Compromising Positions (20 page)

“The wulver mountain’ll run wit’ blood,” she choked. “Ye think ye can’na be compelled, ye think y’re invincible, that ye’d ne’er hurt the ones ye love—but I swear t’ye, if’n we do’na act now, e’ery woman and bairn here’ll fall under yer own swords.”

“Kirstin, please.” Laina’s voice shook as she looked down at the baby in her arms and then at her sister. “Ye’ve been traveling long, ye’re wounded, mayhaps feverish—”

“No.” She shook her head, realizing her arguments were falling on deaf ears. They couldn’t believe it, couldn’t imagine it. Darrow’s doubt was feeding all of them, she could feel it, and they were all going to perish because they thought their mountain den was safe harbor.

The problem was, the danger would come from within, not without. Every wulver warrior would take up a sword and hack his family to bits before mounting a war horse and riding out of the mountain to fulfil Lord Eldred’s demands.

Then, she realized—there was only one wulver she had to convince.

She turned to Raife, her mouth trembling. It was hard to talk through her own, choked sobs. Kirstin sank to her knees before him, taking his big hand in both of her small ones.

“
Righ
,” she whispered, kissing the brown, scarred knuckles, tasting the salt of her own tears. “Please. Think of yer mate. Think of Sibyl.”

She turned her tear-streaked face up to his, seeing the love in his eyes, not just for his mate, but for all of them. His pack. His family. She said the only other thing she could think of that might motivate him to action.

“Think of yer unborn child,” she pleaded. “Do’ye nuh wanna see ’im grow into a man?”

Raife stared at her, unblinking, but she saw the confusion pass over his face, saw the realization dawn slowly in his eyes as he shifted his gaze to his wife. Murmurs went through the wulver crowd gathered around them, and Kirstin understood what she’d just done.

“Me... what?” Raife asked, his lips barely moving.

“Ye didn’t tell ’im yet?” Kirstin bit her lip, glancing at her
banrighinn
.

Sibyl sighed, giving Kirstin a dark look and shaking her red head.

“Yer wit child?” Raife grabbed his mate’s shoulders, turning her fully to him.

“Aye,” Sibyl admitted with a small smile.

The wulvers around them cheered. It was a brief moment of celebration in what had been a dark morning.

“How long’ve ye known?” Raife murmured into her hair, pulling her into his arms.

Kirstin stood, smiling through her tears as she watched them together. She would never have this moment with the man she loved, and that cut through her, sharper than the half-moon blade could have ever pierced her heart.

“Since before we left MacFalon land. But I didn’t want to tell you then, you were so mad at me,” Sibyl confessed, laughing when Raife pulled her into his arms, right off her feet.

“If ye’d told me, I would’na been mad anymore!” he exclaimed.

“But I wouldn’t have known that it was me you really wanted, then, would I?”

“Och.” Raife rolled his eyes. “I should spank ye right here and now.”

“Can we postpone the spankings until we get to Castle MacFalon?” Kirstin asked, looking between her
righ
and
banrighinn
.

“Aye.” Raife had Sibyl pulled so close to him, he was nearly crushing her. Not that she seemed to mind. “Ye win, Kirstin. We’ll go.”

Murmurs went through the crowd, some doubt. Darrow groaned and smacked his forehead. But he relented. Raife had made a decision, and they would follow him.

“I’m sure Donal would be happy t’schedule a public floggin’ fer me and another fer Sibyl if ye wanted one,” Kirstin said happily, grinning at him. “I do’na really care, as long as we’re all away from ’ere when that witch and ’er consort show up.”

“Aye,” Raife agreed, speaking now to the whole pack. “Take only what ye can carry. We’ll go on horseback. We’ll take the horses through the mountain—it’s faster—women paired up wit’ men. Strap your bairns and wee ones to yer back or yer belly. We leave in one hour.”

They were the last to leave the den.

Raife had to make sure every wulver was on a horse or had a traveling companion, every last bairn strapped in. The younglings rode in front of or behind their parents. They strapped what they could to the horses and left the sheep in the valley. The last time they’d brought the horses through the mountain, the wulver warriors had been riding them in full armor. They’d thundered down the high, wide mountain tunnels, the sound of the horses’ hooves echoing off the walls, trembling the earth, leaving their mates and young behind. That’s when the wulver army had gone to out confront the MacFalons, to rescue Laina and save Sibyl.

This time, the war horses whinnied and pawed the ground as they plodded along, impatient to be off, weighed down not by armor but blankets and women and children, as well as their wulver warriors. Once out of the mountain, they rode slowly into the woods, single file. There were too many of them to travel too fast, although Kirstin’s heart raced with urgency, her body trembling. She wanted them to be off, to ride fast and furious to the MacFalon castle, to be safe, already.

“The den’s empty.” Darrow rode toward them—Raife and Sibyl, Lorien and Kirstin—where they waited at the den entrance, Laina on his saddle in front of him, little Garaith strapped across her front. “’Tis time t’go.”

Raife stood by his steed, holding the reins. Sibyl was already seated in the saddle. Raife gave Darrow a nod and mounted his horse, sliding in behind Sibyl, who had tears streaking down her freckled cheeks. Raife tenderly kissed the top of her head, slipping an arm around her waist, his big hand covering her belly, rubbing gently. “We’ll make a new home, lass. T’will be a’righ’.”

Kirstin was the only one left on the ground. She mounted Lorien’s steed, allowing him to give her a hand up, settling in front of him. Laina had loaned her a plaid and a pair of boots to go along with her shirt. She felt Lorien’s steadying arm go around her. The top of her head only came to the bottom of the big man’s chin.

They rode slowly, silently, out of the den for the last time. Kirstin leaned back against Lorien, feeling sad, deflated. What if she was wrong? What if Lord Eldred’s men hadn’t found the location of the den after all? What if Darrow was right, and they were safer staying, instead of running? She doubted herself, but she also trusted her instincts. Something had told her she had to get home, she had to warn them. They had to go—now. Before something horrible happened.

The tail end of the wulver riders were out ahead of them by a ways. Kirsten glimpsed a toddler strapped to his father’s big back. The little towhead was smiling, waving at them, and Kirstin waved back, her heart lightening. Even if she was wrong, it was better to be safe than sorry. All of the wulver women she’d tended, all the bairns that had been born, would be safe at Castle MacFalon before nightfall. They would all be under Donal’s protection, and she knew he would defend them, no matter what the English king had in mind. She had no idea how many men Donal could call in from the surrounding clans, but if it meant war... would he go that far? She thought he would. 

For her, he would.

The thought of seeing Donal again made her heart race even faster. He would be furious with her for leaving, of course, but he’d forgive her. Raife had forgiven Sibyl, in the end, hadn’t he? She wondered if Lady Cecilia Witcombe had arrived at Castle MacFalon yet. That thought made her hackles rise. She’d almost forgotten the reason she’d left the castle in the first place.

The book...

Sibyl had it, strapped to her, across her breasts, like a baby. It was that precious, Kirstin supposed. It contained the cure to their curse, somewhere inside of it. Mayhaps, when they were at the castle, Sibyl could work more on a solution. Kirstin hadn’t had the time to ask her about it, in the hurry to get everyone ready to ride.

Kirstin straightened as three riders came barreling toward them, doubling back.

“’Tis jus’ the scouts,” Lorien assured her softly when she stiffened in the saddle. “Comin’ in t’report t’Raife.”

She nodded, seeing them pull up next to his horse, turning and riding alongside him, one on either side, another slipping in behind. Raife consulted with both wulvers, nodding at their report. Kirstin could only see him in profile as he turned to talk to them and she tried to judge if he looked worried, but his face was impassive.

Raife said something to the three scouts and they dropped back, letting him ride into the lead. Kirstin relaxed. Nothing to worry about then. She was so exhausted, she thought she might collapse and fall off the horse, if Lorien didn’t have an arm around her waist. But she couldn’t sleep. She was too tense, too wired.

They weren’t fifteen minutes out from the den when it happened.

The only warning she had was that Kirstin felt Lorien straighten in his saddle.

“E’erythin’ a’righ’?” she asked, but it happened so fast, the wulver didn’t have time to answer her.

Someone dropped from a tree above, right onto Raife’s horse. He wasn’t a big man, but he had the advantage of surprise. And he had a knife. The man jabbed it into expertly into Raife’s side, between his ribs, unseating the big wulver. The horse bucked and nearly threw Sibyl and the stranger, but the man was able to hang on, grabbing the reins and urging the animal forward.

Kirstin screamed. She heard Sibyl screaming, calling for Raife, but the war horse was already tearing through the woods. Kirstin was shocked by the horse’s behavior—but then she realized the man was wearing something on his boots, something sharp he dug into the horse’s flanks. 

Raife had already transformed to wulver warrior, and behind her, so had Lorien. They barked orders, snapped at each other, the scouting warriors already racing after the runaway horse, with Sibyl and the stranger atop.

Darrow barked something to Lorien about keeping the women safe, leaving Laina and his bairn with him. Kirstin climbed down from the horse, putting her arms around Laina and Garaith, still not understanding what was happening.

Darrow and Raife wasted time fighting, snarling at one another, and Lorien threw Kirstin the reins of his horse, stepping in to help Darrow restrain their wulver pack leader. It took the two of them, snapping and circling, to keep the big wulver from going after Sibyl straightaway.

Raife howled, a sound so full of anguish and pain it echoed through the woods, and Kirstin knew it had nothing to do with the wound in his side.

The rest of the pack had heard and were doubling back toward them.

Kirstin realized, far too late, screaming at Raife, “No! Ye can’na go after ’er! Yer what they want! They need yer blood!”

But they already had it, didn’t they?

The man had slipped a knife between Raife’s ribs and had run off with Sibyl. 

It wasn’t Sibyl they wanted, though, Kirstin realized.

It was the book strapped to her chest.

This is my fault,
she thought, watching in horror as Raife got free and pulled his sword, threatening his own brother with it if Darrow kept him from pursuing their attackers. 

This is all my fault.

They’d been waiting for them, she realized. Mayhaps they knew Kirstin would run straight back to the den with her escape plan, leading Raife out into the open where they could get what they needed to take back to the witch. But Darrow was right after all. They would have been safer staying in the den.

Raife took off—Darrow and Lorien couldn’t hold him—running after Sibyl. Lorien stayed, on Darrow’s orders, but Darrow went after his brother. Kirstin looked at Laina, tears streaked down her face, and felt her own tears wetting her cheeks. Little Garaith howled between them.

“’Tis all m’fault,” Kirstin sobbed against her sister’s shoulder as the wulver pack began to gather around them on horseback. “They’ve got ’is blood, Laina. ’Tis all they needed.”

“Shhhh.” Laina stroked her hair, comforting both Kirstin and her bairn at once.

Kirstin couldn’t bear it. She’d led them straight to the wulver den, had put everyone in danger in the hopes of trying to save them. She sobbed in Laina’s arms, wishing the earth would open up and swallow her whole. If anything happened to Sibyl, or Raife, or any of her family, because of what she’d done, she knew she could never forgive herself.