Compromising Positions (18 page)

Kirstin considered going back to Lord Eldred’s camp to wait for Sedgewick and Salt. She had to know if they’d discovered her pack’s den. If she was going to be subjected to nothing but the sexual escapades of Lord Eldred and his concubine by staying here, she would rather listen to the bragging and bravado of the two captains while they waited for their comrades to return.

“I take it ye missed me?” Moraga gave a low, throaty laugh when they parted. Her brogue was thick—she was clearly a Scotswoman, and not English, in spite of her dress. Eldred’s hand was still stuck down in her cleavage, massaging her breast. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned back slightly in his arms, giving him better access down the front of her dress. “Ye weren’t beddin’ any wulvers, were ye?”

“Do I look like I have fleas?” Lord Eldred bent his head to kiss the tops of her breasts.

“Good.” She gasped when he yanked the front of her dress down, exposing her to him. His mouth fell to suckling her nipple and she moaned. “Ye know I do’na mind ye sleepin’ wit’ other wenches—as long as ye bring me the good ones so we can share.”

Lord Eldred chuckled, moving his mouth to her other nipple, his fingers working the first one. Kirstin’s lip curled in disgust. She didn’t want to see this. Her gaze skipped around the encampment, looking anywhere but at the kissing, petting couple. There was a pack horse and a riding horse tied nearby. Kirstin had been careful to stay downwind of them both. The woman’s camp was surprisingly sumptuous and comfortable. She had a tent up outside the cave, along with a fire pit in front with an iron tripod, a cooking cauldron and table.

“Did ye find the wulver den, then?” Morgana asked. “Are we celebratin’?”

“Not yet.” Eldred made a face. “We lost the first party over the creek. And that damned she-wolf has given me the slip all three times I’ve found and followed her trail.”

“I thought ye were a famed wulver hunter?” She gave a throaty laugh when he bit her nipple.

“Mayhaps Sedgewicke and Salt have had more luck,” he said morosely. “There are no men alive who can track a wulver better than they can—except mayhaps myself. Most men don’t even know the wulvers exist, let alone know how to follow them. And if a wulver doesn’t want to be tracked, likely the Lord of the Great Hunt himself couldn’t track them.”

“So ye say.” Moraga pulled away from him, covering herself.

“I do have something that will please you, mayhaps, even if I didn’t get my hands on that book.” Lord Eldred reached into the pack over his shoulder, pulling out a handful of silvermoon. Kirsten could smell it, even from where she stood at the edge of the wood.

“Silvermoon!” Moraga’s eyes lit up with delight and she took the bunch from him. “I’ve ne’er seen it grow anywhere! And what book?”

The witch missed nothing. Kirstin watched the woman expertly bundle the silvermoon for hanging and drying on the little table.

“There was a book.” Lord Eldred sighed. “The she-wolf found it snooping down in the first den.”

“What first den?” Moraga’s blonde head lifted as she looked up from her work.

“There is an ancient wulver den under the MacFalon tombs,” Eldred informed her.

“The grotto of Asher and Ardis?” Moraga frowned, her hands slowing in their work. “Ye found the grotto? Where the silvermoon grows?”

“That’s where this came from.” He nodded at the leaves and branches in her hands. To Kirstin, it looked like he’d pulled a whole plant up by the roots! “That’s where she found the book. Some ancient wulver text?”

“Not the Book of the Moon Wives?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

The witch hissed something under her breath. From a distance, even with her incredible hearing, Kirstin could only make out the word “prophecy,” and something about a king with the blood of dragons in his eyes. Was she talking about the red wulver? It was an old prophecy, one that had been passed on to her from her mother, but Kirstin didn’t know all of it. Beitrus called him “the devil’s savior,” but she didn’t know what that meant either. Who would want to save a devil?

“They have the book,” Lord Eldred said. “But I don’t think they know what it really is—or what to do with it.”

The witch frowned. “Ye better hope they do’na find out.”

“Why?” he asked. “What’s in it?”

“The cure fer their curse,” she said simply. “Or so I’m told.”

If Kirstin had been in human form, she would have gasped out loud, giving away her position. Instead, she just whined, a low, pained sound, even to her ears. She waited to be discovered, but Lord Eldred had his arms around the woman, massaging her breasts again through her gown, and the witch was too busy with the silvermoon to be paying attention to anything else.

The book held the cure to the curse? Kirstin could barely breathe. Was it really true?

She’d almost forgotten why she’d run away from her lover’s arms in the first place, given everything she’d discovered in the past day or so. She’d escaped with the bleak hope that Laina and Sibyl had found the cure. Something that could give her control over her change once a month.

“Something that will turn wulvers to men?” Lord Eldred asked. “Permanently?”

“Aye.” The witch agreed, working with the silvermoon again. “If’n ye b’lieve the legends. I did’na e’en think the book actually existed.”

“Oh, it exists,” he assured her.

“Did ye see’t fer yerself?” the blonde asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

“No.” He shook his head. “But my little bird did.”

“Oh, was she a pretty lil bird?” The blonde inquired throatily, abandoning her work and turning in the man’s arms to put hers around his neck.

“She sang very sweetly,” he agreed with a grin. “Buxom little blonde. Reminded me a bit of you, but she was only about this tall, and had a fetching little gap between her teeth.”

Gayle.

So that was who had been spying for him. Kirstin tried to remember what she’d said around the woman. She had definitely been there when Kirstin showed Laina the book. And she’d run straight to Lord Eldred Lothienne to tell him about it, the spying little wench. If Gayle had been in front of her, Kirstin would have torn her throat out without a second thought.

“And ye did not bring ’er to me?” Moraga pouted, disengaging herself from his embrace and turning back to her work on the table. “Ye know I hate’t when ye do’na share yer toys.”

“Mayhaps when this is done.” He watched as she took out a curved-bladed dagger. Kirstin cocked her wolf’s head, looking at its new-moon shape, the silver glinting. “And I’m sitting on the English throne, with you beside me. We can have any woman we want between us then.”

“Aye.” Her eyes glittered in the firelight. “And ye still ’ave t’king’s trust?”

“I have them all eating out of the palm of my hand.” Eldred chuckled, sounding quite pleased with himself. “King Henry’s so distraught over Arthur’s death, he’s afraid of any threat to his throne. He even considered marrying Catherine of Aragon himself.”

“She’s jus’ a child!” Moraga complained. “And she was a’ready married t’his son.”

“He may still be considering the match. I don’t know,” Eldred replied. “But it was easy to convince him that the king of the wulvers was a threat to his line. Raife is his bastard, after all. He does have a claim.”

“And The MacFalon?” The woman sharpened the blade on a whetstone. “He still trusts ye?”

“King Henry told him what I advised,” Lord Eldred said. “The MacFalon believes England will honor the wolf pact. He has no idea how many wulver traps I’ve armed, hidden in his woods. I’m surprised the wulver party didn’t run into one. Or that damned she-wolf I’ve been tracking...”

“And t’English king?” she asked, testing the sharpness of the blade on the side of her thumb. Bright red blood bloomed there. Kirstin could smell it. “He still b’lieves ye wanna kill t’wulvers?”

“Why would he think otherwise? That’s what I told him,” Lord Eldred scoffed. “Besides, no one hates the wulvers more than I do.”

“I wish I could be there t’see’t.” She chuckled. “T’English king’s goin’ t’get quite a surprise when an army of wulvers kills ’is men and ye take ’is throne. “

“All of England will rejoice when the rightful heir to the throne sits upon it again.” The man’s spine straightened, making him even taller in the moonlight.

“Aye, the Tudors used the wulvers and stole the throne,” the witch agreed, sucking on her thumb, licking off the blood. “Seems fittin’ it’ll be taken back t’same way.”

“They’re all conniving thieves, from the first Arthur on—first king of England, pulls a sword from a stone!” Eldred scoffed. “He had no right to it. Why do you think Henry’s so afraid someone’s going to take it from him? He knows it isn’t his. It’s mine.”

“Aye,” she agreed softly. “Ye fight fire wit’ fire, enchantment wit’ enchantment.”

“I thank my ancestors for the day I met you, my devilish little witch.” Lord Eldred put his arms around her waist from behind, pushing her long, corn-colored hair out of the way to kiss her neck.

“Ye’ve done good wit’ the silvermoon, I mus’ say. It’ll do well to bind the spell,” she said, tilting her head to accept his kisses. “As soon as I have t’wulver king’s blood, we’ll be able t’enchant the wulver army fer yer purposes. Then, they’ll follow ye anywhere.”

“Good.” Lord Eldred slid his hands up to cup the woman’s breasts again.

“The she-wolves will’na let them go so easily, ye know,” she warned. “They’re not warriors, but when they’re changed, they’re formidable. And I can’na compel t’females.”

“I have no need for the women or the pups,” he sneered. “My first order will be to have the warriors slaughter them all.”

“Ye’ll wanna keep one,” she suggested. “T’continue t’line?”

“No.” He frowned. “Once I have the throne, I’ll have no need for the wulver army. We’ll dispose of them.”

“Ye do not wanna keep them locked up somewhere at t’ready?” she asked. “T’defend yer right to the crown?”

“Mayhaps,” he mused, thoughtful. Then he chuckled, dipping his head to gnaw at her neck. “You are an evil wench. I love the way your mind works.”

Kirstin watched the woman waving her blade over the silvermoon, incanting something softly in Gaelic. Then she turned in his arms, arching her back, knife still in hand.

“Bare m’breasts, Lord Eldred.”

He grinned. “As you wish.”

He yanked her already low-cut gown down, letting her large breasts spill free. His mouth went to them immediately, but the witch was impatient.

“Now ye,” she insisted. “Take off yer shirt.”

Lord Eldred complied, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. The man was still heavily muscled and the blonde eyed him greedily. Kirstin cringed, knowing she was going to have to witness their lovemaking. But what happened next surprised her.

The witch expertly used the curved blade, tracing the edge over her skin, a line of blood swelling between her breasts, over her heart. She did the same to Lord Eldred. The man didn’t even wince.

Kirstin watched as Moraga tipped the blade with their mingled blood, letting it drip onto the bundle of silvermoon that shone, luminescent, in the moonlight. Then she hung it over the fire, the blood falling in fat droplets, sizzling into the flames.

Eldred grabbed Moraga to him, the red liquid on their chests mingling as they kissed in the firelight. Kirstin could smell their blood, coppery and bright. It made her hungry and she considered making a meal of them both. Who would know? She could end Eldred and his line right here, prevent any magic, if there was such a thing, that might compel the wulvers. But it was possible the other two, Sedgewick and Salt, already knew the way to her den.

And Moraga’s knife was still close, on the table. Even distracted, Lord Eldred was a formidable foe. What if he managed to slip the blade between Kirstin’s ribs before her teeth grazed his neck? If she was dead in the forest, she couldn’t warn Raife and her pack of Eldred’s arrival. No, she couldn’t risk it. She would have to wait for Sedgewick and Salt to arrive on the morrow to find out if they’d discovered the wulver den.

Then, and only then, could she go home.

Kirstin curled her lip in a snarl, although no sound came from her throat, as she watched Lord Eldred put the naked woman up on the table. She had a beautiful body, lush curves and big breasts. Moraga reclined, wrapping her full thighs around him as he stood between them to enter her. Even this sick, twisted display made her think of and miss Donal and their lovemaking. Her estrus was fading, like the waning moon above their heads, but she still wanted him.

Moraga cried out, arching as Lord Eldred began to move, thrusting hard and fast. He leaned over to kiss her, his chest wound, just a scratch, rubbing against hers. Again, Kirstin smelled their blood, still dripping into the fire from the luminescent silvermoon, and from the open gashes on their torsos.

“Taste me.” Moraga brought the man’s face down to her breast and Eldred gave a low moan as she rubbed his cheeks over her wound, spreading blood like war paint. Their fingers played in the sticky liquid, and they left bloody fingerprints on one another, wherever they touched or grabbed.

Moraga’s fingernails raked over the man’s chest, making him hiss and cry out. She opened the wound, which had begun to coagulate, watching rivulets of blood run down his ridged abdomen.