Warrior's Moon

He was the one who had told her love meant nothing between the two of them. That the marriage he’d promised those nights they had shared their passion would not come to pass.

Not content with that, Caelis had made an official declaration of lack of intent, telling both her mother and father that he would no longer be courting her.

They had accepted his rejection without comment or argument, telling Shona that it was for the best. They had not known she carried his child then. She had not known it, either.

She’d had a feeling and taken Caelis aside to express her worries, but he’d adamantly denied any possibility that she could have his child in her womb. He’d gone so far as to say that if she were with child, it must be another man’s by-blow.

Sick at heart from the memories and unable to stomach the sight of him one more moment, she turned away.

He made a sound like denial and plea all rolled into one, but she ignored it. Just as he had ignored her begging and desperate words of love six years ago.

“Mummy?” Eadan’s little boy hand tugged at hers.

She looked down at her son, always so beautiful to her regardless of the memories his visage kept alive. “Yes, sweeting?”

“You are sad.”

“No.” She was not lying.

It was so much more than sadness. Despair fought for control, but she would not give in. She was stronger than that.

“I can smell it,” Eadan chided.

He was always saying things like that.

She squeezed his hand. “I am well.”

“You are tired,” Audrey corrected. “Too exhausted by worry and travel for this discussion.”

Thankfully, the goblet of watered wine arrived then, delivered by a smiling young woman who looked like the princess Caelis had called Marjory.

“Drink, it will help,” she said in tones that soothed. “I am Ciara, oldest daughter of Talorc and Abigail.”

She was too close in age to Abigail not to be adopted, but Shona had enough manners not to remark on it. “Thank you.”

She hadn’t the wherewithal for further pleasantries.

“You are most welcome. Mother is quite excited to have an Englishwoman visiting who can share news of her former homeland.”

“No news of England is always good in my eyes,” the laird opined.

Ciara laughed. “Watch yourself, Father, or one extra guest room will be in use tonight, I am sure. And I do not think it will be one with a comfortable bed.”

Surprisingly, everyone laughed at that, rather than taking offense, even the laird himself.

The banter went on around Shona, but she paid it no heed. Drinking the watered wine in small sips, she was proud that she did not require Audrey’s assistance to bring the wooden goblet to her lips.

At some point, everyone had stopped talking. And now they all looked at her, an air of expectation indicating someone had asked her something they expected her to answer.

“I’m sorry?” Shona looked to Audrey to tell her what had been missed.

But the Englishwoman simply shook her head.

“Further talking will wait. It is clear that Lady Heronshire needs her rest. If you will allow your children to keep mine company until the latemeal is served, you can find rest in your guest chamber, my lady,” Abigail said with perfect manners and in clearly native English.

Shona wanted to accept without caveat, but she did not know these people, no matter what she thought she knew of them. There was also Caelis to consider and his undeniable desire to now claim Eadan as his son.

Could Shona trust the Sinclairs to stop him from leaving the keep with the boy?

“Do not worry, I will stay with them,” Thomas offered. “Brian and Drost are bound to like the game of sticks I taught Eadan this past winter.”

“We like games very much,” Drost agreed, so obviously trying to comfort the adult woman falling to pieces in his father’s great hall, Shona wanted to cry.

She managed a very forced smile instead. “Thank you.”

“I will go with you,” Audrey said, proving her friend’s staunch support and ability to see correctly that Shona had reached the very end of her tether.

After she slept, she would again be strong, but right now, Shona had naught left to give to the circumstances so overwhelming her.

“I would have your word,” she said to Niall, falling back on instincts when reason was too difficult to employ. “You will not allow Caelis to take my son. Eadan and Marjory will be safe under the protection of you and Thomas.”

The young man’s loyalty had no equal in that room, but he was an untried youth of nineteen. No true match for the hardened warrior Caelis had become.

“I would not,” Caelis claimed, trying to make it sound like a promise.

But his promises were long past being trusted by her. So, Shona ignored him, demanding with the fierceness of her expression that Niall give her his vow.

The scarred warrior nodded. “Aye. You have my word.”

“Let us pray it has more value than the last time a Scotsman gave me his pledge.”

Niall placed his fist over his heart and bowed his head to her. “On my honor and that of my clan, I will keep those you hold dear safe.”

A small and genuine smile touched her lips at that promise. He was assuring her he would keep Thomas safe as well and she was grateful to the point of tears. A weak and foolish reaction to be sure, but she was tired.

With a nod of acknowledgment, she turned away before anyone could see the evidence of her emotions.

Eadan, Marjory, Thomas and Audrey were all that was dear left to Shona in the entire world.

She would not only die to protect them but kill as well. And so that blackguard Percival, new Baron of Heronshire, would discover if he had the impudence and stupidity to pursue her and her own into the Highlands of Scotland.

Chapter 4

There is no colder bed than the one without your mate.

—BARR OF THE DONEGAL

Caelis watched his sacred mate leaving the great hall, his wolf howling with the need to follow the petite female form, his body itching with the desire to shift.

But like he’d done so many times in the past six years, Caelis forced his beast to heel.

Their beautiful mate wanted nothing of them.

Shona’s scent used to be the most delectable of fragrances to both him and his wolf, though she’d never met the beast. All wild heather and summer rain, he would sit outside her parent’s hut in his wolf form, inhaling it for hours.

Now the acrid scent of bitterness came off her in waves when he was near.

’Twas no easy thing to accept, that change in his mate’s regard, no matter that his own actions had brought it on.