Talorc surged to his feet and shouted something at the messenger. Abigail could only hope he was refusing his king’s offer.

“King David was sure you would be pleased by this offer when he received your message demanding redress for the English baron and his daughter’s deception.”

Talorc had sent a message to the king telling him of Abigail’s secret? He had demanded redress? The nights of making love since then meant nothing. The fact that he had never repeated her words of love or indeed acknowledged the truth of hers made perfect sense now. Talorc had just been biding his time until his king annulled the marriage. Just like Sybil, Talorc had made plans to get rid of Abigail permanently.

Pain lanced through her and she doubled over. Guaire’s arms were there, stopping her from falling. She looked up at him, but she could not form the words to tell him what she had heard.

His eyes were filled with compassion, but determination was there, too. “Do not let them see your pain.”

She nodded, sucking in air and resolve. She forced herself to stand straight and step away from him.

“We either go back through the kitchen or walk through the great hall. Your choice.”

As annoying as she found Una, the other woman would be much easier to hide Abigail’s devastation from. She pointed toward the kitchen and Guaire nodded, then led the way. Their pace was much more sedate this time, though they did not dawdle in the kitchen. Thankfully, Una was not there at the moment.

They found her outside. With Niall. Kissing.

Guaire’s entire body went rigid with shock, the anguish of what he saw causing him to cover his face.

Niall pushed the widow away, his gaze zeroing in on Guaire with unerring accuracy. He opened his mouth to speak, but Guaire spun away, dragging Abigail with him.

If Niall called after them, she could not hear, but she felt the vibration of the ground as he chased after them. She did not know what Guaire said over his shoulder at the big warrior, but the scarred man did not follow them onto the path to the lower bailey.

Abigail kept walking when she reached the smithy. Not bothering to ask why she had not stopped, Guaire followed. They walked right through the gate, the gatekeeper not detaining them because of Guaire’s presence.

They had walked well beyond the wall when Abigail stopped. “Which way?”

“To where?” Guaire asked.

“To my sister’s clan. Which way to Balmoral Island?”

“What did the king’s messenger say?” Guaire asked, his own desolation dulling his usually bright green gaze.

She told him.

Guaire looked stunned. “Talorc sent a messenger complaining about you to the king?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I know what I saw.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“The messenger said the king would take care of me one way or another.”

Guaire’s already pale features leeched of all color. He pointed to the northeast. “Balmoral Island is that way.”

Abigail started walking. Guaire fell into step beside her. They stopped to drink from a stream as the sun rose high in the sky.

“Our clan keeps skiffs for crossing the water in a cave at the water’s edge,” he told her. “We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to go to the island though. Walking, we won’t reach the water until darkness has already fallen.”

“We can stay in the cave with the boats.”

“Aye.”

They resumed their journey, not stopping to rest until late afternoon. Like all warriors, Guaire carried dried meat in the small bag he kept tied to his belt. They ate that along with berries and greens Abigail foraged. It was no feast, but it renewed their strength to continue their hike through the forest.

Although the moon shone brightly in the sky, it was past dark as Guaire had predicted when they came upon the water.

Abigail stopped and stared, awe superseding the ache of her heart for a magical moment. “It is so vast. And beautiful.”

“Aye. During the day, you can see Balmoral Island off in the distance.”

“Emily is petrified of water, or at least she used to be. Before her husband taught her to swim. I wonder how she made the crossing the first time?”

“You are not frightened of water?”

“No. Though I used to be terrified of wild beasts.”

“Learning your husband is also a wolf changed your heart?”

“Meeting his wolf, if I had but known it at the time.” She wrapped her arms around herself, but the chill from her heart would not be warmed. “He came to me while I walked in the forest near the hot springs. It scared me spit-less, to tell you the truth, but was amazing all the same. Niall promised me the wolf would not hurt me.”

Guaire flinched at the mention of the man he loved.

She laid her hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry.”

“Your pain is greater than mine.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Guaire rubbed at his cheeks and Abigail pretended not to notice. “Nothing good could ever come of my love, but so long as he did not find someone else, I let my stupid heart hope.”

“Dashed hopes hurt most of all, I think.” Hers had left her bleeding still.

“Because they are born of your heart’s desires.”

She nodded, too choked all at once to speak. Talorc had fulfilled the deepest desires of her heart, or at least she thought he had.

“Will your sister’s husband allow me to remain among the Balmoral, do you think?”

“Of course, you would be an asset to any clan.”

Guaire smiled sadly. “Thank you.”

“You are not going to Balmoral Island. I threatened war on my own king to keep you with me. I’ll not let another laird, Chrechte pack leader or not, take you from me.”

At the sound of her husband’s voice in her head, Abigail spun around. Two huge wolves stood a mere ten feet from her and Guaire.

The redhead had turned when she did. His expression mirrored her shock. “Laird?”

Talorc nodded, though he maintained his wolf’s form. The wolf beside him looked like he might be white, but he glowed a pale silver in the moonlight.

Guaire trembled beside Abigail. “Niall?”

The other wolf did not answer as Talorc had done, but padded forward, stopping only when his big head butted against Guaire’s side. A look of wonder took over Guaire’s features, dissipating the defeated pain that had been so strong only a moment ago.

He reached down and ran his fingers through the wolf’s pelt. “Is this okay?” he asked the beast.

Niall barked. Guaire dropped to a crouch. The white wolf rubbed his head against Guaire’s cheek and the seneschal buried his head in the beast’s fur. The wolf’s body shook as if beset by intense emotion, and the man wrapped his arms around the beast’s neck.

“He is not afraid of Niall’s wolf at all,” Talorc’s voice was tinged with bleakness.

Abigail used her voice, such that it was, to speak. “If I had known it was you, I wouldn’t have been afraid of you either.”

“You are so certain of that?” The wolf’s eyes . . . Talorc’s eyes . . . seemed to look into her heart.

“I have always trusted you with my safety. From the very first moment.”

“And yet you ran away.”

“You complained about me to your king. You wanted rid of me.” Her earlier distress returned, setting grief like a stranglehold around her heart.

“I sent a messenger in a drunken moment of idiocy. I did not want rid of you. Surely I made that clear after I sobered up.”

Abigail turned away from him only to find Niall tugging Guaire’s plaid off. Shock forced a reaction other than sorrow, at least for that moment.

“Surely he does not mean to mate with him as a wolf?” Abigail asked in her mind of Talorc.

Unwanted pleasure filled her as he answered her. Until that moment she had not been absolutely sure the special form of communication could go both ways. “Nay, of course not. He is scenting his mate, claiming him so all will know Guaire belongs to Niall.”

And indeed that was what the big wolf was doing. He rubbed his head against every inch of Guaire he could reach. Guaire was laughing, whether because it tickled or he was simply filled with joy, Abigail could not tell, but regardless, her friend appeared quite happy with what the man—werewolf—he loved was doing.

She turned away from the other couple, giving them their privacy. “Is that why you rub your face against me when we are making love?” Or used to.

“Yes. I crave scenting you as a wolf.”

“But you did not trust me enough to tell me of your true nature, so you could not do it.”

“I did not want to love you.”

“You got what you wanted.”

“Aye, in you I got the deepest, most secret desires of my heart.” The words echoing her own thoughts paralyzed her. “You are my true mate.” He approached her slowly, as if afraid of spooking her. “I need you to accept me in this form for my wolf to have happiness.”

“What difference does it make if you are going to let your king annul our marriage?”

“I will not. I sent his soldier back with this message: I would consider any attempt to annul our marriage or take you from your clan an act of war.”

“You cannot go to war with your own king!”

“It would not be the first time the Highland clans rebelled.”

“But we are just one clan.”

“I have allies.”

“You truly do not wish to be rid of me?” Could it be that easy? No, there was still the matter of trust to settle, but Abigail had realized how much she was willing to work on that when she thought Talorc would be taken from her.