Moon Burning - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,11

his being laird when the Éan spies had named a different man.

“Aye, I was born a Sinclair.”

“But you have the armband of the Donegal laird.”

Verica came into the room carrying a large steaming bowl of water. “That’s because Scotland’s king and our former laird, Rowland”—she practically spit the name—“saw fit to give my brother’s rightful place to another clan’s warrior.” A girl followed behind her, carrying a basket that was half her size.

“I am training your brother to take his rightful place when he has reached maturity.” Barr donned a plaid with deft movements.

“And when will that be?” She put her hands on her hips and stared her laird right in the eye. “When he’s a grandfather?”

The girl put the basket down, her downcast gaze flitting back and forth between her mistress and her laird.

“If the boy isn’t ready to lead by his twenty-fifth birthday, I’ll wash my hands of him and this superstition-riddled clan.”

Rather than look offended at the slur on her clan, Verica nodded as if pleased. “I have your word on that?”

“You do.”

Verica opened the basket and handed the girl a packet of herbs from within. “Drop two pinches into the water and stir.”

The girl did as she was told, then Verica took some of the water and mixed it with several other ingredients in a smaller bowl. Verica wet a cloth in the large bowl of water and began thoroughly cleansing Sabrine’s wound on her arm. When she was done, she and the girl made a poultice and applied it to both sides of the wound. “That should draw out any poison.”

Verica wrapped the upper arm in a linen bandage before carefully washing each scratch and treating it with salve. Barr watched everything with close scrutiny. Verica showed no more concern for Sabrine’s modesty than Barr had though. Which was no surprise, Sabrine supposed. They were both Chrechte after all. Humans in the Highlands were not an overly modest bunch, and the Chrechte were even less concerned with exposure. However, in her case she’d discovered a sense of modesty she’d not known she possessed.

She felt as shy as a human virgin in Barr’s presence.

Barr knocked a young human male on his backside, the impact sending up a cloud of dust around the warrior in training.

He’d left Verica watching over Sabrine, with instructions not to allow anyone else in his room. There were things he was certain she had yet to reveal. Determined to be the one she told them to, he used her injury as an excuse to keep her isolated. If keeping her in his bed and away from the other males of his clan pleased the wolf more than it should, that was his secret to keep. His new clan was curious about her though. No fewer than five people had asked about the naked woman he’d found in the forest. Gossip spread faster than a pitcher of spilled ale.

Barr was too busy training soldiers to satisfy their curiosity and he left it to Muin to tell what he knew. Which was less than Barr; that was little enough.

Though the younger Chrechte still managed to make a full meal out of it.

“When your opponent is bigger than you, use his size against him. Use your speed, your agility to stay out of his reach,” Barr instructed the young man he had knocked down.

The soldier’s intent expression would be a welcome sight on some of the Chrechte Barr and Earc had been working with.

These human men wanted to learn.

“I try, laird, but you’re faster than me despite your size.”

“Keep trying.” Excuses wouldn’t protect the clan.

The soldier nodded, falling back into a fighting stance.

“Muin, stop your gossiping and get over here,” Barr yelled to where the young male flirted with a Chrechte woman.

“Rowland didn’t allow us to train with the elite soldiers,” one of the other Donegals mentioned from where he and a small group of human men waited their turn to spar with their new laird.

Disbelief jarring him harder than any of these soldiers’ attempts at a strike, Barr stopped and turned to face them. “He kept you separated for training?”

“Aye.”

What kind of fool did not prepare his clan to battle other Chrechte? Relying on the wolves completely for protection was a weak strategy that left far too many in the clan vulnerable. It was no wonder their king had demanded the older Chrechte step down from his role as laird. Not that the king would know of Rowland’s bias toward his Chrechte brethren, but