by Lucy Monroe
This reaction he elicited in her would not submit to even her control, hardened by her years protecting her people.
He moved further into the room and heat suffused her body, the pulse in her neck fluttering as her mouth went dry. Her hand jerked to her neck of its own volition, covering that betraying flutter.
“See that you do.” Verica’s bold words showed that she trusted this laird far more than she did Rowland. She trusted him enough not to fear him.
Barr inclined his head to her and then Brigit. “Good night then.”
“Wait!” Sabrine called out before Verica could leave.
The other woman gave her a sympathetic look, as if she knew what Sabrine was going to ask and what her laird’s response was going to be.
“Wouldn’t it be more seemly for Verica to sit with me through the night?” She hated asking it of the other woman, particularly since it wasn’t necessary because Sabrine had not actually suffered any memory loss, but the alternative was growing more untenable by the moment.
There was no sympathy in Barr’s eyes, just more of that burning heat. “’Twould be more unseemly for her to remain the night in my room.”
“Then allow me to go to her room.” Vexation tinged her words. He was Chrechte. He knew exactly what effect he had on her and probably liked it. Darn it.
“Nay, I’ll not give my bed up for the comforts of her floor.”
“Are you being deliberately obtuse?”
The sparkle in his gray eyes said he was, but his squared jaw was set stubbornly as well. She was not going anywhere.
It was not in her nature to give in easily though. “Be reasonable. Would you have me branded as no better than a camp follower by your clan?”
“Sleeping in my room is paltry beside the fact you were found naked and alone in the forest.”
“I do not think so.” But truly? No doubt he was right.
Humans had different standards for women than men, and the Chrechte that lived among them often adopted those same attitudes.
Among her people, she wore a kilt only a couple of inches longer than the male Éan. Wearing such a garment here would be considered scandalous. It was one of the many things that confused her about the human clans.
Why were men and women considered so different? She was a warrior, but her brother never would be. Roles were determined by aptitude and desire among the Éan, but not even the Faol appeared to adhere to such standards any longer, when once their female warriors were considered some of the fiercest to meet in battle.
“I am laird.”
“So?”
“So”—he drawled the word out until it was three times longer than usual—“what I think is what matters most.”
For some ludicrous reason she was already furious with herself about, she had thought he was different. On the flimsiest of evidence, she had allowed herself to believe a wolf could be something besides the arrogantly cruel executioners of her people. “Of course it is.”
He frowned at her. “Was it different among your clan? Or do you not remember?” he asked derisively.
For the derision, she could not blame him. She was using the memory loss as a convenient excuse. And he was right. Things were not so unalike among her people. The difference was that she rarely disagreed with her superior among the Éan.
Verica was not so sanguine about Barr’s slight, however. She gasped. “That is hardly fair, laird. Sabrine cannot control what she remembers.”
Once again, she showed a comforting lack of fear of the man who led her clan.
“I wonder,” Barr replied.
“My memory is not the topic under discussion.”
“No, your well-being is.”
“Exactly. I prefer not to be branded a strumpet.”
“Too late.”
“Laird!” Verica admonished in a strangled voice.
“No one has said such, but the old biddies are already thinking it because of the circumstances in which I found you.” He gave Verica an admonishing frown. “And well you know it, having lived among these people longer than me.”
“What you propose will only make it worse,” Sabrine insisted.
“I have already announced my intention to keep you.”
Sabrine felt the air seize in her chest. Through a riotous confusion of emotions she noted the shocked fascination on both Verica’s and Brigit’s faces.
Chapter 5
“In my room for the night,” Barr continued as if the momentous pause had not occurred. “Whether you actually stay with me or not is no longer of importance.”
“That’s not true.”
“And you will be safer with me than with Verica to watch over you.”
“She is a healer.”
“Aye. I am a warrior.”
“You believe I will be attacked in my bed?” What a ridiculous thought.
But he wasn’t smiling, not even around the eyes, and Verica’s mouth had twisted with concern.
“Your lack of family and clan affiliation puts you at risk from the less scrupulous. I have not had enough time with the Donegal clan to completely impose my viewpoint on acceptable behavior. The former laird had fewer scruples than myself.”
There would be no arguments from her on that particular claim. The reports she’d had of Rowland prior to coming here had made it all too easy to believe the other man capable of stealing the Clach Gealach Gra.
What she had not expected was Barr.
“Had you also considered the possibility that your presence in her room could put our healer in peril?” Barr asked. “There is a reason I had her watching over you in my room today. No one would dare breach my sanctum.”
Considering the things she had heard today, Sabrine had to further acknowledge the wisdom of his words. Perhaps, just maybe, she also had to revise her belief he was blind to the faults of his new clan.
Clearly he was aware and he had acted to protect not only her but Verica and Brigit as well.
The man was a mass of contradictions. He was a wolf, but he showed no signs of blatant cruelty. He wore arrogance even when he wore nothing else, but here he was explaining his decisions without a sign of rancor. The leaders of the Éan rarely gave as much. When one of the triumvirate spoke, their word was law. No questions, no argument; full obedience was expected.
Sabrine had never had moment to doubt their dictates but if she had, she did not think they would respond with the patience Barr had shown her and his own people.
“She would be safe in my room as no one would know she was there,” Verica said quietly in the silence.
“Are you so certain?” Barr asked. “We are not the only Chrechte who make this keep our home.”
The blanching of Verica’s skin had only one meaning. She was afraid. His reminder had sparked true disquiet in the other woman. Sabrine refused to add to the clanswoman’s worries.
“I will stay here. I am sorry I did not take the full import of the situation into consideration.” She had only been thinking of herself, of the almost certainty that her raven instincts and feminine desires were about to storm and mayhap destroy her warrior’s defenses. She could fight one, but not both. And never before had her raven’s impulses been at odds with her self-protective behaviors.
Barr shrugged. “You have naught to apologize for.”
“You do not know our clan. You should have been safe in my room.” The sadness in Verica’s demeanor pulled at the heart Sabrine had thought she had long since buried.
“She would be, in the future.” Barr’s scowl did not bode well for those who might oppose him. “I can only effect so much change at once.”
“But you do wish to effect it?” Verica confirmed.
“Aye.”
“When the pretty lady leaves, can my mum sleep in your room, laird?” Brigit asked.
Silence descended like darkness after a long sunset. For several beats of Sabrine’s heart, no one moved, no one spoke. Brigit looked at her laird with trusting innocence, at odds wit
h the implication of her question.
Verica watched him, too, but with a wary hope that hurt Sabrine to see. This clan had been under the power of a petty tyrant too long.
Barr’s expression did not alter, but the heat coming off of him increased tenfold and the sense of impending danger surrounding him became acute. A tic started in his jaw, but he kept the rest of his features in a neutral repose as he turned to face Brigit fully. He dropped to his knee in front of the girl, his attention fixed almost entirely on her—almost because there was a tendril of connection between him and Sabrine even when he was not looking at her, even as he was so clearly furiously thinking of something else. “Is your mum in need of my protection, child?”
Again that fear hung around Brigit like dying prey as she apparently realized her question might have given her mother’s secret away.
“Me and Mum are strong.” Brigit’s words spoken with a quivering lip and pleading voice about broke Sabrine’s rapidly waking heart. Coming among these people would carry consequences she had not anticipated and that she feared would be long lasting.
Barr nodded, his expression somber, that tic in his jaw increasing in tempo. “Aye, you are. You’ve managed well without your da, but you understand I am your laird?”
Tugging on a hank of her cinnamon-colored hair, Brigit nodded.
Barr made a noise of satisfaction, like the girl’s acknowledgment had pleased him. “’Tis my job to protect you in his place.”
Instead of looking comforted, the girl’s face crumpled. “Mum says no one can help her, but she’ll not let anything happen to me.”
“She loves you as she should, but you love her, too.”
“I do.” Brigit nodded so vigorously the tears standing in her eyes spilled down her cheeks.
Barr growled so low only Sabrine’s Chrechte hearing allowed her to hear it. His wolf was more than furious: the sound was one of bloodletting. But when he spoke, the laird’s voice was soft, almost gentle. “I know you are worried about her, but I will take care of the problem now.”
“You give your solemn oath?” Brigit asked, so clearly still torn.
“I do.”
Verica’s heart rate increased, her expression showing both fear and hope. The healer wanted her laird to protect her apprentice’s mother, but she was obviously unsure he could do so.
Barr looked at the healer, measurement in his gaze. Finally, he nodded as if giving her an oath as well.
Her eyes widened and then she smiled, the expression natural and saturated with relief.
“Fetch Earc and your brother.”
The woman nodded, determination and purpose setting her face in almost harsh lines, before curtsying and leaving to do just that.
Barr laid his hand on the child’s shoulder. “Come and tell me the story that had you laughing earlier.”
Like Sabrine and Verica earlier, the laird apparently realized that taxing the child for answers would not be fair. Brigit had promised her mother and forcing her to break that promise would be dishonorable.
Whatever else this Faol might be, he was no bully and he clearly had honor.
“Did you really train Cathal and Lais alongside Muin today?” the child asked, showing she knew well how to keep all her secrets.
Where she’d learned the need for such subterfuge hurt Sabrine to consider.
“Aye, lass, I did. They acquitted themselves well, too.”
“They’re my cousins,” Brigit said with pride. “Rowland would not train them but they both want to know how to defend their family.”
Sabrine got the idea the girl was not talking about the greater clan. The expression on Barr’s face said he’d caught the distinction, too, and didn’t like it. Though he did not upbraid the child, nor did he let so much as a frown find its way toward her.
“They made a good start on it today.” Barr’s voice was laced with approval.
The child smiled, the expression reaching her soft brown eyes and making them sparkle. “Are you going to keep training them?”
“I am, though some days it will be Earc working with them.”
Brigit seemed to think this over for a moment and then she gave a tiny approving jerk of her head. “He’s almost as strong as you.”
“You think so?” Sabrine teased Brigit. “It is hard to believe anyone is as big as your laird.”
“Oh, he’s not, just almost,” Brigit said solemnly.
But Barr’s eyes were now fixed on Sabrine. “You find me overlarge?” Seductive and rich, his tone touched her in her very core.
For the first time in memory, she found herself unable to utter a word as images of his full nakedness flashed in her mind’s eye.
“Certainly, I would not call you small,” she managed to force out with some semblance of calm.
“Our laird is bigger than any other warrior in the Highlands.” Brigit’s absolute delight in that fact shone through her face and voice.
“Except my twin brother.”
“You have a twin?” Brigit asked with awe.
There were two of them? The thought made Sabrine light-headed.
“Aye, Niall replaced me as second to the Sinclair when I left.”
“Is he as handsome as you?” Brigit asked and then blushed.
“Though he has a fierce scar from battle, the one he loves thinks he is more handsome than me and that is all that matters.”
Brigit’s wide-eyed stare declared her fascination.
“When we were much younger, our clan was betrayed by one who should have protected us with her life.”
“So you think women can be warriors, too?” Brigit asked with awe.
“Nay, but they should know how to fight for their clan if necessary and protect themselves.”
While Sabrine did not agree with the first part of his statement, Barr’s thinking was more forward than the man who had led this clan before him.
“Will you be teaching the women?” Brigit asked in a hope-filled tone.
Before Barr could answer a knock sounded at the door.
“Come.”
The door swung open and Verica entered, followed closely by a dark-haired warrior who looked near to an age of Barr. He was almost as big as the laird, and his countenance was nearly as fierce as well. They were not men she would willingly go up against; perhaps Rowland would be as wise.
Another, much younger man was behind him. This youth’s resemblance to Verica was unmistakable. Right down to his black hair with almost burgundy streaks. He was a raven and a double shifter as well.
Sabrine’s thoughts whirled as this near impossibility settled in her knowledge. What strange clan were these Donegals? Certainly, they were far different from anything she had expected, from their new laird to their dual shifters.
She had not known any ravens survived among the Faol. Learning of their existence brought many assumptions her people made into question.
While the boy who must be Circin’s wolf scent surrounded him like a blanket on a cold day, there was no hint of his raven nature in the air around them. Which confirmed one supposition she was almost certain of: the wolves were unaware of the presence of the Éan among them. She scrutinized Circin, looking for some sign of what his special Chrechte gift might be.
Sabrine’s ability to alter the perception of others was not readily apparent to even other ravens. She used it to “hide” her clan markings in the forest with Barr, her blue raven on her back and the dagger under it that represented her role as a protector of her people.
If she were to take a mate, a blooming vine would be added to symbolize the hope for their future. She had no plans for that marking to ever be inked into her skin.
Circin was looking at her just as closely, while the man that must be Earc had his attention fixed on Verica.
The healer was doing her best to pretend she did not notice, but the connection between the two of them may as well have been a bright red ribbon, it was so obvious.
“You wished to see us, laird?
” Circin asked, his voice still showing signs of his youth.
“I did.” Barr’s gaze dropped to Brigit. “I have a concern regarding Sorcha. You, Earc and Verica will spend the night in her cottage. Tomorrow, I will have answers to my questions.”
“Am I right in assuming there are to be no other visitors this night?” Earc asked, his voice deep and tinged with curiosity.
“Aye.”
Brigit was staring at her laird in wide-eyed shock. “The healer is to sleep in our home this night?” Obviously, the girl’s hero-worship was not limited to her new laird.
“That is right.”
“But what if he gets angry?” It was the closest Brigit had come to naming her mother’s tormentor or firmly acknowledging his existence.
“Who are you frightened of?” Verica asked and then looked like she wished she’d kept her mouth closed.
Brigit’s agitation spiked in the air around them and Sabrine simply could not stand it any longer. “Come here, young one.”
Without hesitating, the girl came and climbed to sit beside Sabrine on the bed.
Sabrine took her hand, projecting a warm light around them the others would not see. Brigit’s eyes rounded.
“Is there any warrior in this clan who could defeat Earc, do you think?”
“Only our laird.”
“But he is not the one who causes your distress?”
Brigit shook her head vehemently.
“Then you have naught to fear this night.”
“But what about tomorrow?”
“You must trust your laird to have considered the morrow.” Sabrine sincerely hoped her confidence in the giant man was not misplaced.
And then Barr was there, laying his big hand on the small girl’s back. “I willna allow any to hurt your dam.”
“She didna want me to tell anyone.” Tears were close to the surface in the girl’s voice and the trembling of her lip.
“Aye, and you’ve told us naught, but your innocent question. Your dam will not blame you.”
“I promised.”
“You’ve broken no promise.” Barr’s gentle demeanor with the child touched Sabrine’s soul.