"They're leavin' in the morning." Kirstin's heart ached at the thought. Her family was going home, back to the den. Her pack would be complete again. Except she wouldn't be with them. It felt as if she were being split in two.
"Aye." His hand played in her hair, taking a strand between his fingers and twirling it idly around her nipple. "Are ye sad yer not goin' wit'em?"
"No." It wasn't quite true-she was sad, but not regretful, and the latter was what he was really asking about. She didn't regret her decision to stay, even not knowing what would happen.
"I'm expectin' a dispensation from King Henry wit'in a fortnight." He kissed her shoulder, rubbing his stubble there, making her shiver.
"Yer also expectin' yer bride t'arrive wit'in a fortnight," she reminded him softly. "Will't be a race t'see which gets 'ere first?"
"She's n'bride o'mine," he growled, brow knitted. "I did'na choose 'er. I chose ye."
"She did'na get t'choose either," she murmured, thinking of Sibyl, who had come to Scotland to find herself betrothed to a cruel tyrant. "Remember, she's an Englishwoman, comin' into a strange land, to marry a man she does'na know."
"You've an awful lotta sympathy fer a woman who wants t'take yer place?"
Kirstin shrugged. "We do'na know what she wants."
"Well I know what I want." He moved a hand down to cup her mound and she let out a soft sigh of pleasure, turning her face to his and snaking an arm behind his head to pull his mouth to her.
This man was hers. She didn't know if it would be forever, or just for now, but however long it lasted, she intended to make the most of every single moment.
7
"She's goin't'need a shave!" Giggles ensued, the high-pitched sort of laughter shared by women whose intentions were both wicked and cruel. "Wanna bring 'er a blade?"
"Hush!" Moira waved the young maidservants out of the room, closing the door behind them after ushering them through. Gayle give Kirstin a wicked, gap-tooth grin before the door slammed shut.
Kirstin didn't move from her place by the fire, still rolled in her plaid, staring into the flames. The room was warm, but she shivered, as if from fever. She knew the signs. Her time was coming, and soon. She would change then. She had no choice. The giggling maidservants who had laughed and poked fun weren't wrong, after all. She was abhorrent, a monster, something sick and twisted and wrong.
She couldn't blame the girls for being disgusted by her.
She wouldn't blame Donal for not wanting her.
What man would?
"Pay'em n'mind, lass." Moira picked up a poker to stoke the fire. "D'ye need anythin'?"
"Nuh." Kirstin sat, pulling the ends of her plaid up around her shoulders and glancing out the window at the setting sun. The moon would rise soon, full and beautiful-and she would be trapped. Trapped by her body, by her own nature. Trapped into her life as a wulver woman.
She should just return home, as Sibyl had begged her to before she left, and find a wulver warrior to settle with, to love and raise pups with-even if no other man besides Donal could ever be her one true mate.
But she knew, there was no wulver warrior who could make her feel the way Donal did. She didn't understand it, nor did she question it. Her nature might have been at odds with her heart's desire, but she trusted her instincts, and every fiber of her being told her that Donal was the man she was meant to be with. It was the only reason she had stayed here in this castle with the MacFalons, willing to withstand all the whispers and jibes.
To be with Donal, her one true mate, her only true love.
She'd said a tearful goodbye not too long ago once Darrow was ready to travel. Sibyl hadn't yet told Raife her secret, even though he'd stopped being a stubborn fool and had finally forgiven her. Too many things could go wrong before she started to show, Sibyl insisted. She'd wait until Raife noticed the physical changes in her body before telling him she was expecting his bairn.
"You'll come to me, when it's my time?" Sibyl had whispered to Kirstin as they hugged goodbye.
"A'course, banrighinn," Kirstin assured her, not knowing if she would be able to make it to the den to attend the birth of the wulver heir or not. She didn't know anything for sure-except that she was going to change, and there was nothing she could do about it.
"I have the book." Sibyl kept her voice low. "Laina's excited about something Moira told us about the silvermoon. I have some of it transplanted in a pot, and a gathered a great deal of it to take home and dry. Mayhaps the book will give us the key to the change..."
"Mayhaps," Kirstin had agreed, hugging Laina too, who was anxious to get back to her bairn. She truly hoped Sibyl would be able to translate the book they'd found in the first den well enough to find something useful, something that would allow wulver women to gain some modicum of control over their bodies during estrus and birthing, but she couldn't count on it.
Her own change was coming, and she would have to deal with it.
"'Tis almos'time." Moira said, sounding reluctant to mention it, and Kirstin knew she was. This wasn't the first time they'd had an unpredictable wulver woman in their midst.
"Aye." Kirstin sighed and stood, tucking her plaid into her belt as a knock came on the door.
"I'm 'ere fer t'she-wolf." Gregor stood in the doorway, sneering at Kirstin as she straightened her shoulders and tried to put on a brave, public face, prepared to face this horrible humiliation. He took a leery step back as Kirstin approached and she almost laughed. It was true, she could have torn the man's throat out in an instant, the moment she turned.
"Nuh, I'll take 'er down." Moira insisted, linking her arm with Kirstin's and leading her out of the room. "T'isn't fer t'likes'o'ye."
"Lock 'er up good!" Gregor called after the women as they made their way down the hallway. "We a'ready lost one laird-not gonna lose another!"
As if Kirstin ever would have hurt Donal, in any form, human or wolf. But she didn't say anything as she and Moira made their way down the stairs. She expected to be led to the dungeon-where else would she be locked up? But Moira turned and led her down the hall, stopping outside the door of Donal's chancery.
"He wanted t'see ye... a'fore t'change..." Moira knocked softly on the door and Kirstin's heart broke when Donal opened it.
"Nuh, I can'na..." Kirstin took a step back, but Donal already had her in his arms, pulling her into the room and locking the door, shutting Moira out.
"Aye, lass, ye can and ye will..." Donal buried his face and hands in Kirstin's long, dark hair. "I want ye, I need ye..."
"Aye," she whispered, knowing just how he felt, unable to hide her own feelings, not here, in his arms. "Time's almos'up, ye ken?"
"Aye." He lifted his face to look into her eyes, searching there for some answer, some solution to their strange dilemma. "Lemme look at ye."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling tears stinging her eyes, swallowing around a lump in her throat. "I wish I was someone else fer ye, somethin' else..."
"Nuh, lass. Do'na say't." Donal groaned, wrapping thick, strong arms around her waist, pulling her body in tight to his. "Ye're e'rythin' I've e'er wanted."
Kirstin shook her head, but her throat was closed with pain and heartache-and her impending change. She couldn't speak. She would lose the ability entirely soon.
"You're m'only love, and if I can'na'ave ye..."
"Shhh." Kirstin couldn't stand any more words and she was grateful when Donal's mouth found hers. This was a language she understood. Her arms went around his neck, fingers playing in the hair curling at the nape, his big hands moving over her tunic and plaid as if he could memorize her with his palms.
She wanted him, was desperate for him. If only he would take her and make her his own, mark her-marry her. She was a wulver, and wanted his claim, more than anything, but she knew it was the one thing she might never have.
Kirstin knew she should have listened to Sibyl's sensible advice. If anyone knew what it was like to be caught between two worlds, it was Sibyl. Donal was laird of his clan, and now he was promised to another-Cecilia Witcombe, a highborn, English lady, a woman who would arrive this week, a "gift" from King Henry VII.
The contract, arranged by the English king so he could secure the border, was binding. Even if Donal had not signed it, his brother had already agreed to give part of his lands to the English king in exchange for an English bride. So it was an English bride Donal would have.