Compromising Positions (8 page)

“Like wulvers.” Kirstin laughed.

“They use this in the wolf pact reaffirmation ceremony then?” Sibyl asked.

“Moira says so.” She nodded. “But the men do’na know where t’harvest it. Beitrus is our oldest healer and t’wulver who always came wit’ Raife to t’wolf pact reaffirmation e’ery year, and wit’ his father, Garaith, a’fore him, t’bring the silvermoon to the ceremony.”

“What does it do?” Sibyl brought it to her nose, smelling its sweetness.

“Our book describes it as a mender.” Kirsten took some too, feeling its slippery surface. She could smell it already, light and almost minty sweet. “’Tis what Moira said t’was for. It’s largely symbolic in t’ceremony, a’course. As a binder, it brings things together. Helps hold them in place.”

“It would be useful for Darrow’s wound, then.” Sibyl brightened. Then her face fell. “Although, the faster I heal him...”

“Well, mayhaps it’ll bind more than just physical wounds this day.”

Sibyl looked up. “What do you mean?”

“We’ll take it to the men, like me ancestors a’fore us,” Kirstin explained. “They’ll use it t’help bind t’wolf pact. But mayhaps it’ll also work t’help mend things a’tween ye and Raife. Heals broken bones—and broken oaths.”

“Mayhaps.” Sibyl looked so hopeful, and Kirstin truly was.

A binder like this was a powerful herb, especially in raw form. Besides, she reasoned, Raife couldn’t possibly hold out much longer. His resolve was already weakening. She’d seen it in his eyes the night before, and again this morning, when he’d come into the kitchen, seeing Sibyl laughing.

It was when he realized it was one of Donal’s remarks she was laughing at, that he’d turned around and stalked away. She was learning a great deal about that emotion, jealousy, from these two. It was a powerful thing. Made it hard to keep your wits about you. It made you see things that weren’t there, that a rational person would just shrug off. Raife couldn’t, for a moment, think Sibyl and Donal were a match, could he?

Of course, thinking of it herself, put her own feelings in a jumble. Donal was free to marry whomever he liked—or, at least, whomever the king liked, and since he’d already sent Sibyl to the MacFalons, she was obviously a good choice. And technically, Sibyl was free to marry whomever she liked as well. She hadn’t been marked, even if she and Raife had consummated their love.

But thinking of a match between Sibyl and Donal was ridiculous, because... well, just because. Besides, Sibyl loved Raife. And Raife loved her too, if he would just stop seeing through green, jealous eyes instead of his clear, bright blue ones. Kirstin hoped the silvermoon truly would do what they all hoped. If it did not, they were going to have to resort to more drastic measures.

“Shall we take this to Donal and Raife?” Sibyl suggested, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Aye.” Kirstin picked her way over the rocks in her soft boots, careful not to fall into the spring. The water would be cold, not like the hot springs back at the mountain den.

Sibyl took the torch from the wall and led the way. She was in a hurry now, no longer looking into rooms and exploring. Kirstin would have liked to spend more time down here—and mayhaps she would in the next week or so, if they stayed long enough—but Sibyl was a woman on a mission.

They passed the entrance to the catacombs, the light practically a pinpoint far above the long stairway, but they didn’t stop. Sibyl pushed on, heading in the other direction, where the MacFalon ancestors were entombed. It seemed fitting that the wolf pact reaffirmation took place where so much history had taken place between the two—the wulvers and the MacFalons.

Kirstin heard the men talking, just their voices, a low rumble, not the words. They rounded a corner in the passage and the cavern opened up into a wide space. An altar stood at one end, unadorned, a slab of rock. That’s where Donal and Raife were talking. Surrounding them were the catacombs, hundreds of slotted tombs, sealed off with the remains of the MacFalon’s ancestors.

“Raife.” Sibyl put her torch on the wall—the men had lit several around the room, making it far brighter than the passageway they’d traversed. “I brought you something you need.”

Kirstin hung back, letting Sibyl move forward toward the men. She saw Donal glance over at her, his face breaking into a smile, those grey-blue eyes lighting up in delight. She knew the feeling—it felt as if a bird had just taken flight in her chest, soaring, leaving her breathless at the sight of him.

She remembered the way he’d pulled her aside that morning, telling her about his meeting with Raife at the catacombs, the planned reaffirmation of the wolf pact.

“I’d like ye to come t’me there after the ceremony,” he told her softly. She was very aware of everyone’s eyes on them. “There’s somethin’ I’d like t’show ye.”

She’d agreed. It was when she told Moira, Laina and Sibyl about her intention to go out to the catacombs to meet Donal that Moira had expressed her concern about the lack of silvermoon at the ceremony. That’s when this plan had been hatched. Sibyl and Kirstin had quickly made preparations to follow the men to the catacombs, while Laina stayed behind to tend to her husband’s needs—and he, to hers, Kirstin thought with a smile.

Now that they were here, silvermoon in hand. Kirstin wondered if it had been such a good plan. Raife scowled at the interruption, which wasn’t an unusual expression for him lately, but it was a dark scowl. His mood had shifted suddenly from somber to wary as Sibyl approached. Kirstin felt as if she was watching some priceless vase toppling back and forth, waiting to see if it would fall or right itself again, unable to do anything but observe.

“You, too, Donal.” Sibyl smiled at the laird, remembering him only when he greeted her warmly, and Kirstin saw instantly that this was a mistake. Raife’s scowl deepened as he glanced between the two of them, and she saw the green of jealousy move into his eyes.

Sibyl went on, not realizing, holding out the plant leaves as a peace offering.

“It’s silvermoon,” Sibyl announced happily. “Moira said it’s always been used at the wolf pact ceremony, to bind things, and I thought—”

“Ye thought what?” Raife’s lip curled in anger. “Ye’d come down ’ere on sacred ground and violate t’wulver’s ancient first den t’bring me some leaves?”

“Well, I...” Sibyl hesitated, glancing back at Kirstin. “I was told... a wulver woman usually brings them...”

“Ye’re nuh a wulver,” Raife reminded her coldly, straightening and crossing his big arms over his chest. “And ye do’na have business ’ere.”

“Raife,” Kirstin protested, seeing the crestfallen look on Sibyl’s face.

“’Twas a kind thought, Sibyl.” Donal reached out and touched the Englishwoman’s arm. “Thank ye. Leave it on t’altar.”

“I brought the new spring mead instead,” Raife told Sibyl as she brushed by him to put the leaves on the altar next to two cups and an uncorked bottle. “We do’na need the silvermoon.”

Sibyl didn’t answer him. She walked by, head held high, moving toward Kirstin, who was the only one who saw the tears she was blinking back. She also saw the look of pain flash over Raife’s face as he looked at his mate’s retreating form. Kirstin thought, for a moment, that he might say something to bridge the gap between them.

He did call out, but it wasn’t what Kirstin expected.

“Why don’t ye put the silvermoon on Alistair’s tomb?” Raife reached out and grabbed the leaves in his big fist that Sibyl had so carefully pulled, stalking over to where Sibyl stood next to Kirsten. “Or mayhaps ye’d like t’give’t to the other MacFalon brother?”

Raife whirled to glare at Donal. Kirstin had heard them talking, even chuckling together, before the two women had come in. Now Raife looked at him like he wanted to tear his limbs off.

“Here, Donal, mayhaps this’ll bind ’er to ye better than I could cleave ’er to’me.” Raife tossed the leaves up in the air toward Donal and they floated down toward the dirt.

“Raife!” Sibyl called as he brushed past her, staring, aghast, as he stalked around the corner, headed toward the exit. She turned to Donal, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. “I’m so sorry. He’s... just...”

“Raife.” Kirstin sighed, shaking her head and looking after him.

“Do’na concern yerself, Sibyl.” Donal shook his head too, sighing. “The man’s more stubborn than most. And most men’re stubborn.”

“Should ye go after ’im?” Kirstin wondered aloud.

“I’ve tried.” Sibyl shook her head. “He won’t talk to me.”

“
Banrighinn
, I’m so sorry.” Kirstin put a soothing hand on her shoulder.

“I should go back and tend Darrow.” Sibyl stooped to carefully retrieve the silvermoon Raife had cast aside, her head bent. Kirstin’s gaze met Donal’s and they exchanged a knowing, sympathetic look. Sibyl stood, putting the leaves into a pocket in her plaid, turning to look at them with a sniff, blinking quickly to clear her eyes. “Mayhaps Moira will have some idea how the silvermoon might help his wound.”

“Mayhaps,” Kirstin agreed as Sibyl went by her.

Donal was still looking at Kirstin, and his gaze made her feel warm all over.

“Are you coming, Kirstin?” Sibyl called, reaching for the torch she’d brought in.

“Oh... aye.” Kirstin sighed, turning to follow her, but Donal’s hand on her arm stopped her.

“I beg yer pardon,
banrighinn
,” Donal called to Sibyl, his gaze never leaving Kirstin’s face.

“Why do people keep calling me that?” Sibyl sighed, rolling her eyes as she turned back toward them. “Can’t you see that he doesn’t want me to be his... whatever it is...”

Sibyl looked at them, her gaze moving from Kirstin’s face to Donal’s and back again, then flitting down to see the way Donal was holding onto Kirstin’s arm.

“I’d asked Lady Kirstin t’come to the catacombs so that I might show ’er somethin’...” Donal’s hand tightened on Kirstin’s arm, a slow, steady squeeze. She felt the blood rushing through her, suddenly hotter than she remembered. “Might ye find yer way back t’Castle MacFalon on yer own?”

“Unaccompanied?” Kirstin shook her head in protest. “But—”

“Absolutely!” A slow, secret smile started at the corners of the redhead’s mouth. The way she looked at them made Kirstin blush. “Don’t you even think of coming with me, Kirstin. I’m heading straight back to the castle with this silvermoon. I know the way—and so does the horse. You two don’t worry about me.”

“Thank ye.” Donal winked. “We’ll be back to the castle in time fer dinner.”

“Oh, you both take your time!” Sibyl backed toward the passageway. Her smile was almost a grin, now, her eyes sparkling with a life Kirstin hadn’t seen in them since she’d arrived at the castle. “All the time in the world! I’ll tell them not to expect you any time soon.”

“Sibyl!” Kirstin protested, her cheeks flaming now, and she was glad for the darkness of the environment. “Please.”

“I won’t say a word.” Sibyl mimicked locking her lips with a key. “I’m good at making excuses. You two... just... enjoy yourselves!”

“Oh fer heaven’s sake,” Kirstin muttered as Sibyl gave them a wave and ducked down the passage where Raife had recently disappeared. She glanced up at Donal, seeing the laughter in his eyes, and couldn’t help breaking into a smile. “What did she think we were goin’ t’do, make a fire and strip naked t’dance ’round it?”

“I would’na be averse to either of those things.” Donal laughed when she punched him in the upper arm. He rubbed it like she’d actually hurt him. “What man would say no to a pretty woman offerin’ t’strip and dance naked in front of the fire fer ’im?”

“’Twasn’t an offer.” She nudged him with her shoulder.

“Och, that’s a shame.” He grinned.

She felt the heat in her face and decided to change the subject. “So—what is it ye wanted t’show me?”

“This.” He waved his hand around at the MacFalon tomb. “And the ruins of t’first den, a’course—but it seems Sibyl beat me to it?”

“Aye, we went to the spring to get the silvermoon,” Kirstin admitted. “But we had to be quick. I’d love to really explore.”

“Good.” He smiled, hands behind his back, rocking onto his heels. “I thought ye might.”

“So this is where ye buried yer brother?” she mused, moving forward toward the newest tomb.

“Aye.” Donal sighed.

“I’m so sorry.” Kirstin put her hand against the cool stone. “’Tis not easy t’lose a sibling, e’en if—”

She couldn’t finish, wouldn’t hurt him with the words.

“Ye can say it, lass.” Donal moved in behind her, his voice close to her ear. “I hold no delusions ’bout me brother.”

“I’m sure ye had a lot of good times, when ye were young.” She gently stroked the stone, wondering what Donal had been like, when he was a wee lad. She could imagine him, bright-eyed, mischievous, always laughing. Not so different from now, mayhaps.

“Aye, some. He changed when I was... vera young.” Donal pressed his hand to the front of the tomb, his fingers overlapping hers. “But after our mother passed—she died of a fever, soon after she weaned me, and the healers could’na cure her—Alistair became an angry child. Bitter. Cruel.”

Kirstin sighed. “It’s so hard t’lose a mother.”

“Me father said Alistair was born with a black streak in his heart only our mother could lessen. Alistair was her shinin’ star. They loved each other overmuch.” Donal gave another sigh, dropping his hand from the tomb’s cold surface. “Me father said Alistair was always proud to show off t’her—whether t’was his skill wit’ sword or bow, or jus’ a boast about ’is ridin’ and wrestlin’. She indulged ’im.”