Moon Burning (22 page)

B
arr shoved the door to his bedchamber shut with his heel before dropping Sabrine to her feet. The need to couple drove them both as they yanked off their plaids and other clothing, though he took a careful second to put his weapon in easy reach as always. Then he spun them around, pressing her against the door and devouring her mouth with his.

Sabrine did not attempt passivity, but returned his ardor caress for caress, clashing lips, tongue and teeth. She was his ideal complement in every way. A demure human would not have fit him so rightly. But Sabrine’s soft skin felt perfect to his touch, hot and smooth and alluring beyond measure.

While his feelings for her were a mixture of tenderness and lust, right now the voracious desire was in full control. He lifted her by her buttocks until their sexes were in alignment and then he thrust against her mound with his rigid cock. The wet, silky curls felt so good, but he knew what would feel better and he ached to be encased in her willing, moisture-slicked flesh.

“Are you ready for me?” he demanded against her still-mobile lips.

She nodded desperately, her head banging the door twice.

He almost laughed, but his throat was too dry and his cock too desperate.

She spread her thighs, bringing her legs around to latch behind his thighs and opening her honeyed depths to him. He slid his hardened member up and down her slicked flesh until they were both groaning and he knew he had to be inside her.
Now.

“You are mine!” he shouted as his head breached her inner sanctum.

“Yours.” Her voice was naught but a whisper, only so filled with aching emotion it resonated inside him like the strongest war cry.

She arched toward him as he pushed slowly but inexorably inside.

She gripped his neck so fiercely she would leave marks and he reveled in that truth. “Fire this hot must burn out.”

“No.” He rejected her words immediately. They were true mates, no matter what she insisted on believing, and the passion between them would burn brightly until they were old and gray. Until one of them passed into the next life.

“It must. We’ll die otherwise.”

“We’ll live!”

“You are so contrary.”

“You are such a doomsayer.” He thrust inside her. “You would build dungeons in the sky if I let you, but I will build ecstasy between us and your dungeons will crumble.”

He would plant his seed. Their babe would be conceived, which was only possible between true mates when a Chrechte and a human mated. He assumed it was the same for an Éan and the Faol.

He would have to ask her.

Later.

Regardless, she would bear his child. One born of their combined strength would be the strongest warrior for generations. The prospect the babe could well be a girl did not deter his thoughts at all.

“I know what the future holds for us.” Tears stood out in her near-black eyes.

She would learn they were not necessary. “As do I, but only one of us is right.”

“Arrogant man. You think it is you.”

“Grieving female, you think it is you.” Even amidst the joy of their desire, her underlying grief did not dissipate.

“I do not want to grieve again!” The words were lost in her moans of pleasure and he let them slide away from them.

He would show her they did not have to be separated as she was so sure they did. She would learn she could trust him with the secrets of her people. He would not betray her.

She would marry him; she would speak her full Chrechte vows in the sacred caves. He would convince her of the rightness of it. He had no choice. He would not lose his mate, not to her fear or anyone else’s folly.

 

 

E
arc reeked with satisfaction if not spent passion, when his friend joined Barr to begin their training of the human and Chrechte Donegal men in earnest.

“So, the wedding is on then?” he asked his second.

“Did you doubt it?”

“She ran from you like a rabbit from the wolf you are.”

“She had some women’s concerns.”

“And you comforted her?” Barr asked with laughter in his voice.

Earc shoved him as he moved to stand in front of a group of human men. “’Tis my duty.”

Barr held back his laughter. Barely. Earc wanted the healer and he would have her, but she’d made it clear,’twould not be easy.

They trained the men hard and by the time they broke for the day, each of the clansmen had marks to show for it, human or Chrechte notwithstanding.

 

 

S
abrine joined them for the evening meal, her demure demeanor at odds with the wild thing who had burned him to cinders against the bedchamber door that afternoon. He laid the lucky blow landed by one trainee this afternoon directly at her feet. Sparring partners of such limited experience did not touch Barr during a bout, but today one of Brigit’s cousins had landed a blow to his thigh.

It hadn’t been a serious one, but the fact the man had connected at all was cause for great rejoicing among the trainees.

And it was all Sabrine’s fault. She’d damn near exhausted him.

Verica was looking nervous but not terrified. Whatever Earc had said to calm her obvious fears had prevailed.

Circin smiled and laughed with his friends as they teased him over his sister’s imminent marriage. Father Thomas tried to draw Earc aside for counsel before performing the marriage rite and Padraig offered to counsel Verica on a woman’s duty. His own countenance gave no doubt that the man who would have been a priest himself if not for the brother he’d been beholden to obey knew less of such matters than the stammering and blushing virginal bride to be.

’Twas more normal than he’d yet seen this clan and Barr allowed himself to enjoy the moment.

Of course, it could not last and the stench of bitterness and envy accompanied Muin’s grandfather as he approached Barr’s table. “You approved this match between our healer and your second?” he asked without preamble.

“I did.”

“And what will this clan do for a healer when he takes her away?” the old man asked querulously.

What a killjoy. “He’s not taking her anywhere.”

“He will when you both leave Circin to lead the Donegals.” The man spat Circin’s name with a large measure of contempt.

Barr stood and addressed the now-silent dining hall. “One day Circin
will
lead this clan, but not until he is of an age to do so with both strength and wisdom.”

Cheers sounded all around and several clapped. Circin grinned, looking not at all worried by his future prospects.

“Earc came here because his laird asked him to,” Barr said. “If he stays, it will be because his mate asks him to.”

“She already did,” Earc said calmly with a nod for Verica.

She was twisting her skirt so hard in her hands, it was likely to pull her pleats right out if she didn’t stop.

“And what was your answer?” Barr asked, sure he already knew.

“That I would claim the Donegal clan as my family upon our marriage.”

The cheer was every bit as loud as before, with even more clapping and stomping feet. The healer was well liked among the clan and Earc was an excellent warrior.

“That’s settled then.” Barr dismissed the elder Chrechte with a look. “The wedding will be in the courtyard at sunset.”

Verica twitched and her gaze jerked to Earc. He smiled and winked at her. Apparently he hadn’t told her he’d arranged to speak their vows under the sky as Chrechte preferred to do.

He looked down at Sabrine to catch her reaction to the news and found her face set in that impassive mask he found so annoying. There was no way to read her thoughts or feelings; she had them swaddled more tightly than an English babe.

“You would not like to think of speaking your vows with me?” he asked her, causing many in the room to go silent as Chrechte hearing picked up his quietly spoken words.

She glared at him, but he was unperturbed. She was his. All should be made aware of that fact.

“We will discuss this later.”

“You can’t be serious, laird.” It was Muin’s grandfather again. The man had no sense of propriety when speaking to his laird.

Unlike Rowland, Wirp was not a direct threat to Barr’s leadership and he was inclined to show some mercy. Osgard was not at dinner tonight to berate the other Chrechte one elder to another as he had done with Rowland.

Osgard had taken a turn for the worse with his health after witnessing the challenge. Memories and the present vied for supremacy in his mind and Barr’s pity for the man grew daily.

“I have said it once and will repeat it this last and final time. The next remark made in this regard will be viewed as a challenge. Who I take to mate is my choice, no one else’s, and certainly not yours.”

The old man glared and opened his mouth, but Muin must have kicked him under the table because Wirp winced after a dull thud and did not speak.

Barr looked around the assembled. “Do any here question my right to choose my mate?”

“Nay, but laird, where does she come from?”

“Her memory is sketchy on that.” Or at least her admission in that regard was.

“Did she hit her head in the forest?” another asked.

“Aye.”

“Oh.” A chorus of understanding went around the room.

Although they had heard the same the night before, now that they saw Sabrine, the soldiers seemed more inclined to accept her story.
He
wasn’t, but he knew that for her to tell him the truth was a matter of trust.

Trust she did not yet feel, but would.

He was her mate.

And he was laird.

And a Chrechte of honor, damn it.

She simply had to open her eyes to these important facts.

Sabrine went to take a bite of her dinner as an unfamiliar and very faint scent came to Barr’s nostrils. His wolf howled a warning and he’d grabbed her hand before thinking of it.

The meat fell from her fingers and she stared at him. He snatched her plate and lifted it to his nose. The unfamiliar scent was stronger. It could be a spice the Sinclair cooks did not use, but his wolf warned it was more.

“Verica, smell this.” He thrust the plate at her.

She sniffed delicately and then turned pale, her worried gaze locking on Sabrine. “Did you eat any of your supper?”

“Not yet.”

“Good.”

“What is it?”

“Tomato leaves, dried and ground to a fine powder. They’ll make a man very ill, but will kill a bird,” she whispered the last bit very quietly. “There shouldn’t be any in the kitchens.”

“Then how did they get on her plate?” Barr demanded.

Verica did not have an answer and neither did Sorcha, or the other cooks. His and Sabrine’s plates had been served up separately with the best of the cut of the lamb and set aside while the rest of the meal was prepared for carrying to the hall.

Anyone could have sprinkled the poison on Sabrine’s plate, but how could they know it was to be hers? Sorcha had not even distinguished in the portion size, giving silent testament to her approval of the laird’s mate, even if that mate herself wasn’t willing to be named such.

There was no indication whoever had sprinkled the plate with the dried tomato leaves had wanted to do anything other than make him or Sabrine ill. In point of fact, it might well have been a test of his abilities as well.

Regardless, he did not like knowing the prank could have been deadly for Sabrine because of her raven nature.

 

 

S
abrine stood rigidly beside Verica, still stunned the other woman had asked her to stand up for her at the marriage ceremony. As a guardian, she spent little enough time among her people. She had never attended a Chrechte mating ceremony, much less one of the rare weddings when an Éan and human joined their lives.

She did not want to do anything to spoil the moment for her new friend but had no idea what to expect. Or what might be expected of her.

They stood before the priest, Earc beside Verica and Barr on the other side of the groom. If a single person in the clan was not standing in the crowd around them, Sabrine would never have been able to tell. There were so many, the small clan had to be present from the oldest grandmother to the youngest babe.

While the sour scent of bitterness would surge now and again, nothing could compete with the overwhelming affection the crowd felt for their clan healer. Joy was a heady fragrance around them, as pleasing as the heather in the hills.

Verica shook with nerves and Sabrine wondered what she was supposed to do about that, if anything. Perhaps pat the other woman’s arm reassuringly?

She tried it and Verica gave her a small smile.

Some improvement.

Earc frowned and turned so his body was more toward his bride than the priest. “I thought we dealt with your fears.”

Verica gasped and looked around with an acutely embarrassed air. “Shh . . .” she hissed.

Earc shook his head, but his frown lessened as if he’d worked something out. “No need to be nervous in front of your clan. They are here to wish you well, not notice any stumble in speech you might make in your vows.”

His attempt to speak quietly was of little consequence considering the fact that the Chrechte would be able to hear him quite clearly.

Verica frowned at her husband to be, but her harsh breathing decreased slightly and the set of her shoulders relaxed.

Earc’s words had been the right ones.

He took her hand and when she very obviously tried to tug it away with another chagrined look around them, he tightened his grip. Humans could be funny about affection between mates, but Sabrine approved Earc’s actions. Because as soon as he’d taken Verica’s hand, the other woman’s heart rate had become less erratic and her breathing had evened out completely.