more than capable of being his partner and seeing to the clan’s needs with skill and confidence.
“You did well in my stead, and I am grateful.”
Fiona stood tall and with a gracious bow of her head said, “It was an honor.”
His glance returned to the damage the village had suffered and he shook his head. “Something does not seem right here.”
“I thought the same myself.”
“What did you think?” Tarr asked, eager to know if their thoughts were similar.
“It appears as if the attackers searched for something.”
Tarr nodded in agreement. “They were after something specific.”
“Or perhaps someone specific. They torched the cottages. Why? To force their target into the open?”
His brows drew together. “Who would be of such importance?”
“To barbarians,” she added.
He turned slowly, looking over his people. “I cannot imagine them wanting anyone here.”
“What of Raynor? Could they want something of him? He seemed to know about this barbarian leader of the Wolf clan.”
“It is a thought.”
“What will you do with Raynor?” she asked.
“You worry over him?” Tarr snapped, annoyed at her concern.
“I am curious,” she said with a shrug.
He realized that it was his own concern he had heard. She did not sound as if she truly cared one way or the other.
“I will talk more with him and then decide his fate.”
“Have you warred much with him?”
“Skirmishes more than anything.”
“Would he seek this Wolf leader’s help?” she asked.
“He is too proud, and besides Raynor is a warrior with an honored reputation. I cannot see him joining with barbarians.”
“If this Wolf leader did not find what he came for, will he look elsewhere or return?”
“The very question on my mind,” Tarr responded. “His search was mostly of the village, torching the cottages so that anyone inside would flee.”
“And the storehouse was ransacked—”
“As if he thought someone hid inside.”
“He kept his distance from the keep,” Fiona said.
“Meaning this person would not reside in the keep.”
“Or so he would think.”
Tarr winced, the force of the pain in his wound causing deep wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.
“You do too much,” she snapped.
Even though she sounded like she scolded, Tarr knew that her gruffness was out of concern for him.
“I do nothing but stand here and talk with you.”
“You should be sitting,” she argued.
“While my clansmen work?”
“Then go inside where you cannot see the work being done,” she ordered, pointing her finger at the keep.
“I do not take orders from you.” He tried to sound affronted, but his laugh did him in.
“You think not?”
“Do you know your eyes blaze like fiery emeralds when you grow angry?”
“You will not put me off with pretty words.” She tossed her head up with a smile and stepped away from him, then shouted loudly for all to hear: “Your chieftain needs rest so that he may fully recover from his wound and lead you once more. I told him that we can do fine without his assistance right now. What say you all?”
“The twin can handle it, go rest,” shouted one man.
“You are not needed now,” yelled a woman.
“We trust the twin,” called out another man.
More voices joined in until Tarr was forced to return to the keep, a smiling Fiona watching him walk away.
A cold rain was falling when Tarr woke from a sleep that he had no intention of taking though it had claimed him as soon as his head had rested on the pillow. He winced when he moved his arm; it turning to a gentle smile when he saw that one of the twins sat in a chair beside him, her head resting on her shoulder while she slept soundly.
He stretched his legs, which ached from battle, though he would admit it to no one, and as he eased himself up to sit at the edge of the bed, watched her sleep.
Her mouth hung open slightly and a soft snoring purr spilled out. Her arms were crossed over her midsection as if she held herself up, and a stripe of white cloth held the ends of her braided hair together where it lay over her shoulder. She had changed into her green skirt and yellow blouse, the ties at her breasts stretched taught over her ample breasts.
He had thought on her breasts and how they would feel in his hand, soft and supple, and how he would enjoy rolling his tongue around her nipple until it was hard and he could suckle it gently.
He thought to reach out and touch her breast ever so lightly, but he recalled her warning that