Moon Craving

Chapter 9

No matter how far into the woods Talorc ventured, the memory of Abigail’s sweet, fresh scent drew him back to the clearing. He followed her and Niall on their walk, his wolf’s paws silent on the forest floor. He masked his scent so that even Niall did not realize Talorc was nearby.

His wolf wanted to make himself known, to rub up against his angel and allow his full wolf senses the opportunity to take her presence in. He had revealed himself only to discover that Abigail was terrified of his beast. His presence had brought tears to her eyes, and not the good kind.

He’d forced his wolf to run away rather than risk frightening her further, or worse, making himself known to her. He could not afford to share the secrets of his people with Abigail.

Besides, he was supposed to be hunting. Not that they needed the meat; they could make his keep by nightfall. If they rode out, but they weren’t riding today.

His gentle bride needed time to heal before getting back on a horse. She had soaked in the restorative waters of the hot springs last night. And he had left instructions with Niall to make sure she did the same today, but Talorc could not be sure that would be enough.

If the choice was between reaching home tonight but having a wife too sore to mate with and staying an extra day in the hot springs cave, he would choose the extra time away from his clan.

The only other time he had voluntarily spent time away from the people he was responsible to lead was when he had followed his sister and Emily to Balmoral Island. Caitriona’s safety had taken precedence at that time. He had no such considerations now, but that hadn’t stopped him from dictating a second night spent at the caves.

He refused to consider how aberrant that choice was for him to make. Nor did he have any interest in contemplating why he would make such a decision.

He only knew his wolf was in complete agreement and that was enough for him.

Thinking he should at least make some effort to hunt, he leaned forward and sniffed at a small pile of leaves. There was definitely something there, but it wasn’t prey. Not of the animal variety anyway.

The smell was not that of his warriors and certainly not the enticing fragrance of his new wife. It was too fresh to be more than an hour old. Which meant someone who wasn’t supposed to be here, had been.

He lifted his head, taking in the monochromatic image of his surroundings that he got in his wolf form. He was definitely still on his land, newly deeded to him by Scotland’s king. A growl rumbled in his animal chest as he scented the ground around him again. Six distinct traces, two Chrechte and four human. All males.

A hunting party? A mistake? Or a challenge to Sinclair ownership of the territory dowered him by the king?

The Donegal laird was aging without a clear successor. He presided over one of the smaller clans and Chrechte pack within it, which was only a mere handful of shape-changers. Even without the king’s intervention, the other laird would have ended up ceding the land to Talorc’s much larger clan and Chrechte pack, and they both knew it.

Never a large group, the Donegal clan had lost too many to war. The laird’s son had died at the hands of the same English bastards responsible for Talorc’s father’s death. The young warrior had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, patrolling his borders with a small band of soldiers when the English contingent bent on stealing the Sinclair Royal Treasure had crossed Donegal land.

That was the reason Talorc had not yet used might to press his claim to the disputed territory. His father had been responsible for bringing the betraying English bitch to the Highlands. Talorc did not dismiss the consequences of that act.

He had gone so far as to offer use of the springs to the Chrechte of the Donegal clan for their mating ceremonies and for use in clan healings, with the understanding that the Sinclair clanspeople’s needs would take precedence. However, he would not tolerate the Donegal clan hunting on the newly claimed Sinclair land. Not in human or wolf form.

The Donegal laird had accepted both Talorc’s generosity and his stipulation regarding the hunting.

So, what in the hell were six strangers doing on his land? Were they even from the Donegal clan? Neither of the Chrechte carried the scent of the laird. Talorc would have recognized it.

No matter where they were from, they didn’t belong here and he meant for them to know it.

He followed their scent trail until it became clear the four humans and two Chrechte were headed in the direction of the hot springs. Toward his wife. Talorc’s four-legged gait picked up speed until he was flying across the earthen landscape.

He lifted his head to howl a message of alarm to his warriors. Those that had gone hunting with him would head back toward the clearing, if they were not already there, and those he had left behind to guard his wife would be put on alert.

Acknowledging it wasn’t merely his warriors who might have already made it to the clearing, Talorc pushed himself to go faster. His huge wolf’s body picked up speed as the plants and trees he passed went by in a blur in shades of black and gray.

He burst into the clearing at a dead run, his keen wolf’s senses telling him the interlopers were indeed ahead of him. He skidded to a stop behind six youthful warriors wearing the Donegal clan plaid, their stances that of challenge.

Niall and Airril had taken position in front of the entrance to the cave. They did not look unduly worried, but they were clearly ready to do battle if necessary.

Of the rest of his hunting party there was no sign.

Talorc willed his human form to emerge and seconds later the air shimmered around him as he became a man again. He let out a subsonic growl of warning that had two of the young men spinning to face him.

Damn it, neither could have had more than sixteen summers. The youth on the left showed more intelligence than his companion because the color drained from his face and he offered his neck in instant submission.

The four humans moved only after they realized their companions had done so. They didn’t seem able to decide who posed the bigger threat, so they angled their bodies to the side. With more experienced warriors, such a maneuver might have been beneficial, but with these near children, all it did was make them more vulnerable.

Talorc glowered at them all with acute disapproval. The Donegal soldiers needed proper training. Badly.

The young Chrechte who did not have the sense to look frightened, frowned at his fellow clansmen before facing Talorc defiantly. “These waters belong to the Donegal clan. You can’t have them.”

“The king says otherwise.”

The youth made a sound of disgust. “He carries the stench of the Sassenach and mimics their ways.”

“You do not submit to your king?”

“I follow the way of the Chrechte. We fight for that which is ours.”

“You challenge me for the right to this land?” Talorc asked.

“I do.” The youth’s voice shook, but his stance of defiance did not falter.

Talorc couldn’t help respecting the boy’s courage if not his wisdom.

“What is going on?” Abigail peeked from between the two Sinclair warriors blocking her way out of the cave. Her damp hair and glowing skin indicated she had been soaking as directed when the impetuous young Donegal soldiers arrived. He did not think that was the reason for the flush in her lovely face though.

She was staring at his naked body in a way that would have an effect on his manhood soon. “Do you always cavort around the forest in the altogether, Talorc?”

“I was hunting.”

“So I was informed.” She cleared her throat and closed her eyes for a second, only to open them again almost immediately. “I did not realize Scotsman hunted in the nude. You were wearing a plaid when you returned from the hunt the night before our wedding,” she said almost accusingly.

“You have much to learn of our ways.”

She sighed, making a production of it. “I suppose I do. I think I need to learn something of them now about why these children are here.”

“We are men,” the bolder Chrechte soldier insisted.

Abigail, to her credit, did not gainsay him but merely looked with expectation at Talorc. Obviously, his wife expected an explanation. He just did not know if she was going to like hearing it.

“These warriors do not cede the right to this land or the hot springs to the Sinclair clan.” He gave them the respect of calling them warriors. More seasoned soldiers of their clan had not thought to challenge Talorc’s claim.

If they had, Talorc was honest enough with himself to know he would not have been as lenient. More experienced men that had the gall to challenge him would already be dead.

“They are challenging you?” Abigail asked in confusion. “They don’t respect the wishes of their king?”

“Aye.”

“I see.” She looked at the young Donegals, measuring each one with her soft brown gaze. Then she shook her head. “Brave, but foolish.”

Her words so closely reflected his own thoughts that Talorc found his lips almost curving into a smile before he caught himself.

Showing his first bit of wisdom so far, the Chrechte boy remained silent in the face of Abigail’s observation. His compatriots looked like they were already questioning the intelligence of their actions, but none of them appeared ready to back down.

Again, he could respect that.

“Are you going to accept the challenge?” his wife asked after a moment of silence.

“Yes.”

Five of the six young soldiers flinched, but the bold Chrechte youth merely looked more determined.

Abigail crossed her arms and nodded. “Good.”

“You approve?” he asked in shock.

He would have thought his gentle wife too compassionate to commend behavior so far from her civilized world.

“It is obvious these young men’s honor demands you win the land.”

He nodded, still bemused by his wife’s easy acceptance, not to mention her insight into the ways of their people.

“Besides, you will not kill him.” She did not make it a question.

“I won’t?”

She just looked at him.

It bothered him that she seemed able to read his intentions so clearly, but she was right. He would not make the cost of bravery for these young soldiers be their lives.

Before he could say anything else, the hunting party returned. Though he did not know where they had been. The fragrance of roasting meat told him they had been back to the clearing at least once already.

“Were you able to find anything?” Abigail asked them.

They both looked at him for instruction, having responded to his warning howl.

“My wife sent you on an errand?”

“Aye, she did,” Niall answered for them. “She wanted vegetables and berries for the evening meal.”

“And did you find any?”

The two men nodded.

“Enough?” he asked.

Both men looked unsure, eyeing his wife with something between respect and apprehension.

Niall chuckled, the sound rusty from disuse. “It appears your wife likes her vegetables.”

Talorc nodded. “Then go find more, Earc. Fionn, you will stay to face the challenge these young warriors have made on behalf of their clan for rights to this land.”

He would not have the youths face Niall. None but the boldest Chrechte would be able to do so without pissing himself, and Talorc intended to face that challenger personally.

Both men did as he said without another word.

He faced the six Donegal youths again. “All who have come in challenge will fight, except him,” he said, indicating the Chrechte who had offered his neck already.

The boy who had already offered his submission bowed his head as if in shame. Talorc growled and the youth’s head snapped up. “You are omega, there is no shame in submitting to the more powerful alpha.”

An omega’s place in the pack had not always been a respected one, but when the Chrechte realized their warring ways were on the verge of decimating their people, that changed. Initially, it had been an omega who first suggested the Chrechte should insinuate themselves into the surrounding clans, rather than warring with them. Once the wisdom of the recommendation was acknowledged, respect for the thinking of the omegas grew.

Since then, omegas were given a place of honor on the pack councils. They were considered both wise and level-headed, which in most cases was exactly right. They were also considered strong in ways brawn could not defeat, because omegas had managed to eke out lives among their more powerful Chrechte brethren despite being the physically weakest. Generation after generation. It was not something easily dismissed by thinking men.

In addition, each omega now stood as a living reminder to their pack that no matter how strong the Chrechte might be, they could not escape the weakness among them—that of mortality. They had to respect life in order to continue thriving. They were still influenced by their wolf natures, but not controlled by them. Those that were often died young, and that, too, stood as a prominent reminder for those that came after.

“Talorc, don’t you think you could refer to these young men in more humane terms? Or are there more meaning to the Gaelic words you are using I do not understand?”

“I am not being offensive,” he assured his wife and then wondered at his doing so. Did it matter that his English wife thought him rude?

He wasn’t civilized, damn it, and had no desire to be.

Giving vent to his irritation, he crossed his arms and glared at the other Donegal Chrechte. “Why did you bring an omega to a challenge?”

“He is my younger brother. I cannot leave him unprotected, but he refused to stay in the forest while I challenged you.”

“I will share my brother’s fate,” the omega wolf said quietly.

Talorc’s respect for these young soldiers grew. He had no doubt they would lead the Donegal clan and pack one day. He nodded his acceptance of the explanation. “You,” he said looking at the omega, “stand with Niall and my lady during the challenge.”

The omega dipped his head in acknowledgment of the order.

Niall led Abigail away from the cave and the men squaring off to challenge. The omega followed, taking a position on the other side of Niall. Away from Abigail, as was proper. He showed no fear in the huge warrior’s presence, patently trusting Talorc’s Chrechte honor as the superior alpha. One day he would learn not all of the wolf nature were worthy of that faith, but not today.

Talorc instructed Airril and Fionn to face the four humans.

Then he nodded toward the leader Chrechte. “Come face your challenge, boy.”

“I am no boy.”

“You are no alpha either, not yet.”

He could tell his final two words had given the young soldier pleasure by the expression that flitted across his face before seriousness settled back over his features. “My name is Circin.”

“And I am Talorc, laird of the Sinclairs and pack leader to my Chrechte brethren.”

Then he waited, letting Circin make the first move. Talorc countered it, glad when it took some effort on his part. He would be sorely disappointed in the Donegal laird if the man hadn’t seen to any training in the young Chrechte warrior under his care. Talorc made his own move, explaining why it was a good counter, but how it could be better.

Circin’s eyes widened at the instruction, yet he did not allow the flow of words to splinter his focus. Even so, it was obvious he was listening to everything Talorc said. And in doing so he earned another measure of Talorc’s esteem.

He allowed the sparring to continue long after the human boys had been defeated and submitted to Airril and Fionn. He could have taken Circin down to forced submission at any time. However, he wanted to teach the young wolf moves usually reserved for the Chrechte because they required greater speed, strength and stamina than most human warriors possessed.

Circin showed his appreciation in voluntarily baring his throat when Talorc pulled him into a nearly unbreakable hold. The younger soldier could have held on to his pride until Talorc forced an acknowledgment of his superior force. The laird was glad to see the boy understood how to take dignity in defeat.

It was a lack in that respect that had led to their people nearly wiping themselves out in the past.

Talorc had allowed Circin to fight long enough that there should be no shame in his loss of the challenge. Yet the young man’s honor should be fulfilled as well, since he had fought for right to the land and lost.

Nevertheless, it was good to check. Talorc did not need an enemy cropping up from a source he was close to naming friend. “You are satisfied?”

Circin nodded, sadness tingeing his gaze. “I am.”

Even knowing the outcome before the first blow was struck, there could be no joy in defeat.

“Good.” He placed his right fist over his heart.

Circin copied the action and bowed his head.

“Tell your laird the Sinclair laird would consider it an honor to train Chrechte warriors from his clan should he desire it.”

Circin’s eyes lit with excitement. “You mean it?”

“The first thing you need to learn, boy, is that an alpha never says something he does not mean or cannot back up,” Niall chided from his position between Abigail and the omega.

“Even Muin?” Circin asked.

“Muin is your brother?” Talorc asked, rather than reply.

Circin wiped blood from the corner of his lip with the back of his hand. “Yes.”

“An omega is always welcome among his Chrechte brethren, regardless of what colors they wear.”

“You adhere strictly to the Chrechte laws.”

“Aye.” Even if the Balmoral had believed for a time he did not.

“I will pass your invitation on to my laird.”

And would not take no for answer, if Talorc’s guess was accurate.

He was not surprised when Abigail invited the Donegal warriors to share in their evening meal. He was only surprised by the fact her presumption in doing so did not bother him. He supposed that she was his wife after all.

“I could not help but notice you did not take your horse hunting,” Abigail said, breaking the silence she had maintained since inviting the other soldiers to eat with them.

His wife was a curious mixture of timidity and boldness. She had not hesitated to confront him before he faced Circin’s challenge, but she had spent the hours since then watching everyone else and saying very little. ’Twas odd. In his experience, women tended to talk more than men, often filling a peaceful silence with unnecessary verbal noise. Abigail was the first woman he had met who might actually speak less than his warriors.

“I did not need a horse.”

“Perhaps you should reconsider that notion.” She paused, giving him a look from between her lashes. “Considering the fact that your soldiers returned with game and you did not.”

Everyone around the fire went silent at his wife’s innocent observation, waiting for his response.

He wasn’t about to admit that his wolf had spent the morning preoccupied with a woman who had responded with naught but fear at his presence. He frowned at her, letting her know he had no intention of justifying his failure to return with game.

“Perhaps it was forgetting your plaid that caused your lack of success. You scared the prey away.” The edges of her lips curled upward, though her expression remained demure.

She was teasing him. His shy little human wife dared to tease the Sinclair. The look of astonishment on Earc’s face and subtle mirth on Niall’s said they realized it as well. The other men wore a mixture of trepidation and concern, clearly mistaking his wife’s words as criticism.

“Highlanders have been hunting without covering for as long as they have claimed these lands.”

“Hmm . . .,” she replied noncommittally.

“Are you worried about my ability to provide for you?” he asked, keeping his expression hard and unreadable.

Crossing her arms she gave him an arch look that about had him falling backward. “Maybe I am.” She wasn’t buying his pretend annoyance, not even with worthless English gold coin.

A gasp from one of his warriors said they had though.

“You needn’t concern yourself, lady. Our clan provides for the laird as he provides for us,” Niall said, adding his own bit to bait Talorc.

“It would seem that is a good thing,” she replied and took a delicate bite of the roasted rabbit.

When Talorc did naught but give Niall a halfhearted glare and a shake of his head, Circin frowned much more fiercely. “You accept such an insult from your warrior?”

“Niall did not insult me, nor did my wife.” He looked at Abigail, who was definitely smirking now. “Did you?”

“Nay, my laird. I would never do so.”

Circin looked wholly unconvinced. “But—”

“In fact, I have full confidence that my wife will readily promise to eat only that which I proved for the next week.”

“Certainly,” Abigail said promptly.

Only then did the Donegal youth catch on. “You were teasing your laird.”

An almost silent giggle issued from her throat. “Yes.”

“No one teases the Donegal laird.”

“Not even his wife?” Abigail asked.

“Our lady died ten years ago.”

“That explains it. He’s probably still grieving,” Abigail said, clearly tongue in cheek.

The young soldier nodded quite seriously. “Aye. That he is. The biggest part of his heart died with her. They were true mates.”

“It is good for a husband and wife to be friends,” Abigail observed, clearly mistaking the meaning of the word mates.

Circin gave Abigail a confused look that went right past her as she studied Talorc’s face. He stared back.

“Do you agree?” she asked, a wistful expression on her pretty oval features.

“’Twould be enough to wish not to be enemies,” was all he was willing to concede.

How could he be friends with a woman born and raised Sassenach? He would never have a true mate now that he had accepted her into his bed. He would not be able to father children, for a Chrechte could not have offspring with a human unless a true mate bond existed. He, who believed strongly in preserving the Chrechte, would not be able to pass his own wolf nature on to the next generation.

The thought had him surging to his feet. “I will take the first patrol.”

Abigail paced, her attention drifting to the cavern entrance every few steps. It remained as empty as it had been since she said her good-nights to the warriors and found her way to her and Talorc’s temporary sleeping chamber.

Her husband had disappeared at the end of dinner and not returned since. At first, she had been relieved by his absence. His cruel comment regarding not being enemies with his wife being enough to wish for had put her on the verge of tears. Coupled with the way he had ignored her all day to hunt, on foot yet, left her in no doubt about how he saw her.

As an unwelcome interloper.

Just like her parents.

For just a little while, when he had taken such tender care of her after consummating their marriage the night before, she had let herself begin to believe it might be different.

Only, no matter what he had said during the Chrechte marriage ritual about her no longer being English, regardless of how deeply emotional their physical joining had felt to her, he did not care for her. She had been a fool to think one day he might. An absolute fool. The intense physical intimacy that had been so transforming for her had meant less than nothing to him.

She was his enemy. That she was his wife could not cancel out that salient fact.

She could not credit her own stupidity in allowing even a tendril of hope to grow that there might be a place for her among his clan, even once they learned the truth of her deafness. Talorc would be only too happy to use the deception as an excuse to get rid of his unwanted English wife. Just as she had first believed.

She swiped at the moisture trying to pool in her eyes. She would not cry. She would not.

Nor would she have Talorc return to find her pacing with impatience for his arrival.

With that thought in mind, she stripped to her shift and climbed between the furs to force or feign sleep. Either would work, so long as Talorc did not realize how hurt she was to learn her idiotic hopes had been just that.