Unless they made love while Kirstin was in wulver form, she could never bear his children. She-wulvers only experienced estrus as wulvers. The weight of this fact was like a thousand stones pressing on her heart. The MacFalons were Scots, so they weren't quite as particular about producing heirs as the English, but Donal was a man, and men wanted sons to carry on their lineage. They wanted daughters they could marry off to their neighbors to create alliances. And she wanted to give him sons and daughters.
She was a midwife-she'd been bringing pups into the world since she was a child herself, attending Beitrus-and the thought of not being able to bear children of her own left her feeling cold and alone. Looking at Laina, she thought of her wee bairn, the sweet, big-eyed, dark-haired Garaith, holding his chubby fists out to be picked up. She remembered the way Darrow had looked when his son was born, how proud he'd been. If she couldn't give that to Donal, she didn't know how she could possibly stand it.
And how could she tell him? How could she look him in those beautiful, kind, blue eyes and tell him that, loving her meant he would never have an heir? She wondered, sometimes, after their lovemaking, when he was stroking her hair or just watching her in the light of the fire, if he had put all the pieces together and figured it out for himself. Mayhaps he already knew the wulver ways, as Laina had intimated? But somehow, she didn't think so.
Because if he knew, she had a feeling he would end things between them as quickly as they'd begun.
And that's what she was really afraid of. Now that she had given in to herself-mind, body and soul-given into him, she couldn't imagine losing him.
So she had managed, every time he hinted about moving forward with marriage plans, to distract him, to keep things secret, just a little longer. She had been using Sibyl and Raife as a good excuse-not until things were settled between her pack leader and his mate, she said. Then they could share the news with everyone.
"Ye haven't talked 'bout it at all?" Laina asked, frowning, bringing Kirstin out of her reverie. "What'll ye do? Where'll ye live? How'll ye-?"
"Shh, 'ere comes Sibyl." Kirstin stood, welcoming Sibyl into their row of chairs with a hug.
Kirstin noted that Raife was watching his mate closely, although only from the corner of his eye, trying to appear as if he wasn't. Their latest plan to throw the two together had involved going riding under the pretense of looking for wulver traps-Lord Eldred had been keen to show them the various places where he and his men had begun disarming them-with Sibyl and Kirstin riding behind Donal and Raife.
Donal and Kirsten had planned to ride off and leave the two together alone in the woods, but Kirsten's horse had spooked at something-Laina claimed it was because she was so close to her estrus, but she didn't know for sure-and had taken off at a gallop. Donal and Raife gave chase, and by the time they caught her, Raife was so angry he threatened to pull Kirstin over his saddle and wallop her like a pup. Was it her fault the horse had spooked? Then, to top it off, it had begun to rain, and Lord Eldred begged off to go somewhere with his men, while the four of them rode back to Castle MacFalon in silence.
So much for plan B.
They'd moved on to plan C, which they would implement some time later in the week. It had to be soon, though, because while they were still bandaging Darrow's wound, he had nearly healed, and if Raife came out of the glowering mood he was in and started paying closer attention, he would know they were trying to deceive him. The only thing that kept Darrow in bed was the prospect of helping to alleviate his wife's discomfort because of her lacking nursling. He was clearly enjoying that part of the ruse.
Sibyl sat beside Kirstin with a smile, but there was no time for small talk. The room was full to capacity with all of the MacFalon armsmen as well as local villagers and several of the guests who had stayed on, after being invited to the wedding of Sibyl Blackthorne and Alistair MacFalon-which had never taken place.
The castle was still full of them, and Moira was busier than ever trying to feed everyone. Kirstin imagined the woman would be glad when they were all gone, which would likely be soon. Right about the time the wulvers left for home. Raife said the guests were staying on only to see if they'd turned themselves into wolves-like they were a curiosity or a freak show-and Donal had reluctantly confirmed as much.
Now, though, they were all crammed into the common room to watch the pomp and circumstance of their new laird being affirmed. He would also name his new guard captain and hunt master this day. After the ceremony would be a great party-poor Moira had been cooking for days and had brought in several extra sets of hands from the village to help her-and Kirstin was looking forward to it.
Beside her, Sibyl fidgeted, pulling at a stray thread at the edge of her plaid. Her nails were ragged, as if she'd been biting them, and she looked even more pale than usual. Her gaze kept skipping to Raife, who sat on the other side of the hall, as far away from her as he could get, while still being able to keep an eye on her.
Kirstin tried to listen and pay attention, but she kept getting distracted by Donal in his dress plaid. Her mind kept wandering to what he looked like out of it, and that made her feel as fidgety as Sibyl. It wasn't until Donal introduced Lord Eldred Lothienne to his clan that she really started listening. Up until then, the master of ceremonies had droned on about MacFalon lands and tracts and sections, as if he had to tell them every bit of dirt and rock the new laird of Clan MacFalon owned. Kirstin didn't know-mayhaps, according to some law, that's exactly what he had to do, but why subject them all to it?
Lord Eldred shook hands with the laird and Kirstin heard whispers around her about who he was and speculation about what he might be doing there, but no one had to wait long. The man was happy to steal the spotlight, stepping in front of Donal, literally upstaging him as he spoke to the crowd.
"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 as 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 in to 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.