Warrior's Moon (16 page)

Sure enough, he whispered in an emotion laden voice, “I missed Eadan’s and Marjory’s babyhoods, but I will be there for the next one.”

H
e took his own seat on the bench beside her, putting
Eadan to his right and leaving the spot to her left open for Audrey and Marjory. Thomas rounded the table and took a seat across from Eadan beside the laird’s sons.

In no mental condition to deal with Caelis’s certainty that they would be a family, Shona simply ignored him. “Good morning, Lady Sinclair. Your daughter is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” The Sinclair lady looked fondly at the babe in her husband’s arms and then let that gaze move to encompass all her children, including Ciara, who was seated to her left. “I am a very blessed woman.”

“You are indeed.”

Lady Sinclair’s smile was near blinding in its happy intensity. “Did you sleep well, Lady Heronshire?”

Discovering a bit of that Scottish lass still dwelling in her deepest heart, Shona felt the stiffness of the address and didn’t like it besides. “Please, call me Shona.”

“And you must call me Abigail. To be honest, one of the
things I miss least about England is the stuffy habit of lord-and lady-ing everyone.”

“Your clan calls you lady.”

“It sounds different coming from them.”

Shona was shocked that in her current state she could find the mundane amusing, but she heard herself laughing softly if briefly at Abigail’s claim. It was all too easy to understand.

She used to compare life in England to Scotland all the time and in most cases, had drawn a similar conclusion: things done the same way did not carry the same impact. No matter how hard she had worked to change herself so that she had a place there, for the sake of her children and parents, Shona had never felt as if she belonged in that oh-so-civilized country to the south.

She had not been happy, though she’d found a measure of joy in motherhood. She had done her best to be content with her lot in life, even if her heart cried nightly for what it could not have.

But ultimately, Shona had never felt safe, or at home in England as she had returning to her homeland, even on the run from her former husband’s evil son. “I do not think I will miss anything about England.”

“You did not want to leave Scotland?”

Shona shrugged. “My desires had naught to do with my father’s choices.”

“I understand.” The expression in Abigail’s eyes said the other woman truly did, too.

“Becoming a mother made it more difficult, not easier to understand my father’s lack of love toward me,” Shona admitted.

Caelis made a sound of disagreement as did Shona’s friends, but she disregarded them all.

Abigail’s brown eyes glowed with saddened understanding. “It was the same for me.”

“I doubt most sincerely you did something so grievous as to shatter your parents’ illusions of your worth,” Shona felt compelled to say.

“You are wrong. My mother and stepfather held me in no value at all because I could not hear.”

“What do you mean? You hear just fine.” At least it seemed so to Shona.

“I do now. I didn’t then. I had a fever when I was a child. It took my hearing and with it my parents’ regard.”

“But that was not your fault!”

Abigail smiled, showing that the old pain might eventually let go of Shona as well. “No, it was not, but they were ashamed of me all the same.”

“I am sorry.” In that moment, Shona felt a kinship to Abigail that went deeper than place of birth or life circumstance.

“It brought me to Talorc and the family I share with him, so I cannot regret my past.”

“You are a strong woman.”

“She is at that,” Talorc said with great pride in his tone.

Shona found herself smiling at him.

He returned the gesture, his grin growing when Caelis shifted beside her.

She looked up to her right and saw that the MacLeod soldier had a fierce frown on his face. She could not imagine what had him upset this time.

So, again, she opted to simply ignore him. She pointed out the obvious, but what still confused her. “You are no longer deaf.”

“A miracle.”

“Saints be praised.”

“The One who made them, to be sure.”

Shona nodded, satisfied at least that her own pain had not made her entirely oblivious to the feelings of others. “I am very glad you found your happiness.”

“I am more suited to life here, though I never would have believed it before I was sent to marry a stranger.”

Shona, who had some experience with that, shuddered. “Not all matrimony arranged by one’s parents turns out congenial.”

“A congenial marriage is a blessing all in its own right, no matter what led to it, love or politics.”

Shona could not gainsay that piece of wisdom.

“And even less than joyful unions have their blessings.” Abigail brushed her daughter’s hair with her hand.

Marjory, who had been eating with single-minded determination, stopped mid-chew to smile engagingly up at her mother.

Shona smiled back, a measure of peace filling her heart that had nothing to do with the revelations of the past twenty-four hours.

And reminding Shona one lesson of great value she’d learned in the last six years. Life did not have to be perfect for moments of joy to color it with beauty.

Shona was taken further out of her own thoughts by the arrival of another warrior, this one wearing the colors of the Balmoral. The leather jerkin he wore with his kilt, however, gave him an appearance every bit as barbaric as Caelis with his bare chest (but for the swath of plaid that crossed it diagonally).

The Balmoral stood far too close to Audrey for propriety’s sake, but then those in the Highlands were not as concerned with such
trivialities
as other clans or the English.

Usually, those same Highland clans kept to themselves. The fact that both a MacLeod and Balmoral soldier could be found among the Sinclairs was more than a little unexpected.

Shona honestly did not know what to make of it.

“Vegar, join us,” Lady Abigail invited warmly. “I had thought you were hunting.”

So the Balmoral soldier was welcome
and
an expected guest.

This spoke well for the relations between the Sinclairs and the Balmorals. Again, Shona could work up no excitement over what should have been good news to her ears. Surely she should be considering asking this Vegar to lead her to the Balmorals, at the very least.

Yet none of her previous plans were as real in her mind as the unbelievable turn of events her life had taken since she and her companions had been met by Niall and his warriors.

“Aye, I’ve been hunting. I found what I did not even ken I was looking for.” Vegar’s tone was laced with awed satisfaction and he gave Audrey a look of such heat, Shona felt herself blushing on behalf of her friend.

Whether or not Audrey could still be called by that title wasn’t something Shona wanted to contemplate just then.

Audrey just stared up at the man, the most arrested expression on her lovely features.

Shona couldn’t begin to fathom what was happening. This reaction was most unusual for the innocent Audrey, anyway.

Shona had no way of knowing if the Balmoral warrior made a habit of looking at women thus.

Abigail cleared her throat, amusement lurking in her lovely eyes. “Vegar, this is Audrey, friend to Lady Heronshire.”

“Hello, sweeting.” Vegar’s low growl was at once both entirely inappropriate and filled with the most odd natural possessiveness.

Audrey colored then, her skin going a remarkable shade of pink. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said in stilted Gaelic.

Audrey and Thomas had done their best to learn the language of Shona’s homeland, but as Shona did with Gaelic, the pair reverted to English in times of stress.

Vegar recoiled, his expression going from interested, almost smitten and nearly awestruck, to stony in a heartbeat. “You are English.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake!” Abigail’s frustrated exclamation was so loud, she surprised a cry from her babe. “Your tribe hasn’t had dealings with the English in how many generations? Don’t you have enough enemies in the Fearghall? Need you take an entire nation into dislike?”

“Who is making our beautiful Emma fuss now, wife?”
Talorc asked, his amusement more than Shona would have thought the situation warranted.

“You do not like the English?” Audrey asked Vegar. The Balmoral winced at the sound of her voice speaking English. She repeated the question in halting Gaelic, her expression crumbling even as the words left her mouth.

Vegar scowled. “The most treacherous among the Fearghall hail from England. ’Tis well known.”

“That is interesting; none of your tribe has shared that tidbit with us,” Talorc said.

Neither man’s words made perfect sense to Shona, but Audrey didn’t look confused in the least. Her ash gray eyes filled with deeper and deeper levels of hurt, while her mouth trembled though she bit her bottom lip to hide it.

“Why do you believe that?” the Sinclair laird asked, apparently oblivious to Audrey’s distress or Vegar’s anger.

“That is a discussion better saved for another time,” Vegar responded with a look around the great hall.

So, not all the Sinclairs were aware of the Chrechte’s true natures any more than Shona had been when she’d lived among the MacLeod.

“Talorc!” Abigail said with exasperation.

She was not deaf to the distress of her fellow Englishwoman.

Shona wasn’t either, but nor did she understand it. Vegar was a stranger. While his low opinion of the English was not exactly pleasant for Audrey, or Thomas for that matter, to listen to, it could hardly be of great concern to them.

Or was Audrey worried Vegar’s attitude would prevent them from finding refuge among his clan? Shona could not believe the younger woman was convinced of that notion—not after she’d warned Audrey about that very thing before they ever made the journey.

Vegar looked down at Audrey, shaking his head with clear disappointment. “English.”

He didn’t say anything else, but apparently that was enough for Audrey.

Her eyes darkened to storm clouds and moisture pooled
against the lower lids. “That is just too bloody perfect. I’ve lost the regard of my dearest friend in the world and my mate hates me because I was born in a country not his own.”

Shona didn’t know what was going on, but the distress in Audrey’s voice moved her as nothing else could.

Before she could reach out a comforting hand though, Audrey had jumped from her seat. “Do not worry yourself, Vegar of the Highland. I no more want a dirty savage for a mate than you want an Englishwoman.”

Audrey spun on her heel and rushed from the hall.

Shona had no idea what had happened, but she jumped to her own feet and glared at the newcomer. “Uncouth barbarian, how dare you upset my friend so?”

Vegar, who was looking after Audrey like a hunter deprived of his prey, jerked around to scowl down at Shona. “This does not concern you,
English
.”

“I believe you have forgotten that
I
am English,” Abigail said in chilling tones before Shona could open her mouth to respond.

Laird Sinclair inserted, “
Used
to be English.” But then he turned a truly frightening gaze on Vegar. “Insult my wife and you insult me.”

Vegar paled at that warning.

But then Caelis was standing behind Shona, his big body in a clearly protective stance. “Apologize.”

“For what?” Vegar demanded.

“Raising your voice to my mate,” Caelis replied in a deadly tone Shona did not like one little bit.

And then something struck Shona that she could not ignore. Everyone kept throwing that word around.
Mate.

She knew what Caelis meant when he said it. He believed his wolf needed Shona’s presence for contentment.

Audrey had called Vegar
mate
. Did she mean the same thing?

And if she did, how could she have known it so quickly. And if she knew in the instant of meeting, how could Shona believe Caelis’s claim that he had not?

‘Twas all most confusing.

She turned to face Caelis and discovered she liked the threatening look on his handsome face even less than she’d liked his tone that promised violence and mayhem.

“Do not take this so to heart. I am not so weak I cannot survive a few harsh words. Besides,
I
don’t consider being called English an insult,” she said as much for Abigail’s benefit as because it was true.

She had learned in her six years living in the southern country that there were good and bad among the English, just like the Scots. Though this Vegar might well not realize it, that went for the Chrechte as well.

For all his faults, she would take her deceased husband as baron over Uven as laird.

“A woman with sense,” Abigail said loudly.

Caelis ignored the laird’s wife’s words, just as he’d ignored Shona’s. He was still too busy glowering at the other man. “Apologize,” he demanded again.