Moon Craving (18 page)

Sybil had worried and lamented about such a thing happening since she had taken her daughters to live in the Hamilton keep.

The gate at the top of the path was open and Talorc rode through, his bearing proud and imposing. A contingent of warriors, every bit as ferocious looking as the ones that had accompanied them north, waited in the courtyard. They stood in front of a single circular stone tower centered on the flattened top of the hill. The tower soared well over thirty feet into the air, competing with the fierce soldiers for Abigail's curious attention.

Talorc dismounted and greeted the warrior that looked to be Niall's twin with a fist to his heart. The other man copied his laird's movement, adding a nod toward Talorc that was almost a bow but not quite.

Abigail smiled at Niall. "That is your brother, Barr, is it not?"

"Aye."

"He's almost as handsome as you, but he lacks the mark of strength you carry on your face."

Tipping his head back, Niall laughed out loud, making Abigail grin. She liked to see joy on her new friend's face.

The warriors around them stopped greeting their laird and stared. So did the clanspeople, looking at Niall as if he'd sprouted Medusa snakes on his head.

Niall's mirth transformed to a fierce glare, causing all but a red-haired man standing near Talorc to affect immediate interest in something else. The red-haired man was smiling and staring at Niall with what could only be described as a love-struck expression. Not that Niall seemed to notice, he was too busy trying to intimidate his friends.

Abigail shook her head, giving up on trying to keep track of the conversations around her. She could only see a few people's lips, and she didn't have enough experience watching them speak yet to accurately read more than every other word. She could not see her husband's mouth at all. However, when everyone, including the clanspeople that had followed them from the lower bailey fixed their attention on Abigail, she surmised he'd said something in regard to her.

Panicked, she looked at Niall. "What did he say? I was not paying attention."

Niall gave her a strange look but didn't hesitate to reply. "Our laird introduced you as his wife. The soldiers and clan are now at liberty to speak to you."

"You mean they weren't before?"

"You dinna notice none of the soldiers spoke to you on our trip north?"

"I thought they might be shy." Or that they hadn't liked her because she was English. "You spoke to me."

"I had my laird's leave to do so."

"Wow, Sybil would throw a fit worthy of a yowling, scalded cat if my father presumed to dictate who could and could not speak to her."

"Does that mean you intend to throw such a fit?" Talorc asked, having approached without her noticing.

She shook her head with a smile. "Not at all." If he but knew it, he had just made her life all the easier. The fewer people that spoke directly to her, the less chance her secret would be revealed.

"Good." He put his arms up, indicating he would help her from the horse. "Come."

She didn't hesitate, sliding from the white mare's back right into her husband's strong arms. He set her from him immediately but put one hand on her shoulder. "I have already introduced my wife, I now tell you that Abigail of the Sinclair is
your
new lady."

Surprise rippled through the crowd, but it was no stronger than her own sense of astonishment. Even Abigail recognized a seal of approval when she "heard" it. Talorc was telling his people he expected them to accept her.

Amazing.

She knew he had not done the same for Emily. Her sister had felt hated by the Sinclairs.

An old man approached, a scowl on his wrinkled features. "You ask us to pledge our loyalty to this
Sassenach
?"

"Nay."

Abigail felt her heart plummet. Had she misunderstood?

"I do not ask. I demand it. As is their right, any who wish to challenge me may do so. Be assured, however, that I will consider the least slight to my mate a challenge for my position as laird."

The old man stepped back, clearly reeling from his leader's words.

Abigail felt a bit faint herself. Talorc had just announced to all who cared to listen that he considered her his friend. Warmth suffused her along with guilt she had kept buried deep inside since she began hiding her deafness from those around her.

She did not want to deceive her husband, but terror at his reaction to the truth prevented her from admitting it. Even now. Her plan had been to reveal her affliction upon reaching the Highlands so that Talorc would send her to live with her sister, Emily, among the Balmorals. With that goal in mind, telling the truth of her lack of hearing would have been easy.

Or so she supposed, but now it felt impossible. Once again hope was blooming inside that there might be a place for her among the Sinclairs. A true place. A position of belonging. And she did not want to give that up.

The redheaded soldier Abigail had noticed earlier stepped forward. "I will show our lady to your quarters so she can rest from her journey, my laird."

Talorc nodded. He turned to Abigail. "Wife, this is Guaire, seneschal to the Sinclair holding."

"Seneschal? I don't know this word."

"It is similar to a steward," Guaire replied in English, earning himself a glare from the other warriors around him.

Except for a slight tightening of his shoulders, he ignored the reaction, showing he was used to such from the others. For some reason that bothered Abigail. She knew she was going to like this soldier. He had been happy when Niall laughed and that pleased Abigail.

Niall was one of the few people in the world she counted as friend.

As they walked away, Talorc must have said something because Guaire stopped and looked back at his laird. Abigail swiveled her head so she could read her husband's lips as well.

"You will give her your arm on the stairs and assure her safety."

"Aye, my laird."

"I'm no bumbler, Talorc." She was deaf, not lacking in grace. "I'm not about to go tumbling down the stairs."

"Nevertheless you will allow a soldier to aid you whenever you use them."

She gave him one of his famous shrugs, refusing to agree to such a ridiculous instruction and unwilling to lie either.

As she and Guaire left, Abigail was actually grateful for her inability to hear the many whispers and comments that had to be going on behind them.

They stepped into the hall and Abigail sucked in a breath.

The interior was every bit as imposing as the exterior and far more austere. No colorful silks adorned the stone walls to give the hall a more cheerful aspect. No chairs surrounded the huge fireplace, conspicuously unlit despite the late-afternoon chill in the cavernous room. The sun might shine outside, but it had not penetrated the thick stone walls of Talorc's tower home. The only furnishings in the great hall were two long tables with backless benches down each side.

"How many of the soldiers dine in the hall?" she asked Guaire, rather than commenting on the cheerless aspect of the huge room.

"Ten of the elite soldiers live here in the hall as well as Talorc's advisor, Osgard, and myself. Another ten to fifteen of the unmarried soldiers will join us for the midday or evening meal."

"The married soldiers never share a meal with their laird?" That surprised her.

Talorc struck her as a leader who would prefer to stay connected to all his people.

"It would be considered rude to leave their wives and families for such. Is it not the same in England?"

"Well, I know that all Sir Hamilton's soldiers were on rotation to eat in the great hall once a month. It was considered an honor."

"As it should be."

"Of course, their families were welcome to join them. Some did and some preferred not to. My mother liked to lord her position over the other women living in my stepfather's barony."

"Interesting." Guaire did not appear as if the comment was merely a polite one. He looked intrigued. "I do not think we have had a child at the laird's table since Talorc and Caitriona themselves were children."

"Perhaps it is time to change that."

Guaire smiled at her, his expression saying he was amused but approved.

"Perhaps it is."

"How long have you lived in the laird's tower?" she asked as Guaire guided her up the stairs.

The stone steps curved in a gentle spiral along the wall up to the first story, which was a good fifteen feet above the great hall. She understood Talorc's insistence on her having an escort a little better. The stairs were not wide enough for two people to walk abreast and they had nothing between them and a sheer drop to the main floor.

Guaire led her one step ahead, while her hand was held firmly in the crook of his arm. "Since the laird's sister left to live with the Balmoral clan. I had been seneschal for two years already then, but not afforded the privilege of living within my laird's home."

"Well, I'm glad you do now. The stairs are very narrow," she observed.

Guaire led her across the small landing at the top of the stairs and through a doorway there. "It is a tactical advantage."

"Talorc seems very concerned with the safety of his fortress."

"Not the safety of the fortress." Guaire stopped and gave her a look that conveyed his desire for her to understand. "Our laird cares greatly for the security of the people that live within it."

"Because of what happened to his father?"

"More like because of what his father's actions allowed to happen to the rest of the clan. Our former laird was only one of many that died when his bitch of a wife betrayed the clan to her English friends."

"I can't imagine an English force coming this far north to wage war on a Scottish clan. What could they possibly hope to gain?"

Guaire shrugged and she was sure it did not mean that he did not have an answer, but that it was one he didn't wished to share. "Does it matter? They came and they killed."

"Yes." At the behest of a woman who should have been loyal to the old laird and his people. And Abigail's husband
still
called her his mate. It was a miracle to her way of thinking. "I must be grateful Talorc accepted me so readily."

"He did not have a choice. You are his mate, a true one if he willingly acknowledged so to the Chrechte warriors."

"I didn't even realize he saw me as his friend. It is an honor I plan to live up to."

Guaire gave her a puzzled look. "Friend?"

"His mate."

The redhead's leaf green eyes widened. "He did not tell you what it meant to be his mate?"

"We discussed it last night." Sort of. In a roundabout way. "We both feel it is a blessing for a husband and wife to be true friends."

Guaire seemed to be choking on something, but he just shook his head and led her down the hallway that bisected the first story. He pushed open the first door on the right.

"This is Talorc's chamber, now yours as well."

Considering the sparsity of furnishings and decor on the main floor, she should not have been surprised by this room. However, it would make a monastic cell appear decadent by comparison. A pile of furs much like the ones she and her husband had slept in on the trip north occupied a spot against the far wall. There was a chest under the window but no chairs or chest of drawers.

The only decor, if you could call it that, was a huge well-oiled sword and a selection of knives hanging above the fireplace mantel. She turned in a circle and noted torch holders on either side of the door. That was something at least. A small indication that her husband acknowledged they were no longer cave dwellers.

"It's, um . . . is he having a bed made?"

Guaire's look was definitely tinged with humor this time, and maybe a little pity. "I do not believe so."

"You would know, I'm guessing."

"Aye."

She sighed. The furs had been comfortable enough the past few nights, she supposed. "He is a man of few indulgences."

"I think 'few' may be overstating the case."

That was what she was afraid of.

"She is your true mate?" Barr asked Talorc with nothing less than shock.