Compromising Positions (24 page)

“’Tis gonna hurt,” he warned before he did it.

Kirstin saw stars and thought the world had gone gray for a moment.

“I’m sorry, lass,” he murmured, doing the same with the arrow that had found its way into his shoulder.

He mounted behind her, but only after he’d resheathed his sword and tied Eldred to the back of his saddle with a length of rope, like he’d promised.

She heard the man groan and she looked at Donal with wide eyes.

“He’s not dead?”

“He will be,” Donal said grimly as he took Kestrel’s reins.

Kirstin didn’t look back, but there was something quite satisfying, knowing the man who hated and wanted all wulvers dead was being dragged behind them through the dirt.

They didn’t talk about it, but she knew Donal was thinking the same thing she was.

It wasn’t until they arrived back at Castle MacFalon that they knew for sure.

Lorien met them on horseback, and Kirstin felt Donal’s good hand move to his sword as the wulver rode up.

“’Tis the witch,” Lorien told them, pointing to the center of the field, where a shapely woman had been lashed to a tall post. “And I see ye found Lord Eldred.”

“What’s left of ’im.” Donal’s jaw tightened as he looked at the woman struggling against her bindings. His hand wasn’t on his sword hilt anymore. Lorien was clearly not enchanted. Nor were any of the other wulvers in the yard. “Not much of a threat anymore, is she?”

Donal rode toward the post, drawing close—but not too close.

Moraga looked up, fire and hatred in her eyes, and she screamed at them in Gaelic.

“What’s t’matter?” Kirstin asked, narrowing her eyes at the woman who had once sent an enchanted blade after her. “N’blood fer yer magic, witch?”

Moraga snarled like an animal. Her dress was dirty and torn, face streaked with dirt.

“Mayhaps ye wanna use his?” Kirstin jerked her thumb behind her and the witch turned her head and saw him for the first time. Lord Eldred was still recognizable by his clothes, if nothing else.

“Noooooooooo!” The witch wailed, railing against the post, trying to escape her lashings, but whoever had tied her had done their job well. Besides, she had three MacFalons, two of which were Aiden and Angus, and four wulver warriors standing guard. The woman wasn’t going anywhere—except the dungeons.

Moraga sobbed, real tears, screaming Eldred’s name over and over.

“Donal, I’m feeling nauseous,” Kirstin confessed, although she wasn’t sure if it was her wound or the witch’s display that had done it.

“Aye.” He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s get ye t’Laina and Sibyl, so they can patch ye’up.”

He slid off his horse, glancing back at Lord Eldred’s body, now bent and broken from being dragged behind the horse. It was a horrible sight and Kirstin turned her face into Donal’s chest as she slid off the horse into his waiting arms.

“Send what’s left of ’im t’King Henry.” Donal tossed Kestrel’s reins to Angus.

“Donal,” Kirstin warned, shaking her head, feeling dizzy. “Do’na start a war.”

“When he finds out what t’man was plannin’, he’ll give me an honorary knighthood,” Donal scoffed, and Lorien laughed. Donal grinned back, then leaned in closer to whisper in her ear, “Or mayhaps m’choice of a bride.”

She thrilled at his words, in spite of the pain in her shoulder, the nausea in her belly, and the dizziness in her head. She lifted her face to his, smiling, and let him kiss her. For a moment, she didn’t feel anything but pure bliss. She didn’t hear the witch screaming, she didn’t feel the pain of her wound.

There was only Donal. The only man in the world. In her world. She felt dizzy with him, filled with him. She was his, and he was hers.

Finally, completely.

“Uhhhh, MacFalon…” Lorien interrupted, clearing his throat.

“What?” Donal snapped, annoyed at being interrupted. Kirstin clung to him, close. She was so dizzy she could hardly stand.

“Yer bride…” Lorien replied, glancing over at Angus. “She…”

“Aye?” Donal prompted, looking between the two of them.

And Kirstin knew. She just knew, by the way they looked at her, with that little bit of guilt in their eyes.

Aiden rocked back on his heels, clearing his throat. Then he pointed at the front of the castle, where a carriage was parked, led by four big horses.

Lorien sighed and announced, “Yer bride’s arrived.”

And with that, Kirsten fainted.

“I’m goin’ to run ye through wit’ an arrow e’ery month, jus’ t’keep ye in bed wit’ me.” Kirstin snuggled down under the covers, resting her head against Donal’s shoulder—his unbandaged one. Thankfully, their arrow wounds were mirror images of each other, so they fit together, as always, perfectly.

“Ye do’na hafta shoot me t’keep me in bed wit’ ye, lass.” Donal chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

“I’d usually say yer betrothed might object,” Moira called, grinning over at Laina as she readied their breakfast on trays on the table. Laina had been called in to play nursemaid—because Moira was so shorthanded and Raife insisted Sibyl stay in bed and rest for the bairn’s sake, even if there’d been no more bleeding—and she sat at their bedside, tearing cloth to make dressings. “But Lady Cecilia Witcombe’s been spendin’ s’much time wit’ the handsome Lorien, I do’na think she’d care a bit.”

The mention of Donal’s intended still made Kirstin wince, no matter how much he reassured her that he was, never, under any circumstances, going to marry the woman. They’d both been laid up in bed for almost a week with their wounds. Donal’s was healing quite nicely, but Kirstin had broken out into a fever on the second day and was just now, finally, starting to feel human again.

Which made her laugh to herself, because that’s all she was now—human. Her wulver side had been banished by the mix of herbs Sibyl had prepared. Kirstin still felt a little bad about stealing it and secretly taking the mixture. Laina had been beyond angry when she found out, but now that they had two instances of proof that the “cure” was permanent—and Darrow had been informed of its effects—Laina had come to her senses and had decided to stay a wulver, in spite of her deep desire to control her change. At least, until Sibyl could develop something that wasn’t so permanent.

“Too bad yer not a wulver anymore,” Laina grumbled, pulling back the covers to check Kirstin’s bandage, as if she’d read Kirstin’s mind. “Ye’d mend faster.”

“I’m glad I’m not a wulver anymore.” Kirstin winced when she pulled the dressing away. She was going to have an ugly scar there, she knew. “How’s Sibyl?”

“She’s doin’ well.” Laina couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face. She stood, holding her linked hands out in front of her middle. “Startin’ t’show.”

“And the cure?” Kirstin knew it was a sensitive subject, but she was too curious not to ask. “Has she recreated it yet?”

“She’s workin’ on it. Silvermoon’s plenty in the first den, but now we have to travel for the huluppa.” Laina helped Moira bring their breakfast tray over to the bed.

Moira was still shorthanded, but at least she didn’t have all the wulvers to feed anymore. They’d all moved into the first den, and from what Laina said, they’d made a home there in a very short amount of time. The space was the perfect size, and The MacFalon had no problem instructing his men to fix up the old barn to house their horses or build a fence in the field to keep sheep.

“’Tis always somethin’.” Kirstin sighed, cracking her hard-boiled egg and beginning to peel it.

“Sibyl a’ready sent somma t’wulver scouts back t’gather the huluppa fer her,” Laina said, pouring water into a cup and putting it on Kirstin’s bedside. “They also herded t’sheep to t’first den, so they would’na starve. I was glad they brought home some more of our things.”

“Laina!” Darrow’s voice echoed through the hallway, floating into their room. Kirstin wasn’t surprised to hear him. The wulvers and the MacFalons had been going back and forth, between the first den and the MacFalon castle.

Darrow and Raife had been in to see them at least once a day, sometimes together, sometimes separately. They had a lot to discuss with The MacFalon, who was doing business from his bed, which Laina and Moira insisted he not leave. This made Kirstin happy, because the longer they kept the real world at bay, the better, as far as she was concerned. She liked having Donal all to herself in their own little world.

“Here!” Laina called back.

Darrow poked his head in and grinned at Kirstin and Donal sitting up in bed together. “There’s t’love birds. Ready to go ridin’ yet, MacFalon?”

“I’m quite happy wit’ t’mount I’ve got righ ’ere,” Donal replied, sliding an arm around Kirstin and pulling her close. She giggled and flushed, but didn’t object. “I trust ye and Raife ’ave e’erythin’ handled, Darrow?”

“Oh aye,” Darrow agreed, grabbing his wife to him one handed and planting a kiss on her cheek as she passed. “E’erythin’ except the witch.”

Kirstin shivered at the mention of her. She couldn’t get the memory out of her mind of the woman screaming, sobbing, cursing all of them in Gaelic at the sight of Eldred’s mangled body being dragged behind the horse. When they had unlashed her from the pole and taken her to the dungeons, she had been put in a cell alone, away from Eldred’s four men. When one of the servants had gone down to bring her bread and water the next morning, the cell had been empty. Neither the bars nor the lock had been tampered with. She had simply vanished.

“I told ye she was a witch.” Kirstin couldn’t help ribbing Darrow a little about that.

“Mayhaps.” Darrow shrugged. He was still reluctant to believe, even now. “Although I think it more likely someone who had access to the keys set ’er free.”

“But no sign of ’er?” Donal asked, frowning. “Ye haven’t found ’er?”

The missing witch had been the main reason Raife had decided to keep the wulver pack on MacFalon land, in the first den. With her on the loose, there was at least one person in the world who knew exactly where the mountain den was located, and that made it too dangerous to live there. At least, at the first den, they had the MacFalons at the ready to watch their backs. Mayhaps they would find another place, in time, but for now, it was a good solution.

And it made Kirstin so very happy, to have her family close, even if she was no longer a wulver.

“Ye sent Eldred’s body t’King Henry, along wit’ me message?” Donal asked, taking the egg Kirstin had just finished peeled and popping the whole thing into his mouth. He asked this question every time Darrow or Raife or any of his men came in, and they always gave the same answer.

“Aye,” Darrow agreed.

“Nex’time, I bite yer finger off,” Kirstin growled, nudging Donal with her elbow for stealing her food.

“Yer not a wulver anymore, luv,” he reminded her with a reciprocal nudge. “I’m not afeared a’ye. Bite away.”

She turned and nipped at his shoulder, feeling him jump, but he grinned down at her, a dark light in his eyes that made her feel warm from head to toe.

Another knock came on the open door and the two MacFalon brothers, Aiden and Angus, who seemed to go everywhere together, appeared. Kirstin saw that Lorien was behind them, a head taller than both of the big men. He smiled over their heads at her and she smiled back. She wondered if it was true, what the women were saying about him and Lady Cecilia Witcombe.

Donal’s intended had arrived, terrified of the Scots, afraid she was going to be raped and murdered the moment she stepped out of her carriage. It had taken her party a great deal of extra time to arrive, because according to castle rumors, Cecilia had sabotaged their trip on more than one occasion, including “accidentally” shooting the captain of her guard in the thigh with an arrow.

She had stepped out of her carriage to find a witch lashed to a pole in the yard, guarded by half-men, half-wolves and bare-kneed, bearded Scotsmen in kilts. She had screamed at the sight, attracting the attention of the wulvers. Lorien, who had forgotten he was in warrior form—half-wolf, half-man—had rushed to her aid, always the gentleman. She had taken one look at his face and screamed again.

And when he’d remembered, and changed back to a man?

She had simply fainted dead away

Kirstin’s feelings for the woman had been nothing but venom at first, but the more she heard, the more she realized, Lady Cecilia Witcombe wasn’t any more interested in marrying Donal MacFalon than he was in marrying her. But if the rumors were true, she had become quite enamored with the wulver who had caught her when she fainted and carried her into the castle. And Lorien had been spending a lot of time at Castle MacFalon, if Laina and Moira were to be believed…