Chapter 9
No matter how far into the woods Talorc ventured, the memory of Abigail’s sweet, fresh scent drew him back to the clearing. He followed her and Niall on their walk, his wolf’s paws silent on the forest floor. He masked his scent so that even Niall did not realize Talorc was nearby.
His wolf wanted to make himself known, to rub up against his angel and allow his full wolf senses the opportunity to take her presence in. He had revealed himself only to discover that Abigail was terrified of his beast. His presence had brought tears to her eyes, and not the good kind.
He’d forced his wolf to run away rather than risk frightening her further, or worse, making himself known to her. He could not afford to share the secrets of his people with Abigail.
Besides, he was supposed to be hunting. Not that they needed the meat; they could make his keep by nightfall. If they rode out, but they weren’t riding today.
His gentle bride needed time to heal before getting back on a horse. She had soaked in the restorative waters of the hot springs last night. And he had left instructions with Niall to make sure she did the same today, but Talorc could not be sure that would be enough.
If the choice was between reaching home tonight but having a wife too sore to mate with and staying an extra day in the hot springs cave, he would choose the extra time away from his clan.
The only other time he had voluntarily spent time away from the people he was responsible to lead was when he had followed his sister and Emily to Balmoral Island. Caitriona’s safety had taken precedence at that time. He had no such considerations now, but that hadn’t stopped him from dictating a second night spent at the caves.
He refused to consider how aberrant that choice was for him to make. Nor did he have any interest in contemplating why he would make such a decision.
He only knew his wolf was in complete agreement and that was enough for him.
Thinking he should at least make some effort to hunt, he leaned forward and sniffed at a small pile of leaves. There was definitely something there, but it wasn’t prey. Not of the animal variety anyway.
The smell was not that of his warriors and certainly not the enticing fragrance of his new wife. It was too fresh to be more than an hour old. Which meant someone who wasn’t supposed to be here, had been.
He lifted his head, taking in the monochromatic image of his surroundings that he got in his wolf form. He was definitely still on his land, newly deeded to him by Scotland’s king. A growl rumbled in his animal chest as he scented the ground around him again. Six distinct traces, two Chrechte and four human. All males.
A hunting party? A mistake? Or a challenge to Sinclair ownership of the territory dowered him by the king?
The Donegal laird was aging without a clear successor. He presided over one of the smaller clans and Chrechte pack within it, which was only a mere handful of shape-changers. Even without the king’s intervention, the other laird would have ended up ceding the land to Talorc’s much larger clan and Chrechte pack, and they both knew it.
Never a large group, the Donegal clan had lost too many to war. The laird’s son had died at the hands of the same English bastards responsible for Talorc’s father’s death. The young warrior had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, patrolling his borders with a small band of soldiers when the English contingent bent on stealing the Sinclair Royal Treasure had crossed Donegal land.
That was the reason Talorc had not yet used might to press his claim to the disputed territory. His father had been responsible for bringing the betraying English bitch to the Highlands. Talorc did not dismiss the consequences of that act.
He had gone so far as to offer use of the springs to the Chrechte of the Donegal clan for their mating ceremonies and for use in clan healings, with the understanding that the Sinclair clanspeople’s needs would take precedence. However, he would not tolerate the Donegal clan hunting on the newly claimed Sinclair land. Not in human or wolf form.
The Donegal laird had accepted both Talorc’s generosity and his stipulation regarding the hunting.
So, what in the hell were six strangers doing on his land? Were they even from the Donegal clan? Neither of the Chrechte carried the scent of the laird. Talorc would have recognized it.
No matter where they were from, they didn’t belong here and he meant for them to know it.
He followed their scent trail until it became clear the four humans and two Chrechte were headed in the direction of the hot springs. Toward his wife. Talorc’s four-legged gait picked up speed until he was flying across the earthen landscape.
He lifted his head to howl a message of alarm to his warriors. Those that had gone hunting with him would head back toward the clearing, if they were not already there, and those he had left behind to guard his wife would be put on alert.
Acknowledging it wasn’t merely his warriors who might have already made it to the clearing, Talorc pushed himself to go faster. His huge wolf’s body picked up speed as the plants and trees he passed went by in a blur in shades of black and gray.
He burst into the clearing at a dead run, his keen wolf’s senses telling him the interlopers were indeed ahead of him. He skidded to a stop behind six youthful warriors wearing the Donegal clan plaid, their stances that of challenge.
Niall and Airril had taken position in front of the entrance to the cave. They did not look unduly worried, but they were clearly ready to do battle if necessary.
Of the rest of his hunting party there was no sign.
Talorc willed his human form to emerge and seconds later the air shimmered around him as he became a man again. He let out a subsonic growl of warning that had two of the young men spinning to face him.
Damn it, neither could have had more than sixteen summers. The youth on the left showed more intelligence than his companion because the color drained from his face and he offered his neck in instant submission.
The four humans moved only after they realized their companions had done so. They didn’t seem able to decide who posed the bigger threat, so they angled their bodies to the side. With more experienced warriors, such a maneuver might have been beneficial, but with these near children, all it did was make them more vulnerable.
Talorc glowered at them all with acute disapproval. The Donegal soldiers needed proper training. Badly.
The young Chrechte who did not have the sense to look frightened, frowned at his fellow clansmen before facing Talorc defiantly. “These waters belong to the Donegal clan. You can’t have them.”
“The king says otherwise.”
The youth made a sound of disgust. “He carries the stench of the Sassenach and mimics their ways.”
“You do not submit to your king?”
“I follow the way of the Chrechte. We fight for that which is ours.”
“You challenge me for the right to this land?” Talorc asked.
“I do.” The youth’s voice shook, but his stance of defiance did not falter.
Talorc couldn’t help respecting the boy’s courage if not his wisdom.
“What is going on?” Abigail peeked from between the two Sinclair warriors blocking her way out of the cave. Her damp hair and glowing skin indicated she had been soaking as directed when the impetuous young Donegal soldiers arrived. He did not think that was the reason for the flush in her lovely face though.
She was staring at his naked body in a way that would have an effect on his manhood soon. “Do you always cavort around the forest in the altogether, Talorc?”
“I was hunting.”
“So I was informed.” She cleared her throat and closed her eyes for a second, only to open them again almost immediately. “I did not realize Scotsman hunted in the nude. You were wearing a plaid when you returned from the hunt the night before our wedding,” she said almost accusingly.