Shivers were lodged in her bones, and she had to force her fingers to open. But it was over. She’d stood up to him.
Pulling in a hard breath, she turned to Vicki. “Thank you. I felt really alone for a minute.”
“Not even close.” Vicki grinned. “Next time, scope out your surroundings.” The ex-military female pointed to the left.
Hands on hips, staring after the Cosantirs, Angie stood in the door of the cook tent with Breanne and Darcy beside her. Darcy held a pot like she planned to wallop someone.
Vicki pointed to the right.
Tynan stood beside Joe Thorson and the North Cascades cahirs, including her pack leaders, Shay and Zeb.
Margery stared. Mother’s breasts, but they’d all been standing by. Ready to help if she needed it. The knowledge took her breath away.
After a second, she managed to blink back tears and find a smile instead. “Thank you. Thank you all.”
Tynan gave her an approving nod.
Angie brushed off her hands. “Good job of standing your ground, girl.”
Darcy winked.
And everyone returned to what they were doing. Because they hadn’t thought they’d done anything special.
She knew better.
“I have to admit, I’m surprised Tynan didn’t jump in,” Margery said.
“Actually, when the cahirs moved to intervene, he told them to wait. That it would be good for you to bare your fangs and confront the asshole.”
“I…” Margery blew out a breath. “He was right. It felt good.”
“Even better, the way you stated your case to all the Cosantirs means Pete can’t claim we stole you. You’re safer this way.”
“Huh. That’s…smart.”
“That would be Calum. He was beside Tynan when you started raising hell with Pete.”
A good, protective Cosantir. Friends on her side. Tynan and Donal. “I’m really glad Heather brought me to Cold Creek.”
“So are we. Now, come on, we have somewhere we need to be.” Vicki motioned toward the other side of the grounds.
As they headed that way, Breanne and Darcy fell in behind them.
Halfway across the meadow, Margery heard someone say, loudly, “Oh, cat-scat, it’s the scarred-up gimp. Honestly, why does she bother to attend Gatherings? Does she really think any male would want her?”
The words made Margery flinch. Made her remember the scar on her face. Her limp. Made her feel…less.
Vicki hissed under her breath and turned.
So did Margery.
The female talking was Sarah, the brunette who been with Donal at Margery’s first Cold Creek gathering. Beautiful, petite, curvy. With a tongue sharper than a razor.
Deal with it now. No hiding in caves, remember?
Margery made her voice strong—and spoke to Sarah and her companion. “In case you forget, Daonain Law says all single shifters must attend Gatherings. That’s why I attend.” Then she remembered what Oliver had said about beauty hiding an empty heart. “As for being wanted, I’ve noticed many males prefer inner strength and compassion to outer beauty.”
A low masculine laugh from the side startled Margery. Two males had stopped to listen.
One had dark hair and even darker eyes. “I far prefer compassion, aye.”
The other, cahir-sized with long flaxen hair, gave Margery a slow perusal, taking in the scar on her face and those on her bare arms and hands. His lips turned up for a second. Then he turned to Sarah and said, “Any male who has fought recognizes battle scars like those, and any male worth the name honors courage far above shallow attractiveness.”
Both males tilted their heads at Margery, and the dark one murmured in a French-accented voice, “We will hope to win your favor at the Gathering tomorrow night.”
Without another glance at Sarah, the two strolled on.
Speechless, Margery stared after them, but Breanne and Darcy were snickering.
Red-faced, Sarah stomped away in the other direction, trailed by her friend.
“Late for what?” Margery’s question was answered when Vicki stopped at a rock-enclosed firepit. Big logs around the pit created benches to sit on.
“Here you are. Finally.” Emma, the bard, was comfortably seated on one log, and Breanne dropped down beside her.
Heather was on another log. “I was beginning to think you got lost.”
Darcy tossed a blanket on an empty log and sat down. She extended her legs to toast her boots. “Boy, don’t go wading in the creek. The water’s freezing.”
Laughing, Heather motioned with the mug she was holding. “How about a warmer-upper to get rid of the chill?”
“But—aren’t we supposed to be setting up?” Margery glanced back at the camp.
“Everything’s finished,” Heather said. “We’ve been waiting for Vicki and team to find you.”