Compromising Positions (9 page)

“She sounds like a lovely woman,” Kirstin murmured, turning to face him.

They were very close in the dimness. She saw the way his gaze moved over her face in the light of a torch.

“All I remember of her is golden hair fallin’ into me face, a rosy-cheeked smile, and the warmth of fallin’ asleep against her breast.” Donal’s gaze moved over these parts of Kirstin as he spoke, from the cascade of dark hair over her shoulders to her definitely flushed cheeks, and then down, to her bosom, exposed at the V of the white shirt Moira had brought her to wear under her plaid.

“Alistair had far more of me mother than I ever did,” Donal confessed. “And when she died, me father said... Alistair’s heart caved in.”

“Nothin’ can e’er replace a mother’s love,” Kirstin agreed softly.

“So what about yer parents, Kirstin?” he inquired as they turned together and started walking slowly through the catacombs.

“Oh, me mother was a healer and a midwife,” she told him. “Me father—he was the warmaster fer Raife’s father, Garaith.”

“But I thought Raife’s father... was...?” Donal hesitated, looking at her, as if wondering, but she put his mind at ease.

“King Henry?” Kirstin smiled, nodding. “’Tis not a secret in the pack. In fact, ’tis the stuff of legend. But Raife never even met King Henry. Garaith raised him, and Raife always thought of him as his father. And Garaith treated him as such, passin’ on leadership of the pack to him, even though Darrow was his blood, not Raife.”

Donal sighed. “I wish me father’d been s’wise.”

“Ye mean, by makin’ ye laird instead of Alistair?”

“Aye. He could’ve,” Donal told her. “Scots do’na hold to the ‘first-born’ standards of t’English. But I think he felt he owed memother. And he hoped it’d change Alistair, givin’ him that kind of responsibility.”

“But it did’na.”

“Nuh. It only made things worse,” he said sadly. Then he brightened, looking sidelong at her. “So yer father was Alaric, the Gray Ghost, then?”

“Aye.” Kirstin laughed, surprised he knew her pack’s history. “But t’me, he was jus’ me father. Not grim at all. He loved t’tell stories and laugh—at least, he did, until me mother didn’t return from her fall medicinal gathering one year.”

“Och.” Donal’s face fell. “Wha’happened, lass?”

“He rode out t’find me mother,” she said, frowning at the memory. “T’was t’last night I saw ’im.”

“They searched?”

“A’course.” she nodded. “But they found no sign of either of ’em.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, I was a mature wulver by then, not a child, like ye were when ye lost yer mother,” she said. “I think t’was e’en harder for me adopted sister, Laina.”

“Laina’s yer sister?” He looked at her in surprise.

“Not by birth,” she explained. “But when ’er mother was killed by The MacFalon, me mother had just pupped me, and she adopted Laina and suckled ’er as ’er own. T’was hard on Laina t’lose not jus’ one but two mothers.”

“The MacFalon killed Laina’s mother?” Donal’s voice shook with anger. He stopped walking, leaning against the stone of the tombs to look at her.

“Yer grandfather.” Kirstin nodded, facing him. “Before t’wolf pact.”

“
She
was the one...” Donal breathed, realization dawning.

So he did know the history then.

“Aye. She-wulvers can’na change when they’re in estrus or givin’ birth,” she explained. “Both Laina’s mother and Raife’s were caught in one of The MacFalon’s traps. Laina’s mother gave birth to Laina in that cage. The pup was small enough and escaped. But The MacFalon shot an arrow through Laina’s mother’s heart.”

Donal closed his eyes as if in pain, whispering hoarsely, “I’m so sorry.”

“Raife’s mother...” Kirstin went on. “Her estrus’d jus’ ended, and she changed back t’human form. I hear tell that The MacFalon put the naked woman over his saddle and brought ’er home as a gift to t’visiting King Henry, and dragged t’body of t’wolf behind ’is horse...”

“I’ve heard t’same,” he replied, opening his eyes and shaking his head in disgust. “So that’s how Raife was conceived then?”

“Aye.” She nodded in agreement. “And how t’wolf pact came into bein’. King Henry told t’wulvers he’d deliver the kidnapped Avril—that was Raife’s mother’s name—and swear eternal peace between the MacFalons and the wulvers, if only the wulver warriors would fight for ’im t’gain the throne.”

“Because he was’na King Henry yet, then, was he?”

“Not yet,” she told him. “He gained the throne because he had the full force of the wulver warriors behind ’im.”

“’Tis a horrible tragedy, Kirstin.” He reached out and took her hand, pressing it between both of his. “So many wulver lives lost. Ye know, there was a time when yer number was very great.”

“Aye,” Kirstin agreed with a little shiver. “’Tis the reason the Scottish king started demanding hunters kill the wolves twice a year.”

“Yer pack outgrew this den.”

“Our new den’s far more secret than this one and I’m glad of it, even though we have the protection of t’wolf pact,” she confessed. “Still, wulvers’ve gone missin’. Like me parents. Not as many as a’fore, though. A’fore...”

She gave another shiver, remembering the stories she’d been told about the days before the wolf pact.

“I’ve heard ’em, too.” Donal nodded. “Men would, as you say, drag their corpses behind ’em on their horses.”

“Must’ve been a surprise when they got back t’the castle and discovered they were draggin’ a man or woman instead.” Kirstin gave a little, strangled laugh at that. “That’s when they knew they’d killed a wulver, not a wolf. The ol’ timers say we lost more’n half our wulver population a’fore t’wolf pact was signed.”

“I’m glad there’s no longer a feud a’tween us.” Donal squeezed her hand in his. “I meant it when I said I’d defend t’wolf pact wit’ me life, Kirstin.”

She met his eyes, seeing the hardness there, behind the softness, knowing he meant it.

“Thank ye.”

“Ye know, I saw yer father trainin’ in the yard at t’castle when t’wulvers came. I was jus’ a boy,” he told her, not letting go her hand as they started walking again.

“Did ye?” She smiled up at him as they headed toward the passageway leading between the MacFalon tombs and the first den.

“He bested e’ery wulver or man that faced him in trainin’,” Donal remembered. “All the boys gathered whisperin’ how like a ghost he really was. I’ve ne’er seen a man or wulver move like that. No one laid a blade on him.”

“He was a fine warrior,” she agreed as they moved into the tunnel.

Donal held Kirstin’s hand tight in his own. “I’m glad the Gray Ghost’s daughter isn’t so evasive—I would’na wanna lose ’er in the dark.”

“If ye think m\e father was fast, ye shoulda seen me mother.” Kirstin laughed, swinging his hand as they walked. “If she had’na been faster than the Gray Ghost, I would’ve had two dozen brothers and sisters!”

Donal chuckled at that.

“Besides, don’t ye know that wulvers can see in the dark?” she asked, glancing over at him.

“Yes, I did know.” Donal squeezed her hand, smiling.

“C’mon.” Kirstin was excited to explore as she pulled Donal deeper into the tunnels, following the recent prints she and Sibyl had left in the long accumulated dust.

They made their way down the passage, side by side. Donal carried the torch to light the way. If the den had been inhabited, there would be torches lit along the walls, she knew, both for light and warmth. She didn’t mind the damp or the cold—Scots were a hardy people, and wulvers even moreso.

Besides, with Donal beside her, she couldn’t possibly be cold. Her body radiated like a furnace when he was around. They’d known each other barely a day, but already she responded whenever he entered a room, or even when she heard his voice. Laina had spoken his name that morning, as they went down to breakfast, and Kirstin’s whole body had flushed with heat as if a flame had been ignited inside her belly.

And Laina had noticed.

Mayhaps Kirstin had been successful at keeping it from everyone else, even at breakfast when her gaze kept skipping over to Donal—every time she looked at him, he was looking at her, too—but Laina was her sister. They’d nursed together, hunted together, had their first moonblood within weeks of one another. Laina knew her like no one else.

Stopping and pulling Kirstin into an alcove, Laina had cupped her face in her soft hands, searching her eyes. Then Laina had broken into a grin, laughing at the way Kirstin blushed and pushed her away, but she knew. Kirstin’s protests had fallen on deaf ears, her insistence that it was nothing met with peals of delighted laughter.

“He’s yer one true mate,” Laina exclaimed, grabbing both of Kirstin’s hands in hers when she whirled to go. “Do’na spend another minute denyin’ it or runnin’ from it. There’s no sense. He’s t’one, Kirstin. Yer body knows it. I can see’t jus’ by lookin’ at ye.”

“Ye can’na...” Kirstin swallowed, afraid she really could. She’d spent the night on a bed so soft it was like sleeping tucked under the wing of a goose. After the forest floor or the kitchen of the wulver den, it should have been like heaven, but she’d tossed and turned, fitful and restless. Laina was right. Her body had responded almost instantly to Donal, from the moment she’d met him in the forest, and it was only getting worse.

“Aye,’tis true.” Laina’s blue eyes danced.

“But he’s...” Kirstin had struggled with it all night long, vacillating back and forth, unable to come to terms with it. “He’s a human!”

“Aye.” Laina agreed, shrugging. “But at least he’s a Scot. Our own
banrighinn
is a
shasennach
. What difference does it make? Look how long Raife tried to fight against it, and fer what? She belongs t’him, and he t’her. Donal’s yers, Kirstin. Oh, I’m so happy fer ye!”

Laina had thrown her arms around Kirstin and pulled her into a giant wulver hug that, if the sisters had been transformed, would have ended up in a tussle on the floor. And might have, still, if they hadn’t been in the hallway of the MacFalon castle.

So Laina knew. And in spite of the arguments she kept making to herself, Kirstin knew, too. And now, Sibyl knew, or at least, suspected. The question was—did Donal know?

And if he did—if he felt the same as she—what in the name of all that was holy were they going to do about it?

“Ye’ve been down ’ere a’fore?” Kirstin asked as they walked together. Donal kept hold of her hand under the pretense of making sure she didn’t stumble in the darkness. Even if he knew wulvers could see in the dark.

“Aye. We liked t’play ‘cloak’n’find’ down ’ere,” he told her. “If our da knew, he would’ve tanned our hides, but what boy could resist such a find?”

“There’re certainly plenty’o’places t’hide,” Kirstin agreed, smiling at the thought of them running through the tunnels. She stopped at one of the rooms and pushed open the door, letting go of his hand to enter. “I think this was t’healin’ room.”

“I always liked t’way this room smelled,” Donal observed, sniffing, as he followed her inside. “I liked hidin’ under this table.”

Kirstin examined the abandoned mortar and pestles. “My grandmother’s mother probably stood right ’ere, mixin’ herbs.”

The thought was both strange and comforting to her.

“Ye come from a long line of healers and midwives,” he said admiringly. “Wise women.”

“Aye.” She ran a finger through the dust on the table, wondering how long it had been since one of her ancestors had stood here, preparing poultices or mixing remedies. “Longer than I e’en realized. S’much history ’ere—fer both our families.”

“This place’s been a part’o’me since I was wee,” he told her, glancing around the room, his eyes filled with memory. “I used t’wonder what it was like, when t’wulvers lived ’ere, when it was full’o’life...”

“A wulver den’s always busy.” Kirstin smiled as they stepped out into the hallway. She took time to peer into more of the rooms, most of them small individual dens for wulver families. “These tunnels would’ve been full’o’wulvers, comin’n’goin’. I wonder where they kept their livestock?”

“Up top.” Donal pointed at the high ceilings. “There’s an old barn not too far from ’ere—I think they kept horses and sheep there. It’s on MacFalon land, but I wonder if it might’ve been wulver land long before it belonged to me family...”

“Mayhaps.” Kirstin smiled in the darkness when his hand found hers again, keeping her close when she wanted to wander ahead. She didn’t mind.

“I’m still amazed that a horse doesn’t spook when a wulver rider gets on,” he remarked.

“Ye can break a horse to a wulver rider, jus’ like ye can a human one,” she scoffed. “They get used to it. I imagine horses don’t much like human riders either, to begin wit’.”

“Aye.” Donal chuckled. “I’ve near broken me tailbone enough t’know that’s t’truth.”

“This would’ve been t’pack leader’s quarters.” Kirstin opened a door larger than the rest, revealing a room three times the size of the others. There was a large bed in the center of it, raised high, its base built of stone. It had clearly been built inside the room and was too large for anyone to move. Kirstin stopped, frowning as she looked at the mattress and coverlet still on the bed. “’Tis strange...”

“Hm?” Donal inquired, stepping closer.

“E’erythin’s covered in dust... but this beddin’ looks freshly laundered.” In fact, the whole room looked cleaner than the rest of the den. There was an animal skin in front of the big fireplace that looked quite new.

“Oh... aye.” Donal cleared his throat, rocking back on the heels of his boots when she looked at him. “I confess, we did’na jus’ play down ’ere as children. When we were older, we found other uses fer this place...”

“Did ye bring lasses down ’ere, then?” She crossed her arms at the thought, staring at the bed.

She could picture a younger Donal, fumbling under the plaid of some kitchen wench he’d invited down here.

I want t’show ye somethin’...

I just bet he had!

“A few.” He cleared his throat. “T’was away from t’pryin’ eyes of m’father—and Moira. That woman misses nothin’. Eyes like a hawk. One time...”

But Kirstin was striding across the room, away from him.

“Where ye goin’, lass?” Donal puzzled, seeing her moving along the back of the room near the big fireplace, her hands tracing over the stone.

“I’d wager ye did’na show yer lassies this secret...” Sure enough, her guess was correct. There was a section of the wall that, when pressed, revealed a narrow stone passage. She could hear the running water of the spring.

“What’s this?” Donal asked, following Kirstin through the dark passage, toward the light at the end. The sun was higher now and the room glowed as if lit from the inside, the slant of light coming in from above, making the water of the spring look cool and inviting.

“There’s a way in from the kitchen,” Kirstin pointed to the other exit, where she and Sibyl had come in.

“That’s how Alistair did it!” Donal’s eyes widened, and then he chuckled, shaking his head as he notched his torch into the wall. “He’d disappear down the tunnel, and I’d go lookin’ fer him—and he’d end up in the kitchen somehow.”

“Now ye know how.” She laughed.

“He always was a sneaky little buggar,” Donal mused. “But how did ye know about it?”

“’Tis the same in our den,” she explained, picking her way over the wet rocks in her boots. “The pack leader’s room has access to the spring. Did ye not know it was ’ere?”

“Oh, aye,” Donal agreed, catching her arm before she could slip. She smiled back at him gratefully. “I jus; did’na know about t’secret entrance. This is one of m’favorite places in the world. So calm and peaceful. Ye’ve a spring in yer den now?”

“Aye, there’s always a spring in e’ery den,” she told him as they reached flatter ground. The rock here was dry, warmed by the slant of the sun, and Kirstin drew up her plaid to sit down, pulling off her soft boots. “Water’s life. ’Tis said t’very first wulver was born in a spring like this one, to his wulver mother, Ardis.”

“Born in the water?” Donal marveled, sitting beside her on the rock as Kirstin scooted forward to slide her feet into the cool water.

“Aye,” she told him as Donal tossed his boots aside, too, dangling his feet in next to hers. “I’ve seen it done.”

“Doesn’t the bairn drown?”

“Nuh, the bairn’s a’ready livin’ in water.” She wrinkled her nose at the question, which seemed so silly to a midwife.

“How do they breathe?”

“No need ’til they’re birthed.”

He splashed her bare calves with his foot, making her laugh and nudge him with her hip. They sat very close, thigh to thigh, separated only by their plaids. Kirstin felt the press of his belt against her waist.

“Tell me more ’bout t’first wulver,” he said, moving more comfortably against her, his arm sliding behind her. His palm was flat against the stone, but he still framed her with his body, making a little niche for her to settle into.

“Well, some say we’re descendants of Lilith,” she told him, wondering just how many lasses Donal had brought down here. Did he do this with all the women he fancied? She didn’t like thinking about that, but she couldn’t help it. “In yer bible, she was the first woman, but she was cast out of Eden, doomed to give birth to demons.”

Donal grunted, disapproving. “And wulvers’re the demons?”

“Aye.” Kirstin glanced up at him, but he was looking down into the water. It was a deep spring, fresh water, crystal clear. He didn’t seem to mind how close they were, so Kirstin fit her head against his shoulder. “Men’s history is so oft different from a woman’s, ye ken?”

“Aye, lass.” He nodded. “But what’d Lilith hafta do wit’ t’first wulver?”

“Likely naught.” She snorted a little laugh. “Seems the masculine view of the feminine has twisted all women into demons these days. Mythology becomes history becomes reality. But the older legends... they ring truer to me. Me mother told me this, and her mother a’fore her. ’Tis the story of Ardis and Asher.”

“Who were they?” Donal’s hand moved from the stone to her hip. Kirstin didn’t shy from his touch. Instead, she snuggled closer. Her heart was racing as fast as if she was on a hunt.

“Ardis was a wolf who could change into a woman, but only durin’ t’full moon. She fell in love with a huntsman named Asher, who saved her from a trap near the spring.”

“Hmm.” Donal mused. His fingers traced lightly up her arm toward her shoulder. “Why does this sound familiar?”

Kirstin smiled at that. He had saved her from a trap, just like Asher had saved Ardis. The similarities didn’t end there, though. She looked up to see his gaze on her now. His eyes were clear blue today, no clouds, his brow smooth. A smile hovered on his lips, which were full and slightly parted and she had an incredible urge to press hers there.

“He took one look into her eyes and knew she was meant to be his,” she whispered, feeling his hand moving over her shoulder.

“Mm hmm...” He nodded, as if he understood this, too.

“And Ardis took one look at him...” She bit her lip, knowing this was her confession, not just the story of Ardis and her found one. “And knew he was her true mate.”

“Her true mate?”

She nodded. “Wulvers only have one, their whole lives.”

“Good.” His meaning was clear and she felt her body tremble slightly as his hand moved through her hair.

“They would meet at night at the spring to make love in the moonlight e’ery full moon,” she said, swallowing as she felt his fingertips brush the back of her neck, the tiny hairs there already raised and sensitive. “Me mother told me that the moonspring shone a silver light for them so they could see each other, but no one else could see them or their secret meetin’ place.”