Sibyl lowered her head and moved to sidestep him as Raife came into the room. She had just decided that running up to her room and burying her face in a pillow to sob for the rest of the day was exactly what she was going to do.
“Och!” Donal rolled his eyes, throwing up his hands. “Nay, I was jus’ leavin’!”
It happened so fast. One minute, Donal was standing there, the next, he was on the other side of the door, and a key was turning in the lock.
Raife frowned, reaching for the door handle, turning it. But it wouldn’t budge.
“Unless ye plan on breakin’ down me door, ye’ll be workin’ this out between ye!” Donal called through the thick, solid wood door. “I’m tired of havin’ t’comfort that poor girl’s tears on me shoulder.”
Raife scowled at Sibyl, as if her tears were her own fault, and Donal’s comfort was too.
“I jus’ have one more thing ta say afore I go,” Donal called, clearing his throat. “Son, if’n ye do’na want her—”
“Go!” Raife snapped at the closed, locked door. “Leave us!”
They both heard Donal chuckle and then there was silence.
“So ye did it for me, eh?” Raife crossed his big arms over that giant, bare chest of his—the MacFalons had all tried to get him to wear a shirt under his plaid, but he refused—scowling at her. “Ye ran back here into yer lo
ver’s arms for me benefit?”
“Yes, you big, dumb oaf!” Sibyl snapped. “As a matter of fact, I did! Did it ever occur to you that coming back here and marrying Alistair was something I didn’t actually want to do?”
Raife’s brow knitted, his frown deepening. Sibyl had held her tongue long enough. She had chased him all around the grounds trying to get him to listen to her, and now that he was a captive audience—until he broke the door down—she wasn’t going to let the chance pass her by. She had practiced everything she was going to say in her head, in a cool, even tone, and all of that went completely out the window when she was faced with him.
“Did it ever enter your thick skull that maybe, just maybe, I was doing it to keep King Henry and the entire English army from attacking the wulvers?” she cried, her hand itching to reach out and smack him upside his big, dumb head.
“We’re wulvers, Sibyl!” he roared right back at her. She didn’t even shrink from his anger—at least he was responding. “We can take care of ourselves!”
“Your brother was run through with a MacFalon sword. He could have died!” She reminded him. “Now multiply that by a hundred. A thousand. How many wulvers would I have had my hands inside, trying to stop the bleeding, if war had broken out?”
Raife shook his head, ready to deny it, to argue with her, but she couldn’t keep any of it at bay anymore. She had let some of it out on Donal’s wide, generous, kind-hearted shoulder, but it wasn’t Donal she was mad it, and it wasn’t Donal she had been so afraid she was going to lose. It was Raife. It was her big, giant, stubborn, bull-headed, sweet, kind, protective, loveable man of a wolf she had been so scared she was going to lose. It was this man who she had been willing to sacrifice everything for, who she would rather have known was living safely up in the mountain, while she suffered at Alistair’s sadistic hands, than lying dead somewhere on MacFalon land.
“What if… what if it had been you…” she whispered, eyes brimming with tears. She saw a look of concern pass over his face, the way he reached for her but stopped himself. “What if it had been your severed head… in my lap…?”
She couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t stop picturing it in her mind. She sobbed into her hands, turning away from him, and then heard him say something she couldn’t quite believe.
“Would ye have cared if it had been?”
Sibyl lifted her head, gaping at him.
“Oh you bastard!” she whispered, a sudden wave of anger overtaking her. She launched herself at him, pounding her fists against his chest. “How can you say that? How can you even ask that question?”
Raife caught her wrists, half-smiling, an expression she hadn’t seen on his face since they’d been there. It made her want to smack him.
“Ye never told me, lass,” he said softly, meeting her clouded gaze.
“What?”
“Ye never said the words,” he said again. “How was I supposed t’know?”
“Are you mad?” she murmured. “Am I… dreaming?”
“D’ye or don’ye?” He pushed his chin out, defiant, glaring down at her.
Sibyl looked at her wrists, encircled by his big, giant paws, and then up at his face.
“You want me to say the words?” She shook her head, incredulous. “Because giving myself to you, that wasn’t enough? Because risking my life to save your thick hide wasn’t enough? You need me to say the words?”
He shrugged. “T’would be nice.”
“Raife…” She burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. “My God, you idiotic, ridiculous man. I love you! Is that what you wanted to hear? Tha gaol agam ort!”
His eyes searched her face for the truth. She prayed he found it.
“Do you understand that?” she asked softly. “In your own language? Tha gaol agam ort.”
“Are ye done insultin’ me now?” he asked, letting her wrists go.
“No!” She hit him again, this time square in the chest with both fists. “You lumbering lout!”
He caught both wrists again and pulled her close, trapping her arms between them. Then he kissed her. Everything they hadn’t said to each other went into that kiss, everything they both wanted, everything they hoped for, all their desperate fears, all their dreams of a future together. Sibyl tasted salt on their lips.
“I love you,” she whispered when they parted. He kissed the tears from her cheeks. “Tha gaol agam ort, you boorish fool.”
“And I love ye,” he said hoarsely. “Ye strange, irrational woman.”
She rolled her eyes at him and he kissed her again, this time capturing her mouth in a desperate slant, as if he could put every moment they had missed into it.
“And if ye ever…” His mouth dipped to her neck, nipping and biting her there, making her cry out. “Do anythin’…” His tongue moved down to her collarbone, making her moan as his hands moved under her plaid, seeking the heat of her skin. “So idiotic again…”
“You’ll what?” she challenged, sliding a thigh between his, feeling the steel heat of him, satisfied when she heard him groan.
“Wulvers mate for life, lass, I told ye,” he breathed against the tops of her breasts. “I guess I’ll have to kill us both.”
“Oh but what a way to go,” she whispered as her man, her mate, her wulver, cleared Donal’s desk with one fell swoop, knocking everything to the floor so he could sit her up on it.
Sibyl wrapped her arms and legs around him, hungry, desperate for him, unable to quench the fire he’d started burning inside her without him.
“Ye’ll’na leave me again, lass.” Raife said the words as he entered her, making her cry out and cling to him. “Ne’er again.”
“I promise,” she whispered into his neck, trembling at the thought of losing him again. “I am yours.”
“Say it again,” he growled, thrusting deep.
“I’m yours!” she cried, biting her lip.
“Again!”
“Yours!”
“Mine!” he groaned, driving in deep, filling her completely. “Mine!”
Sibyl wouldn’t let him go. Even when they came and knocked on the door, asking if everything was all right—someone had obviously heard all the clatter—she refused to let him go. She wasn’t going to ever let him go again.
Her father used to tell everyone that Sibyl Blackthorne wasn’t afraid of anything, and that had been true. But she had been stupid, and reckless, in her fearlessness.
That was back when she didn’t have anything to lose.
Now she knew what it was to love a man—a wulver—and how it felt to lose him.
She wasn’t fearless anymore.
But she was wonderfully, desperately, humanly in love.
And Sibyl would take that over being brave, any day of the week, any month of the year, for the rest of her life—and his.
The End
(The Story Continues…)
I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Sibyl and Raife stole my heart and surprised me probably as much as they surprised you. They have been some of my favorite characters and I couldn’t resist the chance to explore more of their world. The epilogue to Highland Wolf Pact follows. I do hope you decide to pick up the next two and give them a read.
In the meantime, I just wanted to let you know that you can get five free reads from me if you subscribe to my newsletter. Don’t worry, I always message responsibly. I never send spam—only great deals! So take a moment to click below and subscribe to get your free reads.
Then go ahead and read the epilogue. I think you’re going to like where Sibyl and Raife ended up and be quite interested in where the story is heading! I know I am!
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Epilog
ue
Scotland
Year of our Lord 1504
“An’wha’if she births a son?”
Sibyl heard Darrow’s question, spoken in a harsh whisper outside the big wooden door, and turned her face into Laina’s soft, white fur. The woman was in her wolf state—it was her moon time and she could not change into her human one—but her eyes said everything her mouth couldn’t. Laina heard her husband’s protests and knew they pained Sibyl, far more than the labor she was enduring.