Moon Craving

all.

“I could not help but notice you did not take your horse hunting,” Abigail said, breaking the silence she had maintained since inviting the other soldiers to eat with them.

His wife was a curious mixture of timidity and boldness. She had not hesitated to confront him before he faced Circin’s challenge, but she had spent the hours since then watching everyone else and saying very little. ’Twas odd. In his experience, women tended to talk more than men, often filling a peaceful silence with unnecessary verbal noise. Abigail was the first woman he had met who might actually speak less than his warriors.

“I did not need a horse.”

“Perhaps you should reconsider that notion.” She paused, giving him a look from between her lashes. “Considering the fact that your soldiers returned with game and you did not.”

Everyone around the fire went silent at his wife’s innocent observation, waiting for his response.

He wasn’t about to admit that his wolf had spent the morning preoccupied with a woman who had responded with naught but fear at his presence. He frowned at her, letting her know he had no intention of justifying his failure to return with game.

“Perhaps it was forgetting your plaid that caused your lack of success. You scared the prey away.” The edges of her lips curled upward, though her expression remained demure.

She was teasing him. His shy little human wife dared to tease the Sinclair. The look of astonishment on Earc’s face and subtle mirth on Niall’s said they realized it as well. The other men wore a mixture of trepidation and concern, clearly mistaking his wife’s words as criticism.

“Highlanders have been hunting without covering for as long as they have claimed these lands.”

“Hmm . . .,” she replied noncommittally.

“Are you worried about my ability to provide for you?” he asked, keeping his expression hard and unreadable.

Crossing her arms she gave him an arch look that about had him falling backward. “Maybe I am.” She wasn’t buying his pretend annoyance, not even with worthless English gold coin.

A gasp from one of his warriors said they had though.

“You needn’t concern yourself, lady. Our clan provides for the laird as he provides for us,” Niall said, adding his own bit to bait Talorc.

“It would seem that is a good thing,” she replied and took a delicate bite of the roasted rabbit.

When Talorc did naught but give Niall a halfhearted glare and a shake of his head, Circin frowned much more fiercely. “You accept such an insult from your warrior?”

“Niall did not insult me, nor did my wife.” He looked at Abigail, who was definitely smirking now. “Did you?”

“Nay, my laird. I would never do so.”

Circin looked wholly unconvinced. “But—”

“In fact, I have full confidence that my wife will readily promise to eat only that which I proved for the next week.”

“Certainly,” Abigail said promptly.

Only then did the Donegal youth catch on. “You were teasing your laird.”

An almost silent giggle issued from her throat. “Yes.”

“No one teases the Donegal laird.”

“Not even his wife?” Abigail asked.

“Our lady died ten years ago.”

“That explains it. He’s probably still grieving,” Abigail said, clearly tongue in cheek.

The young soldier nodded quite seriously. “Aye. That he is. The biggest part of his heart died with her. They were true mates.”

“It is good for a husband and wife to be friends,” Abigail observed, clearly mistaking the meaning of the word mates.

Circin gave Abigail a confused look that went right past her as she studied Talorc’s face. He stared back.

“Do you agree?” she asked, a wistful expression on her pretty oval features.

“’Twould be enough to wish not to be enemies,” was all he was willing to concede.

How could he be friends with a woman born and raised Sassenach? He would never have a true mate now that he had accepted her into his bed. He would not be able to father children, for a Chrechte could not have offspring with a human unless a true mate bond existed. He, who believed strongly in preserving the Chrechte, would not be able to pass his own wolf nature on to the next generation.

The thought had him surging to his feet. “I will take the first patrol.”

Abigail paced, her attention drifting to the cavern entrance every few steps. It remained as empty as it had been since she said her good-nights to the warriors and found her way to her and Talorc’s temporary sleeping chamber.

Her husband had disappeared at the end of dinner and not returned since. At first, she had been relieved by his absence. His cruel comment regarding not being enemies with his wife being enough to wish for had put her on the verge of tears. Coupled with the way he had ignored her all day to hunt, on foot yet, left her in no doubt about how he saw her.

As an unwelcome interloper.

Just like her parents.

For just a little while, when he had taken such tender care of her after consummating their marriage the night before, she had let herself begin to believe it might be different.

Only, no matter what he had said during the Chrechte marriage ritual about her no longer being English, regardless of how deeply emotional their physical joining had felt to her, he did not care for her. She had been a fool to think one day he might. An absolute fool. The intense physical intimacy that had been so transforming for her had meant less than nothing to him.

She was his enemy. That she was his wife could not cancel out that salient fact.

She could not credit her own stupidity in allowing even a tendril of hope to grow that there might be a place for her among his clan, even once they learned the truth of her deafness. Talorc would be only too happy to use the deception as an excuse to get rid of his unwanted English wife. Just as she had first believed.

She swiped at the moisture trying to pool in her eyes. She would not cry. She would not.

Nor would she have Talorc return to find her pacing with impatience for his arrival.

With that thought in mind, she stripped to her shift and climbed between the furs to force or feign sleep. Either would work, so long as Talorc did not realize how hurt she was to learn her idiotic hopes had been just that.

Chapter 10

Only one torch burned in the cavern when Talorc entered sometime after midnight. The water of the pool looked like obsidian in the muted amber light. He contemplated soaking in it before joining Abigail, but he recognized it for the stalling tactic it was and turned from the pool to look at his wife.

She slept fitfully, having kicked off the fur that should be covering her beautiful body. She was wearing her shift, though she had not done so since attempting to the night of their wedding. If preserving her modesty was her goal, she had failed miserably. The undergarment had ridden up her thighs until the pretty blond curls that covered her mound were revealed.

Her shapely legs glowed in the soft light, beckoning him to touch. Everything about his wife’s body appealed to his senses and his wolf’s nature. Instead of pouting like a little boy deprived of his lifemate, Talorc should be grateful he at least found Abigail desirable.