Compromising Positions (21 page)

“Kirstin,” Laina whispered, shaking her gently. “Look!”

Kirstin lifted her head, blinking through her tears, seeing Raife carrying Sibyl in his arms. Darrow followed on foot, and Laina broke away from Kirstin to meet her husband, putting her arms around him. Both wulvers were men again.

“Is she hurt?” Kirstin barely got the words out as Raife approached. Sibyl was, at the very least, unconscious, her body limp.

“He took the book.” Raife blinked down at woman in his arms. “Then he pushed ’er off m’horse.”

“No,” Kirstin whispered, her hands already moving over Sibyl’s inert form, looking for broken bones. “She’s alive, Raife. She’ll be a’righ’, here, put ’er on the ground, I’ll—”

And that’s when Kirstin saw the blood. Sibyl’s plaid was all greens and blues, but there was a dark spot on it that was growing by the moment. She didn’t say anything about to Raife as he knelt, gently depositing Sibyl’s body on the forest floor.

“Where’s t’attacker?” Lorien growled as Darrow approached. Raife and Darrow were transformed into men again, but Lorien was still half-man, half-wolf, prepared for battle.

“They went after ’im.” Darrow jerked his head toward the woods, Laina and his bairn drawn into one arm, his sword drawn in the other. 

Lorien, now freed up from having to protect Kirstin and Laina, took off on his horse, barking to three more scouts to join him, so there were now seven out pursuing the man.

“She was thrown from the horse,” Kirstin told Laina as the two women bent over Sibyl. Kirstin was sure there were no broken bones, at least any she could feel. Raife watched them work over her, his eyes full of fire.

“I think she may be losin’ the bairn,” Laina whispered to Kirstin. They both saw the blood on her thighs, the way her plaid was twisted, high up on her legs.

Raife heard them and closed his eyes, his head going back with a long, sustained howl. It made gooseflesh rise all over Kirstin’s body as Laina ran to Darrow’s horse, unpacking blankets and what medicine she could find.

“I’ve got black haw and cramp bark.” Beitrus made her way to the front of the crowd. The old woman, who had taught Kirstin everything she knew, held out two vials. “It may save the pup.” 

“Thank ye.” Kirstin uncapped one and poured it past Sibyl’s lips. The woman coughed at the sudden introduction of liquid into her mouth and Raife grabbed her to him, ignoring their protests. 

“Sibyl,” he whispered, holding her close. “Can ye hear me? Are ye a’righ’?” 

“I’ll be fine,” she gasped, her eyes opening wide. “If you quit crushing me, you beast!”

Raife chuckled at that, rocking her against his chest, bringing her face to his so he could kiss her.

Sibyl sobbed when she realized she was bleeding. Laina, Kirstin and Beitrus all worked to reassure her that the bairn was likely fine, that bleeding happened sometimes, and they’d done everything they could to help them both.

Kirstin hoped their reassurances turned out to be true. The bleeding did seem to be ebbing, and Sibyl was awake, and coherent. Laina tended Raife’s wound—it was superficial, not deep at all. Whoever had slipped the knife in had known exactly what he was doing, and hadn’t been aiming for anything vital.

Of course, not—they want him to be able to fight.

They only wanted his blood...

Sibyl finally calmed, but didn’t want to get on Raife’s horse, when Lorien returned with him. But without the attacker. Or the book.

“What if it hurts the baby?” Sibyl sobbed. “What if I start bleeding again?”

They spent time reassuring her, giving her sips of water, waiting for the tonics to work. It helped stop the blood, and that was a good sign, Kirstin assured her.

Darrow and Raife talked together, low and out of earshot, with Lorien.

“Can’t we stay here now?” Sibyl suggested, as Raife came over to get her, lifting her easily off the ground. “In the den? Isn’t it the safest place? We can block the exits, like Darrow said, we can—”

“No, lass.” Raife pressed his lips to her forehead. “’Tis no longer safe, if they know where the den is. We have to ride to the MacFalon castle.”

“I’m scared,” Sibyl told him, burying her face against his neck.

“Aye.” Raife mounted his horse, pulling Sibyl with him, settling her side saddle. Lorien had tended the animal’s wounds, from whatever the stranger had been digging into its sides, with a balm Kirstin gave him.

“I haven’t ridden side-saddle in years,” she told him, pressing her cheek to his chest.

“Aye, but Kirstin says ’tis safest for t’bairn.” He kissed the top of her head. “We’ll go slow.”

Raife sent the rest of the pack on ahead, toward the castle. They would bring up the rear.

“D’ye want me t’stay ’ere and wait fer t’scouts?” Lorien asked them.

“Ye should ride wit’ us,” Darrow told him, getting on his horse behind Laina and the baby. “We may need ye if they return fer Raife again.”

“They won’t,” Kirstin said miserably as Lorien gave her a hand up onto his mount. ”They a’ready ’ave e’erythin’ they need.”

She scanned the woods as they began to ride, taking it slow, as Raife had promised, hoping, praying, the scouts would catch up to the thief before he could make it back to his camp to give the book and the knife to the waiting witch and her wicked consort.

“Where is she?”

Kirstin heard his voice before she saw him. She was leaning back against Lorien, his arm the only thing keeping her from falling face first out of the saddle, drifting in and out of nightmares that would occasionally jolt her awake with a start. It was full dark by the time their little party reached the castle—they’d had to travel much slower than the others—but a large bonfire had been lit out front to guide them in.

Donal’s voice came to her out of a dream. She thought she must be dreaming when he lifted her down from the saddle, scowling at the wulver who held her close, and kissed her so long and deeply she could barely catch her breath.

“I do’na wanna wake up,” she whispered against his shoulder as he put an arm under her knees and carried her into the castle.

“Shh.” Donal’s arms tightened as he took the stairs with her in his arms, two at a time.

Moira followed them, clucking over Kirstin as Donal put her on the bed. Now she was sure she was dreaming, because nothing had ever been so soft. She must be in heaven, in the clouds, warm under the sun.

“Sibyl!” Kirstin came awake, sitting bolt upright in the bed. “Raife! Where is e’eryone? Donal, ye hafta keep ’em safe! You hafta—!”

“Easy, lass.” Donal undressed her like a child. “E’eryone’s safe as they can be.”

“Sibyl’s bleedin’.” Kirstin tried to clear the fuzz from her head. She was so tired. She must still be dreaming, she reasoned. “Someone attacked Raife... they stabbed him. Donal, oh, ’tis all m’fault.”

“Shhh.” He eased her shirt over her head. Someone was knocking hard on the locked door. “’Tisn’t yer fault. None of it.”

He picked her up, completely nude now, and carried her over to a bath in front of the big fireplace, placing her into the warm water. He looked at her for a moment, dark hair floating, and she stared him at him as if in a dream. Surely, it was. He couldn’t be here, touching her, undressing her, leaning in to cup her face and kiss her like he thought he might never see her again.

“MacFalon!” It was Raife, pounding on the door.

“Keep her ’ere,” Donal told Moira, who knelt beside the tub with a washing cloth. “Do’na let ’er outta yer sight. I’ll be righ ‘back.”

Donal unlocked the door and slipped out into the hallway, closing it behind him.

“Moira, ’tis all m’fault,” Kirstin lamented, as the old woman began to wash her hair. “I led them straight to t’den. I was such a fool. Are t’wulvers all ’ere?”

“Oh, aye, lass,” Moira assured, rinsing her hair with a bucket of warm water. “Most of ’em have camped out on m’kitchen floor in front of the fireplace.”

Kirstin smiled at that, but it faded as soon as she remembered.

“He got away. He stabbed Raife, and took t’book, and he got away...” She covered her face with her hands.

“The wulver scouts brought ’em in an hour ago,” Donal told her as he came back into the room. “We’ve got t’book.”

“And the knife?” Kirstin gripped the edge of the tub, looking up at him with big eyes. She’d been able to think of nothing else since, memories of the witch flitting through her mind. “With Raife’s blood?”

“Aye, m’love.” He stroked her hair away from her face. “The wulver scouts brought back four men. Geoffrey, William, and two others.”

“Salt and Sedgewick.” She shuddered, remembering the way they’d tracked her in the woods, how they’d come up on her out of nowhere. She was sure, now, that they’d been the ‘poachers’ who they’d come upon in the forest that very first day. They’d been Lord Eldred’s men all along, hiding and doing his bidding. “What about Lord Eldred and the witch, Moraga?”

“Moira, lemme finish up ’ere,” Donal said, taking the soap and washing cloth from the old woman. “Can ye bring us up some food?”

“Aye,” she agreed happily, getting up from the floor and heading to the door.

“Did they catch ’em?” Kirstin asked again, desperate for an answer.

“N’yet.” Donal shook his head, rubbing soap over the washing cloth and pushing up his sleeves as he knelt near the tub. “I’ve got me men out lookin’—and the wulvers are lookin’ too.”

“It’s Raife they want.” She met his eyes—oh how she’d missed looking into those blue-grey eyes—pleading with him. “Donal, ye hafta keep ’im safe. He’s t’one they want. If they capture ’im, if they get a drop of ’is blood…”

“Shh.” He turned her chin to him and kissed her quiet. His first kiss had been like something out of a dream, not possibly real. This kiss was like coming home. She wrapped her soapy, wet arms around his neck, feeling grateful tears slipping down her cheeks.

“They’ve told me e’erythin’,” Donal assured her when they parted. “I should’ve listened t’ye from the beginnin’ about Lord Eldred, lass. If I had...”

“Ye couldn’t’ve known.”

His face darkened in a scowl. “We’ll find ’em. We’ll find ’em both and we’ll bring ’em t’justice.”

Kirstin searched his face, seeing new lines there, dark circles under his eyes. He smelled of whiskey, and there was a good four days’ stubble on his face.

“I missed ye,” she confessed. “Did ye miss me?”

“Did I miss ye?” he repeated, blinking at her as Moira carried in a tray weighed down with food. She put it on the little table in the corner. “I had e’ery available man at m’service out lookin’ for ye. I’ve been in me cups for days. I can’na sleep. I can’na eat. I can’na breathe wit’out ye, lass. Did I miss ye? What d’ye say. Moira, did I miss ’er?”

“He put a huge reward out fer yer capture,” Moira informed her. “Alive, a’course.”

“Ye did?” Kirstin raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“He also had Gregor flogged,” Moira told her, pouring cups of mead. “An’banished. If any man dares ever harm a wulver on MacFalon land again, they’ll be put t’death. Publically.”

“Painfully,” Donal agreed, glowering.

“D’ye need anythin’ else?” Moira asked, looking at both of them, a small smile playing on her face.

“Jus’ tell ’em not t’disturb me,” Donal replied, his gaze raking Kirstin’s nude form. “Unless it’s urgent.”

“Aye.” Moira grinned, opening the door. “Ye better lock in behin’ me, though, jus’ in case.”

“I will,” Donal said, nodding as she went out.

He paused in his bathing of her to go lock the door and Kirstin smiled at that. They were good at locking out the world. She remembered the time they’d spent in the first den, laughing, eating, making love, swimming in the cold spring and drying themselves in front of the fire. She’d known, even then, that their time was limited.

“Is she ’ere yet?” Kirstin asked softly as Donal came back to tend to her.

“Who?” His hands moved over her under the water, big, rough, calloused, they scrubbed her far better than any washing cloth.

“Yer bride,” she reminded him.

“I’ll not be marryin’ anyone else but ye, lass.” He leveled her with a cool look. “Not now, not e’er.”

“Ye didn’t answer me.”

“Nuh.” He sighed.” She’s not ’ere yet.”

“But she will be...”

And what then? Kirstin wondered.

“I can’na stop ’er from comin’—her party will be welcomed ’ere.” Donal scowled. “But I will’na be marryin’ her. I intend t’be married t’ye by then.”

She looked at him in the firelight, the shadows playing on his handsome face. What woman wouldn’t want this man? Lady Cecilia Witcombe would take one look at him and fall instantly in love. Why not? Kirstin had.

And she wouldn’t blame her.

“Donal, ye can’na start a war,” Kirstin told him. “We were all deceived. King Henry wants t’wulvers dead. All of us. Includin’ me. He’ll ne’er let ye marry a wulver. We hafta go into hidin’ somewhere...”

“If t’English king wants t’go t’war wit’ Scotland, then let ’im see if he can take t’border against the Scots
and
t’wulvers.” Donal’s eyes flashed and she gasped when he roughly scrubbed the cloth over her back.

“I do’na want any more war,” Kirstin whispered, feeling tears stinging her eyes. “N’more bloodshed.”

“Och.” Donal sighed, tossing aside the cloth and reaching for her. His front was soaked from bathing her, his white shirt see-through, clinging to his thickly muscled chest and abdomen. “I’m sorry, lass. I jus’…I will’na let ye go again. I’ll fight fer ye. I’ll die fer ye.”

“No fightin’,” she said, frowning. “And mos’ definitely, no dyin!”

“Jus’ do’na e’er leave me again.” He pulled her close, burying his face in the wet skin of her neck, his stubble hard and prickly, making her squirm, but she didn’t let him go.

“I’m so tired.” She sighed, trying to keep her eyes open, but it wasn’t easy in the warm water, in the heat of the fire.

“Let’s get some food in yer belly.”

He had her stand, shivering, while he rinsed her with a warm bucket of water.

“I’m sorry,” she said when he had her step out and wrapped her in a cloth that had been warming by the fire. “For leavin’ ye...”

Donal chuckled. “When I saw ye, I didn’t know whether to kiss ye or spank ye.”

“Ye could do both...” She bit her lip when his gaze swept over her as he patted her dry.

“Do’na tempt me,” he growled, wrapping her with a dry cloth and leading her over to the table.

“It must’ve been a shock, the wulvers ridin’ up to the gates…” She sat across from him at the table, the smell of the food hitting her, and suddenly, she was ravenous.

“The scouts on t’walls said the entire wulver army was headin’ our way.” Donal chuckled, watching as she starting eating, not bothering with utensils. “I’d been in me cups for days. No one could find ye... and I was… well, let’s jus’ say, I missed ye.”

She smiled, chewing on a bit of buttered roll.

“But when ye have an entire den full of wulvers ride up t’yer gates, it tends t’sober ye’up,” he told her, handing her a napkin to catch the drip of gravy on her chin.

She giggled at that, trying to picture it, her whole pack riding up to Castle MacFalon and begging entry.

“But ye took ’em in?”

“They’re yer kin,” he said simply, which made her heart swell. Then he said something that made tears come to her eyes. “And mine. A’course I took ’em in.”

She was so hungry, she felt faint. Donal watched her eat the salt pork Moira had brought up with her fingers, tearing off thick pieces of dark bread in between bites. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she arrived, like he thought she might disappear, just an apparition. When Kirstin’s belly was full, she sat back with a satisfied sigh. She was still exhausted, and could have fallen asleep right there in the chair, but she didn’t want to close her eyes.

She didn’t want to stop looking at the man across from her.

“What’re we gonna do?” she wondered aloud.

“I’m goin’ t’take ye to bed.” Donal stood, pulling her up, into his arms. The cloth he had wrapped around her dropped to the floor, leaving her nude. “And I’m ne’er lettin’ ye outta m’sight again, lass.”

“Ye know what I mean,” she whispered, and he nodded, but he didn’t answer her with anything but a kiss.

Kirstin woke sometime in the middle of the night, not sure where she was. Then she heard Donal’s soft, even breathing beside her, felt the weight of his arm over her, and knew. She was home. Sighing happily, she snuggled back against him under the covers. There was no place on earth she wanted to be more than in this man’s arms.