Moon Burning - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,17

had believed himself invincible.

His death had left his raven wife, as well as the rest of their clan, unprotected from Rowland’s perfidy.

Just as Barr’s inevitable demise would do.

“Has Barr been given a reason to banish this Rowland?” Sabrine asked.

“No.”

“You have not spoken to him on the matter?”

“I have no proof of the accusations I wish to make.”

They both looked at Brigit. The girl’s mother probably had proof of the man’s evil, but she would have to be willing to step forward. “I cannot blame another woman for not wanting to levy an accusation. Should something happen to Laird Barr, she would have no one to protect her from Rowland’s wrath.”

“A woman needs to be able to protect herself.” Sabrine sounded quite serious.

“How?” Brigit asked, keen interest glowing in her dark eyes.

“Are the women of your clan not taught to fight?” Sabrine looked appalled.

“No. Women are too weak,” Brigit recited one of Rowland’s common strictures.

“Ridiculous.”

“Do you know how to fight?” Brigit asked their patient.

Sabrine opened her mouth and then closed it, looking torn.

“I won’t tell,” Brigit promised. “Verica won’t, either. She’s good at keeping secrets.”

Sabrine gave Verica a questioning look.

“Better than my apprentice knows.” Bird shifters had to be. Verica’s own double-shifter nature would get her killed if it ever became known.

Sabrine nodded then.

“Really? You can fight? Can you teach me?”

That agonized look of indecision crossed Sabrine’s face again.

“Maybe when your arm is healed, we can venture into the forest one afternoon,” Verica offered by way of an out for the other woman.

She knew too well how hard it was to disappoint Brigit.

“A warrior does not allow injury to hold her back from training.” Sabrine was back to appearing as appalled as a nun faced with a loch full of bathing men.

“You’re not a soldier, silly. You’re a woman.” Brigit giggled.

Sabrine’s eyes narrowed, as if that truth was not particularly welcome. “Perhaps we can make time tomorrow.”

“Maybe my mum could come, too.”

“She must,” Sabrine replied in a voice that would brook no opposition. “I will make my way to the kitchens tomorrow and invite her on our walk in the forest myself.”

Brigit’s smile was worth whatever effort it took to take that walk without Rowland or his cronies following. Verica started sifting through her mental list of herbs that could be added to their morning meal that might incapacitate them.

If she was caught, the consequences didn’t bear dwelling on. It was terribly risky, but it had to be done.

For Brigit’s sake; for all their sakes.

The sound of feminine laughter drifting from his room stopped Barr at the door. The realization that such sounds were not common here like they had been in the Sinclair holding struck him stone still.

A laird was responsible for the well-being of his people. An absence of joy among them was cause for concern, but then so was his blindness to the problem.

He had been living among the Donegals for a month, but he hadn’t noticed the lack of laughter until now. It had taken bringing another stranger among them for him to become aware.

To be sure, he’d noticed other things. The separation between the Chrechte of the clan and their human counterparts. Until today, he had not realized just how deep that chasm was. The lack of male Chrechte of an age with himself was also odd. Their children were here, as were some elders, but the pack was not merely small, as Talorc and he had believed before Barr had come to the Donegal holding. It was strangely lopsided.

The wolf waited outside the door, and Sabrine wondered why he did not come in. His scent was partially masked, as if like her, he was always on his guard against detection. Nevertheless, she had become aware of his presence before he had ever reached the door. And her body was already responding in inexplicable and undeniable ways.

Her raven longed to perch in his lap and nuzzle his neck and head.

The woman in her wanted far more than mere nuzzling and the warrior she’d been trained to become was more terrified than at any other time in her life.

For the battle against her instincts might well be lost.

The heavy door swung inward and Brigit’s high-pitched, childish laughter ceased abruptly, her face pinching in fear she tried to hide.

Barr came in, his shoulders nearly as wide as the door frame. He was smiling, but there was something around his eyes, a watchful expression that intrigued her. “It appears you two are keeping our guest entertained.”

“She was telling a