Moon Craving

Chapter 13

A week after the Donegal soldiers had arrived for training, Talorc found Abigail working what had been an overgrown herb garden, tucked away in the courtyard behind the tower.

She’d discovered it soon after her arrival at the Sinclair holding. Abigail had begun clearing the weeds immediately, thrilled to find something she could make her own. Next to reading, gardening was her favorite pastime. She’d learned much about plant and bed preparation watching the gardeners in her father’s keep and working with them when they allowed it.

She also knew a great deal about healing with herbs, having researched everything she could about the art in hopes of healing her own ailment. Though she’d never discovered a cure for her deaf ears, she had learned to treat a wide variety of illnesses and injuries.

She was digging in the dirt around a fragrant stand of lavender when she noticed her husband’s approach. She looked up with a smile. Though she hated doing so, she avoided him as much as possible during the day on the supposition that the less time they spent in each other’s company, the less likely it would be for him to discover her secret.

Her heart always filled with gladness when she saw him, however. And she was sure it showed on her face. “Good day, Talorc.”

Her current escort bowed to his laird in greeting. Talorc returned the greeting and then dismissed the young soldier to other duties.

“You plan to rescue my mother’s garden?” he asked Abigail.

Shocked, she rocked back onto her heels. “This was your mother’s garden?”

“Aye.”

“She was an herbalist?”

He gave Abigail that look that said she was still a mystery to him and he blamed it on her English roots. “She studied the art of healing both body and spirit with herbs, if that is what you mean.”

Abigail nodded. “I wish I could have known her.”

For a woman who had gone so long speaking so very little, Abigail too often found her foot in her mouth now.

Thankfully, Talorc did not look offended by her unthinking observation. “I too wish you had that opportunity.”

“Thank you.” She bit her lip. “Does it bother you I am working in her garden?” Perhaps it had become so overgrown because Talorc had not wanted anyone else to touch his mother’s plants.

“No. It is fitting.”

“Because I am now lady of the Sinclairs as she was?”

“Because you are my wife and a sweet angel. She would have liked you.”

Abigail’s heart was about burst from the praise. “Thank you for saying so.”

“It is never a hardship to speak the truth.”

If only he knew. Some truths caused nothing but pain.

“She kept a diary of her recipes. Perhaps you would like it?” he asked.

Warmth suffused Abigail. “I cannot think of anything I should like better.”

“Nothing, my angel?” he asked with a wicked glint in his blue eyes.

She felt a blush crawl up her neck and could not speak in reply to save her life. She loved this playful side to her husband and saw it all too rarely.

“Thank you,” she said, meaning both his generosity and for sharing this side of himself with her.

“You need not thank me, but if you insist, you can do so by waiting for your escort before coming down the stairs of a morning.” His frown was marred by the twinkle in his gaze.

She grinned. “I’ll consider it.” But they both knew she wouldn’t.

It was shaping up to be one of those arguments like the one between the blacksmith and his wife regarding the disparity between the Sinclair and Balmoral clans. Neither held any true rancor over the subject, but neither would they change their view in regard to it. It felt good to have something like that between her and Talorc, something so normal and domestic.

“I now understand why you argued so fiercely for me to give my clan a month to get used to you. You were hoping that by showing leniency, I would learn to tolerate your flaunting of my authority.”

She widened her eyes in mock innocence, though she would be devastated if she truly believed he thought her guilty of such. “I do no such thing.”

“You think not?”

“It’s a ridiculous instruction.”

“You are a stubborn woman.”

“I thought I was your angel.”

“A willful one.”

“It runs in the family.”

“It is a more charming trait in you than your sister.”

“How can you say so?” she asked even as her heart swelled with the implied compliment. “Emily is everything that is wonderful in a sister.”

Talorc grimaced. “And the Balmoral would say she is everything that is wonderful in a wife.”

“But you do not say so?”

“She called me a goat.” He gave Abigail one of his rare smiles. “She is not you.”

Her hand flew to her mouth and she shook her head. She would not cry like a ninny, but no one had ever said anything so lovely to her. Not even Emily. That it was her usually taciturn husband made it all the more special. “Thank you.”

He shrugged and she grinned, knowing he had done so on purpose to tease her with what she still considered a non-answer.

Then his eyes grew serious as they usually did only at night in their bedchamber. “You are mine.”

Abigail could not hold it in any longer. She jumped to her feet and leapt into her husband’s arms. “Is it any wonder I am in love with you?” And without a thought to propriety, she kissed him exuberantly, first on his lips and then all over his face.

She could feel his laughter rumbling in his chest. Leaning back, she looked him in the eye, her expression as earnest as she could make it. “You are the best husband any woman could ever wish for.”

She rejoiced daily that he and Emily had not found each other as pleasing.

Talorc looked down at her with mock severity. “Such a display is most unseemly, my angel. Clearly this is behavior you learned in England.”

“Yes, because Sybil was always so open with her affection.” Abigail could not hold back the laughter bubbling up and made no effort to do so.

The idea of her mother kissing her father, much less anyone else, in the courtyard of their keep was so ludicrous it was impossible to even imagine.

Talorc did not laugh, but his half smile might as well have been a belly rolling mirth as far as Abigail was concerned. “I see I will have to teach you the proper way to treat your laird in a public setting.”

“By all means, teach me,” she offered saucily and without the least worry. After all, her feet were no longer on the ground because his hold on her was so secure.

“You should not kiss your husband thus,” he said quite severely.

She cocked her head to one side. “I shouldn’t?”

“Nay.” His blue eyes darkened with heat. “You should do it like this.” He took her mouth with possessive passion, his lips moving against hers in ways guaranteed to scramble her mind.

Forgetting where they were, she returned his kiss with enthusiasm, burying her hands in the hair at his nape.

When he pulled his lips away, she was breathing heavily. So was he.

She brushed at his neck. “I seem to have gotten dirt from your mother’s garden on you.”

“’Tis your garden now.”

“I will share it with her, and keep her memory alive there for our children.”

Just like that, the emotion grew thick between them.

Talorc traced the line of Abigail’s lips with the hand not clasping her to him. “Thank you.”

Unused to being the recipient of such gratitude, she rubbed at the soil clinging to the sweat on Talorc’s neck. “What shall we do about this dirt?”

“Lucky for me, I was planning a swim in the loch.”

“You were?”

“I thought you would like to join me. I remember how much pleasure you found in the water at the hot springs.”

A blush of equal parts embarrassment and pleasure heated her cheeks. “I should like that very much.”

“Good.” Rather than release her as she had expected, he put his free arm under her knees and swept her up against his chest.

“I can walk.” But she didn’t say it with any heat. After all, she enjoyed being held this way.

“I like carrying you.”

She giggled in pure joy.

He nodded at someone else and only then did Abigail realize they had an audience. Men and women of the clan were smiling at them and calling out teasing comments. For once, Abigail did not allow the fact she had been unaware of them bother her. Nothing could diminish the pleasure she felt in this moment.

She loved her husband and had had the courage to tell him so. While he might never repeat the words back to her, he clearly cared about and liked her. That was miracle enough for Abigail.

She rode to the lake on Talorc’s horse with him, feeling a sense of belonging unlike anything she had ever known. They played in the water, not even pretending their primary purpose was bathing. Afterward, they made love in the sweet green grass, surrounded by the scent of heather.

As she climaxed she heard his voice saying something in what she recognized as Chrechte. She pretended it was “I love you.”

If she was going to hear a voice that existed only in her imagination, it might as well say something she would never see spoken on her husband’s lips.

Later Talorc sat on a rock and smiled at Abigail’s efforts to do her own pleats. Determined to prove that she could dress her pleats every bit as efficiently as her laird husband, she was concentrating on getting each fold precisely the same when she heard Talorc’s voice inside her head for the first time outside of making love.

“Abigail, run!” The urgency was so strong, she obeyed without thought, only to trip on her unpleated plaid and go crashing to the ground.

Air rushed over her and she looked up in time to see a huge gray wolf. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, but the wolf did not attack. He sailed right over her.

She scrambled to her feet, yanking her plaid off as she went. She looked for Talorc, but he was nowhere to be seen. She turned her head and saw a wild boar and the wolf in a fight. Abigail ran to Talorc’s horse, screaming her husband’s name.

She scrambled onto the big black stallion’s back and kneed him into movement. She had to find her husband. Something must have happened to him.

Terrified but unwilling to leave the man she loved behind, she turned the horse toward the forest from which the wild boar had come.

“Abigail! Go back to the keep,” Talorc’s voice demanded in her head.

“I won’t leave you,” she said in her own head, feeling more than a little crazy for replying to the imaginary voice.

“Obey me.” The voice had never sounded so harsh.

But it wasn’t real and no matter how insistent it sounded, she did not have to listen. She wasn’t leaving Talorc behind. She skirted the fighting wild animals, but kept her attention on them in case they lost interest in each other and came after her.

With a spray of blood, the wolf tore out the boar’s throat. The big gray beast put his head back and howled. Heavens above, she really was going mad. She felt an insane and almost irresistible urge to stop the horse and approach the wolf, to commend it for fighting so bravely and effectively.

The beast turned his head to look at her. Showing she truly had lost all sense, she halted the horse and stared back at the blood-covered wolf. If she didn’t know it was impossible, she would have thought the look the wild animal gave her was one of possession. That made no sense.

Without warning, the wolf spun and ran into the forest. Filled with trepidation and undeniable curiosity, she kneed the stallion to follow.

They had only gone a couple of yards when Talorc came striding out of the forest. He was covered in blood, explaining where her husband had been. He must have been fighting another boar. Guaire had told her the wild pigs with deadly tusks sometimes traveled in groups.

Talorc had been protecting her, and just like the massive wolf, he had clearly won his fight. He gave her an indecipherable look before turning to dive into the lake.

He did not come out until all the blood was gone.

Abigail had managed to get her plaid on while her husband bathed. He said nothing as he donned his own clothing.

“You are not hurt?” she asked. She had not seen any marks, but she could not be sure.

His jaw set, he shook his head.

“Did you see the wolf? I believe the beast saved my life.” She bit her lip. “Not that you did not protect me, too. Clearly you were in your own battle in the forest, but a second boar came into the clearing.”

“A second boar?”

She nodded and pointed to the bloody carcass. “Over there.”

Talorc stared at her for several tense seconds but said nothing.

She had spent years in silence, but this one felt more than a little uncomfortable. “I must rethink my view on wolves. Niall told me the gray wolf I met at the hot springs would never hurt me. You will probably think me mad, but I believe it was that wolf that helped you save me today.”

“It was.”

“You know this wolf, too? Is he a mascot for the clan then?”

“A mascot? No.”

“But he is a friend to the clan.”

“That is one way to put it.”

Wishing her husband did not look so very stern, she nodded. “What caused the boar to charge, do you think?”

“It is their mating season. Our presence may well have been the only cause.”

“Oh.”

He turned and headed for his horse. She followed, not sure what was going on between them. They had been so happy before the wild boars attacked. It had been upsetting to be sure, but Talorc acted angry. Though not overtly. It was like fury simmered under the surface and she did not understand why.

Was it because he believed he had not protected her enough? If the gray wolf had not shown up, the boar might well have gotten her. Talorc was the sort of man that would find reliance on another, even a wild beast, a trial. He often acted as if he believed he and he alone was responsible for the safety and well-being of his people.

He pushed himself and his warriors harder than any English baron she had ever seen or heard of.

Their ride back to the fortress was a silent one. Despite riding pressed one to the other, Talorc held himself apart from her behind an invisible but undeniable wall of hostility. Abigail made no attempt to speak, not knowing what to say. She only wished she understood what had upset Talorc.

When they returned to the keep, he led her directly to the great hall. She was surprised to find a handful of his elite warriors seated at one of the banquet tables. The evening meal was still a couple of hours off and the warriors did not usually come inside to congregate this early in the day. But Niall, Barr, Earc, Fionn and Airril were all there, along with Osgard’s glowering presence.

Una served water and mead to the seated warriors before scurrying from the hall with a single, baffled, backward glance at Abigail.

Guaire was there as well, standing on the other side of the room from the warriors, though he looked as puzzled by the presence of the other men as Abigail.

Talorc stopped in the middle of the hall with her. “Turn your back to the soldiers,” he instructed.

“What? Why?” She worriedly bit at her bottom lip. Turning her back on others was a recipe for disaster in Abigail’s silent world.

Anger simmered in his blue gaze. “Just do it.”

She did not understand his request and liked it even less, but she did not think now was the time to argue.

Hoping against hope that he would not speak while her back was to him, she turned. Talorc moved so that he had a view of both her face and the soldiers behind her. Because of his position away from the other soldiers, Guaire was the only other person whose face she coud see.

With a sick feeling, she suddenly began to realize what might be happening. Her stomach lurched while her hands grew clammy and her head buzzed with dizzy terror. She could not force herself to ask again what was happening because she feared she already knew.

She was being tested, and if what she suspected was true, the covering she had worked so hard to hide her secret behind was being ripped away with ruthless efficiency. She could pretend to “hear” whatever Talorc had instructed his men to do behind her. She could keep lying through her actions, if not her words, but there was no strength left in her for the subterfuge.

And it probably wouldn’t work anyway.

As he stared at her, a look of horrified understanding dawned in Guaire’s usually warm green eyes. The horror turned to unmistakable pity as she felt the color drain from her face.

Talorc knew. They all knew. Her affliction had been laid bare.

Somehow Talorc had realized the truth of Abigail’s infirmity at the lake and he had brought her back here to test his new knowledge in front of his warriors. Darkness played at the edges of Abigail’s vision, but she refused to give in to the weakness. She would not faint.

But it took several deep breaths before her body was in agreement with the conviction of her mind.

Pain lancing through her, she faced her husband in silent entreaty.

But there was no mercy to be found in him. His countenance was so dark with anger she flinched away from him.

A look of disgust crossed his features. “Have you kept so much of yourself hidden you do not know me any better than that? I will never hit you.”

The words were harsh, but his expression was harsher.

It was just as she had feared. He knew she was deaf and now he hated her. She was flawed and he did not want her anymore. Like many in the Church, he believed her infirmity deserved punishment rather than compassion.

“You are deaf,” he said with clear antipathy, confirming her fear.

Everything inside her stilled as hope drained away to leave her hollow. The time for acknowledging the truth had come. “I—”

“Dinna lie to me,” he said, interrupting her confession. “Though that is all you have done since the moment of our meeting.”

She shook her head. That was not true. She had hidden her affliction, but she had not lied about anything else. Not ever.

His glare turned sulfuric. “You cannot deny it. I shouted a warning when I heard the swine coming through the forest, but you did not react in any way. Then, just now, I had my soldiers yell a war cry and you did not so much as twitch though such a noise would have sent even a seasoned warrior running.”

“I was concentrating on my pleats.” And she had not been looking at him to read his lips. She did not care about what had just happened. He had only been testing the new knowledge, not discovering it.

“There were many signs, I cannot believe it took me so long to realize the truth.”

“I had many years’ experience learning to hide my affliction.” And she had had a compelling reason to keep it hidden, one that grew more important each day—her love for and desire to stay with the man who now hated her.

“How is it that you speak?” he demanded.

“I did not lose my hearing to a fever until my tenth year.”

“And you have lied about the truth of your condition since then?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Emily.”

“I should have known.”

“Don’t you denigrate her. She was the only one who cared enough to try to save me. She worked with me, hours every day, so I would continue to speak normally. I learned to read lips with her help and constant guidance. No one in our keep knew of my affliction except my mother and stepfather. And eventually, my sister Jolenta.” She hated sharing the pain of her past but owed her husband as much truth as she could give him.

He did not ask if her deafness was why her mother hated her so. He must realize it was.

“I told Osgard there was no deception in you. I was a fool.” She could have stood it if only anger showed in his eyes, but hurt lurked there as well.

Abigail’s heart broke. “No.”

“Yes! Perhaps your bitch of a mother convinced you to lie to me initially, but you have had ample opportunity since then to admit the truth.”

“I was afraid.”

“Just like the rest of your countrymen, liars and cowards, every one of them.”

“No, it’s not like that.”

He looked at Guaire. “Take her to our chamber.”

“Talorc, please.” She grabbed his arm, but he shook her off.

“You have already made a fool of me, will you add to my humiliation by disobeying me in front of my warriors?”

“Why not? You revealed my secret in front of them.”

“You deceived them as well; they deserved to witness the truth, too.”

“I wanted a chance to fit in.” She didn’t expect him to understand or care. The only one who ever had was Emily, but she told him the truth anyway.

“There is no place in our clan for deceivers and cowards.”

She felt the words like blows and went to her knees from the pain.

A gentle touch landed on her shoulder. She looked up through eyes swimming in tears to find Guaire’s face covered in compassion.

He put his arm out. “Come, my lady.”

Before she had a chance to take it, she was being lifted with jerky movements into Talorc’s arms. He carried her toward the stairs, his entire body radiating fury and repudiation.

Unwilling to hide from anything any longer and needing to face the full ramifications of her situation, she looked toward the table of Sinclair soldiers. They were glaring at her. The expression on Osgard’s face was one of smug satisfaction, but that did not hurt nearly as much as the revilement she read in Niall’s eyes.

He had been her first friend among the Sinclairs. Now he was her enemy.