had no right to dictate such personal matters, but Earc did not agree. So long as the laird was not a piece of filth like Rowland.
“So, you have never . . .” Verica’s soft voice trailed off, but the pink of her cheeks told what she was referring to.
“Never.”
“Not even kissed?” The shock in her tone would have been amusing if it did not make him wonder the same.
Not liking the possibility any other lips had ever touched hers one wee bit, he asked, “No. Have you?”
“No, of course not!” She frowned at him and then bit her lip. “So, how will you know what to do?”
“My da had a talk with all of us boys when we came of age to mate.” Humans might have found his father’s frank descriptions and unrestrained answers to questions embarrassing.
He was of the Faol, however. While sex was no longer part of the coming of age ritual, the discussion of it was and no details were left for the guessing.
“Is that usual? Among our kind? Wolves I mean.”
Her question tugged at his heart as he was forced to face the truth she’d lost her father before she’d come of age.
“It is.”
“The Éan are not so forthright, I think.”
“Mayhap they are, but your mother did not have the opportunity to discuss such matters with you.”
The pink on Verica’s cheeks deepened and the pulse in her throat fluttered. “I could ask Sa . . . someone, I suppose.”
“You were going to say Sabrine. Do not ever attempt to dissemble with me.”
“I . . .”
“Barr shares with me like a brother. He told me you were the raven in the sky when I killed Rowland.”
“You cannot tell anyone else about her.”
“I know. To reveal her secret is to risk yours.” He reached out and pulled Verica to stand in the circle of his arms. The oddly wonderful connection linked them more tightly than his hold. “You are my mate; I will never put you in danger. Besides, she is mate to my laird. It is my duty to protect her; mysterious secrets do not change that.”
“I do not think she sees herself as Barr’s mate, though there’s no denying the physical bond has been seen to.”
Earc smiled at the residual embarrassment in his mate’s tone. “Aye. Barr considers it so and it will be; I only hope not to this clan’s detriment.”
“Sabrine will not hurt the clan.”
“Why is she here then?”
Verica’s sweet blue gaze filled with confusion. “Barr found her wounded in the forest and brought her to us.”
“And you think Sabrine was near our hunt without purpose?”
Verica tried to break away from him, her eyes going stormier than the sky before a summer rain with lightning. “Are you impinging her honor? She is my friend.”
He would not let his mate go and tugged her until her struggling body pressed against him. “You have known her one night.”
“And a day.”
“And a day.”
“She saved your life.”
He bristled. “You do not think I would have sensed the arrow?”
“You are not God.”
“I am a Chrechte warrior.”
Verica shook her head, but let her body relax against him. “You are very arrogant.”
“You are very tempting.”
Once again, her eyes widened, but the shock was tempered by the scent of her own arousal. “We can’t do anything. Not here. Not now.”
He did not agree about the here part, but the now was truth. He’d promised to help train soldiers with Barr.
“It will wait for tonight.”
All of her angst came crashing back, surrounding them and filling her body with rigid tension. “Will we have a Chrechte mating ceremony?”
“Do you want one?” The truth was, he had not considered it since his family was not to be present for the wedding.
She looked into his eyes and then dropped her head against his chest, effectively hiding her expression from him. “We are not as free about our bodies as you Sinclairs seem to be.”
“Ancient tradition dictates I can cover you with the furs of my kills.” Doing so symbolized his ability to provide for his mate and his prowess on the hunt.
He did not know if the Éan had similar traditions. There was much about the bird shifters they would need to learn, including how best to protect them from those still bent on enmity.
“You would do that?” She was back to meeting his gaze and the expression in hers made him feel like the winner of all challengers.
“Aye.”
“But are your furs here?”
“I sleep in them.” It was an ancient Chrechte tradition many of the Sinclair