Highland Wolf Pact Read online

  “I… should go.” She got to her feet, moving toward the door, toward escape. Of course, that meant moving toward Darrow, which required a great deal of courage on her part.

  “Ye do’na’ave t’go, Sibyl,” Laina protested, holding a hand out to her husband. He went to her, moving past Sibyl, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he sat beside his wife on the mattress, when he was no longer between Sibyl and the door. “We’re jus’ talkin’bout findin’ the huluppa, Darrow. He’s been helpin’ me look fer it.”

  Laina reached out to touch her husband’s cheek, a look of love passing between them that made something buzz like bees in Sibyl’s lower belly. She’d seen men and women look at each other with love before—even lust, she thought, remembering Rose—but this was different. There was a connection between the two of them that made human lust, and even love, seem infinitesimal in comparison.

  “I can help you find it.” The words come out of her mouth without a second thought. She’d told Raife she would help Laina find it, and if she had to be there, why not? “I know plants and herbs very well. I was taught by a healer and an apothecary. That’s how I knew what would help stop your bleeding.”

  “Aye?” Laina’s fair, arched brows went up in surprise. “Oh, Sibyl, you do’na know wha’t’would mean t’me!”

  “Laina, mayhaps, now t’bairn’s birthed…” Darrow hesitated, glancing at the baby asleep in his cradle. Sibyl knew, from the look on Darrow’s face, what he was thinking, the words he didn’t say. He wanted her to stop looking for the plant, that much was clear, but he was torn. He could see how much it meant to her. So could Sibyl. “I do’na wanna leave ye.”

  “But she’ll help ye, Darrow!” Laina turned shining eyes to her husband, ignoring his unspoken message. “I know ye’ll find it!”

  “Mayhaps.” Darrow frowned, turning his gaze back to Sibyl again, still standing in the doorway.

  “With Alistair’s men still looking for me, though…” Sibyl bit her lip, meeting Darrow’s eyes. They were as blue as the rest of the wulvers, but they could darken, like his brother’s, like the sky when it was ready to storm. They were dark now.

  “Aye, he’s lookin’ fer ye.” Darrow frowned. “But I’ll keep ye safe, if’n ye’re really willin’ t’go out and look wit’ me, lass.”

  “I’d be happy to, while I’m here,” Sibyl agreed, smiling at Laina. If it would keep the woman from roaming the woods in search of the elusive plant, Sibyl really would be happy to do it. Although she didn’t relish riding out into the woods with Darrow. But he wouldn’t hurt her—not with Sibyl under his brother’s protection. Would he?

  “Thank ye, lass.” Darrow gave her a nod. “I’ll come fer ye on t’morrow. After trainin’, ya ken?”

  “That would be fine.” Sibyl nodded, shutting the door behind her.

  She walked back toward her room, thinking about Darrow’s obvious distaste of her. Even after she’d saved Laina’s life—twice—the man didn’t seem to like her. She wondered at it. Most of the wulvers had gone out of their way to make her feel as at home as possible. They didn’t tease her about her English accent, like the Scotsmen at Alistair’s castle had. They didn’t make fun of her penchant for baths like the Scottish, or her insistence on things like her own silverware and tin drinking cup. Of course, Raife had a lot to do with that, she knew. He, too, had gone out of his way to make her feel as at-home as possible.

  Sibyl opened the door to her room, thinking mayhaps, if she went out into the woods with Darrow, looking for the elusive huluppa, he might eventually warm to her. She couldn’t figure out if it was because she was English, or human, or what. She was so lost in thought, she didn’t notice the door to the hot spring cavern was open, the orange glow of a torch lighting the way. She didn’t notice until Raife stepped into the room, his long, dark hair wet, his body beaded with water in the low light of the fire.

  He was stark naked, his plaid just thrown over his shoulder, hiding nothing. They stared at each other, unblinking. Sibyl felt her cheeks redden and knew she should look away, but she didn’t. The man’s body was as hard as rock, chiseled like granite, shoulders wide, chest hairless but thick, his waist narrowing, abdomen so ridged it was like a mountain range in its own right. Sibyl followed the terrain of his body with her gaze, the water running down his tawny skin in little rivers, seeing that Laina had been wrong about the wulvers being completely hairless except for the locks on their head. Raife had a thick, dark patch of hair between his legs, the snake there slowly rising to point in her direction.

  “Sibyl.” He said her name, sounding hoarse, and cleared his throat as he slowly pulled his plaid down to wrap the length of tartan fabric around his waist. “Kirstin said ye were visitin’ wit’ Laina. I jus’ wanted t’soak in the spring…”

  “Of course, it’s your room.” She cleared her own throat, finally averting her gaze, but of course it was far too late. She’d seen everything—again. Just like when he’d taken off his plaid in the middle of the woods before he changed from man to wolf. Except this time she’d seen him from the front. She’d seen far more than any woman should see of a man—unless she happened to be married to him, Sibyl supposed. “I should… go… I…”

  “Tis me who should be leavin’.” Raife shook his wet head, giving her a sheepish smile. “I should’na’ve come in wit’out askin’ ye. I’m sorry, lass.”

  “No, it’s your room,” she said again, keeping her gaze focused on his face, although that wasn’t much better, because those strikingly blue eyes said everything he was thinking. Everything she was thinking. Everything she knew she shouldn’t want—that no good, Christian girl should want from anyone besides her husband. And she didn’t have a husband. She had narrowly escaped that fate.

  But looking at Raife made her think of all the things Rose had whispered to her about men, about their hands on her, about the way they growled and thrust and took what they wanted. Being around Raife made her feel wanton, sinful, depraved. It was a wholly unfamiliar feeling, but not completely unpleasant.

  “Tis yers, while ye’re here,” he reminded her again as he strode toward the door. He kept saying that, had given up his room for her, but slept every night somewhere outside that door, keeping watch. It was both comforting and disconcerting.

  “Raife…” She touched his arm, still wet from his bath, but his skin was warm. Her eyes lifted to meet his, almost forgetting what she wanted to ask the man. His presence was always disarming to her, but now, with him wet and half-naked and looking at her like he could literally eat her alive—and she had no doubt he could do it—he made her forget everything.

  “Why does Darrow hate me?” she asked softly, finally regaining her speech.

  “He does’na hate ye.” Raife’s brow knitted in concern. His gaze fell to his arm where she touched him, the heat between them palpable. “But he… he does’na like the English. And t’one thing he hates more’n the English is a MacFalon.”

  “I’m not a MacFalon,” Sibyl reminded him.

  “Nuh.” Raife smiled. She loved his smile. It made her feel warm from head to toe. “I tol’ me brother ’bout the arrow ye put through the man’s arm.”

  “It should have been through his heart,” Sibyl said darkly. Every time she thought of Alistair, she felt murderous.

  “Nuh, lass.” He shook his head, covering her hand with his own, making hers disappear. “T’would’ve started a war. Ye did the right thin’. The clan’ll stop huntin’ fer ye soon enough.”

  “And then I can go…” She hesitated, the word “home” on her lips but not uttered. There was no home. Not anymore.

  “Aye.” He had that sad look in his eyes again. Did he really not want her to go? “When tis safe. But not til then.”

  She nodded, taking a step back as he reached to open the door. He stopped, glancing back at her, and she thought she might faint at the look in his eyes, there was so much fire in them.

  “Darrow’ll come ’round,” he said softly before he clo
sed the door behind him.

  She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She suddenly understood the way his gaze followed her, what it meant. He looked at her, Sibyl suddenly realized, like she’d seen Darrow look at Laina.

  Like a wulver looked at his mate.

  Chapter Seven

  The wulvers were the best family she’d ever had. Sibyl often thought this as she drifted off to sleep, going over the events of the day, which were always interesting. It had taken some getting used to seeing a wolf’s head on a man’s body, hearing a man speak through a wolf’s mouth, but she could enter the valley without a second thought now as the wolfen warriors trained. It took her a little longer to get used to seeing the flash of a wolf’s eyes in the darkness of a mountain tunnel, but she’d spent long enough with them to know none of them meant her harm.

  She didn’t know when it had happened, but at some point, the wulvers’ mountain and valley had started to feel like home. And everywhere she went, every which way she looked, Raife was there, watching her. Watching over her. He seemed to think of himself as her personal protector, and that’s why, when Sibyl started going out into the forest with Darrow, Raife had completely lost it.

  Darrow had come for her as he said he would, and while Sibyl knew what Raife’s response would be, she had gone anyway. She hadn’t asked him—and she’d known, in her heart, that the pack leader wouldn’t have allowed it if she had. So she had simply agreed, putting her arms around Darrow’s neck, letting him carry her into the woods where she had left her past behind.

  She spent the ride with her face buried against his fur, not knowing what she was more afraid of, Alistair’s men finding them, the thought Darrow might be taking her into the woods to do away with her, or the knowledge she was going to have to return and face Raife’s wrath. Of course, so would Darrow, she knew. He must really love his wife, she thought, as the big gray wolf slowed and then stopped near a small stream. It was hardly a trickle compared to the rushing one she and Raife had crossed to escape their pursuers, but it was the place Laina said they’d found the other willow.

  “That’s not huluppa,” Sibyl said, knowing it right away. She was already off the wolf’s back, inspecting the leaves. They were too wide and broad, a deeper green. Of course, she’d only seen huluppa in the apothecary’s books and was going from memory alone.

  “Tis the stuff Laina took back wit’ us last time,” Darrow said, coming up behind her as Sibyl inspected the tall tree. She glanced back, seeing he’d changed—from wolf to man, and into his plaid, which had been secured around his neck as they rode through the woods. His face darkened at the thought. “The stuff that nearly killed ’er.”

  “It was the willow. I’m sure of it,” Sibyl agreed, frowning, fingering the leaves. “It will make anyone bleed more heavily, even though it takes away pain. It worries me.”

  “Aye.” Darrow followed her as Sibyl made her way down the little stream. “And me.”

  “But you still brought me out here to look for it?” She puzzled over this as she unslung her satchel, gathering agrimony. It wasn’t huluppa, but it was good for stopping a bleed and always good to have on hand. She’d already started teaching Kirstin and the old midwife, Beitris, about herbs.

  “She’s me mate.” Darrow shrugged one bare shoulder. The marking there matched the one on Laina’s thigh and hip. It was intricate symbolism, a sign they were mates.

  “You love her.” Sibyl couldn’t help the smile that came over her face as she gathered feverfew, putting that in her satchel too. It was good for indigestion.

  “Aye.” The look in Darrow’s eyes said everything.

  They walked up and down the stream, Sibyl inspecting the plants, warning Darrow against the touching the henbane. It was poisonous.

  “Aye, wulvers have a keen nose.” Darrow made a face, stepping around the poisonous plant. “Tis why I thought we’d’ve found it by now.”

  “It is curious.” Sibyl frowned, cocking her head—she thought she heard something—but Darrow was already near, reaching for the dirk tucked away in his plaid as he put a protective arm around her from behind.

  “Alistair…?” she whispered, glad for his embrace because she felt dizzy. There were men moving through the woods. It was far off, distant, but she knew the sound.

  “Ye’ve good ears, lass.” Darrow grinned, cocking his head as he looked down at her. “Those’re reavers.”

  “Thieves?” She shivered, remembering Alistair and Donal constantly complaining about the reavers, the thieves who raided their cattle and poached game on their lands at the border.

  “Ye’re safe wit’ me,” Darrow assured her, sheathing his dirk again. “They steal from the MacFalons. They hate the English. And the MacFalons are more English than Scots now.”

  “You hate the English, too,” she replied softly as Darrow let her go again and they resumed their hunt for the elusive huluppa, heading downstream together. “And the MacFalons.”

  “Aye,” Darrow agreed and she saw the hard look on his face. It made her sad and a little afraid. She was English, after all.

  “Why?” she asked, kneeling down to pluck soapwort from the roots. It was perfect for washing clothes. “I thought there was some sort of a pact…?”

  She’d heard tell of this pact, but didn’t know any real details. She just knew there seemed to be some sort of peace pact between the wulvers and the MacFalons.

  “Aye, me father brokered the deal.” Darrow stopped, waiting for her. “Twas a mistake I’d sorely like t’undo.”

  “But… wouldn’t that mean war between the wulvers and the MacFalons?” She shaded her eyes against the sun, looking up at him.

  “I’d rather fight a war,” he snarled. “We train e’eryday fer war but ne’er fight.”

  “King Henry seems to want peace.” She stood, slinging her satchel over her shoulder and picking her way along the stream. “That’s why I was promised to Alistair MacFalon.”

  “King Henry wants lands an’titles, like all the English.”

  “What do Scots want?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. Darrow was far more sure footed than she was.

  “A good woman, a warm bed, and food in their bellies.” He grinned at her and she couldn’t help but laugh.

  “And wulvers?”

  “The same, I s’pose.” He shrugged, still smiling. He had a nice smile, like his brother’s, just a little more lopsided.

  “Not lands and titles like the horrible English?” she teased.

  “We’re not interested in titles.” Darrow scoffed at the idea. “We have our land.”

  They had a whole kingdom inside a mountain. Sibyl was still in awe of their tunnels, their rich valley. And their family. The pack. They were closer than anyone she’d ever known. They were laid back and laughed out loud and long like the Scots she’d experienced when she was staying with the MacFalons, but there was a loyalty and close-knitted connection in the wulvers’ den she’d never seen anywhere else.

  “I do’na think all the English are horrible, lass.” Darrow’s words stopped her.

  “Just me then?” She wasn’t laughing and neither was he.

  “Ye saved Laina’s life,” he said, reminding them both. “I’m grateful to ye.”

  “So you’ve said.” She gave a little nod. “But still, you look at me like I was a chamber pot and you’d like to toss me out a window.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. She couldn’t help laughing too. It seemed to break something up between them, something that had been in the way, like a mountain crumbling to the ground under a force of nature.

  “Not so bad as that,” Darrow told her.

  “No?” Sibyl was still smiling, but she doubted his veracity. She’d seen the way he looked at her.

  “Ye bein’ wit’ us, lass, livin’ wit’ us, in our den?” He stopped, leaning his bare shoulder against the bark of a tree. Sibyl stopped too, turning back to him. “Tis dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” She wrinkled her no
se, thinking. “Why?”

  “Alistair MacFalon’s a’ready violatin’ t’pact, if’n he’s trappin’ wulvers.”

  “Yes.” She nodded slowly, remembering how proud he was of the fact he had a wolf trapped in a cage. A pregnant female he intended to kill and parade back to the castle as if it had been some great feat. “I believe he is.”

  “He’s a cruel man, lass.” Darrow’s eyes narrowed, his head cocked. She knew he was listening to the reavers, although she could no longer hear them. They were too far off.

  “I know,” Sibyl agreed. “Believe me, I know. I couldn’t stay with him, Darrow. I couldn’t marry that man, no matter what my family wanted me to do.”

  “Raife said ye’re brave one.” Darrow gave a short nod. “Ye saved Laina, and I said I’m grateful to ye, and I am. But when I heard what he’d done… I wanted…”

  “War,” she whispered, knowing it before he even said it. “Of course you did. She’s your wife. You love her.”

  “Aye.” The look in his eyes was like steel. It was clear he would do anything for his mate, and that he’d had nothing but vengeance on his mind when Laina had returned, wounded, in labor, and then nearly died birthing their son.

  Not that Sibyl could blame him. She felt murderous when she thought of Alistair, and the man had done nothing more than paw at her. She couldn’t imagine what Darrow had felt, seeing his mate that way and finding out it was Alistair MacFalon who was responsible.

  “So why didn’t you go after him?” she asked. “The pact?”

  “Aye.” That steel flashed in his eyes. “Me brother has other ideas, ’bout keepin’ t’peace. Said she was’na kidnapped or killed, so we could’na retaliate.”

  “So Raife stopped you.”

  She didn’t fully understand this pact between the wulvers and the MacFalons, but she was beginning to see it more clearly. She remembered Raife saying he’d been sent to find Laina, but she wondered at that now. Mayhaps Raife had gone looking for her on his own—in hopes of finding her, yes, of course. But also in hopes of avoiding Darrow’s rage, his need for vengeance.