Bryant, on the other hand, thought it had great merit, even if his wolf were not so drawn to the woman.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “The heart goes where it will.”
“Now I know you’ve lost your mind. What warrior says something like that?”
Bryant laughed, not offended in the least. “My father.”
“Your father found his true mate when he was barely into his manhood. I suppose he cannot help himself,” Donnach grudgingly admitted.
“Aye.”
“Well, he’s not normal. He calls your mother honey-sweet and the whole clan knows that woman has a tongue that could strip the bark from the trees.”
“My mother is sweet.” In her own way.
“She’s a loving termagant.” Donnach should know; he’d spent enough time in their home growing up, Bryant’s mother called him her third son.
“That she is,” Bryant agreed with pride.
“No wonder you don’t find Fionn off-putting. You’ve had a lifetime’s experience on the sharp edge of your mother’s tongue.”
Bryant smacked his friend’s shoulder, but there was no heat in it. He didn’t bother arguing his mother’s kind nature. Donnach knew she masked a soft heart behind sharp words and he didn’t mean any offense.
And it was true. Bryant didn’t find the old man, Fionn, particularly surly. He was a crabby old man who clearly loved his wife, true mate or not, and his one and only offspring.
“They’re eagles,” he told Donnach.
“Huh. I wonder if they know Lais.”
“I asked the healer about that yestereve. He said Una avoids him like a swarm of wasps and neither of her parents have made much effort to make his acquaintance.”
“That is odd, is it not?”
“I thought so.”
“And so you asked Lais why, right?”
“I did. He said something happened to Una and it was at the hands of Donegal Faol. Her father ended up injured to the point of not being able to take flight any longer, but no one speaks of it and Lais didn’t know any further details.”
Bryant thought that whatever had happened had turned Una from the confident, engaging woman of his dreams to the timid creature he’d met the night before.
“That is not promising for your budding romance.”
“Why? I’m not a Donegal.”
“You are a wolf.”
“They will have to learn to accept that.” The bond of a sacred mating could not be denied.
“You think it will be so simple?”
Bryant shrugged. “I do. If she is my mate, she will accept my wolf.”
“I hope you’re right. Or wrong about her being your mate.” Donnach’s tone was filled with foreboding.
“My wolf howls for the chance to claim her, to scent her so that all would know she is ours.”
Donnach looked thoughtful. “Mayhap she is your sacred mate, but ’tis equally possible this is your way of building bridges between the Éan and the Faol.”