Moon Burning Page 13

  That could be dangerous.

  Furious fighters were sloppy, but they were also unpredictable.

  Rowland managed a swipe along Earc’s chest with his claws and the scent of his foe’s blood seemed to send him into a frenzy. He went after Earc with renewed vigor, making sounds Barr had never heard from a wolf for all the battles he had fought in. Rowland’s wolf was crazed with bloodlust and a bitter fury that stank like spoiled meat.

  Once again, Earc showed his superior training because he was ready for the wolf’s flurried attack, even though Barr was sure he’d never met an opponent so infected with bloodlust.

  Earc used the beast’s momentum to send him tumbling again, but this time he followed, landing on the self-admitted murderer and straddling the mighty wolf’s body. Rowland had been weakened by blood loss, but was strengthened by battle frenzy beyond a normal wolf’s strength. Even that of a Chrechte.

  Earc refused to be unseated, however, keeping the wolf’s strong jaws away from his more vulnerable skin.

  Bringing his knife down in a powerful arc, Earc stabbed straight through to the heart, killing the wolf instantly.

  Stunned silence permeated the clearing. None moved. None spoke. Disbelief was a living entity among them. Into this utter quiet a loud, triumphant raven’s caw sounded over the shocked gathering. Barr realized that if Sabrine had disobeyed him, she’d no doubt done it with Verica’s help. The raven was singing her mate’s victory over the man she believed had killed her father.

  A raven he had believed to be a wolf. Could one Chrechte pretend the scent of another as they could mask their own? Or was Verica the unthinkable? A woman with not one but two Chrechte forms.

  ’Twas a question he would have answers to, but later.

  Right now was time for establishing his role as pack leader and Earc’s unquestioned position as his second.

  Barr tipped his head back and howled. It took a moment, but others joined him. Not Earc though. A Chrechte never took the death of one of his kind lightly, even if he had been forced to do the killing.

  While others might make their approval known, and should, Earc would not howl his joy at defeating his foe for there was one less Chrechte in the world and their numbers were not high.

  Earc’s visage was grim as he retrieved Rowland’s human weapons and presented them to Barr with solemn reverence.

  Barr accepted the sword and dagger, though he had no desire to keep them. He looked around the clearing, his gaze taking in the varied reactions to Rowland’s death. Relief, disbelief, horror, joy, anger, hope—and all of it tinged by shock—choked the clearing.

  Barr lifted the weapons, looking at each member of his pack individually. Some did not meet his gaze, but all belonged to his pack, to his protection—until they proved themselves unworthy. “I am laird here. Does anyone question my right to lead?”

  Several shouted firm denials and others howled, but none put their vote forward in the affirmative. None challenged him.

  “The Chrechte live among the human clans to protect our race. In return we protect those we live among. We do not abuse them because we are stronger or faster.”

  This time the affirmation was louder and the howls more triumphant. This pack had suffered under Rowland’s leadership. Barr would give them a chance to prove they wanted the change he offered.

  Waiting for the pack to fall silent, he carefully noted those who did not join in affirming the Chrechte law regarding their lives among the humans.

  “From this point forward, every Chrechte male will train as a warrior.” Some had been holding back and he had not made it mandatory, trying to get an understanding for why a people whose violent natures had almost led to their own extinction would not be in training for the protection of their people.

  “Will you teach us how to defeat a Chrechte in his wolf form while still a human?” one young man called out.

  “Aye.”

  Earc stood beside him. “We’ll be teaching the human men in our clan how to fight Chrechte as well, without revealing our nature.”

  “Like you did with Muin and the human soldiers yesterday?” a woman asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Rowland never allowed the elite soldiers to train with the humans. He said it would make us weak,” one of Circin’s friends said.

  “Does Earc appear weak to you?”

  “No!”

  “His primary role among the Sinclairs was preparing humans to meet a Chrechte attack.”

  Looks of surprised respect showed over several faces.

  “One day Circin will lead you; until that day I will train every man in this clan the way of a true Chrechte warrior.”

  Shouts of approval went up, the deafening sound growing until those not joining in were more conspicuous in their silence. Distance grew between them and the others, as their fellow clansmen pulled away from the disapproving visages.

  Earc frowned as he looked around and clearly noted those withholding their support. “Too bad none of them would challenge you.”

  “If they share Rowland’s attitudes, they probably share his propensity for sneakiness and ambush.”

  “You do not think his death will end the attempts to undermine your role here?”

  “Cut off the head of a snake and the body still writhes after, not knowing it is dead.”

  Earc nodded his understanding. “Not all were pleased by my victory.”

  “Nay.”

  “We will have to remain ever vigilant.”

  “When are we anything else?”

  “I don’t know. When you are chasing the scent of a naked woman through the forest perhaps?”

  Barr almost smiled at the reminder. “Did you see her on the rock ledge to the north?”

  “I was pretending not to. She’s dressed like a man.”

  “She’s an uncommon woman.”

  “Aye, she is that.”

  “The raven who crowed her triumph when you won, I believe that was your mate.”

  Earc did not show his surprise, but his heart sped up. “Verica is a wolf.”

  “With a mother who was a raven.”

  “I thought the old bastard was just throwing insults, though I admit I didn’t understand how calling her mother a raven was one.”

  “The Éan are not myth.”

  “Damn.”

  “’Tis no easy thing to accept.”

  “Are you sure that was Verica?”

  “As sure as I can be without her admitting it.”

  “It sounds like my new mate and I have much to talk about.”

  “Before or after you bed her?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Nay.”

  Barr did not allow the character of the dead Chrechte to stop him doing his duty. A funeral pyre was built, Rowland’s wolf was laid on top and they all held vigil while the fire burned hot enough to singe anyone foolish enough to get too close.

  All the Chrechte held vigil, though few showed any true grief at their former pack leader’s passing.

  Verica arrived, her expression cheerless despite the fact she had good reason to want the man dead.

  Sabrine was with her, her own acute distaste for the deceased more than apparent on her beautiful features. She received several looks askance, but seemed unperturbed by them.

  “You do not obey well.”

  “So you noted once already.”

  “No, I said you did not listen well before. I had given you the benefit of the doubt and assumed you had not heard me aright about staying in my room.”

  “My hearing is excellent.”

  “No doubt.” He fingered her plaid. “’Tis a bit short on you, do you not think?”

  “Longer skirts would have gotten in my way.”

  “Doing what? Flaunting my authority?”

  “Saving your second. Circin would not have made it in time, though the culprit insists he did not intend to kill—only wound.”

  “You have weapons.”

&nbs
p; “I do.”

  “They are too small to be made for a man.”

  “For a man of your size, certainly.”

  He paused. That was true. There were some smaller men among the clans, and even the Chrechte were not always tall. “I believe they were made for a woman.”

  “I cannot help what you believe.”

  “And you will not answer my question.”

  “You have not asked one.”

  “Were I a less patient man, you would infuriate me.”

  “Were you a less patient man, Rowland would have been dead long before today.”

  He could not argue with that sentiment. “You and Verica have much in common.”

  “You think her infuriating?”

  “I think you share a Chrechte nature.”

  Chapter 11

  Barr did not mention the raven now; too many of the clan were close by and no howls sounded to mask their discussion as they had when he and Earc had spoken earlier.

  Rowland had clearly taken issue with the raven among the Chrechte. His friends might well feel the same and Barr would not expose Verica to possible danger.

  He had to dispose of the entire serpent first.

  The quiet stillness in the woman beside him could bode shock, anger, worry … anything. She was not allowing even a hint of her emotions near enough to the surface for his wolf to identify.

  “We will discuss it later,” he told her.

  She did not answer. Unlike this morning, when he’d had the distinct feeling she intended to try to avoid the conversation he wanted, he could sense right now she was eager for it.

  Interesting. This woman, dressed in a man’s plaid, would never bore him, of that he was sure.

  “A new day has dawned for the Donegal Chrechte,” Verica said as the flames shot high into the sky.

  “The new dawning happened the day I arrived; you all merely didna realize it.”

  Earc nodded, his mien serious. “Aye.”

  Verica shook her head, but a spark of a smile showed in her eyes before they returned to watching the rapidly burning pyre.

  Naught but ashes would be left before midday was reached.

  The trip back to the keep was a silent one and Sabrine made no effort to speak herself. No doubt Barr knew he would face the man whom Rowland had convinced to help him. He was an honorable laird. He would not relish killing another clan member so close to the old laird.

  And she could not let him. Though she had yet to figure out how best to stop him.

  Connor was guilty of treason by almost any definition. The fact he had been coerced would carry little consequence with most leaders, the Éan Council of Three included.

  Circin waited in the hall with Connor and the man’s human father. His Chrechte mother had been at the challenge and had waited to watch her cousin’s body burn.

  She rushed to her son’s side, a keening wail coming from her throat. “No …”

  Sabrine watched as Barr met the father’s gaze. Sabrine could not miss the resignation and determination there. It tugged at her just as his son’s determination to protect his father had done.

  She stepped forward so she stood beside Barr, not sure why she did so, but it felt right.

  The human Donegal man’s eyes widened, his solemn mask cracking in surprise.

  Sabrine remembered then that the clan women never wore men’s kilts. Perhaps she should have changed before coming into the hall, but she needed to be here to keep her promise to Connor.

  Barr looked down at her. “This is the man you stopped from shooting his bow at my second?”

  “He did not want to do it.”

  Barr checked, clearly surprised by the defense. “No?”

  “You know what a despicable bitch’s son that foul wolf was.” She’d only been exposed briefly to the other man and she could not miss it. Barr had lived in the same clan with him for more than a month. “He threatened the boy’s father.”

  The man in question made a sound of profound grief and Connor’s mother started to sob. Neither begged Barr for their son’s life, however.

  Sabrine was certain that was not because they didn’t want to, but having lived so long under Rowland’s leadership, they did not know leaders could be merciful as well as violent and selfish.

  The father came forward, dropping to his knee in front of Barr. “In accordance with clan law, I offer myself in my son’s stead for punishment.”

  Barr frowned. “You are aware he is guilty of treason against his clan and his laird.”

  The older man nodded, the weight of his son’s circumstances bowing his shoulders.

  “You will die for your son?”

  “No!” Connor shouted as he tried to break the ties binding him to the bench on which he sat.

  His mother’s sobs were quiet, but shook her entire body.

  Sabrine laid her hand on Barr’s arm. “Will you hear testimony on the boy’s behalf?”

  He stared down at her. “You caught him with the bow, what could you possibly add that might sway my decision?”

  Oh, the sheer arrogance of men.

  “I can attest to his mind-set when I found him. I can tell you how easily and quickly he dropped his bow. As a Chrechte I can tell you he told the truth when he said he did not intend to kill Earc, but was forced to try to shoot him with an arrow because of the threats against his father.”

  Barr did not appear moved. “Rowland’s threats carried no weight. He was marked for death.”

  “Connor did not believe your second could defeat Rowland. None of us did,” the Chrechte mother said with a valiant effort to control her tears.

  Barr said nothing, his expression giving away only what he wanted it to. He’d masked his scent so effectively, even Sabrine could not tell what he was feeling.

  Sabrine moved to stand in front of the human male. “I gave my word not to let anything happen to this man.”

  “To whom did you give your word?” Barr demanded with a scowl.

  “To Connor, of course.”

  “Laird, Connor had no love for Rowland, but he is a good son,” Verica said.

  “He didn’t want to kill Earc,” Circin added.

  “He has always kept our secret,” another Chrechte who had followed them into the hall added.

  “If Rowland deserved to die for his supposed sins, this human”—one of the older Chrechte spat the word—“must die for his.”

  Barr turned toward the old man, his expression no longer neutral. Rage cast his features in lines that probably should have frightened her but Sabrine found much too appealing.

  The man was strong enough to match her. She had not known another warrior she felt this way about.

  “Your opinion is of no consequence to me, old man, in this or any other matter.” There was something under the surface of Barr’s words, as if the other man should know exactly what his laird referred to.

  The gray-headed Chrechte sneered at Sabrine as if she had said something foul.

  Barr growled, the sound sending chills down her spine and arms. She had to suppress a shiver.

  Barr snarled, “Do not think I neglected to mark your lack of support of my lairdship this morn.”

  The recalcitrant man flinched, his anger draining to be replaced by blatant fear.

  “You may give me your pledge of allegiance, or leave the clan.” Barr looked like he’d prefer the latter.

  Fury arced off the older Chrechte but he inclined his head, just barely baring his throat.

  Barr did not look pleased, but he nodded with a short jerk of his head. “You may move your things to a relative’s home. Your quarters in the keep will be needed for my new seneschal.”

  “Who?”

  But Barr ignored him, dismissing the older man without another word as he turned back to her and the man kneeling behind her.

  “Step away from Aodh. His view of the back of your legs is unseemly.”

  She didn’t laugh, but it was a close thing. “You’re a very possessive
man.”

  “Aye.”

  “Will you attempt to kill the human?”

  “Attempt?”

  She just glared. If he didn’t think she could save the man, he would soon learn differently.

  Barr shook his head. “Allow me the courtesy of your respect.”

  “I do respect you.”

  “Prove it.”

  She crossed her arms and gave him a look that told him not to let her regret it as she moved to the side.

  “You are certain you wish to take your son’s punishment?”

  The man nodded, his determination not wavering even as his fear turned the air sour.

  Barr considered the man in silence for several long moments. He lifted his gaze and met Connor’s eyes. The young soldier had silent tears tracking his cheeks.

  “In attempting to save your father’s life, you may well have cost him it.”

  “No. Please. Do as you must to me, but let my father live.”

  “Your son loves you more than his own life, but by your actions, you prove he came by such sacrifice naturally.”

  Aodh did not reply, the fear for his son a solid wall around him.

  “Neither of you will lose your lives this day. My mate pleads mercy and I will give it.”

  She’d never pleaded, but she wasn’t about to argue and risk changing Barr’s mind.

  Barr spared her a glance, the amusement lurking beneath his solemn expression testimony to the fact he’d intended to tease her with the comment.

  Then he settled his full attention on Aodh. “You will take the position as my seneschal. Proving your family’s allegiance to my leadership, you will move into the keep and use your skills to improve the productivity of our holding.”

  “You want me to be your seneschal?” Aodh looked as if a puff of air might knock him on his backside, he was so shocked.

  “Aye. I have lived in this clan for more than a month, sufficient time to see you are the kind of man to serve the clan best in this role. Next to my second, you will have the highest level of responsibility in this holding.”

  “Even after …” Aodh’s voice trailed off, but his gaze strayed to his astonished son.

  “It is done. Naught will be gained by revisiting the past.”