Moon Burning (17 page)

“You’ll not die this day.” She did not know how to accomplish that feat, but this boy was a result of the disease of hatred and fear Rowland had infected the Donegal clan with.

She was tempted to let the boy go after the challenge was over and simply not tell Barr about the aborted attempt to circumvent the challenge. On the other hand, doing so would feel like a betrayal of Barr. Sabrine could not make herself take that path.

“What is going on here?” Circin demanded as he arrived.

Verica jumped up, shifted into her raven and left in a swish of feathers.

Sabrine smiled. “I would not have known you were approaching, but for the sound you made through the forest.”

He had far to go before he was a warrior of Barr’s skill, but he had already made improvements since they met.

Circin looked at her and then looked away again, a burnished line appearing along his cheekbones. “What are you doing out here? Dressed like a male?”

Oh, for goodness sake. “You act as if you’ve never seen a woman’s legs before.”

“I haven’t.”

“How is that possible? I thought the Faol hunted together.”

“We do, but the females make their change before joining the men.”

This clan had taken on more of the human mores than others further north in the Highlands, at least from what her distant observations had revealed. Barr had certainly not shown any modest regard for his own nakedness.

“Your laird sent you searching for the assassin?” she asked rather than continue their unnecessary discussion of her clothing. If he was so disturbed, he could look at something besides her knees.

The laird in training nodded.

“Good.”

Of course, Circin would have been too late to prevent the arrow that might well have killed Earc. Still, she liked knowing the man doing such a fine job of claiming her heart was a cunning warrior.

“Connor?” Circin asked, his voice tinged with shocked unhappiness. “You were happier than any other when the king demanded Rowland step down from his place as laird.”

“The bastard threatened the boy’s father.”

Circin cursed.

He looked toward the sky, where Verica had disappeared to, and then back to Sabrine. “You know.”

She nodded but added nothing else in front of the man Connor.

Circin asked the man, “Are there any others in on this cowardly plot to kill Earc?”

“Nay. Rowland could not risk going to his Chrechte friends and being discovered when one of them did not show for the challenge.”

Far too intent on the challenge happening below them, Sabrine did not comment. She already knew there were no others since Verica had continued to scan the forest while Sabrine made her way to the man with the bow.

 

 

B
arr instructed the Chrechte to create a circle around the challengers, further hindering any plot the former laird had hatched in his puling brain. He hoped Circin would be able to find any cohort Rowland had convinced to help him, but Barr’s wolf was on full alert all the same.

He commanded silence among the witnesses, so that should a twig break, he would hear it.

He measured the onlookers with his gaze. “You have been enjoined to come here to witness the challenge fight between Earc and Rowland.”

“You would pit a younger warrior against our former laird?” one of the older men asked with anger.

“If he survives the challenge, I’ll tear his throat out myself for crimes committed against those under his protection.”

Everyone in the clearing went as silent as he desired at his promise.

He found it interesting to note that no one stepped forward to protest the man’s innocence, but not surprising. A man did not start with murder and rape. Barr didn’t doubt that Rowland had been abusing his position within the pack for as long as he’d held it.

Maybe even before it had been officially his.

Rowland, who had come into the clearing looking smug, was starting to sweat. He had spent the time since arriving in the clearing talking to some of his old cronies, sending darting glances to the north. His conceited arrogance was just starting to show wear like a plaid made of inferior weave. Rowland looked off into the distance once again and probably saw exactly what Barr did at the same moment.

Wearing a man’s plaid and holding a sword, Sabrine stood in front of a rock outcropping that would make ideal cover for a bowman. The top of Circin’s head could be seen behind her.

She raised her arm in a typical warrior’s sign that all was well. Barr found himself biting back a laugh, though his mind told him he should be furious. Anger that she had disregarded his instructions warred with a sense of pride that the magnificent woman was his mate. What she thought she was doing dressed as a warrior and carrying a sword, he could not begin to guess, but it was enough to send fire through his loins.

The foul word that came out of Rowland’s mouth at that moment tipped Barr’s feelings toward the pride.

“You
will
fight my second,” he promised the honor-less cur.

Rowland spun away, giving his former pack something that was probably supposed to be a look of entreaty. It didn’t work well on the man’s contemptuous features.

“Will none of my brothers step forward to fight this challenge for your
old
laird?” His emphasis on the word
old
made Barr roll his eyes.

Some of the Chrechte winced, but not one of them looked ready to fall on his sword for the old bastard.

Earc stripped off his plaid, tossing it aside. As Chrechte law allowed for a wolf who was not yet in control of his change, he held his dagger in his dominant hand.

Rowland eyed it with disdain. “What do you plan to do with that, boy? You’ll not be able to hold it once you shift.”

“I only shift at the full moon,” Earc said, no shame in his voice.

Rowland’s grimace could hardly be called a smile, but the man was pleased at the news. No doubt. Evil satisfaction glowed in his eyes.

Fool.

Perhaps he had not trained his Chrechte warriors to fight their brethren in changed form, but Talorc had the Sinclairs. He’d made sure every soldier in his clan could hold his own against a Chrechte in battle. And the Chrechte were all drilled until they could fight another wolf in shifted form or not. Earc had never been bested, except by Talorc, Niall or Barr.

Since no other warrior had ever bested them, either, that did not imply any kind of weakness in Earc’s fighting ability.

In the blink of an eye, Rowland had shifted into wolf form and leapt toward Earc without warning. No wonder so many feared him in wolf form. Rowland was easily as big as Barr with a wild look in his canine eyes that would make most Chrechte pause before facing him in battle. Earc was not most Chrechte, nor was Barr. One day, God willing, they would train the Donegal Chrechte to be such soldiers.

Rowland’s fast change and leap showed he was still as agile as many a younger canine as well. Not that it would do him any good.

The action, while impressive, was a dirty trick. Though not strictly against the rules of combat, it bordered on breaking them. Barr’s jaw went rigid, but he checked his initial instinct, at the blatant show of disrespect, to shift and tear the wolf’s throat out.

Earc would handle the challenge without a problem, Barr was confident. His confidence proved true when Rowland’s lack of honor bought the former laird nothing.

Earc was ready for the powerful beast, deflecting him with a well-timed shove to the wolf’s chest, sending the huge beast tumbling. Rowland rolled onto his feet, snarling and showing a set of sharp teeth, spit flying as he tossed his head.

Earc grinned and mocked, “Am I supposed to be impressed, you ugly son of a bitch?”

The wolf sprang again, but Earc wasn’t giving the beast any openings, and this time he swiped at the wolf’s flank with his dagger as he twisted out of the way.

Talorc had taught them to weaken a wolf with blood loss before moving in for the kill. To go in for the final blow too early was to risk sustaining an injury that might well lead to a soldier’s lingering death after a fight was long over. Especially if the fight was far from the full moon and the Chrechte did not have control of his change. Shifting would not heal a wound, but it helped make sure the wound healed well and did not get infected.

He did not understand the why of it, but assumed it had to do with the same magic that brought the change over a wolf’s body to begin with.

Earc was following their former laird’s instructions with flawless follow-through in this battle. He avoided going down under Rowland’s repeated attacks, wounding the wolf on each pass. Despite snapping again and again, Rowland’s powerful jaws never closed on any part of Earc’s body. It was clear the massive wolf was tiring, but he was growing more and more enraged as well.

That could be dangerous.

Furious fighters were sloppy, but they were also unpredictable.

Rowland managed a swipe along Earc’s chest with his claws and the scent of his foe’s blood seemed to send him into a frenzy. He went after Earc with renewed vigor, making sounds Barr had never heard from a wolf for all the battles he had fought in. Rowland’s wolf was crazed with bloodlust and a bitter fury that stank like spoiled meat.

Once again, Earc showed his superior training because he was ready for the wolf’s flurried attack, even though Barr was sure he’d never met an opponent so infected with bloodlust.

Earc used the beast’s momentum to send him tumbling again, but this time he followed, landing on the self-admitted murderer and straddling the mighty wolf’s body. Rowland had been weakened by blood loss, but was strengthened by battle frenzy beyond a normal wolf’s strength. Even that of a Chrechte.

Earc refused to be unseated, however, keeping the wolf’s strong jaws away from his more vulnerable skin.

Bringing his knife down in a powerful arc, Earc stabbed straight through to the heart, killing the wolf instantly.

Stunned silence permeated the clearing. None moved. None spoke. Disbelief was a living entity among them. Into this utter quiet a loud, triumphant raven’s caw sounded over the shocked gathering. Barr realized that if Sabrine had disobeyed him, she’d no doubt done it with Verica’s help. The raven was singing her mate’s victory over the man she believed had killed her father.

A raven he had believed to be a wolf. Could one Chrechte pretend the scent of another as they could mask their own? Or was Verica the unthinkable? A woman with not one but two Chrechte forms.

’Twas a question he would have answers to, but later.

Right now was time for establishing his role as pack leader and Earc’s unquestioned position as his second.

Barr tipped his head back and howled. It took a moment, but others joined him. Not Earc though. A Chrechte never took the death of one of his kind lightly, even if he had been forced to do the killing.

While others might make their approval known, and should, Earc would not howl his joy at defeating his foe for there was one less Chrechte in the world and their numbers were not high.

Earc’s visage was grim as he retrieved Rowland’s human weapons and presented them to Barr with solemn reverence.

Barr accepted the sword and dagger, though he had no desire to keep them. He looked around the clearing, his gaze taking in the varied reactions to Rowland’s death. Relief, disbelief, horror, joy, anger, hope—and all of it tinged by shock—choked the clearing.

Barr lifted the weapons, looking at each member of his pack individually. Some did not meet his gaze, but all belonged to his pack, to his protection—until they proved themselves unworthy. “I am laird here. Does anyone question my right to lead?”

Several shouted firm denials and others howled, but none put their vote forward in the affirmative. None challenged him.

“The Chrechte live among the human clans to protect our race. In return we protect those we live among. We do not abuse them because we are stronger or faster.”

This time the affirmation was louder and the howls more triumphant. This pack had suffered under Rowland’s leadership. Barr would give them a chance to prove they wanted the change he offered.

Waiting for the pack to fall silent, he carefully noted those who did
not
join in affirming the Chrechte law regarding their lives among the humans.

“From this point forward, every Chrechte male will train as a warrior.” Some had been holding back and he had not made it mandatory, trying to get an understanding for why a people whose violent natures had almost led to their own extinction would not be in training for the protection of their people.

“Will you teach us how to defeat a Chrechte in his wolf form while still a human?” one young man called out.

“Aye.”

Earc stood beside him. “We’ll be teaching the human men in our clan how to fight Chrechte as well, without revealing our nature.”

“Like you did with Muin and the human soldiers yesterday?” a woman asked.

“That’s right.”

“Rowland never allowed the elite soldiers to train with the humans. He said it would make us weak,” one of Circin’s friends said.

“Does Earc appear weak to you?”

“No!”

“His primary role among the Sinclairs was preparing humans to meet a Chrechte attack.”

Looks of surprised respect showed over several faces.

“One day Circin will lead you; until that day I will train every man in this clan the way of a true Chrechte warrior.”

Shouts of approval went up, the deafening sound growing until those not joining in were more conspicuous in their silence. Distance grew between them and the others, as their fellow clansmen pulled away from the disapproving visages.

Earc frowned as he looked around and clearly noted those withholding their support. “Too bad none of them would challenge you.”