Donal. Sibyl called the laird by his Christian name? Kirstin met Sibyl's eyes and saw the tears there-real tears. The woman had been through hell and back, that much was clear. Donal MacFalon was a man with a big heart and a strong sense of integrity-she'd kenned that much already. Of course, he would offer Sibyl a kind hand, a big, strong shoulder to cry on.
Why should that bother her? Kirstin wondered. And yet, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck were standing up, and her blood felt as if it was boiling in her veins when Sibyl spoke of the laird.
"He's been such a comfort to me," Sibyl told her, reaching out a hand for Kirstin's. She allowed Sibyl to take it, to press it to her damp cheek, even though her hand trembled slightly in anger. What in the world did she have to be angry about? She reasoned with herself, trying to shake off the feeling. If she could control her wulver side, she could certainly control this-whatever this sudden feeling was.
Except, she couldn't. She didn't understand it, but she couldn't control the feeling at all.
"I can't thank him enough for everything he's done," Sibyl went on. Each word grated on Kirstin's ears, raked like a wulver's claws on slate. She gritted her teeth, listening to Sibyl's praise of the man, wondering why she had a sudden urge to throw the redhead from the nearest high window.
She had come to love Sibyl like a sister! What in the world was wrong with her?
Kirstin's eyes fled Sibyl's, returning to the doorway, where Donal stood, hand on the hilt of his sword, at the ready. His cheeks reddened slightly while Sibyl sung the man's praises as if he were the second coming of the human's worshipful Christ, and Kirstin tried to fight her desire to separate the woman's yapping head from her little body.
"It's been me pleasure, Sibyl," Donal muttered, clearing in his throat. "The least I could do fer ye..."
"Well, he rescued me from a trap." Kirstin's voice was much more strident than she meant it to be, and she stood there, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling her face growing red. "I mean, he... I..."
"Oh, Kirstin, no..." Sibyl gasped at the thought. "The same one Laina was trapped in?"
"Nay, t'was a net." Donal frowned. Kirstin knew Laina had been trapped in a cage, a message left in her blood for the wulvers to find after she'd been taken to Castle MacFalon. "Should've been disarmed. But we'll have help with that in the morning. King Henry's sent his royal huntsman to ensure all the wulver traps are taken out of the MacFalon woods."
"Oh, that's wonderful news." Sibyl perked up at that, eyes bright. "Does that mean... King Henry intends to honor the wolf pact then?"
"Aye." Donal gave a satisfied nod. "I expect the wulver messenger Raife dispatched will return with similar news. But Kirstin and I-we met Lord Eldred Lothienne and his captains in the woods. They were already working on disarming the traps."
"I ran into an armed one," Kirstin said wryly.
"Are you all right?" Sibyl asked.
"Donal saved me," Kirstin reminded her, taking far too much pleasure in saying it, and enjoying the way Donal smiled in response. Kirstin approached the bed, putting the back of her hand to Darrow's forehead. No fever-that was a good sign. "Where's Laina? I would've thought she wouldn't leave 'is side."
"I sent her to fetch some bread and soup for our wounded warrior." Sibyl sighed. "Every time he sees her, he wants to get up, and he's going to pull out all the stitching I did."
"So ye did stitch 'im up then?" Kirstin lifted the dressing to look. Sibyl was a fine healer, for a human, and had done a good job with needle and thread. The wulver in him had done a great deal of healing already, Kirstin noted-although she was shocked by how bloody the wound still was. It must have been very serious, quite deep. Wulvers healed from the inside out. Superficial wounds could heal within hours, sometimes minutes.
"Yes, I think we have him well in hand," Sibyl agreed, watching Kirstin's hands moving over Darrow's body, checking him for other injuries. She didn't feel anything broken or out of place. "It's just keeping his pain controlled-and keeping him in bed-that we have to deal with until he's well enough to come home."
"Home..." Kirstin smiled at Sibyl's choice of words.
The Englishwoman had run away from this castle, away from the cruel Alistair MacFalon, her betrothed, and had ended up in the wulver's den. Sibyl had spent months falling deeply, madly in love with Raife, the wulver pack leader. Kirstin had watched it happen, had been heart-glad of it. Raife sorely needed a mate, and while many of the wulver women had hoped to be marked by him, he'd never taken to any of them.
Until Sibyl came along. Not a wulver-not even a Scot! An Englishwoman. A shasennach. But Raife loved her, and she loved him. Sibyl had been so changed. She no longer wore English gowns-even her English accent had begun to fade. And she now thought of a wulver den as her home!
"It'll be good t'have t'pack together again." Kirstin agreed, seeing Donal's brow knit at her words. It was a phrase that should have instantly filled her with peace and calm, but she, too, felt a strange new tug at her heart she didn't quite understand at her own words.
"Kirstin... you should know..." Sibyl glanced at Donal, biting her lip, and Kirstin felt that strange zing of feeling again, like a lightning strike. Then it was as if someone had suddenly dropped a weight on her chest. It was hard to breathe. What was it that Sibyl wanted her to know, and what did it have to do with Donal MacFalon?
And why in the world did it matter to her, all of a sudden?
"Raife is... angry with me," Sibyl confessed. Donal snorted from the doorway at that, and Sibyl's cheeks filled with color to match her hair. "To put it mildly. And he's likely to be angry with you, too."
"Is that all?" Kirstin asked, filled with relief. Sibyl blinked at her, looking so hurt Kirstin couldn't help but go and put her arms around her. "I ju't mean-a'course he is. He's a wulver. I knew he would be. Ye had t'know he'd be angry..."
"Well... yes." Sibyl sighed, wringing the cloth in her hands as Kirstin knelt by her chair. "Of course, I expected he'd be angry with me for leaving. But I did it to save him, Kirstin!"
"Aye." She patted the Englishwoman's worried hands. "Ye should've seen him when I told 'im ye'd gone."
Kirstin paled at the memory alone. She'd never seen Raife in such a state. Sibyl searched her eyes, and Kirstin knew what she was looking for. She wanted proof that Raife loved her, that he wanted her, that he had truly meant it when he said that Sibyl was his one true mate.
"I thought he was goin' to take me head right offa me shoulders," Kirstin confessed, swallowing hard. "He was crazed. He could'na b'lieve ye'd gone."
"I couldn't believe it either." Sibyl lowered her head at the memory. "I really thought, if I came back here, and told Alistair I'd marry him, that the wulvers would be safe..."
"Aye." Kirstin nodded. "I know Raife'll be angry when he discovers I've come 'ere. But Sibyl, I could'na stay 'way. Not when I knew Darrow was hurt-and 'tis all my fault. If I hadna put ye on that horse..."
"But we couldn't have known," Sibyl whispered. "We both thought we were doing the right thing."
"Och, what a fine mess this is," Donal said softly from the doorway, and when Kirstin met his eyes, she saw the sympathy in them.
Kirstin opened her mouth to speak, to explain, but a voice interrupted her.
"Kirstin! What in the da world're ye doin 'ere?" Laina exclaimed from the doorway, carrying a tray. She was so startled, she nearly dropped it-Donal's quick reaction kept that from happening. He carried the tray over to the bedside table while the women gathered together.
"I came t'bring all'ye home, safe'n'sound." Kirstin put her arms around her. Laina's thick, white-blonde hair was pulled into a long plait down her back. She was dressed in her plaid, just like Sibyl. "How's Darrow?"
"Cranky." Laina smiled at him and Darrow moaned in his sleep, like he'd heard her. "But I s'pose that's understandable, given he was run-through with a broad sword."
"And how're ye?" Kirstin asked, touching the other woman's bruised and battered face. Laina was a stunning beauty, and Kirstin could tell the marks had already begun to heal. Wulver women didn't mend quite as quickly as the warriors, but they still had a significant ability to mend themselves. "They hurt you?"
"Alistair's men-a few of them." Laina shook her head, glancing over at Donal, who looked like he wanted to make yet another apology for his brother's conduct. "But I'm no worse fer t'wear."