“Thank you, laird.”
Barr inclined his head.
“Will you give me your allegiance?”
“Yes!” The man dropped his forehead forward, pounding his left breast with a hard fist.
Barr smiled then, his expression dimming only slightly when his eyes landed on Connor. “I expect you to train with the soldiers, beginning this afternoon.”
“But I’m not good for aught but hunting.”
“You doubt my wisdom?”
Circin was busy untying the man as Connor shook his head with vehemence.
“In future, you will trust your laird to protect you as a member of his family—you are my clan.”
Connor’s eyes grew suspiciously bright once again, but the relief and joy rolling off him left no doubt any tears he blinked away were not of sorrow.
His mother hugged him hard and then came forward to stand beside her husband, who had gained his feet. “I will serve you any way possible.”
“Rowland did not approve of you taking a human for a mate.”
“No, he did not.”
“He was an idiot.”
Her eyes widened, but she gave a short nod.
“Help me change this clan to one all can be proud to call family.”
“I will.”
S
abrine returned to Verica’s room to change back into her woman’s plaid, the pleated skirts sweeping the floor. There was no doubt it was warmer, but the confinement of movement was not something she wished to grow accustomed to.
“Did Rowland live here in the keep?” Sabrine asked Verica.
She had a difficult time accepting her search could be made that simple, but she had no such difficulty hoping at least.
Verica didn’t answer, acting as if she hadn’t heard Sabrine’s words. It didn’t offend her or surprise her. The other woman had been acting preoccupied since leaving the hall.
Verica tucked the plaid in the trunk and closed the lid, leaving the weapons on the bed. The sword gleamed from the healer’s care and the dagger remained tucked neatly in its scabbard. Sabrine’s hands itched to take them up and rearm herself, but neither was hers. They had belonged to an Éan warrior long since dead and were part of Verica’s heritage, even if she did not care to acknowledge it. A warrior’s blood ran in her veins, just as a healer’s did.
Another heritage the two women shared.
Life had dictated they travel different paths, but under the surface, they were much the same.
Still, Sabrine’s life was that of a warrior and she felt naked without weapons. She had not intended to go without them so long, but she had not expected to be shot out of the sky with an arrow, either.
Her sword and two deadly sharp daggers were hidden high in a tree in the forest. She’d thought she could easily get to them if needed, but with her injured arm, it would be some days before she flew as a raven again.
“Hmmm?” Verica murmured, as if just now realizing Sabrine had spoken.
“Rowland. Did he make his home here?” Sabrine had assumed he lived in his own cottage. When Barr had told the other disagreeable Chrechte elder he needed to move out of the keep, she’d recognized her assumption might be false.
“Oh.” Verica paused as if running the question through her mind again. “Yes. His room was off the hall, the same as Muin’s grandfather’s used to be. I’ll need to clean it out and give Rowland’s things to his sister.”
“Was she at the challenge today?”
“No. She’s not a shifting Chrechte. She’s his half sister. Her mother was human.” Verica frowned, a flicker of disgust showing on her features. “Their father did not recognize her, though the resemblance was undeniable. His Chrechte wife was not his true mate and he did not hesitate to sow his seed where he willed.”
“Blackguard.” A man caught in adultery among the Éan would be banished, at best. The Council of Three adhered to the ancient laws under certain circumstances and executions had taken place in her lifetime as well.
“Yes.”
Rowland had learned at least some of his atrocious behavior at the feet of his father. “The acorn did not fall far from the tree then.”
“You’re right. His father hated raven shifters as well.” Verica shivered, as if mention of the long-dead man still had the power to upset her.
It was a reaction Sabrine had no trouble understanding. She would never forget the scent of the wolf that had murdered her parents. Sometimes it came to her in her dreams and she woke shaking and sweating and glad no one shared her bed to see her so weak.
She’d thought she smelled it earlier, but the scent had been so faint, she now realized it had been the unusually tense circumstances that tricked her mind into thinking so. “There are others among your clan who despise our people.”
“Yes, but others do not. However, to guess wrongly which direction a wolf’s inclinations take him or her could cost a raven shifter her life.”
“As I guessed.” Even if she could abandon her role as protector to her people, she could not live among the Donegal clan without risking death. She could not stay with Barr. Sabrine kept her voice neutral as she offered, “I’ll help you clean out Rowland’s room, if you like.”
“You don’t need to do that.” Verica looked around, seeming lost and yet not so much disturbed as again occupied with thoughts that took her elsewhere. “We could ask Connor’s mother as she will no doubt be the housekeeper of the keep now that her husband has been named seneschal.”
“But to do so would not feel right, surely. Even if she was related to the old wolf. He caused her family too much grief.”
He’d caused more than a fair share for Verica and Circin as well, but the other woman still nodded. “Exactly.”
“So, allow me to help.” It would be an ideal opportunity for Sabrine to make her search for the
Clach Gealach Gra
. She could not be certain Rowland had stolen the Éan’s sacred talisman, but he did seem the most likely culprit. He would clearly have been happy to see the Éan die out as a race.
Verica asked, “If you are sure?”
“I have naught else to do while I wait for my arm to heal.”
“Except train the women of this clan to defend themselves,” Barr said from the doorway.
Both women jumped, Sabrine shocked she had not felt his approach. The wicked glint in his gray gaze said he’d masked his approach on purpose.
She bit back a smile. The man was a handful, that was certain. Any Éan would be proud to call him mate. She wished they had a future beyond the time it would take her to find the
Clach Gealach Gra
and heal enough to fly again.
“You heard about that?” she asked, hoping he would not attempt to deny her.
“Brigit was most forthcoming, though she did not mean to be.”
And what did that mean? He was Faol, so could not have the gift of mind reading, which was so rarely bestowed on the Éan. But he was wolf, and he could read emotions and honesty. Brigit was human; she could not hide the truth behind spoken lies from a Chrechte.
“You do not object?”
“Nay. While I have never known a female warrior before you, I have long believed all members of a clan need at least rudimentary training in how to protect their homes.”
“And their persons.” Women, especially in this clan, she thought, needed to be able to defend themselves.
He jerked his head in acknowledgment, his jaw going hard at some internal thought. “Aye, and their persons.”
The connection between them snapped into place in a way she had not experienced when creating a link for mindspeak with Verica. His emotions poured through the inexplicable bond. Fury at the way Sorcha had been treated, concern for other women who might have been misused, determination—though she could not tell about what, and underlying all of it was a sexual hunger directed solely at her. So strong, it rushed through her, leaving heated flames in its wake.
She swayed and Verica gave her an odd look. Determined not to be ruled by this wealth of feeling between them, feelings that had no future, Sabrine forced herself to ignore the desire coursing through her.
She drew herself up. “I would be pleased to train the women.”
“Thank you. I won’t make it mandatory as I have with the men.”
“Why not?”
“Choosing my battles.”
She did smile then. “Intelligence is an admirable trait.”
“Aye.”
“Arrogant man.”
“You like me as I am.”
She did. Too much. “How many of Rowland’s cronies live here in the keep?”
If he hadn’t stolen the Heart of the Moon stone, one of his companions probably had.
“The soldiers’ barracks is behind the main hall.” Barr shrugged. “I do not know how many of the younger Chrechte sided with Rowland’s skewed beliefs, or how many of the elders did not, but ’tis something I can better guess after today.”
“Are there any others besides Muin’s grandfather who had their own quarters?” Sabrine asked.
Barr gave her a speculative look, his brows narrowing.
Verica didn’t hesitate to answer. “Aye. Rowland’s brother lives in a room on the other side of mine.”
“He had a brother, too?”
At her continued questions, a watchful attitude settled over Barr, but he did not attempt to distract her from getting answers.
“Yes. The man is a good twenty years younger,” Verica explained. “He was born to their parents late in life and their mother died giving birth.”
“So, he is a full shifting Chrechte?”
“Oh, yes. Rowland would never have recognized him otherwise.”
“Why aren’t you giving him Rowland’s things?”
“Padraig has no interest in material things and he does recognize their sister. It was one of the things he and Rowland disagreed on. Padraig would be the first to insist Rowland’s possessions be given to their sister.”
“It sounds like he and the former laird had little in common.”
“Much to Rowland’s chagrin, but you are right.”
“Was Padraig at the challenge today?” Sabrine could not remember seeing anyone who resembled the older wolf.
Verica picked up the weapons and moved them to a shelf on the wall. “He was, but he drew no attention to himself, not by showing support of Rowland or refusing to affirm our laird’s leadership.”
Sabrine could not help giving the dagger and sword a last longing look.
“He was not overly loud in his affirmation.” The lack of expression on Barr’s features and the neutral tone of his voice gave no indication of how he regarded the other man’s less-than-enthusiastic support.
“Is he angry you were brought in to lead?” Sabrine asked.
“He has shown no antagonism. In truth, he spends more time with the priest than the warriors. I know little about him.”
Sabrine nodded, understanding the two men would not have crossed paths often under such circumstances. “He’s never criticized our new laird as some of the other men have,” Verica added.
“Did he expect to be laird one day?”
“Rowland always promised Circin would have his rightful place when he came of age, but I never believed he would follow through on that promise.”
Thoughtful, Sabrine frowned. “But do you think he intended his brother to follow in his footsteps?”
She did not like the idea there might yet be a serpent in the Donegals’ midst that could well rise up to strike at Barr.
“The fact his room was on this floor and the others lived on the lower level showed more than mere physical distance between the brothers,” Verica said. “Padraig and Circin have always gotten along, but the man just isn’t a warrior. Not like most Chrechte, and Rowland knew it. He complained about it enough, but Padraig spends his days studying the priest’s Latin texts and filling sheets of his own writing.”
“So, he does not avoid training because his brother is no longer in charge?” Barr asked.
“Oh, no. He was always forgetting to show up for Rowland’s days with the soldiers.”
Barr seemed content with that and unbothered that one of his Chrechte was uninterested in warfare.
“He’s a learned man, then?” Sabrine asked. The Éan did not have the luxury of supporting scholars, living as wraiths in the forest the way they did. Though there were still those who cloistered themselves with what learning and study they could.
“He is. Padraig and Father Thomas are good friends, spending many an evening discussing topics that most of the warriors understand less than they do how to use a weaver’s loom.”
The Éan practiced more ancient rites of worship than the Faol. Few were born with the instinct to lead their people spiritually, but those who were had no place in their lives for the warrior’s path. This was one immutable law among the Éan. And not even the Council Elder in charge of the warriors such as her ever questioned it.
She wondered if Rowland’s brother was such a Chrechte. “Is he a priest in training then?”
She was not sure what they called such holy men among the clans.
Verica shook her head, sadness reflected in her gaze. “Rowland would not hear of a Chrechte taking the vow of celibacy.”
The human priests were celibate? How odd. But still. “There are more important matters than procreation.”
“Not according to Rowland.”
“Rowland was destroying this clan and the pack that called it home.” Disgust warred with worry in Barr’s tone. “Men untrained for battle, women forced to provide what should be theirs to gift alone, scholars held back from that which they have been born to do. It is a perversion of all the Chrechte have achieved since joining the clans.”
Verica’s eyes filled and spilled over.
Sabrine stared at her, not sure what to do with the weeping woman as she did not see what reason the other woman had to grieve.
Surely Verica saw that Barr intended to make changes within their pack and clan for the better.
Then Verica threw her arms around her laird and hugged him hard. “Thank you.”