Chapter Seventeen
“T hat’s enough, Lochlan,” Callum growls under his breath as he stands to greet Claire.
His sharp rebuttal is confirmation that the claim is true, as well as the smirk that passes between Lochlan and Blake, and the soft laugh that escapes Jack. I try to be reasonable, to fight the dark shadow of jealousy that spreads unbidden through my body.
I assumed Callum would have been with other women before me. He’s strong, and kind, and attractive. What’s more, he’s an alpha, and a wolf. I know the rules that apply to nobility in the Southlands—about waiting until marriage before physically expressing intimacy—don’t apply here. From the way my brother would often sneak out to taverns at the docks, I’m skeptical about whether those rules apply to noble males in the south, too.
The idea that Callum wanted to bed the woman who walks confidently toward us still cools my blood.
She’s flawless, and there is something about her that screams dominance—the steel of her spine, perhaps. Callum told me once he wanted to be with a female who was his equal, and I can see her allure.
I push my negative thoughts aside. There are more pressing things to worry about. Such as why she’s here when her allegiance probably stands with James. I feel a slight twinge of irritation, too. I can’t help but wonder when Callum tried to bed her.
Was it while she was with James? If so, it could explain why James was easily persuaded to ask for my hand in marriage. I think Callum has more honor than that, yet I wonder whether some of the contempt the two brothers hold for one another could originate from the female who halts before the table. Am I the second woman the two have fought over?
“Claire.” Callum’s tone is gentle yet wary. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I hear you made alpha. Congratulations.”
My eyebrows raise. I didn’t think there were any female alphas.
Claire inclines her head. “And I hear you’re trying to become king.”
Callum eyes her warily, like he hasn’t figured out whether she’s a threat. “Did James send you?”
“James has no authority to send me anywhere. He’s not my king.” She smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I was on my way to Madadh-allaidh to see if I could negotiate an alliance with him.”
Callum’s brow creases. “An alliance? Your clan has always stood alone. Why now?”
“There are... things happening up north.” A shadow passes over her features. “I want to move my people south.”
Callum frowns. “Yet you came here first?”
She shrugs, her smile coy. “I thought I’d listen to what you had to say.”
“How do I know you’re not here to report back to James?”
“I don’t play games, Callum.”
“No?” Callum releases a dark laugh. “I’m not sure that’s true.”
Her brown eyes glint in the candlelight. “That was a long time ago.”
Claire looks guarded when her attention turns to the dark-haired alpha of Lowfell.
Dimples puncture Blake’s cheeks, but his eyes are cold. “Welcome to Lowfell. Please, come and join us.”
Her gaze falls on me. She looks like she’s assessing me, measuring me up, and I do the same. Finally, a smile ghosts her lips.
“It’s nice to see another woman up here. Even if you are a southerner.” She turns to Callum. “We need to speak. Alone.”
He inclines his head. “Aye. Later.”
She sits down beside Jack, who grins and starts a conversation with her. Callum drops into his chair and the music resumes. He squeezes my thigh underneath the table, as if he can see the questions in my eyes.
“ Later ,” he repeats softly.
When the food has been cleared, the bagpipe music becomes louder and more unruly, and Wolves dance raucously in the center of the hall. Their violent movements as they spin one another around mirrors the storm brewing in my chest when Callum and Claire leave the Great Hall to speak in private.
I want my blood to stop howling, and my mind to still. I wonder whether the wolf that must exist inside me is making me feel like this. I don’t like that they’re alone together. The human part of me is just as unsettled, unhappy to be pushed aside once more while important matters are being discussed.
I swallow my emotion. I need to pull myself together. Callum needs to find out what Claire is doing here.
“Would you like to dance?” A male Northlands voice makes me start.
Lochlan stands in front of the table, elegant hand outstretched. His eyes dance with amusement. I’m not entirely sure what to make of him. Partially because he seems to likes Blake more than Callum.
I rise from my chair. “Of course. Though you’ll have to teach me the moves.”
“Your people didn’t teach you the dances of Wolves?” Lochlan says, and I feel the slight challenge coming from him, the assertion that I don’t belong.
“There are many things my people don’t know about Wolves,” I admit carefully as I walk around the table to join him. “We’re at war, after all. But I’ve learned much, since I arrived here.”
“We’re not at war with your people,” says Lochlan, when I place my hand in his. I frown as he leads me to the dancefloor. “We were once, of course. Many centuries ago, when they invaded Glas-Cladach in their longboats and ravaged our villages. When peace was sought, many of them settled and live among us now.” He grins wolfishly at my perplexity. “Oh, you think I’m speaking of the southerners. No. I’m referring to your real people—the Wolves of the Snowlands.” My heart beats faster at the mention of my mother’s homeland. “Many of my clan were sad to hear of your mother’s death.”
The Wolves around me blur as they create two lines that face one another, and get ready for the next dance. “They knew of her?”
“The youth forget the Snowlands blood that runs through their veins. The elders prayed for her safety when she married your father.”
The chatter, the clink of glasses, the crackle in the hearth—it all fades. “She really was a wolf?”
“Not many knew her true identity, of course, even here in the Northlands. We at Glas-Cladach suspected. Many hoped she would overthrow your father someday, and bring about a new era for Wolves. Alas, that was not the case.” He assesses me. “Although perhaps hope is not lost yet.”
My mind is whirling with information, but the music starts. It’s so loud I can barely hear myself think.
“What was it you wanted to speak to me about?” I raise my voice.
“Tomorrow morning, meet my by the loch. For now...” Lochlan steps closer to me and grins. “Let’s dance.”
I quickly pick up the dance as Lochlan guides me through it.
It’s a lively one that entails lots of looping arms with the nearest wolf, and swinging them around the dancefloor. My inhibitions start to dissipate, and it’s not long before laughter spills from my lips. In the Southlands, I always felt constrained when dancing at balls in the palace—like a puppet who had to perform every move correctly. There is something more unruly in this dance, as if the steps don’t really matter as long as fun is had.
Every so often, I feel Blake’s gaze, weighted on my skin. I try to ignore it.
Lochlan tells me things about his territory every time I link arms with him—it’s by the sea, he has the second biggest army in the Northlands, and many Wolves take a pilgrimage to the cliffs. Apparently, Ghealach was once said to have visited, and now a vast crop of moonflower grows there to offer small morsels of her power to those who smell its sweet perfume.
When the song ends, and the bagpipe player by the doors asks for any requests, Lochlan offers me his hand. Blake steps beside him.
My pulse kicks up, and my body instinctively tenses. I pull my emotions back, cage them in a box in my chest, desperate to keep them away from him. His posture is straight beneath his dark coat, and his expression carefully blank. When his eyes meet mine, the corner of his lip quirks slightly.
“Mind if I cut in?” he asks.