She could not tell what her husband said to the messenger, but the man nodded. “Our king has heard your complaint. He will arrange to have your current marriage annulled on the grounds of deception. One way or another, the deaf woman will be taken care of. Sir Hamilton’s daughter Jolenta will be sent north to replace her sister. It has already been arranged.”

  Talorc surged to his feet and shouted something at the messenger. Abigail could only hope he was refusing his king’s offer.

  “King David was sure you would be pleased by this offer when he received your message demanding redress for the English baron and his daughter’s deception.”

  Talorc had sent a message to the king telling him of Abigail’s secret? He had demanded redress? The nights of making love since then meant nothing. The fact that he had never repeated her words of love or indeed acknowledged the truth of hers made perfect sense now. Talorc had just been biding his time until his king annulled the marriage. Just like Sybil, Talorc had made plans to get rid of Abigail permanently.

  Pain lanced through her and she doubled over. Guaire’s arms were there, stopping her from falling. She looked up at him, but she could not form the words to tell him what she had heard.

  His eyes were filled with compassion, but determination was there, too. “Do not let them see your pain.”

  She nodded, sucking in air and resolve. She forced herself to stand straight and step away from him.

  “We either go back through the kitchen or walk through the great hall. Your choice.”

  As annoying as she found Una, the other woman would be much easier to hide Abigail’s devastation from. She pointed toward the kitchen and Guaire nodded, then led the way. Their pace was much more sedate this time, though they did not dawdle in the kitchen. Thankfully, Una was not there at the moment.

  They found her outside. With Niall. Kissing.

  Guaire’s entire body went rigid with shock, the anguish of what he saw causing him to cover his face.

  Niall pushed the widow away, his gaze zeroing in on Guaire with unerring accuracy. He opened his mouth to speak, but Guaire spun away, dragging Abigail with him.

  If Niall called after them, she could not hear, but she felt the vibration of the ground as he chased after them. She did not know what Guaire said over his shoulder at the big warrior, but the scarred man did not follow them onto the path to the lower bailey.

  Abigail kept walking when she reached the smithy. Not bothering to ask why she had not stopped, Guaire followed. They walked right through the gate, the gatekeeper not detaining them because of Guaire’s presence.

  They had walked well beyond the wall when Abigail stopped. “Which way?”

  “To where?” Guaire asked.

  “To my sister’s clan. Which way to Balmoral Island?”

  “What did the king’s messenger say?” Guaire asked, his own desolation dulling his usually bright green gaze.

  She told him.

  Guaire looked stunned. “Talorc sent a messenger complaining about you to the king?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “The messenger said the king would take care of me one way or another.”

  Guaire’s already pale features leeched of all color. He pointed to the northeast. “Balmoral Island is that way.”

  Abigail started walking. Guaire fell into step beside her. They stopped to drink from a stream as the sun rose high in the sky.

  “Our clan keeps skiffs for crossing the water in a cave at the water’s edge,” he told her. “We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to go to the island though. Walking, we won’t reach the water until darkness has already fallen.”

  “We can stay in the cave with the boats.”

  “Aye.”

  They resumed their journey, not stopping to rest until late afternoon. Like all warriors, Guaire carried dried meat in the small bag he kept tied to his belt. They ate that along with berries and greens Abigail foraged. It was no feast, but it renewed their strength to continue their hike through the forest.

  Although the moon shone brightly in the sky, it was past dark as Guaire had predicted when they came upon the water.

  Abigail stopped and stared, awe superseding the ache of her heart for a magical moment. “It is so vast. And beautiful.”

  “Aye. During the day, you can see Balmoral Island off in the distance.”

  “Emily is petrified of water, or at least she used to be. Before her husband taught her to swim. I wonder how she made the crossing the first time?”

  “You are not frightened of water?”

  “No. Though I used to be terrified of wild beasts.”

  “Learning your husband is also a wolf changed your heart?”

  “Meeting his wolf, if I had but known it at the time.” She wrapped her arms around herself, but the chill from her heart would not be warmed. “He came to me while I walked in the forest near the hot springs. It scared me spit-less, to tell you the truth, but was amazing all the same. Niall promised me the wolf would not hurt me.”

  Guaire flinched at the mention of the man he loved.

  She laid her hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry.”

  “Your pain is greater than mine.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  Guaire rubbed at his cheeks and Abigail pretended not to notice. “Nothing good could ever come of my love, but so long as he did not find someone else, I let my stupid heart hope.”

  “Dashed hopes hurt most of all, I think.” Hers had left her bleeding still.

  “Because they are born of your heart’s desires.”

  She nodded, too choked all at once to speak. Talorc had fulfilled the deepest desires of her heart, or at least she thought he had.

  “Will your sister’s husband allow me to remain among the Balmoral, do you think?”

  “Of course, you would be an asset to any clan.”

  Guaire smiled sadly. “Thank you.”

  “You are not going to Balmoral Island. I threatened war on my own king to keep you with me. I’ll not let another laird, Chrechte pack leader or not, take you from me.”

  At the sound of her husband’s voice in her head, Abigail spun around. Two huge wolves stood a mere ten feet from her and Guaire.

  The redhead had turned when she did. His expression mirrored her shock. “Laird?”

  Talorc nodded, though he maintained his wolf’s form. The wolf beside him looked like he might be white, but he glowed a pale silver in the moonlight.

  Guaire trembled beside Abigail. “Niall?”

  The other wolf did not answer as Talorc had done, but padded forward, stopping only when his big head butted against Guaire’s side. A look of wonder took over Guaire’s features, dissipating the defeated pain that had been so strong only a moment ago.

  He reached down and ran his fingers through the wolf’s pelt. “Is this okay?” he asked the beast.

  Niall barked. Guaire dropped to a crouch. The white wolf rubbed his head against Guaire’s cheek and the seneschal buried his head in the beast’s fur. The wolf’s body shook as if beset by intense emotion, and the man wrapped his arms around the beast’s neck.

  “He is not afraid of Niall’s wolf at all,” Talorc’s voice was tinged with bleakness.

  Abigail used her voice, such that it was, to speak. “If I had known it was you, I wouldn’t have been afraid of you either.”

  “You are so certain of that?” The wolf’s eyes . . . Talorc’s eyes . . . seemed to look into her heart.

  “I have always trusted you with my safety. From the very first moment.”

  “And yet you ran away.”

  “You complained about me to your king. You wanted rid of me.” Her earlier distress returned, setting grief like a stranglehold around her heart.

  “I sent a messenger in a drunken moment of idiocy. I did not want rid of you. Surely I made that clear after I sobered up.”

  Abigail turned away from him only to find Niall tugging Guaire’s plaid off. Shock forced a reaction other than sorrow, at least for that moment.

  “Surely he does not mean to mate with him as a wolf?” Abigail asked in her mind of Talorc.

  Unwanted pleasure filled her as he answered her. Until that moment she had not been absolutely sure the special form of communication could go both ways. “Nay, of course not. He is scenting his mate, claiming him so all will know Guaire belongs to Niall.”

  And indeed that was what the big wolf was doing. He rubbed his head against every inch of Guaire he could reach. Guaire was laughing, whether because it tickled or he was simply filled with joy, Abigail could not tell, but regardless, her friend appeared quite happy with what the man—werewolf—he loved was doing.

  She turned away from the other couple, giving them their privacy. “Is that why you rub your face against me when we are making love?” Or used to.

  “Yes. I crave scenting you as a wolf.”

  “But you did not trust me enough to tell me of your true nature, so you could not do it.”

  “I did not want to love you.”

  “You got what you wanted.”

  “Aye, in you I got the deepest, most secret desires of my heart.” The words echoing her own thoughts paralyzed her. “You are my true mate.” He approached her slowly, as if afraid of spooking her. “I need you to accept me in this form for my wolf to have happiness.”

  “What difference does it make if you are going to let your king annul our marriage?”

  “I will not. I sent his soldier back with this message: I would consider any attempt to annul our marriage or take you from your clan an act of war.”

  “You cannot go to war with your own king!”

  “It would not be the first time the Highland clans rebelled.”

  “But we are just one clan.”

  “I have allies.”

  “You truly do not wish to be rid of me?” Could it be that easy? No, there was still the matter of trust to settle, but Abigail had realized how much she was willing to work on that when she thought Talorc would be taken from her.

  “I would die to protect you, and if necessary, I will kill to keep you.”

  So, definitely, Talorc did not want their marriage to end.

  “You didn’t tell me of your true nature.” Though he had come after her in his wolf form and was now speaking to her in her mind, he had no doubt intended to tell her the truth. And yet . . . “You let me believe I was imagining voices in my head. I worried I was going crazy or that the priests might be right and that my mind was afflicted because of my deafness.”

  The wolf butted his head against her stomach. “I am sorry, my angel. I never meant to cause you such grief. None of those thoughts even entered my head. I was afraid to make myself vulnerable to you, and I selfishly acted out of my fear. All that I am belongs to you, and I will never again hold anything back.”

  Unable to help herself, she dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around Talorc’s furry neck. “You hurt me so much.”

  “I will never do it again.”

  She rubbed her cheek against his fur as she finally let tears fall she had not wanted anyone to see. “Can I trust you?”

  “I pray that you will.”

  She held on and cried, finding it easier to share her pain with the wolf than if her husband held her as a man. He nuzzled her as she cried, subtly scenting her as he gave her comfort.

  Her tears turned to watery laughter. “I know what you are doing.”

  “Aye, the whole clan knows you are a clever woman.”

  He pulled his head back and licked the tears from her cheeks. “Now I am kissing you.” The sound of a wolf’s chuffing in her mind brought a smile to her lips.

  “If you are looking to scent me as Niall scented Guaire, I would like to go to the cave.”

  A soft shimmer of light ended in Talorc taking his human form. He lifted Abigail in his strong arms. “I have a better idea.”

  As he carried her away from the water, out of the corner of her eye, she saw two naked male bodies entwined. She very consciously did not look in that direction, but she could not help feeling glad for her dear friend and the man she hoped to call friend again one day soon.

  Talorc carried her through the forest until they came into a small clearing bathed in moonlight. “The grass will be more comfortable than the floor of the cave.”

  “But . . .”

  “No one else is here. Niall and Guaire are back on the beach and too occupied to notice our departure. Once they do note it, they will not come looking.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “It is beautiful here.”

  “Not as beautiful as you.”

  She shook her head, looking away from him.

  “Do not try to hide from me.”

  “It is easier.”

  “I will make it easier to love me, I give you my vow.”

  She spun back to glare at him. “So now you believe I love you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe I have changed my mind. Perhaps I want the annulment so I can find a husband who can love me.”

  “You will never be with another man. You are my true mate.”

  “But I’m just human. You clearly don’t want me for your mate, sacred or otherwise.”

  “That is not true; even if I had a choice, I would never want another woman.”

  “You do have a choice, especially now with your king offering to get rid of me.”

  “We are sacred mates. I am Chrechte.”

  “So?”

  “My wolf will never accept another woman.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You see this?” He indicated his hard member.

  “Yes.”

  “With another woman, it would be as limp as milk toast.”

  “No, you are far too . . . too . . . um . . . virile,” she said finally.

  He shook his head. “As Chrechte I am not physically capable of mating any but my true mate once my wolf has found her.”

  “So, it is your wolf that wants to keep me.”

  Chapter 20

  A starburst of understanding went off inside Talorc.

  He grabbed his precious wife and held her close, looking down into her soft brown gaze, he spoke aloud as well as through their mindspeak. “That is what I told myself. I believed my wolf felt possessive of you, that he wanted to protect you at all costs,” he said as the knowledge came over him.

  “Are you and your wolf such different beings?” she asked in her soft voice with new tears shimmering in her eyes. “Emily does not speak of Lachlan as if he and his wolf are different beings.”

  “They are not. My wolf and I are not. We are one in the same, but in my desire to protect myself from making my father’s mistakes, I tried to separate my feelings as a laird from those of my wolf. It does not work. I love you with every bit of my wolf’s essence, but that is even truer as a man because my wolf cannot share physically in that final consummation of our mating.”

  “You love me?”

  “More than my own life. So much that life is not worth living without you in it.”

  “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

  “I can. I do. Please, believe me, sweet wife. My own precious angel.” He looked at her with nothing less than naked longing. “Do not leave me to the loneliness I knew before you.”

  “You had a whole clan before I came.”

  “With not one the true mate of my soul. It took a clever Englishwoman to fill that place inside my heart, to complete the other half of my Chrechte spirit.”

  “You said I am no longer English.”

  “You are not.”

  “I am yours.”

  “And I am yours.”

  He said words in her head that she remembered from their mating. “Say them for me, this time speak the vows with truth in your heart.”

  “I did the first time. I didn’t know what I was saying, but in my heart I was giving everything of myself to you.”

  “But . . .”

  “I told you I had changed my plans once we wed. I no longer wanted to be reunited with my sister more than anything. I wanted to stay with you.”

  “You meant the oaths you gave,” he repeated in wonder, needing to take in this truth to heal the wounds in his heart.

  “Absolutely.”

  “That is good because I can never let you go.”

  “Never.”

  “You will allow my wolf to scent you now?”

  No fear showed in her brown eyes. “Yes.”

  Dropping to all fours, he let the wolf take him. His already acute senses grew stronger, and the scent of his mate’s emotions mixed with those of the forest. She smiled down at him, love and acceptance glowing on her beautiful features.

  He tilted his head back and howled in joy, sending the sound through their mindspeak link.

  Her smile became a grin.“Your wolf is happy.”

  “I am happy.”

  “I love you, Talorc,” she said inside his head with a conviction her spoken words could not hold.

  “You do not fear me in this form?”

  “Never.”

  He chuffed with happiness as he rubbed his head against her. “Take off your clothes, I need to scent your skin.”

  Giggling with clear delight, Abigail undressed.

  Though the sight of his wife’s nude body would always affect his libido, the most pressing emotion he felt right then was relief. And joy. Finally, he could scent her properly.

  He rubbed her belly, leaving his scent behind for all Chrechte to know she was his.

  She brushed her hands down the sides of his head, laughter lurking in her gaze. “Tag, you are it,” she said with amusement in her mindspeak voice. Then she turned and ran.

  He bounded after her, nuzzling her back when he reached her. The playful nature of his wolf asserted itself and he turned in a circle and loped away, saying, “Your turn.”

  He did not go too fast, knowing she ran with the handicap of having only two legs. She caught him at the edge of the clearing, leaping at him. He let her roll him, hearing the wonder-filled laughter in his head. His mate liked to play, and for that he gave thanks. He was not a lighthearted man, more by circumstance than by nature.

 

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