If he was smart, and all Talorc’s Chrechte elite were intelligent, Earc would not drink any more tonight.

“Nay, I did not ask. What could it matter her why’s of lying to me?”

Barr guided Earc to the floor as the man lurched alarmingly. “You won’t know until you learn what they are.”

“She said she was afraid,” Fionn slurred.

“There. She’s a coward.” Though the words felt hollow as he said them.

“She’s your mate. ’Tis your responsibility to find out what had her so feared.” Barr’s tone left no room for argument.

And that was one of the reasons Talorc valued him so as his second: the other warrior was not afraid to speak his mind when it was needed. Not that he always agreed.

Right now, he wasn’t sure what he thought. Except that the table looked damn comfortable as he slumped forward to rest against it.


After a sleepless night in which Talorc did not return to their bedchamber and Guaire did not leave it, Abigail returned to the great hall just after sunrise. She’d left Guaire sleeping on the pallet she’d insisted making with some of the furs from her and Talorc’s bed.

She had a feeling her husband wasn’t going to like that, but then he could have come back and told Guaire the man could go to his own chamber for the night. As it was, no matter how many times Abigail assured the seneschal she would be all right on her own, he refused to leave her.

His presence had stopped her from collapsing in sobs. As much as she might have wanted to do so, she was grateful to him for inadvertently helping her keep her strength up. Then again, considering how astute the man was, his help might have been entirely deliberate.

At least she still had one true friend among the Sinclairs.

The stench of stale whiskey assaulted her nose when she was halfway down the stairs, so she was not wholly unprepared for the sight that met her eyes as she looked up after reaching the bottom. The soldiers from the night before, every one of them members of the elite Chrechte, were passed out in various poses of drunken disarray.

Talorc slept slumped over the table, but at least he was not passed out on the floor like Osgard. And Niall.

The big, scarred warrior’s eyes opened as Abigail stood staring, contemplating her next move.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he turned away with clear intent to ignore her presence. He rolled to his feet and left the hall without once looking back or speaking to her. So, that was it then. His attitude had not softened with the passage of a night, or drinking a great deal of whiskey apparently.

His twin brother, Barr, woke next. His eyes looked clearer than Niall’s had, his expression more open as well. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she whispered, not sure she wanted to wake the others.

“I do not see Guaire.”

“I left him sleeping.”

Barr nodded. “Talorc is going to have kittens when he realizes you descended the steps without escort again.”

“I believe that is the least of my worries this morning.”

“You deceived him and he feels stupid because of it.”

“He’s not stupid.”

“Aye, I ken. And he knows it, too, but what he knows and what he feels are not always the same. ’Tis the same for all of us, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” She wrapped her arms around herself and surveyed the sleeping warriors. “It looks to me as if they are all feeling drunk at the moment.”

“Or not feeling anything at all.”

“Sometimes I wish I could achieve that,” she admitted, barely giving sound to her voice.

But Barr heard. These Chrechte had the hearing of a predator. “Dinna try it with rotgut. The headache the next morning is not worth it.”

“Perhaps it would be best to speak to Talorc later, then.”

Her husband’s head came up from the table then, his blue gaze bloodshot but still piercing. “What is there to talk about?”

She could not believe he had asked such a foolish question. “The revelations of yesterday.”

“You mean my discovery that you have been lying to me since the moment we met?”

“I never told you I could hear.”

“You never told me you couldn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I would prefer to discuss this in private.” Once again, she let her eyes skim the passed-out warriors around them. “Enough of this drama has been played out in the great hall for your soldiers to enjoy.”

“I see no need to discuss this at all.”

She crossed her arms. “I have a right to know what my future holds.” She’d spent most of last night thinking and had come to several conclusions. The most important being, if she could convince Talorc to let her stay, she wanted to remain a Sinclair.

She knew it would not be easy, but nothing in her life had been since the fever that had nearly killed her as a child.

She had also decided she would not hide from the truth, whatever it might be. So, her husband would talk to her. And that was that.

Talorc did not reply, but he got up from the table, said something to Barr she could not see and headed up the stairs. Abigail followed, unaccountably disheartened by the fact that he had not insisted on her taking his arm for the ascent.

She’d taken two steps when he stopped and spun around, stomping back to her and grabbing her hand. “I’m probably less steady than you.” But he did not let her hand go.

“I do not know where you get this idea that I am clumsy,” she said to his back.

If he replied, Talorc did not bother to turn his head so she could see it.

When they reached their bedchamber, Guaire had left. Relief was quickly replaced by disappointment as Talorc released her hand and stepped away. His body jerked when he spied the pallet the soldier had slept on. Talorc glared at Abigail.

“Don’t look at me like that is my fault.” She waved her hand at the makeshift bed. “You are the one that ordered him to stay with me. When you did not come to our chamber last night, he was forced to sleep here. I tried to convince him to leave, but he refused to do so.”

“As he should have done.” But Talorc gave the smaller pile of furs a less-than-pleasant look.

Hoping out of sight would result in out of mind, Abigail gathered the furs and made to put them back on her and Talorc’s bed.

Talorc grabbed her arm. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I will not sleep in a bed with another man’s scent.”

Oh, brother. “Are you trying to tell me you think you can smell Guaire on our blankets?” Superior warrior or not, that was just plain crazy.

“I can. I will provide more furs for our bed. Until then, we will do without.”

“Why not? It is not as if we make do without a real bed to begin with. What is a little more discomfort?” she grumbled under her breath as she squatted to roll the furs in a neatened bundle on the floor.

When she straightened, Talorc was frowning even more fiercely at her. “You do not find our bed adequate?”

“It’s not a bed. It’s a pile of furs,” she insisted stubbornly, and then realized how irrational she was being. Right now was not the time to discuss their sleeping accommodations.

“Never mind. As long as we share them, the furs are more than adequate.”

A flash of something like regret showed in his eyes. “I did not intend to sleep in the great hall last night.”

That was good to know anyway, though she was not sure what it meant in light of what he had said the night before.

Focusing on the mundane rather than issues with the power to shred her newfound happiness, she lifted the bed-roll. “What do you want me to do with these?”

“I do not care.”

She set it in the corner. “Fine.” She would give the furs to Guaire later. No doubt he could make use of the soft, luxurious pelts.

“Why did you deceive me?” The smell of whiskey still clinging to him and his plaid showing evidence that he had slept in it, Talorc leaned back against the door.

For all that, he was still the most handsome man she had ever seen. It was a wonder she ever had any breath in her the way it escaped at the very sight of him. But now was not the time to dwell on how attractive she found her laird husband.

She opened her mouth but did not speak. She had to tell him the whole truth. She would never again lie to him, through word or deed. Only she was pretty sure the truth would not help her case.

“You are the one who said you wanted to talk.” Back to belligerence, he glared accusingly at her.

And she was sure it was only going to get worse.

“In the beginning, I knew that if I told you of my affliction, you would refuse to marry me.”

“You knew this how?”

“No man wants a flawed bride.”

“Everyone has flaws.”

“Are you trying to imply you would have married me regardless of my infirmity?”

He shrugged. “To perpetuate your deception, you had to want to marry me. Why?”

Funny how he did not simply assume it was because every woman was supposed to aspire to the married state. The abbess would approve of Talorc’s intelligence, Abigail thought. “Marriage to you would bring me to the Highlands. I hoped that once you discovered my secret, you would send me to live with Emily, rather than back to England.”

“You married me to be reunited with your sister.”

He was smart. She’d always known that.

“Yes.”

“Why not simply go to live with her? Your mother did not seem enamored of your presence.”

That was putting it mildly. “Sybil wanted a more permanent solution to my presence in her home.”

“Bitch.”

Abigail flinched, not sure if he meant Sybil or her.