Compromising Positions (19 page)

“You witch,” he growled, quickly withdrawing. He grabbed her hips and rolled her onto her belly on the table, entering her again, this time from behind. He began rut into her, deep and hard, grunting with every thrust.

Kirstin cringed, watching the woman licking the curved blade still sitting on the table, cleaning it of their blood. She could plainly see the witch’s face, her eyes glittering in the firelight.

“M’Lord,” Moraga murmured, putting the knife down and gripping the sides of the table. Her voice came in a staccato, broken by Eldred’s pounding thrusts. “We’re bein’ watched.”

Kirstin froze. She was right across from them, at the edge of the woods, but surely, she was in the shadows. The witch couldn’t possibly see her!

“I don’t care,” he sneered, but his gaze moved up from his lover’s body to scan the tree line. “You should be used to it by now. Besides, my men have their hands to keep them company, if they want to watch—or they can buggar each other for all I care.”

Moraga moved so quickly Kirstin barely saw it happen. One moment she was splayed on the table, helpless on her belly, being plundered by Lord Eldred, and the next she was up. Her nude body was sheened with sweat in the firelight as she stood beside the bewildered man who had been so recently inside of her.

“Look,” Moraga hissed, turning Eldred’s face in Kirstin’s direction.
“See.”

She can’t see me.
Kirstin was sure of it. Neither of them could. But the witch sensed something.

And then, so did Kirstin. She caught their scent. Two men—not Geoffrey and William, she knew their smells by now. It had to be Salt and Sedgewick. She didn’t know, not for sure, but she wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

Lord Eldred made some bird call, signaling with his hands, and she felt them moving in on her, one from each direction, on either side. It scared her that she hadn’t heard their approach. She should have been able to track them.

Kirstin froze, paralyzed, hearing a branch crack to her left, the barest rustle of underbrush on her right. She didn’t know if they had arrows pointed at her.

She heard an arrow being knocked. Her heart hammered in her chest and she crouched, low to the ground. That’s when she saw the silver glint in the moonlight. Her mind didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to accept that she was watching the curved, silver blade, still stained with blood, spinning in the light of the fire, two feet above the table it had been sitting on.

The witch was whispering something. Incantations. Kirstin couldn’t hear the words, but it was clear, Moraga was controlling the blade. Before she knew what was happening, the knife was sailing through the air, all on its own, heading for Kirstin in the woods.

Lord Eldred made that sound again, more signals to his men, but the blade was faster. She knew she couldn’t avoid it, although she’d already turned sideways to run along the tree line, thinking she’d take her chances with whatever archer was trying to shoot an arrow at her in the dark.

The blade was enchanted, and it was headed straight for her.

Kirstin went low, as low as she possibly could, nearly flattening herself against the dirt, limbs splayed. The blade was traveling so fast it whistled past her ears. The curved half-moon grazed her fur, and she felt it zing across her back, piercing her flesh. She could smell her own blood, but she didn’t have any idea how bad the wound was.

The knife hit a tree somewhere behind her with a sick thunking sound, quivering like a tuning fork. That sound didn’t stop, though—in fact, it got worse—and that’s when Kirstin realized…
the blade was trying to pull itself free.
And once it did, the enchanted knife would come for her again. Follow her until it found its mark.

Terrified, Kirstin heard the archer’s arrow whistle past her, just as she rolled deeper into the woods, shaking herself to her feet. But it didn’t pierce her flesh.

The knife was singing in the tree, its hilt wiggling back and forth like the back end of a fish. Kirstin heard the archer cock another arrow, but she was gone, running faster than she ever had in her life, before he could draw his bow.

Lorien was one of the scouts on duty, and Kirstin was relieved to see his big, hulking black form as she neared the edges of the familiar forest. She was exhausted from running. Her sides ached with it. But still, she followed him in with a new burst of speed. Two more scouts caught their scent—must have smelled her urgency—and followed them to the hidden entrance of their mountain den. Lorien growled at the sentry, but the half-wolf, half-man standing guard knew her well. She’d been at the birth of two of his mate’s pups.

Once they were free in the tunnels, Kirstin ran again, Lorien loping along beside her, giving her concerned, sidelong glances. She knew he could smell her fear. She could smell it herself. She’d never been so scared in all her life. She meant to head straight for Raife—it was early morning, and he was likely already out in the valley, starting the day’s training exercises—but when she heard Sibyl’s voice, she stopped.

“Laina, I will not allow it. No! Do not ask me again!” Sibyl cried. The voice came, not from the rooms her
banrighinn
shared with Raife, but from the one Laina shared with Darrow.

Kirstin stopped at the doorway, nosing the door all the way open, and saw Laina sitting by the fire, nursing her bairn. Garaith waved his chubby fist in the air, kicking his bare feet, suckling happily. Sibyl sat opposite them in a chair of her own, and she glanced up as Kirstin appeared at the entrance.

“Yes, Lorien?” Sibyl asked, glancing down at Kirstin, and for a moment, she saw her
banrighinn
didn’t recognize her. But Laina did.

“Kirstin!” Laina cried, jumping up, her nipple popping out of a very unhappy Garaith’s mouth. She quickly gave the protesting baby to Sibyl, covering herself as she rushed toward her sister-wolf. Laina grabbed a blanket off the bed, wrapping Kirstin in it as she began to change. She hadn’t tried, not since her estrus, but it wasn’t any more difficult than ever before.

“Thank you, Lorien.” Sibyl smiled at the dark wolf who stood behind them. “We’ll take it from here.”

He gave a short bark and a whine, but then turned, and headed back toward the tunnel entrance. Back to sentry duty, no doubt, Kirstin thought. She’d have to thank him later, for bringing her in. If she got the opportunity. She shivered at that thought, putting her newly formed arms around Laina and letting her help her stand.

“You’re a mess.” Sibyl bounced the hungry Garaith on her hip, trying to quiet him. “Are you hurt? Is that dried blood?”

Kirstin glanced behind her, where the blanket had dropped low on her back, and saw where the blade had streaked across her skin.

“Aye.” She had her voice back. What a relief that was! “Sibyl, ye hafta t’take me t’Raife. They’re coming. They’re goin’ t’kill us all.”

“Who? What?” Sibyl put the baby up over her shoulder, patting his back.

“Lord Eldred’s a traitor to the king,” Kirstin accepted the long shirt Laina put over her head. “He plans t’use some sorta witchcraft t’compel t’wulver army t’take t’English throne. I heard ’im. And I saw ’er. The witch.”

She shuddered at the memory.

“You’re not making any sense.” Sibyl handed Laina the baby, who was happy to be back with his mother. “Witchcraft? Kirstin, why are you here? I thought, you and Donal—”

The mention of his name made Kirstin burst into tears. She was exhausted, panicked, grief-stricken, and so afraid, she wasn’t sure anymore which way was up. For all she knew, she’d been tracked to the wulver den. She didn’t think so—and the scouts were always watching—but she’d been in such a hurry to get home. She couldn’t be sure. And, mayhaps, Sedgewick and Salt had already found the den. Mayhaps they were following, even now.

“Ye’ve t’listen t’me,” Kirstin sobbed, pulling the blanket Laina had given her more fully around her. She was cold, hungry, tired, but those things could wait. “Please. Take me t’Raife. Take me t’Darrow. I’ll tell ’em everythin’. But I do’na wanna t’have t’say it twice.”

“A’righ’, we’ll take ye to ’em,” Laina soothed. “But firs’ let’s get ye cleaned up and dressed, mayhaps feed ye, and we can talk—”

“There’s no time!” Kirstin howled, tears streaked down her face. “They’re goin’ t’kill ye all. The women, the children—they’re goin’ t’kill them first. Yer baby, Laina. They’re goin’ t’kill yer baby. Yer son, Sibyl, the one ye carry in yer belly. They’ll cut it out and gut ye like a fish.”

She made her language as horrible and her images as vivid as she possibly could. It worked. Sibyl went pale, her hand moving to her still flat belly.

“Kirstin, you’re scaring me,” Sibyl whispered, meeting Laina’s big eyes and they both looked back to Kirstin. Garaith was wailing now, as if he’d picked up on the energy in the room.

“Ye should be scared. I’m terrified. And the wors’ part is—I do’na know if we can stop them,” Kirstin confessed hoarsely. The weight of her words felt like an avalanche of rock falling over her head, burying her. “Where’s yer mate? Where’s Raife? Where’s my
righ
?”

Righ
—her king. If anyone knew what to do, how to keep them safe, it would be Raife.

“He’s in the kitchen,” Sibyl said. Her lips barely moved. It was like she was frozen. “They’re restringing the bows today...”

With that, Kirstin was off, tearing down the tunnels barefoot, wearing just a shirt, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders trailing behind her like a plaid cape. She didn’t even stop to see if they were following her.

Raife was far easier to convince than Sibyl and Laina had been.

He and Darrow listened to it all without comment, her whole story, from the time she’d run away from the castle, to the time Lorien had scouted her and brought her into the den. Sibyl sat beside Laina on one of the long kitchen benches, the two women grasping hands. Sibyl was so pale by the time Kirstin was done with her story, her freckles stood out on her cheeks like constellations. She sat with her hand over her belly, and Kirstin knew she was thinking about the bairn she carried. Kirstin was thinking about all of them—all of the bairns, and their mothers.

Her pack. Her family. The last of their kind.

They all stood, gathered around, to hear Kirstin’s story, and they all looked to Raife to see what to do. Their leader was quiet, thoughtful, and it was Darrow who spoke first.

“We hafta barricade ourselves in,” Darrow urged. “Seal off both exits.”

“If we do that, we’re sealin’ our own tomb.” Raife shook his head.

“Donal will protect us,” Kirstin insisted. It was the only thing she could think of—and not just because she wanted to go back to the MacFalon castle. “If we go t’him, he’ll protect the wulvers. I know he will.”

“The wolf pact doesn’t exist,” Darrow scoffed. “We can’na trust The MacFalon.”

“He loves me,” Kirstin assured him. Even though she’d left him, she knew this was true. “And he’ll honor t’wolf pact wit’ his life, no matter what t’English king says.”

“Ye said his bride is on t’way,” Raife reminded her, frowning. “And King Henry did’na grant the dispensation.”

“It will’na matter,” Kirstin assured him. “He’ll do it, because he loves me. He’ll do it because he cares about all t’wulvers. He will’na wanna see anythin’ bad happen t’any of us.”

Raife considered this.

“There’s plenty of room at the castle... or...” She bit her lip, the idea just coming to her. “Raife, we could go down into t’first den. Our numbers aren’t as great as they once were. We don’t take up half this mountain anymore. There’s enough room in t’first den t’house e’eryone...”

“If we can’na barricade ourselves in, we can face ’em,” Darrow countered. “Whoever comes—no man can stand against a wulver warrior.”

“Can a wulver warrior stand in the face of magic?” Kirstin asked softly, glancing between Raife and Darrow.

“Nuh magic spell can compel me,” Darrow sneered, rolling his eyes. “D’ye really think we’d follow anyone, simply because a witch said some silly words over some silvermoon? She threw a knife at ye and scared ye, ’tis all…”

Kirstin swallowed, looking at Sibyl and Laina, seeing a knowing in their eyes. Men were always doubtful of witchcraft, either afraid of it because they didn’t understand or like its power, or distrustful and doubtful. Darrow had always been the latter, even though Laina’s belief they could break the wulver-woman’s curse was dependent on the idea of magic.

Raife looked at his brother, frowning, then at Kirstin, who stood as tall as she could in her plaid blanket, speaking up so everyone could hear her.

“I assure ye, there
is
a witch,” she insisted. “She did’na throw a knife at me, Darrow. She ne’er touched it. It wasn’t in ’er hand. It jus’… flew.”

Raife was listening—and that was good.

“It grazed me,
Righ
. Look.” Kirsten turned, dropping the blanket, pulling her shirt down in back to reveal her wound. “But it did’na stop there. The knife wobbled back and forth in the bark, like this.”

She showed them with her hand, mimicking a fish’s movement through the water.

“If it had’na hit the tree with such force, I think it would’ve pulled instantly free and found me heart.” She swallowed at the memory. “I’m tellin’ ye, Darrow—that blade was tryin’ t’pull itself out so it could finish the job…”

“It was enchanted,
Righ
.” She turned her pleas back to Raife’s receptive ears. Darrow just scoffed and rolled his eyes. He was a man who could turn into a half-wolf, and yet he doubted the existence of magic? The strangeness of it almost made her want to laugh.

“It would take days to gather everyone, to pack them all, and at least that long to reach the MacFalon castle,” Sibyl said, putting a hand on her husband’s arm. “We’d be giving Donal no warning and—”

“We do’na have time.” Kirstin interrupted her with a shake of her dark head. “We need t’go.
Now.
We can’na wait. We can’na stay. We hafta go, and we hafta go
now.”

“Raife, we can’t just leave everything...” Sibyl glanced nervously at Kirstin, and then back at her husband. “Aren’t we safe here, in the mountain?”

Kirstin saw doubt pass over Raife’s face, and he looked at Sibyl. He wanted to tell her they were safe, that they could stay. Kirstin saw that much in his eyes. He wanted to give his mate what she wanted, and Sibyl didn’t want to leave. This was the place she called home now, and the fact that she was with child made her all the more protective of her territory.

“Aye.” Raife nodded slowly, touching Sibyl’s cheek.

“No!” Kirstin cried, ignoring the dark look in Raife’s eyes at her protest. “D’you know what yer sayin’? What yer riskin’?”

She’d thought of nothing else, on her run through the woods. She’d seen images in her mind of slaughter and death, the wulver warriors slaying their own mates, their own children, the tunnels in the mountain running with rivers of blood. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Kirstin, we’re glad ye told us,” Darrow said, sighing. “Now we can be prepared if they try t’get in. But y’know nothin’ of—”

“Raife, please,” she pleaded, ignoring Darrow’s words, ignoring the way the wulver warriors agreed with him, nodding their heads. Had the witch’s magic already started to work, then? Were they already being compelled? That thought made her blood turn to ice in her veins. “She’s powerful, this Moraga. I do’na think her name’s any accident. It was Morag who killed Ardis, the first she-wulver. Do ye n’remember the legend?”

“More legends, more magic!” Darrow threw up his hands.

“She’s goin’ t’compel ye.” Kirstin knew it was hard to believe. She wouldn’t have believed it herself if she hadn’t seen the witch’s blade fly through the air all on its own, if she hadn’t seen it struggling to free itself from the tree. What could she do to convince them? “Jus’ like she did the blade. Lord Eldred’s goin’ t’use e’ery one of ye to his own ends. But first, he’s goin’ t’have ye kill yer women, yer children.”

“Yer goin’ t’draw yer sword on yer mate, Darrow.” Kirstin couldn’t keep the tears from falling down her cheeks as she looked at her sister-wolf, Laina, and little Garaith, happily suckling at her breast once more. “Yer gonna slit yer own bairn’s throat. Is that what ye want?”

“Enough!” Raife said roughly as a small sob escaped Sibyl’s throat, her hands low on her belly. “Kirstin, enough! I know y’re afeared, but—”