Compromising Positions (12 page)

“I’ve come to deliver a message from King Henry VII of England,” he proclaimed. His voice boomed through the hall, carrying all the way to the back, bouncing off the wall. “In my hand, I hold a royal decree, sealed by the king himself. This is a proclamation written in his own hand, reaffirming the crown’s support of and enforcement for the original wolf pact decree is it was written.”

This news was met with sighs of relief and general applause.

The people who lived on the MacFalon lands had long known about the wulvers, even if those from far-away did not quite believe the tales of the half-men, half-wolf warriors who lived in the borderlands.

And they had all heard the stories of what life was like before the wolf pact, when wulvers ran free and hunted men. No one wanted those days to return.

Many of the MacFalons strained their necks to look over at Raife, and Kirstin felt dozens of eyes turn her way as well. Laina clapped along with the rest of the crowd, nudging Kirstin to do the same. Kirstin nudged Sibyl, urging her applause, and she complied, although not with much enthusiasm.

This worried Kirstin, because Sibyl had been quite concerned about King Henry’s response. They’d all hoped Alistair’s claims that King Henry was behind his plan to eliminate the wulvers were just lies, and now they had proof, from the England’s high royal huntsman himself. She would have thought Sibyl would be thrilled.

Lord Eldred handed the sealed proclamation to Donal. He actually had to turn around to do it, and Donal accepted it graciously. Lord Eldred handed him another piece of paper, also sealed, leaning into say something to the laird no one else could hear. Donal gave a nod, his brow knitting for a moment, before setting both scrolls aside.

“King Henry VII of England will condemn any act against the wolf pact,” Lord Eldred went on, bragging about his position as royal huntsman, and how the king had put him in charge of enforcing his wishes. Lord Eldred also made the announcement that, due to the recent death of King Henry’s eldest son, Arthur, the crown was in mourning, otherwise King Henry himself would have made the trip.

Lord Eldred strutted like a peacock, completely commanding the room, and just watching him made Kirstin’s blood boil. This was Donal’s day, his affirmation of laird, and this pontificating fool was literally standing in front of him in order to address the crowd. No one seemed to care much, though. They were all taken in by his swagger, which made Kirstin’s lip curl in a sneer she actually had to cover with her hand.

“Oh no.” Laina whispered, craning her neck to look behind them. “Oh no, no, no.” 

“What is it?” Sibyl asked, turning to look.

Kirstin whirled in her chair and saw him.

Darrow was up, dressed, and making his way into the hall.

“Oh nooooo!” Kirstin echoed Laina’s sentiment with a howling whisper. “Go! Fetch ’im a’fore Raife sees!” 

But Sibyl was already up, heading toward the back of the room to corral her charge.

Laina followed and Kirstin sat there for a moment, watching as the master of ceremonies attempted to take control again—it was time for Donal to name Aiden and Angus MacFalon as his guard captain and hunt master, respectively. They were Donal’s cousins, a lively pair of brothers with long, dark hair and bushy brown beards who liked nothing more than to drink and eat, as far as Kirstin could tell, but they were amiable enough. And, she supposed, it was good that they were big men, thick and barrel chested. People moved out of the way when they came into a room. Even Lord Eldred stepped aside as the brothers approached their laird to take the knee and pledge their fealty. She watched this happen out of the corner of her eye, but her attention was focused on Laina and Sibyl, who were now trying, as quietly as they possibly could, to drag Darrow back to bed before Raife saw him.

When Darrow opened his mouth to speak—likely to tell his wife to leave him the bloody hell alone, and not quietly either—Laina put a hand over his mouth. That’s when Kirstin got up and made her way through the crowd standing in the aisles—there weren’t nearly enough chairs for them all—to see if she could help get Darrow sorted before Raife caught wind. She saw Donal look her direction and she smiled at him, hoping he’d understand. He would, of course, once she’d told him why she’d slipped away.

Kirstin found Laina and Sibyl pushing a frustrated Darrow back through the crowd, but given the number of people, and Darrow’s resistance, they weren’t getting far.

“Darrow, please,” Laina pleaded. “Don’t do this. If Raife sees ye...”

“I need t’be’ere,” Darrow insisted, ignoring the looks people were giving him. “Lemme go, woman!”

“If he sees ye up, he’ll insist on leavin’,” Kirstin hissed, getting in front of Darrow—at least the three of them made some sort of barrier. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “Please, Darrow, think of Sibyl. Think of yer
banrighinn
.”

That did stop him, for a moment.

He frowned down at Sibyl, head tilted, considering. Kirstin could almost see his thoughts flitting over his face. He’d gone along with their plan thus far. What was a little longer? Laina said he’d been angry about not coming to the ceremony, but she said she would placate him. In the end, though, Sibyl had given him something to make him sleep, because nothing else would calm him. It appeared he’d either only pretended to take it, or he’d woken up sooner than they’d expected.

“Darrow.” Sibyl looked up at him, and Kirstin saw the tears in her eyes. Sibyl took a step back, shaking her head. “Go. Go to him. He’s your brother, and you’re right, you should be here.”

With that, Sibyl ran. Laina looked at Kirstin with wide eyes, then at her husband—who was already pushing his way through the crowd, now that he had Sibyl’s blessing. Kirstin could hear Donal announcing that the time for mourning his brother, Alistair, had come to an end.

“Go to’im!” Kirstin pointed after Darrow. “I’ll take care of Sibyl.”

She found her just outside the doors of the great hall, the ones that opened to the outside. Sibyl was crouching at the side of the stairs and Kirstin flew down them. When she reached her, Kirstin went to her knees beside Sibyl’s small, trembling form, pulling a curtain of red hair away from her damp face.

“I’m sorry,” Sibyl whispered. Then her body jerked violently and she leaned forward to vomit onto the dirt.

“Oh
banrighinn
,” Kirstin whispered, holding her hair back as Sibyl emptied her stomach of what little she’d had for breakfast onto the ground. When she was done, Kirstin pulled her into her arms, rocking her and stroking her hot, flushed face with cool hands. “How long’ve ye known?”

“Known... what?” Sibyl frowned at her, blinking in surprise.

“Ye do’na know?” Kirstin’s smile widened and she hugged her closer. “Oh m’sweet, lovely
banrighinn
, ye’re wit’ child. Ye’re carryin’ Raife’s bairn. Ye’ll bear t’wulver heir. Don’t ye know what this means? He can’na deny ye now!”

The doors of the hall flew open and Kirstin heard Donal’s voice from a distance, carrying to them, thanking everyone for coming and telling them that the kegs were being tapped outside—hence the avalanche of Scotsmen and women pouring forth from the gathering place.

“I’m pregnant?” Sibyl whispered, disbelieving.

“Aye. I’m almos’ certain of it.” Kirstin nodded, cupping her face in her hands.

“No.” Sibyl’s chin quivered and she pulled away, standing up and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “If I tell him... that will be the only reason he takes me back. I can’t. I won’t...”

And with that, she turned and ran. Kirstin went to follow her, but there was such a crowd rushing down the stairs, it was impossible. Even with her bright red hair, Sibyl was soon swallowed up.

“Kirstin?” Someone grabbed her arm and she looked up to see a man with a very bushy brown beard holding onto her. She recognized him as one of the recently pledged MacFalon brothers, either Aiden or Angus, but she couldn’t remember which.

“Aye.” She tried to shake him loose, but he held her, not rough, but firm.

“The MacFalon requests yer presence in ’is chambers.”

Kirstin followed Angus—it was Angus, not Aiden, who came to fetch her, she remembered when she saw the jagged scar on his calf and the story he’d told about the axe that had caused it—around the side of the castle, through the crowd. There was no sense going back up the stairs against the herd coming down it. Even with Angus’s bulk leading the way, it would be too much of a fight. Instead, he took her through the breezeway and into the castle, down another long hallway.

Her heart was beating too fast, wondering why Donal had requested her so formally, why he hadn’t come to get her himself. Mayhaps it was just another part of the ceremony, but she had a feeling it had to do with Darrow coming into the hall, and Raife realizing that his brother was now fit to travel. She wished she’d managed to catch Sibyl before she ran, but she would deal with that later—as soon as she could talk to Laina, alone.

Angus paused to knock on the big, solid, oak door.

“Aye, enter,” Donal called out. He sounded weary. Mayhaps all the pomp and circumstance had been as exhausting for him as it had for her. She smiled, thinking of the night they would spend together in the first den, just the two of them alone. She would do her best to make him forget all of it, the responsibilities of being laird, the thousand small and large things weighing him down.

Angus pushed the door open with a grunt and Kirstin marveled at how heavy the thing was. It was thicker than her wrist. She didn’t think a full grown wulver warrior could break it down without quite an effort.

“Kirstin.” Donal’s smile only reached his mouth, which was very unusual. She glanced around, expecting to see Darrow and Raife, perhaps even Laina, ready for the fight that surely was about to ensue, but there was only Donal, sitting behind a wide, dark desk scattered with papers and maps and other documents, including two scrolls, their seals broken.

The King’s seal, she realized, as Donal asked Angus to leave them and close the door behind him.

“Is somethin’ t’matter?”

He held his arms out to her, now that they were alone, and she went to him. Donal pulled her into his lap, kissing her hungrily, hands moving greedily under her plaid, seeking the velvet of her skin. His tongue made soft, swirling patterns with hers and she melted against him, moaning softly when he cupped her sex, parting her thighs to give him more access.

Had he called her here for this, then? She wondered.

But doing this here was dangerous, and they both knew it.

“Donal,” she whispered, burying her face against his neck as they parted, feeling the hardness of his body against hers, the steel of his erection through his plaid. “We should’na do this—not ’ere, not now. There’re hundreds of people waitin’ t’see their laird...”

“Damn them all t’hell n’back,” he swore, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head back so he could take her throat, leaving hot, wet trails with his swirling tongue. “Yer mine, Kirstin. D’ye hear me? And I want e’eryone t’know’t.”

He shifted in his chair, and she gasped when his cock pressed against her behind and his hand moved to cup the fullness of her breast. She couldn’t deny him—wouldn’t. She was his, truly. They were destined—she was sure of that. Her body knew it far better than her mind. It wept for him, opened to him, ached for him.

“Tonight,” she whispered, crying out when his hand moved once again under her plaid, cupping and rubbing her through the thin silk barrier. “At our spring. We’ll be together then... but now...”

“Kirstin.” Donal wrapped his arms around her waist, surrendering to her words, bending his head to her breasts and resting it there. She stroked his hair, long, silky, soft under her fingers, a lion’s mane. She sensed a sadness in him, a desperation that had never been there before.

“What is it?” she murmured, cradling her head against her breasts. “Tell me...”

He lifted his face to look at her, searching her eyes, looking for something.

“Let’s run away.” A small smile played on his lips at the shocked look that must have appeared on her face. “I’ll ask Raife t’take me into yer pack. I know it’s been done before. I’ll live among t’wulvers, be one of ye. We can be together, as we’re meant to be. I can’na be wit’out ye. Not as long as I draw breath.”

She stared at him, heart hammering in her chest. All of the scenarios she’d seen playing out in her mind, and yet, this had never been one of them. She had never dreamed that the laird of Clan MacFalon would give up everything to follow her into the wulver den.