"'Tis easy t'say that now." She sniffed, fitting her head under his chin. "Mayhaps 'tis time t'face some hard truths. We've been livin' the dream of Ardis and Asher, but mayhaps that dream's over now... and it's time t'wake up to the reality of who we really are."
"I know who I am." Donal's arms tightened around her. "I'm The MacFalon, and ye're mine. I will'na let ye go. That's the truth."
"The truth..." She gave a long, shuddering sigh. "The truth is, ye would'na be happy wit' the wulvers. And I..."
"Oh Kirstin, ye've been happy 'ere," he countered, whispering against her hair. "I know ye have."
"Aye," she confessed, holding back a sob. "I love ye, and Moira, and yer family, and the castle... I do. But..."
"Then stay," he urged, wrapping her up completely in his arms as if that alone could keep her. "I'll send word t'the king that I will'na marry this Englishwoman, and-"
"And start a war?" she cried. "Bring King Henry and 'is army down on yer head, so soon after reaffirming t'wolf pact? Put me pack and yer family in danger? At the vera least, lose everythin' ye own?"
"I do'na care 'bout that..." he told her hoarsely.
"But I do," she replied softly. "And we both know, e'en if... e'en if Lady Cecilia Witcombe wasn't on 'er way t'marry ye... no one would accept the laird of Clan MacFalon marryin' a wulver."
"'Tis not true..." He denied it, but she heard the hesitation in his voice.
"Aye, 'tis," she insisted. "I've heard what they say 'bout us. They all talk, when ye're not 'round to silence 'em. They say things like ‘I'd love to lie wit'er, but I'd be afeared t'get fleas'."
"Who said it?" he growled. "I'll 'ave their heads."
"You can'na quell hundreds of years of prejudice and superstition with yer sword, m'love." She smiled. She didn't want to tell him about the Alistair loyalists, the ones who continued to hate the wulvers. There was one man in particular, Gregor, who had said very rude, crude things, but she'd done her best to ignore him. "Ye'd hafta chop off e'ery head in the land t'were that yer solution."
"There's a way..." he insisted. "There mus' be."
"If'n there is, I do'na know't." She sighed, closing her eyes against the truth, not wanting to face it.
"Leave't t'me." He lifted her chin and kissed her lips, soft and sweet. "I should'na've burdened ye wit'this. But I wanted ye t'hear't from me, a'fore..."
"A'fore?" She raised her eyebrows.
He sighed, a pained look crossing his face. "A'fore ye heard it from someone else. Like Lord Eldred."
She shuddered at the mention of that man's name. Of course he would make it a point to make that sort of announcement at his leisure. He liked to take the spotlight, and he would likely see it as a good opportunity to do so.
"What're we gonna do, m'love?" she lamented, searching his eyes for an answer.
"Right now?" He brushed hair away from her face. "We're goin't'go out there, put on smiles, an'dance."
"I can'na dance wit' ye," she protested with a shake of her head. "Not now..."
"I can'na dance wit'out ye." He pressed his mouth full to hers and she tasted the salt of her tears slipping between their lips.
She would do as he asked, although, the thought of joining the gathering after this news made her stomach turn. And then she remembered Sibyl's morning sickness.
"Oh, Donal, there's somethin' else," she said.
He sighed. "I do'na think I can stand another thing..."
"It's Sibyl... she's wit' child."
He blinked in surprise. "Well, this is good news, isn't it? It solves our problem of tryin' t'get those two together, doesn't it?"
"No." Kirstin laughed, shaking her head. "Sibyl refuses t'tell him. She says she will'na use it t'get him back."
"Och." He smacked his forehead with his hand, rolling his eyes. "Women!"
"We're the bane of man's existence, aren't we?" She giggled.
"Aye," he agreed, grinning. "And the boon."
"I love ye, Donal MacFalon," she said suddenly. "No matter wha'appens, I'll always love ye."
"And I love ye, Kirstin MacFalon." He pressed his forehead to hers, looking deeply into her eyes.
"I do like the sound of that." She sighed.
"Good, because I'm goin' t'marry ye. Some way, somehow, I'll make ye mine. I promise ye that."
Kirstin nodded, kissing him back when he touched his lips to hers again, not protesting in the least-because she wanted so very much to believe him.
6
"Raife, I can'na go back wit' ye." Kirstin wrung her hands, meeting her pack leader's concerned gaze with her own pleading one. "He's me one true mate."
Raife scowled at her over the breakfast table, although she wasn't surprised. He wore a scowl most of the time now. They were leaving on the morrow, and still, his face hadn't cracked a smile. She couldn't believe he was still holding out, keeping his mate at arm's length. This was their last-ditch effort to bring the two of them together, and it had better work, because they'd run out of other options.
Unless they locked them in a room together that neither could escape, she couldn't fathom any other plan but this one.
"He's not a wulver," Raife protested, glancing over at his brother, Darrow, who snorted at this from behind his mug of mead. Laina just looked into her bowl of meal, scraping the bottom brown bits, ignoring Raife's cool look in their direction.
Kirstin had to point out the obvious. "Neither's Sibyl"
"We're talkin' about ye, nuh me." Raife's scowl deepened. And here she thought that wasn't even possible.
"I love 'im." Kirstin confessed, glancing up as Moira brought a bowl of hard-boiled eggs to the table. It was dangerous, telling Raife this in front of Moira and the servant girls who hurried around bringing food out to the gathering hall and the people there. The wulvers ate in the kitchen with the servants, not because they were forced to, but to avoid the stares and whispers of most of the MacFalons.
Raife frowned, but for the first time, he looked like he was taking her seriously. "You've given yerself t'him?"
She nodded, glancing at her sister. "Laina says I'll go into estrus soon."
"But ye can'na 'ave bairns wit' this man," Raife reminded her, his voice soft, more concerned than angry now.
"Aye." She swallowed, nodding again.
"And he knows that?"
"Aye."
"Kirstin, he's the laird of Clan MacFalon." Raife reached across the table to take her hand in his. "How well d'ye think those people out there're goin' to accept ye? They do'na e'en like havin' us eatin' at t'same table beside 'em."
What he said was true and made her eyes fill with tears. Raife frowned at that and sighed, watching her tears fall into her lap as she lowered her head, letting a dark curtain of hair hide her face.
"Kirstin, I'm not sayin' it t'be cruel," he murmured. She knew he wasn't, and his kindness and sympathy hurt more than anything else. Raife had been chosen their pack leader for a reason. He was both intelligent and shrewd, and he almost always knew the right thing to do-unless it involved his own love life, apparently. "Besides, I do'na b'lieve King Henry'll e'er allow the match."
"But he upheld t'wolf pact." She lifted her tear-filled gaze to meet his.
"There's a difference a'tween livin' peacefully alongside wulvers and marryin' them, ye ken?" He squeezed her small hands in his giant ones. "But if it's what ye really want, I'll n'stop ye."
"Thank ye." Kirstin's lower lip trembled. She wasn't even acting-she didn't have to. "I'm afeared ye may be right 'bout King Henry. He's... he's sent a royal decree."
"What decree?" Raife glanced up at Darrow and Laina to see if they knew about such a decree but they both kept quiet, busying themselves with their breakfast.
"King Henry's promised Donal another bride. An English one." She wasn't lying. She comforted herself with that as Raife's eyebrows went up in surprise.
"I was afeared of that." He shook his dark head, frowning.
"He sent a sealed scroll wit' his royal huntsman. King Henry's ordered 'im t'marry S-" She stopped herself mid-sentence, biting her lip. Mayhaps now she was putting on a bit of an act for his benefit. But it worked. His eyes widened when she wouldn't finish the sibilant word and simply said, "An Englishwoman."
"An Englishwoman," Raife murmured. He was an intelligent wulver and could put a puzzle together. She was counting on it. His gaze skipped to Laina and Darrow, who avoided it. Even Moira rushed off to busy herself with something at the other end of the kitchen. "What Englishwoman?"