Moon Burning - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,4

have her answer, he took a moment to speak. “I do not know.”

“Who are you?” Her voice was a little stronger, but not by much.

He could not dismiss the feeling she was used to having her queries answered quickly and completely though. Unless she was a queen, which he very much doubted,’twas odd for human woman in their world. Whether man’s or beast’s instincts, he did not know, but he was certain he was right, however.

“I am Barr, laird of the Donegal clan, on whose land you now find yourself.”

“Barr?” Shock dilated the pupils of her dark brown eyes, making them look almost all black, like those of an adult raven. “Laird?”

He had birds on the brain. “That is right.” Though why the news should shock her, he could not imagine. ’Twas not as if he did not look like a laird.

No man in the Donegal clan even came close to being as intimidating, but then she could not know that.

“I . . .” Her mouth stayed parted, as if words trembled to come out, but none did.

The sound of running footsteps nearby drew Barr’s attention, making him realize how intent on the woman he had been. He should have heard the approaching Donegal clansman much sooner.

Muin ran right up to them, stopping only when he was barely a foot from the human female. The youth’s eyes went wide and his face turned red for the second time that afternoon, but he did not look away from Barr’s mysteriously naked woman.

“Earc and the others are still hunting the boar. He sent me to join you in case you needed assistance. Do you need assistance, laird?”

Barr’s wolf growled at the other man’s obvious interest in the wounded woman’s nudity. He covered the blatantly possessive action with a barked out, “Look at your laird when you address him, Muin.”

The Donegal soldier jumped back at the sound too low for human ears, his gaze immediately moving away from the raven-tressed female.

The woman paled and flinched, filling Barr with immediate concern. She must be in pain.

“Laird, who is this?” Muin asked, with a furtive glance at the woman.

“Look away.” Barr’s voice rolled across the air with fury, causing a physical flinch and further stepping back of the young hunter. “Retrieve my plaid and dinna get your scent all over it.”

“Where—”

“Follow my scent if you can,” Barr instructed from between clenched teeth.

“Yes, laird.” The man ran.

In a belated show at modesty, the woman pulled her hair forward over her shoulder, so both breasts were covered, one leg coming up to block his view of her tantalizing triangle of black curls. “You must be laird; he obeyed you without argument.”

“Did you think I’d lie to you?” Humans could be odd, and though he’d known this one for mere minutes, he suspected he would find her even more incomprehensible than most.

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

Disgust flickered over her face, but it went so quickly, it could have been a trick of the afternoon light. “The Faol of the Chrechte sometimes do.”

Shock gripped him and would not let go. She knew he was a wolf? And why had she used the ancient name so few remembered even in their spoken histories?

“You are surprised.” Her head canted, birdlike, to one side. “Why?”

A ridiculous question, and yet he answered it. “Only the Chrechte and some of the humans related to them know of our wolf natures.”

“But you shifted from your wolf form in front of me.”

“You were not conscious.”

She muttered something that sounded like typical wolf. “Clearly, I was.”

“So, are you mated to a wolf?” The thought made his hackles rise, though he could not say why.

The look of utter revulsion once again stayed on her face for less than a second, but this time he had no doubts it had been there.

“You hate the Chrechte,” he said in a flat voice, shocked once again—both by that truth and by how deeply it bothered him.

Turbulent fury turned her eyes into a brown lightning storm. “I do not hate the Chrechte.”

Her vehemence was undeniable; so was the sense there was more she wanted to say, but her lips remained firmly closed, going bloodless she pressed them so tightly together.

He guessed, “You have Chrechte family, but you were born without the ability to shift into a wolf.” It was not a rare story and for some, the situation caused bitterness.

“I cannot shift into a wolf,” she said, her tone implying that was no great loss to her.

Barr would never forget how the brother of the Balmoral