Moon Burning - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,16
have done no good. Rowland had too much power with the Chrechte wolf pack and the Donegal clan they lived among.
Best she remember that before loose lips caused more pain for all of them. “That’s enough talk of the past,” she said. “Eat your food, Brigit. Your mother would find it amiss if your bowl was returned to the kitchen untouched.”
The food was good and Verica noted that Sabrine ate hungrily, as did she and Brigit.
“How long has Barr been laird?” Sabrine asked as she set her bowl aside.
Verica picked it up and placed it with her own on a table by the door, warning herself to caution when speaking with this woman. There was something about Sabrine that invited confidences, but sharing such was dangerous. Deadly so. “Less than a month.”
“He is ever so much better than our old laird.”
Verica’s head moved in an infinitesimal nod she could not help, though she gave her charge a chiding frown. “Do not speak disrespectfully of Rowland.”
The girl’s lip protruded in a stubborn pout. “He was not a fair leader.”
“No, but he’s still a powerful man in our clan. It could go badly for you and your mother if someone heard you say so.”
“It cannot get worse for my mum.” Brigit’s pout turned to a pain-filled expression that caught at Verica’s heart.
“What do you mean?” Verica demanded, a sick feeling in her stomach. She knew, but how she wished she did not.
She’d seen the way Rowland looked at the young widow before the woman had ever lost her husband.
Brigit’s face blanched and she closed her mouth so tight her lips disappeared. The girl shook her head.
And Verica’s disquiet intensified. “Tell me.”
“Mum says I mustn’t.”
Sabrine’s body went tense, and an expression Verica had only ever seen on a warrior’s set her face in feral lines. “Does your former laird hurt your mother?”
Brigit’s eyes filled with tears, but she wiped away the moisture with a fisted hand before they could fall. “Mum and me are strong. She says so.”
“You are strong.” But the girl’s fear had become a rank odor around them. Verica would not question her further.
“It is all right. You do not need to say anything you don’t want to,” Sabrine said before Verica could.
Brigit nodded, her tension easing a wee bit. “You always say the walls have ears,” she said to Verica. “So does Mum, but they don’t. It is not possible.” These words held no more conviction than her recitation of her father’s death. Brigit looked around, her expression filled with fear and impotent anger. “Sometimes I think they really do though.”
More like Rowland had Chrechte spying for him. Not much got past a wolf’s hearing. Not even when it was said behind closed doors.
“Rowland is your previous laird?” Sabrine asked, the disgust in her voice when she said his name an exact echo of what was in Verica’s heart.
“Aye,” Verica affirmed. “The king forced him to step aside so the Sinclairs’ second could take the role.”
“Barr used to be second-in-command to the laird of the Sinclair clan?” Sabrine sounded like she found that strange indeed.
They all had, no matter how much the clan silently rejoiced at the turn of events. And each and every one of them wondered how long their good fortune could last as well. How long before Barr and his second, Earc, ended up the same way her father had?
The thought of Earc dead hurt in a way Verica refused to acknowledge. The man was not for her.
She nodded as she moved around the room, tidying it. “That’s right.”
“And he’s the most bestest warrior.” The awe in Brigit’s voice was refreshingly different from the reaction their former leader caused.
“He’s big enough.” Sabrine’s praise sounded grudging.
Very different than the reaction of the other Donegal clanswomen, who did their best to garner the new laird’s attention. Not that it had done any of them any good so far. He’d shown not the slightest preference, focusing entirely on improving the protection of their holding.
“But he’s fast, too,” Brigit said with enthusiasm. “Faster than any of our warriors.”
“He’s our warrior now, too.”
“He lets Rowland stay though.” Brigit’s opinion of that state of affairs did not have to be spoken aloud; her tone and the way she held her body said it all.
Verica sighed. The new laird did not realize what a treacherous serpent shared his table every mealtime. Which only increased the chance Barr would meet the same fate as her father. Her mother had warned her da, but he