Moon Burning - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,10
pinching me.”
“No, really, I couldn’t.”
Chapter 3
��You’re awfully mouthy for such a fragile little thing.”
“Compared to you, a mother bear is a wee thing.” She didn’t deny the fragile argument because she needed him to see her as just that. Weak and not a threat to be watched while she searched the keep and surrounding huts if need be for the stolen Clach Gealach Gra.
If only he knew the truth about her.
Verica laughed aloud. “You two are better than the old men over the checkers table.”
Instead of getting angry at the woman’s mockery as Sabrine expected, Barr shook his head as he laid Sabrine on his bed. “With wisdom like those two impart, I’m surprised this clan has lasted at all.”
“You’re not the only one.” But Verica’s voice lacked the humor Barr’s had had; a dark tone Sabrine had to wonder at swam just below the surface of the other woman’s words.
“You’ll not believe what Muin did today and told ’twas because his grandfather taught him.”
“What’s that?”
“He shot at a raven in the middle of our hunt for wild boar.”
“Was the fact he shot at the bird what you find so appalling, or that he did it during the hunt?” Verica asked.
“Both. We’re Chrechte. We respect life; we do not kill for sport.”
Sabrine could not believe what she was hearing.
“What did Muin say to that?” Verica demanded.
“Nothing. What was there to say?” Barr’s unconscious arrogant assurance the other man had to agree with him was as alluring as it was ridiculous.
Sabrine found it difficult to stay focused on the conversation with Barr’s continued nakedness, though Verica seemed utterly unaffected.
Still, Barr’s apparent naïveté astounded her. “You do not truly believe all of the Faol feel the same?”
“Any under my authority had better.”
Verica flipped her uniquely colored hair back over her shoulder. “What did Muin say his reason was for shooting at the bird?”
“He said his grandfather told him ravens were unlucky.” Outrage colored his tone a bright red. “The only thing unlucky about that raven today was it flying in the sky where an idiot boy could see it.”
“So, your clan did not teach as much about ravens?” Verica asked in a neutral voice.
“That they are bad luck?” he asked, as if he continued to find it nearly impossible to believe someone thought such.
This was wholly unexpected and Sabrine did not know how to interpret his attitude as a Faol warrior.
“Yes.”
“No. Every Sinclair knows that all animals are necessary for our world to remain in balance.” He made a sound of disgust. “And Talorc, our . . . their laird, would have sent someone to the healer for suggesting a hunter pay closer attention to superstitions than to the hunt.”
“Truly?” Verica asked.
“I do not lie.”
“You told the boy outside that a wild animal had attacked me and taken my clothes,” Sabrine interjected.
“We do not know that is not what happened.”
“So it was not a lie?” she asked, finding the whole conversation beyond her knowledge of the wolves.
Barr shrugged. “There are lies and there is stretching the truth when it will not harm.”
“You need to put a new plaid on,” she blurted out.
The nearness of his naked presence was overshadowing all else.
“You do not like my naked body?”
“I think she likes it too much. I will get my basket of remedies.” Verica curtsied and left the room.
The walls that seemed spacious before started to close in as Sabrine realized they were well and truly alone.
Barr sat beside her on the bed and then proceeded to start tugging his plaid from her body.
She grabbed at it. “What do you think you are doing?”
“Verica cannot clean your scratches if she cannot get to them.”
“I’ll remove the plaid when she returns.”
“You were not so modest in the forest.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Come, I’ve already seen your delectable body. It’s of no consequence if I see it again.”
“Truly? You think to convince me with insults?” But was it an insult? He thought her body delectable. Though his scent had said he found her sexually appealing, ’twas not quite the same.
“It’s not an insult.”
Maybe that was not a lie. “Turn your back and I’ll get under the blanket.”
She expected him to refuse, but he stood and turned around so his back was to her. She made quick work of ripping away the now-bloodstained plaid and climbing between the bedding.
The blanket was the softest wool she’d ever felt and different colors than the Donegal plaid. Sabrine remembered something Verica had said. “Are you from a different clan?”
That would explain