by Lucy Monroe
Niall did not look convinced. “She could now be gone.”
“Nay. She is training the women of the clan to fight.” Or she had been when they left for their hunt.
She was probably done now and once again pretending to visit his clansmen while looking for whatever it was she was so intent on finding. She did not realize how those visits had endeared her to the hearts of his clan.
Everyone else had begun to accept her as his mate, everyone but her. Not that she denied the mating, but refusing to promise the future was the same as denying the importance of their bond.
“She cannot accept my wolf nature.”
“Because of this feud?”
And they were back to the topic that had started their discussion. “Aye. She does not feel safe among the Donegals.”
“Would she feel differently among the Sinclairs?”
“I do not think so.” The truth that his true one was so distrustful of all of his kind had become an open wound on his soul.
“With time, she will learn to trust.”
“And if I do not get that time?”
Niall’s silence was answer enough, but then his brother growled and pushed away from the tree. “Then you damn well make the time. You are a warrior, you do not give up.”
For Niall, that was quite a speech. And it so closely resembled Barr’s own thinking on the matter, he felt a smile break over his face. “If she can train our women to fight, I can teach her to trust.”
Niall nodded, his own mouth curving in a tight smile. “She’s an unusual female.”
“Not among the Éan.”
“Even among them, I am betting.”
Perhaps his brother was right. “She is special.”
“She is planning to abandon her true mate.” Niall’s scowl grew darker with each passing second. “That is not the kind of special I want for you.”
“Watch it, you’re starting to sound like an old woman, not a warrior.”
“I am your brother before I am a soldier to my clan.”
They clasped hands and hugged, then stepped back.
“She has not left yet,” Barr reminded himself and his brother.
“Her arm is injured. She cannot fly.”
Barr nodded, acknowledging Niall’s intelligence. He too suspected that his mate would leave him as soon as her injury was healed enough for her to fly again.
“Does she realize she is pregnant?” Niall asked.
“I do not think so.”
“Tell her.”
“And if she still insists on leaving?”
Niall had no answer and neither did Barr.
If his mate knew she carried his child and still insisted on abandoning their mating, he was not sure even his warrior’s strength would stand against that.
Sabrine could feel Barr’s unhappiness and frustration across their link. She did not believe for one moment it was because the hunt for boar was not going well. Though she had no doubt the younger hunters were making more than their share of mistakes. Barr’s patience for training hunters who should have learned these lessons many summers past was beyond anything she had seen among her own people. There was little tolerance for Chrechte who could not contribute to the people’s welfare from an early age. Small children were cared for with great affection and attention, but childhood was left behind at an earlier age among the Éan than the clans.
With their very existence at risk, they had no choice.
So, as much as she might wish she could believe Barr’s dark emotions were due to his untrained hunters, she knew they were not.
The burden of anguished guilt crushing her heart like a giant boulder only grew heavier.
She knew she was the reason Barr was unhappy. What she did not know was how to fix it.
No more than she knew where next to look for the Clach Gealach Gra. She had searched homes, getting to know their occupants in the way her mother had taught Sabrine as a young girl. She had searched the caves the Chrechte used for their rituals, but there were no hidden chambers as in the labyrinth of tunnels at the sacred springs. She had searched the forest, but no Éan power called to her, no matter how far she ventured forth from the main Donegal holding. She had searched the keep, but the only Éan power within emanated from Circin and Verica’s chambers. As to be expected, because she was older and had a very powerful Chrechte gift, Verica’s (and now Earc’s) chamber had a stronger Éan presence. Yet no matter where she looked, she found no sign of the sacred stone.
She was close to enlisting Verica’s help as time grew shorter with each passing day. Sharing the secrets of the Éan, even with the other raven shifter, did not sit well with Sabrine. She’d spent too long protecting the mysteries of her people from outside eyes.
But she had to weigh the risk of revealing the secret against the risk of not finding the Clach Gealach Gra and what that would mean to the Éan. One was clearly of heftier import than the other.
Knowing so did not make the prospect of spilling secrets any more palatable though.
“What has you looking like the milk in your porridge has gone sour?” Verica’s soft voice broke through Sabrine’s reverie.
The other woman sat beside Sabrine on the long bench at the table in the great hall. Her faithful apprentice was nowhere in evidence, which was probably a sign. Now was the time.
“I am not eating porridge.” In point of fact, she wasn’t doing anything but staring at a table that had been washed most carefully by the new housekeeper. Well, that and wondering what to do next.
Verica smiled, an indulgent expression in her friendly blue gaze. “’Tis an expression.”
“Oh.” Naturally.
“Do they not say such among the Éan in the forest?”
Sabrine shrugged. “Perhaps. I spend little enough time in the village.” And it had been so many years since she lived with anyone but warriors, she did not remember the nuances of living among the regular Éan.
“There is a village?”
Sabrine opened her mouth, intending to deflect the query, but then changed her mind. Verica needed to understand it was not simply a handful of warriors out in the forest that would be affected by the loss of the sacred stone. “Of sorts. Some live in the trees, some live in caves.”
Not primitively as they had done in generations past, but much the same as the Chrechte now living among the clans lived in their huts. With cooking fires, food stored for winter, furs to sleep on and even simply designed tables and benches. Not that the hand carving in the wood of the furniture was simple, particularly for those of the royal lineage.
“And there are both ravens and eagles?”
Again, Sabrine made herself answer. Verica deserved to know about her people, even if she would never live among them. “There were hawks once as well; none have been seen since before my grandmother’s time though.”
“Is she still alive?”
“She is the oldest of the Éan.” A spiritual leader, her grandmother had been disappointed when Sabrine chose to follow the path of the warrior. A strict adherent to Chrechte traditions and spiritual truths, Anya-Gra would be furious to know her granddaughter planned to abandon her true mate. Maybe even angrier than Barr. “She and I do not see the world through the same eyes.” And that knowledge made something in her chest hurt as it always did when Sabrine thought of it.
“That is difficult.” Verica’s warm tone was filled with understanding and compassion. Would she feel the same when she knew Sabrine intended to leave the Donegals and their laird?
“Yes.”
“Is that why you were looking so unhappy when I came in? You were thinking of your grandmother?”
“No.” Now that Barr had sent the elder Chrechte to live with their families, rather than in the keep as they had done with Rowland, it was safer to discuss more things openly.
However, she wasn’t taking any chances. Sabrine opened her senses, seeking anyone nearby enough to hear their conversation.
There was no one. No
t even the tiny heartbeat of a rodent betrayed that small presence.
They could have had this conversation in mindspeak, but Sabrine worried her control was slipping. She’d been giving too much away when she and Barr communicated through their mental link. She did not want to risk doing the same with Verica.
“Do you know about the coming of age ceremony for our people?” Sabrine asked.
Verica had told her there were no other Éan left in the clan. She and her brother were the last of the ravens since their mother’s death. Presumably, their Faol nature made it possible for them to procreate without the coming of age ceremony and at least pass their wolf nature on to the next generation.
Verica nodded, an odd expression coming over her features almost as if she’d had a disturbing revelation. Certainly she had become far more agitated than the question warranted, unless she had not had the ceremony performed for her coming of age. But no, she must have because she had her special Éan gift, a powerful one of prescience no less.
Verica licked her lips, her hands wringing the pleats from her plaid. “My mother performed it for me and I did it for Circin.”
“In the caves of the sacred springs?”
“Aye.” Verica’s eyes filled with an inexplicable fear and a sickly cast came over her features.
“The Faol have stolen the Clach Gealach Gra.” Though perhaps the other woman already knew this and that explained her upset. “Without it, our people will die out as those who have not laid their hands on the Clach Gealach Gra during their coming of age ceremony will not be able to pass our Éan gifts on to the next generation, including the raven or eagle nature itself.”
Legend had it that there had been a sacred stone for each of the bird families, the eagle, the raven and the hawk. But only one remained and with it gone, so was the hope of the Éan race.
“I didn’t mean to …” Verica’s words trailed off, her agitation growing and a profound sense of regret more than matching it. Then she grabbed Sabrine’s hand. “Come, please. You must come with me.”
Chapter 18
Jerking Sabrine to her feet with desperation-driven strength, Verica dragged her up the stairs and into the room the healer now shared with Earc. She rushed to the chest where she had kept her grandmother’s weapons and flung open the lid.
Not usually stupid, or willfully blind, Sabrine felt things begin to fall into place. The Éan power she felt whenever she was in Verica’s room, which she had attributed to Verica’s powerful Éan gift and the ancient Éan magic clinging to the sword and dagger she’d cared for so carefully.
Before the other woman drew a doeskin bundle from the trunk, Sabrine knew what it held. The key to the Éan’s continued existence.
The sense of betrayal she felt was staggering. “You stole our sacred stone?”
Verica was not only Éan herself, she was Sabrine’s dearest friend, no matter how short the duration of their acquaintance. This woman had stolen the key to their people’s future?
“Not on purpose!” Verica’s face twisted with desperate emotion, tears standing out in her usually peace-filled eyes. “I thought I was protecting it.”
“Did you know that without it, we could not pass our Éan gifts on to the next generation?” Sabrine asked, giving her friend a chance to claim innocence.
“My mother said something about that, but I don’t see how that can be true.”
Sabrine was momentarily struck dumb by her friend’s words. “You would have destroyed our people because you do not believe in our ways?”
“No, it’s not like that.” Verica began to pace, her distress growing rather than calming with each step. “I didn’t know there were any Éan left. Not until you came here.”
“But I have been here for more than a sennight.” Near half a month. “You never once mentioned your theft.”
“I wasn’t stealing it; I worried the Sinclairs would find the chamber of the Éan and take or destroy the stone. It was before I knew they were not like Rowland, hating all who descended from a bird’s nature.”
“But you told me nothing.”
“Today … as soon as I realized what you were looking for, I brought you here for the stone.”
It was true, but Sabrine was still caught up in her horror at one of her own kind nearly destroying their people, good intentions or no. She shook her head, her body rigid with mental distress.
Verica held the bundle out to her. Sabrine took it, the power surging around them as she connected to the stone, even through the doeskin, as only one of the royal line could do outside their sacred ceremonies.
“I know I should have said something right away, but I wasn’t thinking of it.”
“You weren’t …” Sabrine’s voice failed her.
“So much has happened in the time since you came.”
It was true but no great comfort. “My youngest brother is due for his coming of age ceremony. It may well have happened.”
She had refused to dwell on that possibility, unwilling to consider that she might not be successful in her quest.
Anya-Gra had said she would wait to perform the ceremony until the next full moon, though all knew if she waited any longer, he might as well not have it at all. Sabrine’s brother was close to his final change into manhood.
And Chrechte magic did not always wait for the spiritual leader’s schedule; sometimes a different moon called to the raven within a Chrechte’s soul.
She herself had been called by the crescent moon, receiving a gift of unparalleled power for her generation during her ceremony.
“I’m sorry.”
Before she had come to this clan, Sabrine would have waved off both the words and the anguish in her friend’s voice. Her first and only priority would have been the Clach Gealach Gra.
She could not ignore Verica’s clear distress though. The other woman was far too intelligent not to realize the full implications of her actions and be not only horrified by them but struck with a terrible sense of guilt.
Which she did not deserve. “Disaster has been averted. That is what matters.”
Whether it had happened in time for her brother she would only discover upon returning to her clan.
The moisture in Verica’s eyes spilled over and she did not look even remotely convinced.
Sabrine placed the wrapped bundle on the bed with great care and then turned to face Verica and, drawing on instincts she’d suppressed for years, put her arms out.
The other woman accepted the embrace even as she started to cry in earnest. “I did not mean to hurt anyone.”
“I know. And no one has been hurt.” She prayed to the giver of life that her words were true.
“Your arm was when you got shot out of the sky.”
Sabrine awkwardly patted Verica’s back, much more adept at fighting than comforting. “It worked in my favor. Barr brought me among his clan without questioning my motives.”
Verica stepped back, wiping at her wet cheeks with the backs of her hands. “You planned to have Barr find you in the forest all along?”
“Yes. I knew it had to be this clan that had taken the stone. It disappeared before the Sinclairs had their first ceremony in the caves.”
“I went for it as soon as I heard we had lost the disputed land to their clan.” Verica sighed. “I did not tell Circin. He nearly got himself killed challenging the Sinclair for rights to the caves.”
“Nay. Talorc would never have killed an untrained boy.” Barr stood there, the door open behind him, an unreadable expression on his face. “I willna bother to ask what that is.” He indicated the bundle on the bed. “You wouldna tell me; after all, I’m Faol.” He said the word with all the revulsion Sabrine had ever shown for it.
He turned and walked out without another word.
Her heart aching, Sabrine stared after him. She wanted to chase him down and demand he listen to her explanations, but she did not know what they should or even could be.
“He doesn’t know why you’re here,
” Verica said with certainty.
“No.”
“Go after him.”
And do what? Beg for mercy when she had so clearly deceived and used him? He was a warrior, like her, not a spiritual leader. Forgiveness was not his first reaction to betrayal.
She would not have thought walking away was, either. He had not yelled at her, or accused her of it, or well … anything. He’d simply left and that hurt more than she’d thought it possibly could.
If there had ever been a chance he would love her, it had been destroyed. And looking back over her actions of the past sennights, she did not know what she could have done differently.
Her heart cried out for her to change the situation even now, but her warrior’s mind, taught that betrayal was met with death, said there was no hope.
She said all that she could think to say. “Maybe this is for the best.”
Leaving Barr angry with her should make the prospect less painful.
It didn’t, but it would no doubt make it easier for him to let her go.
And as a warrior for her people, her chances of living out her years to old age were slim. He would not be without a mate forever.
Accepting the inevitability of her own death had been taught since the beginning of her training as a protector of her people. An Éan who accepted that dying for her people was a great honor and most likely inevitable did not hesitate to put her life at risk for those who relied on her for their safety.
Thoughts of that future had never hurt as much as they did in this moment.
“Don’t be stupid.” Verica was unimpressed without doubt. “My mother did not have time to teach me everything about the Éan, but she told me that a Chrechte’s true mate is the most important gift our natures will ever impart to us. You cannot simply dismiss your responsibilities to Barr because they do not easily coincide with those you have toward the Éan of the forest.”
The healer’s intuitive wisdom was staggering, but Sabrine could not give in to the allure of the words. “Not all Chrechte even find their true mate.”
“Those that do should be even more grateful then, shouldn’t we?”
“Earc is your life’s mate then?”