Moon Burning by Lucy Monroe Page B

“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.
     
     
    T he 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.
     
     
    T he 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 funny story, laird.” Having visibly relaxed when she saw Barr, Brigit ducked her head shyly.
    Barr reached out and ruffled the girl’s hair while giving Sabrine a quizzical look. “Was she now?”
    The young girl lifted her eyes, an expression of pure hero-worship and adoration making them shine, and nodded.
    “Perhaps she’ll have to tell me the story later.” Again, he spoke to the child, but his gaze fixed on Sabrine.
    The heat there reached out to her like fire jumping from the hearth. And she felt burned in places no man had ever touched.
    Sabrine didn’t think she’d be telling that particular story, ever. It had been about her knife training. Even a wooden blade hurt if you stabbed yourself hard enough. All she said though was, “Perhaps.”
    “Come, Brigit, it is past time I returned you to your mother.” Verica picked up her basket and curtsied before scooting around Barr to reach the door.
    She paused there and turned back to face him. “Wake Sabrine several times throughout the night. She is not showing any signs that need concern us, but the memory loss cannot be ignored.”
    His glance flicked between Verica and Sabrine, the expression in his storm-cloud eyes unreadable. “The memories must be coming back, if she can remember stories to tell.”
    “Our minds are not so easy to understand, laird. Sabrine remembers