by Lucy Monroe
“The woman has a name. Sorcha.”
Did she think he’d forgotten? “I know.”
Verica’s fists landed on her hips and her ire increased until it made Earc’s blood pound—though with an entirely different emotion.
“Then do her the courtesy of using it when you refer to her,” Verica snapped.
He bowed his head toward Sorcha. “It was not my intention to offend.”
She stared between him and Verica with wide eyes very much like her daughter’s. “I’m not offended.”
He nodded and gave Verica his most patient look. “You see? I did not offend Sorcha.”
“You offended me.”
“I won’t win this argument, will I?”
“No.”
“Are you going to remain angry?” He’d hoped his laird’s assignment would give Earc an opportunity to talk with her.
With her multicolored hair unlike any he had seen on a woman, Chrechte or otherwise, and her curious mixture of compassion and fiery temper, the healer had fascinated him since his arrival to the Donegal holding.
“Are you going to continue acting like an arrogant warrior with no sense of tact?”
“Is that how I’ve been acting?” Were warriors supposed to be polite weaklings in her mind?
“Yes.”
“Then, probably.”
Circin barked out a laugh and Earc turned to him. The youth quickly clamped his jaw shut, but humor lurked in his eyes.
“I will remember your laughter tomorrow during training.”
Circin blanched with satisfying speed, but his beautiful sister made the sound of a pot boiling over. “You dare to threaten my brother? Do you forget that one day he will be your laird?”
“He’ll never be my laird,” Earc informed her with absolute certainty.
“Barr promised he would relinquish the clan leadership on or before Circin’s twenty-fifth year. Do you say he lied?” She was determined to make him angry.
But he would not be drawn. “My leader would never lie, even to get a harping female over her unjustified upset.”
“Did you just call me a harpy?”
The air around them simmered with her fury. It was a welcome change over Sorcha’s fear. Even the cook seemed more intent on the exchange between them than her own predicament at the moment.
“I believe the point here is that Earc does not intend to stay with the Donegal clan after his friend steps down from his role as laird,” Circin inserted before Earc could answer.
Verica stiffened and turned an unreadable expression on him. “Is that what you meant?”
“Aye. Mostly. Once Barr moves Circin into second-in-command, it is likely I will return to my place with the Sinclairs.”
“What place is that?”
“A Sinclair warrior.” It was all he had ever wanted to be.
“You will not consider staying?” Circin asked with a sidelong glance at his sister.
Earc shrugged. No one knew what the future might bring. A year ago, he would have sworn he would never leave his clan. “It’s at least a few years off and not worthy of proper consideration right now.”
Verica nodded as if he’d been speaking to her. “I agree. The important consideration right now is convincing Sorcha she should accept the guard her laird has assigned.”
“You will not defy your laird’s orders,” Earc told Sorcha.
That settled, he turned to Circin. “You and I will sleep near the door. Verica can share the bed with Sorcha and Brigit.”
Verica made that sound again, the one that indicated she was not pleased. But Earc did not make the mistake of asking her what was wrong. He’d always found women difficult to understand and she was worse than all the others.
Too bad she made him burn. His time among the Donegals was turning into a torturous test of his self-control.
“I have my own bed; my da made it,” Brigit said.
Earc smiled down at her. “Did he now?”
“It’s there.” She pointed to a small alcove off the wall beside the fire.
The love she had for her dead father shone in the girl’s eyes. Earc didn’t know how the man had died, but from Sorcha’s dissembling he could guess. The wild beast had been a not-so-wild wolf. One of his brethren.
Rage boiled in his veins at the prospect of a Chrechte behaving so.
“I will not impose on Sorcha at your say so,” Verica declared. “I can make a pallet on the floor.”
“I won’t hear of it,” Sorcha replied, her clan hospitality coming to the forefront. “If you are all intent on staying, my daughter will share my sleeping area and the healer will take Brigit’s bed.” Though she was responding to Verica’s comments, she directed her words to Earc.
Earc could see by the tightening of her features that this annoyed the tantalizing healer.
“I will freshen the bedding with lavender,” Brigit declared before rushing from the cottage.
“Accompany her,” Earc instructed Circin, who was already headed for the door.
Sorcha gave a fond shake of her head. “She’s that enamored of you,” she said to Verica.
“She’s a wonderful apprentice.”
“I wanted her to wait a couple of years, at least until she was thirteen summers before she began her training, but after her da …” Sorcha sighed, her voice trailing off. “She needed something to overcome the grief.”
“I began my training when I was tall enough to stir the herb pot, but then my mother was the one who taught me.” Verica’s voice resonated with an old but still acute grief.
It seemed like too many Donegals had grief of one sort or another and Earc had to wonder how much of it could be laid at Rowland’s feet. As laird he was responsible for the actions of his people, even if he was not directly involved. Barr had a lot more to do among this clan than just train soldiers and a young man for his role as future laird.
“Your dam had such a gentle way about her.” Sorcha bustled about the cottage, moving this, rearranging that, her gaze straying from the door to the windows and back again.
“But she was not weak.”
“Yes. She looked like a strong wind could pick her up and fly her away, but even Rowland hesitated to make her angry.” The loathing and fear in Sorcha’s tone when she spoke her former laird’s name revealed much.
“Few opposed him after her death.” There was a further message in Verica’s words and Earc was an experienced-enough warrior to get it.
“Those that did died.” Sorcha clamped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean …”
“Aye, you did and you’ll repeat the same tomorrow when you speak to your laird.”
“She’ll say what she feels safe saying and not one word more.” Verica’s hands landed on her hips again, having what he was sure was the wholly unintentional result of pushing her rounded breasts into prominence.
Her blue eyes shot sparks of defiance. He could not help his mind wandering down a path where those same blue orbs burned bright, but with lust rather than resistance.
No matter, on this topic he would not compromise. “She’ll tell her laird what he needs to know to lead and protect this clan.”
“And who will protect us when he’s gone? Not you; you’re leaving.” She made it sound like an accusation.
And he did not understand why. Earc had no intention of leaving the clan while his warrior’s strength and skills were still needed.
“By the time Barr returns to the Sinclairs, your brother and his soldiers will be up to the task.”
“And if he leaves before then?” She was clearly in earnest.
However, what she proposed was foolishness. “He’ll not abandon this clan.”
“He might not have a choice.”
Sorcha nodded, but did not say anything.
“What do you mean?” Earc demanded.
Pain showed for a moment before Verica’s features set in determined lines. “Do you think my father wanted to leave this clan in Rowland’s hands?
”
“Barr is not going to die while out hunting.” In truth, Earc found it odd that Verica’s father had done so. Few animals could best a Chrechte wolf and only then when it was injured or exhausted. Perhaps Verica’s father had been both. “There is no beast powerful or cunning enough to get the better of Barr.”
“My father believed the same, even after my mother warned him. Treachery does not need superior strength, or even cunning … it just needs trust.” Terrible grief showed for a moment before Verica’s features set in determined lines.
“Barr trusts no one in this place but me.”
If he thought that truth would offend her, he was wrong. Contrary woman. She looked relieved.
Sorcha just stared at them both, eyes rounded, her nerves scenting the air around them.
Brigit came bustling back into the cottage just then, her arms filled with lavender. She rushed to the small alcove without a word to anyone.
Circin smiled indulgently in her direction before turning to face Earc. “Rowland was headed toward the cottage when he saw Brigit and I. He turned and headed the other direction.” Circin scowled. “Brigit told me thank you.”
He turned a searching look on Sorcha and her face crumpled. Tears welled and she fled the room, escaping to the area behind a partial wall. He assumed it was where she slept as there was no sign of a bed anywhere else. After a frustrated glance at both men, Verica followed, wringing her hands as she hurried after the other woman.
Circin looked at Earc. “What did I say?”
Earc shrugged. He thought maybe the young warrior had forced Sorcha to acknowledge something she would rather pretend had not been happening. He could not be sure without verification, but he thought he could guess what had been going on. Rowland had taken advantage of his role as laird and Sorcha’s widowhood, had maybe even caused it.
The thought of another Chrechte warrior preying on those weaker than him made the bile rise in Earc’s throat. He wanted to kill Rowland. The former laird was a blight on the Chrechte heritage.
“Should I apologize?” Circin asked.
“For what?”
“Hurting her feelings.”
“You are not the one hurting her.”
“But—”
“If you are to be laird one day and don’t want your position denied you by Scotland’s Sassenach-loving king, you will learn to accept the consequences of truth.”
Circin shot a glance to the dividing wall and then to where Brigit was busy in her small alcove, the scent of lavender wafting through the cottage. “I made her dam cry.”
The boy had sixteen summers, but he was so young. “You did not make the woman weep; ’tis the situation in which she finds herself.”
“What exactly is going on?”
“She’ll tell her laird tomorrow.” Until then, Earc would keep his speculation to himself. They were harsh accusations to make, the kind that ended in someone’s death.
Circin nodded. “If she’d done that when Barr first took over our clan, I think we’d have had a month’s less time of Rowland’s insufferable presence.”
“She didna trust him. She had no way of knowing Barr is a different sort of man.” And damn Rowland for making the woman have to wonder. “Though she has had a month to figure that out.”
“It’s not that simple,” Verica said quietly as she joined them in front of the fire. “She and Brigit have gone to bed, though I’ll wager Sorcha will not sleep this night.”
“’Tis not seemly for a woman to wager,” Circin teased.
And received a cuff to his head for his efforts. “I’ll show you seemly.”
“You’ll show him more respect than that if you want this clan to accept him as laird one day,” Earc said dryly.
Showing she knew a tease when she heard one, Verica gave him a wry smile. “Aye, when we’re around others, but in private, he’s still my little brother.”
“What am I then? Of no account in your eyes?” The humor drained away as fast as it had come. He did not like that prospect one bit.
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out as a strange expression dawned on her features.
Circin laughed, the sound startling in the now-tension-filled cottage. “She sees you like family, or as near as. She never knocks me around in front of anyone else.”
“I don’t knock you around at all.” Verica smacked his arm, belying her outraged claim.
Circin and Earc both laughed while Verica blushed a sweet pink.
“We should go to sleep.” She did her best to sound bossy, but the way she worried her pleats both revealed her true inner feelings and charmed him.
“So, you think of me as a close friend?” He knew what kind of closeness he wanted to have with her and it had nothing to do with friendship.
The slight flaring of her delicate nostrils indicated she recognized his desire as well. Circin had to be able to smell Earc’s growing hunger for the man’s sister. Rather than looking alarmed by it, as she did, or offended, as Earc might about his own sister (rational reaction or not), Circin appeared contemplative. Earc wasn’t sure he liked that any better.
He knew what he’d be contemplating if the situation were reversed. Marriage. Mating. Permanence. Whether the other warrior was ready or not.
Verica looked between them, a frown marring her beautiful features. “You two may do what you like, but I’m going to bed.”
“You dinna answer my question.” He caught her arm as she would have swept by him.
Time seemed to slow down and then stop as an unseen force arced between them, making his cock hard and the breath seize in his chest. Her body jerked, but she swayed toward him rather than pulling away.
Her lips parted invitingly, the scent of her desire teasing his sexual hunger to a sharp pang. And the scent of something beyond her wolf washed over him in an intoxicating rush.
“Verica!” Circin’s near panic cut through the growing haze of lust between them. “What are you doing?”
She jerked back, her face going ashen. She stared at Earc as if he’d grown another head—or suddenly changed into Rowland before her eyes. “I …”
“You need to go to bed.” For the first time, Circin sounded like a man who would one day be laird.
She nodded, her eyes filled with an anguish Earc could not understand. No matter how far gone to passion they were, he would never have taken her with her brother in the room.
Her reaction was far beyond what the situation warranted.
Was she that bothered by the thought of being with him?
The leftover fear in Circin’s eyes was all out of proportion as well.
“She will take a mate one day.”
Circin nodded, his expression going grim. “I merely hope he is worthy of all her trust and affection.”
Since it was a sentiment any brother should feel, Earc didn’t reply. Instead he banked the fire for sleeping, which he and Circin did, rolled in their plaids near the door.
Chapter 8
Barr woke wrapped around his new mate.
The scent of other was strong, having become a fragrance he did not think he could do without. She fit him so perfectly. Though slender and fine boned, she was a wee bit taller than most females, making her just right for him. She curled into his body as if she’d slept there all their lives.
He did not think she was a great deal younger than him, which put her past the age when most women married. Which did not mean she was unpromised. He went rigid at the thought of her being committed to someone else. She had been untouched, but that did not mean no claim had been made on her.
“What is the matter?” she asked sleepily as she turned onto her back so their eyes could meet.
Even this proof she was so closely connected to him that she felt his agitation in her sleep did not assuage his need for an immediate answer. “Does someone else think they have a claim on you?”
Shadows filled her brown eyes, but she shook her head.
“You are c
ertain.”
“It is not a thing I would forget.”
“You mean like your clan?”
She grimaced and then frowned at him as if he were responsible for the bit of fiction that was her memory loss. “I am promised to no man.”
“You are promised to me now.”
“No.”
“You spoke your Chrechte vow last night. It cannot be unsaid.” She looked away. He would not allow her to avoid this, however. ’Twas too important. “Do not deny me.”
Suddenly she rolled toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding tight. She trembled against him, her heart beating fast, a sense of sadness he did not understand surrounding her.
“Sabrine? Tell me what ails you,” he demanded.
She tilted her head back and met his gaze with deeply troubled eyes, his sweet Chrechte mate not one to hide from difficulty. “No other man has claim on me as you do.”
“No other ever will.”
“No other,” she agreed.
“You are mine.”
“While I am here.”
He shook his hair in fierce denial. “Always.”
She swallowed as if trying to hold back a deep well of emotion. “I will never give another what I give you now.”
She would learn she did not have to try to hide her emotions from him. Everything she was was safe with him.
“Nay, you will not.” Satisfaction surged through him.
Even knowing that as his almost certain true mate, she was not capable of physically betraying him, he liked hearing her promise.
She laughed softly. “You’re an arrogant man, laird.”
“And you are a woman of rare beauty.” He had never met a woman with such delicate features, put together so finely.
“No other thinks so.”
That he did not believe. “The males of your former home must have impaired vision.”
She tensed, but said nothing.
“When I found no mate among the Sinclairs, I gave up hope of finding one. Then Talorc asked me to come here and lead this clan until Circin was ready to take over and I hoped again. Never did I think I would find you naked in the forest.”
“I never thought to find one such as you at all, especially among the Faol.”