Thaddeus
Her scent still clung to us, and waking to it was as wondrous as it was torturous. Wulfric felt the physical ache keenly—but he was far too consumed by elation over how readily Euphemia had taken to him. There had been tears. Kisses. Soft words meant only for him.
If I were honest with myself, I was jealous.
We wanted to see her.
I pushed the covers aside, ignoring my swollen cock, and went about my morning ablutions. Then I chose light tan breeches, a fitted navy tailcoat, and a matching waistcoat. My fingers brushed over the pressed shirts before I remembered—most of my clothing was still at the cottage.
I selected a crisp white shirt.
My bed linen and remaining garments had been folded and tied into a knapsack—fabric steeped in our mating scent.
Dear God. I missed her heat.
Wulfric hummed beneath my sternum.
Once dressed, I went to the kitchen and gathered what I could—fruit scones, butter, mixed meats, bread, and fresh fruit—loading it all into a basket before setting out for Euphemia’s croft.
The need to feed our potentially pregnant mate was non-negotiable.
The brisk morning walk was invigorating, though I nearly landed on my arse more than once on the ice before learning which patches to avoid. Wulfric made it look effortless with his broad, padded paws—an unfair advantage, given his four legs to my two.
A short while later, I stood at her door, raising my hand to knock just as it flew open.
She’d felt us through the bond.
“Good morning, Miss MacDonald,” I said politely.
She wore no cap or scarf, and there was no drab work dress in sight.
Instead, she stood wrapped in a woollen gown of deep green, the fabric heavy and warm, with subtle threads of blue woven through it in a soft Highland plaid.
The cut was practical and straightforward—long sleeves, fitted bodice, full skirt—but it suited her all the same.
The colours made her red hair blaze brighter by contrast, copper and flame against the darker hues, loose around her shoulders as though she’d only just risen from bed. Even in the cold, she looked warm—alive in a way the grey morning could not touch.
Wulfric stirred at the sight of her.
So did I.
Her scent hung thick in the air between us, and I drew a slow breath of it before she spoke.
“Lord Wulverton, what a pleasant surprise,” she murmured, her eyes lighting up.
“Am no stayin’ fur this,” Callum muttered behind her as she stepped aside. He already had his hat and coat in hand. “Am aff tae work.”
I nodded to him as he brushed past, catching the warning in his eyes as he went.
“Come in,” her aunt said gently, pulling a shawl more firmly around her shoulders.
She was petite beside Callum, but there was a quiet warmth to her—something steady and kind—reflected in her soft green eyes.
The croft was basic, but the sight of it warmed me all the same. They had used what I sent—above the hearth, thick evergreen branches had been arranged with care, brightening the small room.
“I brought some food,” I said, handing her the basket before clearing my throat. “I thought perhaps I might share a meal with Euphemia this morning.”
“Did ye now?” she asked, a grin tugging at her mouth.
I glanced toward Euphemia for rescue, but she was already halfway across the room, corralling the children and declaring that they’d all be washed before breakfast.
“Och, I’m only teasing ye,” her Aunt said, taking the basket and turning away. “Take a seat.”
I settled by the window, hat in hand, just as a young lad—fifteen or sixteen—wandered in. He had Euphemia’s eyes, though his hair was light brown.
“Hello,” I offered.
He looked me up and down as though I’d crawled straight out of the sewer—then turned on his heel and walked back out.
It was just as well Euphemia loved us.
? ? ?
The children were sweet, and it was impossible not to feel the love that filled this home. I did not mind sharing Euphemia’s attention—my eyes never left her. Every smile, every bite, every small movement made the bond between us thrum and lent a warmth even to the food.
Ranald came and went with his portion, but I had the sense he would come around in time.
Callum had returned to work on the house, yet he’d allowed me these hours with his family. For all his abrupt departure, it was a gift.
We stayed as long as courtesy allowed—within the narrow boundaries of the human, polite world.
When the time came to leave, I saw her smile dim, her eyes losing their light.
“Why don’t ye see the Laird oot?” her aunt said lightly as she began clearing the table. “Thank ye for the food. It wuz a rare treat fur us all—especially the wee ones.”
I nodded.
“It was my pleasure, Mrs MacDonald. Thank you for your kindness and hospitality.”
But beneath it all, I could see the truth of their lives. Euphemia’s dress was frayed at the cuffs. Ranald’s breeches had long since been outgrown. The children’s faces were just a little too thin.
Wulfric stirred in agreement.
This was our mate’s kin—and they were vital to her.
? ? ?
I was about to take Euphemia’s hand when I caught sight of Ranald at the window—slowly peeling one of the small imported citrus fruits I had brought. He slipped a segment into his mouth, but the vicious set of his eyes made me draw my hand back.
His gaze fixed on me as he ate another piece, deliberate and unhurried.
I had heard it said that the Scots were feral. Savage.
The look in Ranald’s eyes reminded me why such ugly words had ever taken root.
“Your brother is… rather protective of you,” I murmured, unable to look away from the bloodthirsty young man.
I like him. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a sleeping wolf inside him, Wulfric said, amused by my discomfort.
The boy still stood there, unblinking.
Euphemia’s hand closed around my arm. At the window, Ranald leaned closer.
I didn’t wait. I dragged her down the path, away from the croft.
“He’s been through an awful lot. Losing our parents so young…”
“And you?” I asked softly, taking her hand. “Who looks after you?”
Her fingers curled around my palm, soft and warm.
“I manage fine,” she said with a smile.
I tightened my grip and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“I’ve missed ye,” she sighed, leaning into me as though she hadn’t realised how much.
“It won’t be long, my sweet. I’ll come for you tonight,” I murmured.
Her finger traced slow circles over my chest, catching on the brass button of my coat.
“Ah’m missin’ somethin’ else inside o’ me,” she whispered, closing the distance.
I groaned.
Wulfric rejoiced.
The bond surged between us—hot, and insistent.
If her brother was still watching, I was a dead man walking.