by Lucy Monroe
Barr’s hands settled on her shoulders. “You canna hate my wolf. He is a part of me.”
And the arrogant man was so sure she could not hate him. Of course, against all expectations in her own heart and from any who might know her, she didn’t hate the wolf laird. In point of fact, she was well on her way to being irrevocably in love with him.
An emotion that could only lead to more pain for her and yet one she had no hope of denying.
“A wolf and a raven can only mate in their human forms; I think that means something.”
His hands landed on her shoulders, the intent to hold her unmistakable. “It means we are magical beings with two forms and destined for a future together as life mates.”
“A wolf and a raven cannot mate for life; it never ends well.” He needed to understand. This connection between them could not last. It simply could not.
“Perhaps that is true of the past, but the Chrechte no longer dwell in caves and unreasonable hatreds have no place in our new life among the clans.”
“Tell that to this raven.” She tossed the final feather in the flames, speaking the death blessing.
Barr’s voice joined hers and Chrechte power sparked in the air around them. Wind that had no origin rushed through the room, taking the smoke up through the chimney in a whoosh.
Barr spoke a final blessing on the Chrechte that had gone before pricking his finger with his knife and sprinkling a drop of his own blood on the fire in an ancient offering most humans among them would not understand. “Rowland is gone along with those he sent to an early grave.”
“But his cronies still live among the Donegals.” She had to make him see how impossible any future together among this clan would be. Taking him to her people was equally impossible. Barr would never be accepted among them because of his wolf. “Shifters like Verica still hide their raven natures. Warriors like your Muin are still taught to kill ravens in the sky even though they do not know the Éan exist. You are a fool to believe so much has changed.”
Though she could wish it were not the case.
“I am no fool.”
She simply shook her head. She could not answer.
“You are my mate,” he growled as his head lowered.
“I am raven.”
“Mine.” His mouth slammed down on hers, the kiss filled with angry frustration as he repeated the word, Mine, over and over again in her head.
She replied with her own frustration at finding the perfect mate only to have him be wolf, her anger at the unfairness of life that made the Éan live as shades in the forest while their Chrechte brethren lived in their own hiding amongst the humans.
For one brief moment, she gave vent to her truest desires and the dark feelings that knowing they would never bear fruit caused in her heart.
They made love there, in front of the fire, her borrowed plaid their only cushion against the hard floor. And she did not care. The rest of the keep slept while she and Barr claimed each other in a ritual as old as time.
The next day, Sabrine began training the women to defend themselves. She took them to a clearing in the forest, far enough from the keep that the women did not need to worry about being watched by curious children and amused warriors. Looking like a woman quite pleased with her new mating, Verica joined them.
She brought along her grandmother’s weapons and offered them to Sabrine to use in her teaching.
Sabrine ran a loving hand along the blades but shook her head. “You must learn to defend yourselves without weapons other than the dirk most of you carry for eating and preparing food.”
“You can teach those of us who wish to learn to use the bow and sword later, can’t you?” one young Chrechte female asked.
“If I am here.”
The knowing looks Sabrine got from the other women did nothing for her temper and she pushed them hard to learn basic hand-to-hand fighting techniques she had known before she was old enough to have her own dirk, much less a proper dagger.
Over the next days, Sabrine spent time each afternoon training a handful of the clanswomen in the arts of female warfare. Though they would have been greatly indignant had they realized it. They saw the lessons strictly in terms of defending themselves and their families.
The fact so many were willing to join her and Verica in the forest each afternoon said much about what had been happening in their clan over the past years.
Sabrine did want to help the clanswomen, but she also did not lose sight of her primary reason for being among them. She searched diligently for the Clach Gealach Gra but had found not so much as a hint to its whereabouts. Her sense of desperation grew daily as her younger brother’s coming of age ceremony grew closer and she could not lay hands on the necessary sacred artifact.
Her days were not limited to the women and searching though. Barr had very definite ideas about how mates behaved and they seemed to include copious amounts of sexual intimacy.
Barr did not limit his lovemaking to the nights, but would spirit her off to his bedchamber in the middle of the day without compunction. Sabrine found it all too easy to justify acquiescence. Her continued freedom to move within the keep and beyond was made easier by her obvious relationship with Barr.
Some of the clanswomen gave her askance looks, muttering about strange women found in the forest that were no better than they should be. She did not allow the gossiping to touch her.
She was far too happy. As long as she could ignore the looming future, Sabrine reveled in more joy than she’d ever known.
For the first time since her parents’ death, she had friends who were not fellow warriors. She had someone to call her own, a mate who belonged to her—even if temporarily—in a way he did not belong to anyone else in the clan. It had been so long since she had such a connection, she had forgotten the deep contentment it brought.
And that contentment was coupled with indescribable pleasure in her relationship with Barr.
For the first time since she had completed her initial training, Sabrine’s days and nights were not filled with patrolling the skies and watching for any enemies encroaching on the deep forest where the Éan made their homes.
She’d forgotten what it was like to sit with a family for the evening meal, but that was what it felt like to share Barr’s table with Verica and Earc. Even Padraig and the priest had become dear to her, often trying to draw her into their indecipherable conversations on topics that sounded like the spiritual beliefs among her people, but just different enough that she spent more time smiling and nodding than understanding.
They never grew impatient with her though, nor did any of the others mock her ignorance. Well, not since Wirp made another one of his zealously disapproving lectures at Barr in regard to sharing his bedchamber with her.
Barr had banned Wirp from the keep during mealtimes, until such time he felt he could keep a civil tongue in his head. She had the feeling the old man had avoided a challenge only because of his age. And perhaps Barr truly was not as war hungry as the Faol of old and hoped to live by example.
Sabrine was happy to note that far from a stormy coupling, Verica’s clear delight in her mating did not diminish as the days wore on. In fact, her contentment grew deeper each day, striking a poignant chord in Sabrine’s heart even as she rejoiced for her new friend.
Perhaps the other woman’s dual Chrechte nature made it possible for her to mate with a Faol and find joy that might last a lifetime.
Not that Barr accepted their mating could not last. On the contrary, the stubborn man made her affirm she was his each and every time they coupled. He plied her body with more pleasure than she would ever know again while insisting she recognize their mating at the most basic level.
Even had she wanted to resist, she had no choice but to comply. Their ability to mindspeak had only grown so that even when she was in the forest training the women and he was back at the keep training the men, she could hear him quite clearly in her head.
He delighted in teasing
her with sexy whispers of what he planned for them when she returned from training the women. Or he would ask where she was when she was busy searching for the sacred stone. His tone always implied he knew she was up to something, but he was so obviously not worried. His naïve trust scared her.
She would not hurt him, or the clan that had come to mean so much to her, but others were not so safe. He seemed aware of that fact, but persisted in believing the best of her, when in fact, he should be more suspicious.
She’d grown more and more accustomed to the wolf growl in his voice and felt less revulsion when she thought of his Chrechte animal nature with each passing day. But she still could not stomach the thought of him shifting in front of her.
And he knew it.
She knew that her continued revulsion bothered him, but he never said anything more than to randomly remind her that his wolf was part of him, part of the man she was true mate to. She never denied it and he did not push for more. For her part, she was content never to discuss the matter in depth. She had no desire to spoil even a moment of the time they had left together.
She had to find the Clach Gealach Gra soon, and when she did, she’d have to go. Even if her wing was not healed.
The longer she stayed with the Donegal clan, the harder it was going to be to leave. And she would not risk not returning in time for her brother’s ceremony.
Nevertheless, she felt almost equally compelled to train the Donegal women in the ways of fighting. They had been working on turning a curtsy into a move that hiked up the long skirts of a female plaid and made it possible for a woman to run faster, or kick an opponent with enough power to have effect.
She stepped back after adjusting a woman’s stance for better leverage to flip her opponent. Before she could test the woman’s new stance, a hand came around her waist from behind.
Though she knew the feel of that arm, Sabrine did not think about it, she simply reacted, sliding through the hold to roll on the ground. She came up with a kick intended to do damage in a man’s most vulnerable parts.
Barr leapt back with not an inch to spare as her foot brushed the front of his plaid. “Well done,” he said out loud. Careful, My One, you will do damage to a part of my body yours enjoys very much, he teased inside her head.
His complacent amusement sparked her annoyance. He did not believe she could do him damage when she had been defending her people from the Faol since her fifteenth summer.
She did not allow her eyes to narrow or her heart to accelerate. She kept her breathing normal, pretending to drop her fighting stance.
She curtsied. “Laird.”
The other women around her followed her example, though the scent of shock at his appearance was like burning sulfur around them. Sharp and acrid.
Barr smiled, white teeth baring with a hint of his wolf despite his full human form. “Ladies.”
And Sabrine struck. Hiking her skirts, she spun and leapt, landing a kick right on his sternum. She’d put her whole body and momentum behind it and his guard was down.
Barr was a giant among men, but he was not impervious and he went down, surprise and mild pain crossing his face. He recovered quickly though. Going with the momentum, he flipped over backward and came smoothly to his feet.
His stance on the ready, a ridiculous grin creased his face. “That was sneaky.”
“How good of you to notice.” She allowed her skirts to drop and brushed her hands as if dusting them off.
“I dinna think the others will expose their bare legs to defend themselves though.”
“You would be surprised at what a woman will do when her child is at risk.” Her own mother had sent Sabrine running for the haven of their people, while she, a trained healer, not warrior, had joined her mate to fight the Faol that stalked them.
Barr nodded, his eyes filled with an understanding that could be naught but her imagination.
“She attacked the laird,” someone whispered.
Her frustration mounting, Sabrine frowned. These women needed to realize that even if it was their laird putting them at risk, they must fight back. The clanswomen were so different than the females among the Éan, and yet Sabrine felt a growing kinship with them.
It worried her.
“I merely sought to show you that what you have learned thus far is not without its uses.”
“’Twas not a real attack,” Barr said dismissively.
Preparing to take umbrage, Sabrine opened her mouth to speak, but Earc, who had managed to arrive in the clearing with as little forewarning as Barr, halted her. “Aye, if she’d meant to hurt him, our laird would be bleeding.” The two wolves had masked their scent and moved in such silence, she had not known they were near until Barr had put his hand on her waist. Not for the first time, she was thankful the Faol that still hunted the Éan did not have her mate’s prowess. “Our mysterious woman of the forest was merely proving a point.”
She got the distinct impression that Earc knew the point had been directed more toward Barr than the women.
Barr’s nod of agreement went a long way toward appeasing her ruffled feathers. The gentle brush of his hand down the back of her head and nape finished it.
Her raven preened under the much-craved attention, and it was all Sabrine could do not to let it show in her manner. From the very beginning, Barr had seemed to instinctively know what her raven needed, even as he fulfilled her every human desire as well.
The other women in the clearing were still staring at them in horrified silence (whether at their laird’s public familiarity or Sabrine’s strike at him was a matter for debate) when Verica asked, “Is aught wrong?”
“Nay.” Barr looked around at each of the women, making eye contact in that special way that told each one he truly saw her as only an alpha could do. “We thought we would come and help you train for a wee bit today.”
“You are going to train us?” Verica asked, her eyes rounder than the full moon.
“Nay. I am going to help Sabrine.”
Earc said, “I also.”
“We cannot train with men,” one of the human clanswomen said in purely outraged tones.
“How can you know you are able to defend yourselves against men, unless you practice with them?” Sabrine countered, once again frustrated by the clanswomen’s overdeveloped sense of propriety.
“It is not seemly,” another said, her scent turning sour with disapproval in less than a heartbeat.
“What are you? English?” Barr demanded, letting disgust lace his deep warrior’s voice. “We are of the Highland clans. We submit to the king on our own choosing and we dinna follow the ways of the Sassenach.”
The other women stood taller, giving the two who had spoken frowns. About ten of the women from the clan had wanted to learn how to defend themselves as it was. Not even all the Chrechte women had been willing, but Sorcha was there, her daughter Brigit and Verica. Aodh’s wife, the new housekeeper for Barr, had wanted to learn to fight as well.
“Do you wish to be able to protect yourselves and your children?” Earc asked.
“It is not our place to protect ourselves. It is for the warriors of our clan to do.” The first woman who had spoken said this.
Sabrine made no effort to hide her disgust. “And when there is no warrior near at hand to do so? What then?”
The other woman did not reply. She was here, so clearly she was open to learning. She had been a good student thus far. What was the matter with her now?
“Barr is not here to test us or catch us out as Rowland might have done,” Verica said in a voice both soothing and laced with an old sadness. “He wants his whole clan to be safe and strong.”
“’Tis right, that.” Barr crossed his arms and nodded. “You are all valuable and should not fear for your safety, no matter the circumstance.”
“We live amidst a warring people; all must fear for their lives at some time or another,” Sorcha said, but her eyes were filled with hope.
The more she’d lea
rned to fight, the more peaceful she had grown. Still, she had the right of it now. There was much in their world that threatened their safety. Which was a reason to learn to fight, not to give up.
Barr shrugged.
Sabrine nearly rolled her eyes. The man was just too complacent in his own rightness. “Even in war, a woman should know she is not without her own resources to defend herself.”
Verica nodded vehemently.
Earc smiled at her before turning a more serious expression to the other women. “We will help you gain confidence in your ability to fight not only an opponent of a size with you but one who is bigger as well.”
“No offense.” Sorcha curtsied. “But you and our laird are bigger than most men; could we not do this learning with smaller men from our clan?”
Barr’s lips tilted, but the smile did not break forth before his expression turned deadly serious. “Earc and I are the most experienced and well-trained warriors in the clan. There is no chance you will accidentally come to harm training with us.”
The man offered the best to his clan, be they men or women. Sabrine’s love grew so that she could no longer deny its existence in that moment. She would love him until she breathed her last breath, and no matter the pain that might cause her, she could not regret it.
If he were Éan, he would be her ideal mate. If she did not have responsibilities to her people that made it impossible for her to stay among the Donegals, she would gladly spend her life as his true bonded. Faol or not.
He looked at her and winked as if he were reading her mind. He did that often and she wondered just as frequently if he was indeed doing just that, but the Faol did not have the additional gifts of the Éan. It was not possible.
Though sometimes, she could not help thinking, and mayhap hoping even more so, that things that should be impossible were not … with Barr.
Chapter 16
The efforts to teach the women to defend themselves against bigger and stronger opponents went well. True to his word, Barr knew exactly how to push the women to the limits of their ability without allowing them to hurt themselves on his or Earc’s strength. A true opponent, bent on doing them harm, would not be so considerate, but these women were not warriors.