Moon Burning - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,64

a burst of joy surged in the air around them enough that Earc and Verica both gave Barr strange and curiosity-filled looks.

Sabrine’s stomach clenched, sweat broke out on her palms as her hands fisted. I am no relation to you.

You are my mate. My sacred bonded.

Her knees started to buckle and only by sheer will did she remain upright. No.

Aye. Oh, he sounded pleased by her torment.

But he was an arrogant man, a Faol who had no concept of what it meant to lose what you held dearest.

You are wrong. The wolf-tinged tone sought to soothe.

Had she spoken the words in her mind as her thoughts whirled like leaves in a wind devil? She must have, but he did not understand.

I have lost those I hold dear. I will not lose you. Once again he spoke as if reading her thoughts, rather than hearing her mindspeak.

Chapter 14

Barr’s arrogant assurance was too naïve to give her comfort.

Anguish held her in its implacable grip. I cannot stay.

He did not reply, but his scowl returned, fury emanating off of him like heat from the bread oven. No doubt here, the laird and pack alpha found her assertion less than pleasing, but then what did he think the knowledge did for her? Pain in the center of her chest made her gasp, trying to find air, trying to soothe a hurt that could not be touched by comfort.

It was her turn to receive the concerned gazes from the bride and groom. Sabrine did her best to bring forth the stoic façade of her warrior.

It did not work. Verica seemed more worried than before and Earc looked as if he was about to stop the proceedings to find out what was amiss.

Sabrine shot a “don’t you dare” glare at him and, thankfully, he subsided, turning his attention back to the priest.

Thankfully, Father Thomas did not notice any of this. He was too busy handing another parchment to Padraig. The Faol scholar read from it as well. He then handed that parchment to the priest and began speaking, this time in Gaelic, the words sounding memorized like the oral traditions among the Chrechte.

He spoke of the Christ making wine at a wedding from water. When he finished, he stepped back, taking the parchments from Father Thomas with him.

The priest began speaking about the great joy and sacrament of marriage. His words landed like a spring rain on the parched soil of Sabrine’s heart, causing both great joy and an even deeper sorrow. She’d never thought to have a mate, much less a husband.

She could no longer deny the true bond between her and Barr, but it did not change her future. It could not. No matter how much her heart might long for a different ending. Knowing this truth sliced into her soul with the destruction of a halberd.

The fact she felt such strong emotions for a wolf should astonish her. Somehow, it did not. Which was more proof, had she needed it, that he was her true mate. Only such a bond could overcome her aversion to the Faol to make her actually desire mating one for life. And no matter how she might wish it otherwise, love grew in her heart like tender shoots in the spring.

She knew, no matter what she might wish, this ceremony could never happen with her as a primary participant. Yet hearing the words of blessing and promise spoken for her friend moved Sabrine so deeply, she was near tears. And despite the pain ripping the heart she had so long denied to shreds, they were not tears of sadness.

She had given her life to the protection of her people just so others could have the families she had to deny herself. And perhaps Verica would live with greater freedom than any of the Éan hiding so deep in the forest. She would have children and, because of Barr and Earc, not worry the young ones would be hunted by the Faol that called themselves Donegal family.

Barr would weed out the evil among the clan and stop their threat to his own pack and perhaps even make life safer for the Éan who lived apart as well. Sabrine had to believe that he could at least make a difference for those he was sworn to protect and lead.

When the speaking of the vows came, it was every bit as profound as the promises spoken by the Chrechte in their ancient rite of mating. Though somewhat different. The attitudes of