“Aye, she did,” Niall answered for them. “She wanted vegetables and berries for the evening meal.”

“And did you find any?”

The two men nodded.

“Enough?” he asked.

Both men looked unsure, eyeing his wife with something between respect and apprehension.

Niall chuckled, the sound rusty from disuse. “It appears your wife likes her vegetables.”

Talorc nodded. “Then go find more, Earc. Fionn, you will stay to face the challenge these young warriors have made on behalf of their clan for rights to this land.”

He would not have the youths face Niall. None but the boldest Chrechte would be able to do so without pissing himself, and Talorc intended to face that challenger personally.

Both men did as he said without another word.

He faced the six Donegal youths again. “All who have come in challenge will fight, except him,” he said, indicating the Chrechte who had offered his neck already.

The boy who had already offered his submission bowed his head as if in shame. Talorc growled and the youth’s head snapped up. “You are omega, there is no shame in submitting to the more powerful alpha.”

An omega’s place in the pack had not always been a respected one, but when the Chrechte realized their warring ways were on the verge of decimating their people, that changed. Initially, it had been an omega who first suggested the Chrechte should insinuate themselves into the surrounding clans, rather than warring with them. Once the wisdom of the recommendation was acknowledged, respect for the thinking of the omegas grew.

Since then, omegas were given a place of honor on the pack councils. They were considered both wise and level-headed, which in most cases was exactly right. They were also considered strong in ways brawn could not defeat, because omegas had managed to eke out lives among their more powerful Chrechte brethren despite being the physically weakest. Generation after generation. It was not something easily dismissed by thinking men.

In addition, each omega now stood as a living reminder to their pack that no matter how strong the Chrechte might be, they could not escape the weakness among them—that of mortality. They had to respect life in order to continue thriving. They were still influenced by their wolf natures, but not controlled by them. Those that were often died young, and that, too, stood as a prominent reminder for those that came after.

“Talorc, don’t you think you could refer to these young men in more humane terms? Or are there more meaning to the Gaelic words you are using I do not understand?”

“I am not being offensive,” he assured his wife and then wondered at his doing so. Did it matter that his English wife thought him rude?

He wasn’t civilized, damn it, and had no desire to be.

Giving vent to his irritation, he crossed his arms and glared at the other Donegal Chrechte. “Why did you bring an omega to a challenge?”

“He is my younger brother. I cannot leave him unprotected, but he refused to stay in the forest while I challenged you.”

“I will share my brother’s fate,” the omega wolf said quietly.

Talorc’s respect for these young soldiers grew. He had no doubt they would lead the Donegal clan and pack one day. He nodded his acceptance of the explanation. “You,” he said looking at the omega, “stand with Niall and my lady during the challenge.”

The omega dipped his head in acknowledgment of the order.

Niall led Abigail away from the cave and the men squaring off to challenge. The omega followed, taking a position on the other side of Niall. Away from Abigail, as was proper. He showed no fear in the huge warrior’s presence, patently trusting Talorc’s Chrechte honor as the superior alpha. One day he would learn not all of the wolf nature were worthy of that faith, but not today.

Talorc instructed Airril and Fionn to face the four humans.

Then he nodded toward the leader Chrechte. “Come face your challenge, boy.”

“I am no boy.”

“You are no alpha either, not yet.”

He could tell his final two words had given the young soldier pleasure by the expression that flitted across his face before seriousness settled back over his features. “My name is Circin.”

“And I am Talorc, laird of the Sinclairs and pack leader to my Chrechte brethren.”

Then he waited, letting Circin make the first move. Talorc countered it, glad when it took some effort on his part. He would be sorely disappointed in the Donegal laird if the man hadn’t seen to any training in the young Chrechte warrior under his care. Talorc made his own move, explaining why it was a good counter, but how it could be better.

Circin’s eyes widened at the instruction, yet he did not allow the flow of words to splinter his focus. Even so, it was obvious he was listening to everything Talorc said. And in doing so he earned another measure of Talorc’s esteem.

He allowed the sparring to continue long after the human boys had been defeated and submitted to Airril and Fionn. He could have taken Circin down to forced submission at any time. However, he wanted to teach the young wolf moves usually reserved for the Chrechte because they required greater speed, strength and stamina than most human warriors possessed.

Circin showed his appreciation in voluntarily baring his throat when Talorc pulled him into a nearly unbreakable hold. The younger soldier could have held on to his pride until Talorc forced an acknowledgment of his superior force. The laird was glad to see the boy understood how to take dignity in defeat.

It was a lack in that respect that had led to their people nearly wiping themselves out in the past.

Talorc had allowed Circin to fight long enough that there should be no shame in his loss of the challenge. Yet the young man’s honor should be fulfilled as well, since he had fought for right to the land and lost.

Nevertheless, it was good to check. Talorc did not need an enemy cropping up from a source he was close to naming friend. “You are satisfied?”

Circin nodded, sadness tingeing his gaze. “I am.”

Even knowing the outcome before the first blow was struck, there could be no joy in defeat.

“Good.” He placed his right fist over his heart.

Circin copied the action and bowed his head.

“Tell your laird the Sinclair laird would consider it an honor to train Chrechte warriors from his clan should he desire it.”

Circin’s eyes lit with excitement. “You mean it?”

“The first thing you need to learn, boy, is that an alpha never says something he does not mean or cannot back up,” Niall chided from his position between Abigail and the omega.

“Even Muin?” Circin asked.

“Muin is your brother?” Talorc asked, rather than reply.

Circin wiped blood from the corner of his lip with the back of his hand. “Yes.”

“An omega is always welcome among his Chrechte brethren, regardless of what colors they wear.”

“You adhere strictly to the Chrechte laws.”

“Aye.” Even if the Balmoral had believed for a time he did not.

“I will pass your invitation on to my laird.”

And would not take no for answer, if Talorc’s guess was accurate.

He was not surprised when Abigail invited the Donegal warriors to share in their evening meal. He was only surprised by the fact her presumption in doing so did not bother him. He supposed that she was his wife after all.


“I could not help but notice you did not take your horse hunting,” Abigail said, breaking the silence she had maintained since inviting the other soldiers to eat with them.

His wife was a curious mixture of timidity and boldness. She had not hesitated to confront him before he faced Circin’s challenge, but she had spent the hours since then watching everyone else and saying very little. ’Twas odd. In his experience, women tended to talk more than men, often filling a peaceful silence with unnecessary verbal noise. Abigail was the first woman he had met who might actually speak less than his warriors.

“I did not need a horse.”

“Perhaps you should reconsider that notion.” She paused, giving him a look from between her lashes. “Considering the fact that your soldiers returned with game and you did not.”

Everyone around the fire went silent at his wife’s innocent observation, waiting for his response.

He wasn’t about to admit that his wolf had spent the morning preoccupied with a woman who had responded with naught but fear at his presence. He frowned at her, letting her know he had no intention of justifying his failure to return with game.

“Perhaps it was forgetting your plaid that caused your lack of success. You scared the prey away.” The edges of her lips curled upward, though her expression remained demure.

She was teasing him. His shy little human wife dared to tease the Sinclair. The look of astonishment on Earc’s face and subtle mirth on Niall’s said they realized it as well. The other men wore a mixture of trepidation and concern, clearly mistaking his wife’s words as criticism.

“Highlanders have been hunting without covering for as long as they have claimed these lands.”

“Hmm . . .,” she replied noncommittally.

“Are you worried about my ability to provide for you?” he asked, keeping his expression hard and unreadable.

Crossing her arms she gave him an arch look that about had him falling backward. “Maybe I am.” She wasn’t buying his pretend annoyance, not even with worthless English gold coin.

A gasp from one of his warriors said they had though.

“You needn’t concern yourself, lady. Our clan provides for the laird as he provides for us,” Niall said, adding his own bit to bait Talorc.