21 A FORMIDABLE ALLY
STIRRING AWAKE, LARA found herself face down, sprawled amongst the furs in her sleeping nook. For a moment, she lay there, enjoying the sensation of languid wellbeing, before memories from the night before crept in.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut then, heat rolling over her as she recalled every lewd thing Alar had done to her. How would she be able to look his way without turning the color of a plum?
Eventually, she opened her eyes and rolled onto her side.
The cressets had all gone out, yet the glow of the embers in the hearth cast a soft, ruddy light over the alcove. She was naked in the sleeping nook—as was the man who lay beside her. Like her, Alar slept on his belly, and Lara found herself studying him.
Mirren had told her once that folk who slept on their stomachs did so to seek comfort. It was a defensive position, revealing someone who didn’t trust easily.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. They had something in common, after all, it seemed.
Images crept back in then, of their coupling. Gods, the pleasure he’d given her. Brutally, she shoved the torrid memories aside. The handfasting night is done with now , she reminded herself firmly. It’s time to get to work.
The furs had slipped off Alar in the night, and her gaze traveled along the length of his body. His buttocks were tight and muscular, his limbs long and finely muscled. And the long hair that spilled over his shoulders and down his back was the color of a raven’s wing.
When he was awake, Alar had a coiled tension to him, but asleep, he looked different.
Younger.
He twitched then, waking up.
Hastily, Lara pulled one of the furs over herself to cover her nakedness. It was pointless really, since he’d already seen everything, but it made her feel more comfortable. More in control of things.
With a groan, he rolled over onto his back and gave a long, cat-like stretch. “Shades,” he murmured. “I slept like a hibernating trow.”
Lara’s mouth curved. “Fortunately, you don’t snore like one.
” When she was a bairn, her mother had told her that the rolling boom of thunder during a summer storm was the sound of trows snoring.
The creatures hid away in their knowes during the warmer months, for sun on their skin would turn them to stone.
However, ever since the Shee had taken the North, things had changed.
News reached Duncrag regularly that trows ventured out in sunlight, and powries strayed far from their ruins. The reminder made Lara’s mood sober.
With this man’s help, she’d put things right.
“I’ll be holding a council meeting this afternoon,” she said then. “And you’ll join us.”
His lips quirked. “Of course.”
“There’s still so much to organize before we head north,” she went on, ignoring the teasing edge to his voice.
“We’ve had the ironsmiths working double shifts ever since we got back …
and Captain mac Tav has managed to recruit more warriors from The Wolds.
They’re young … and green … but, hopefully, they should be ready in time. ”
“And what is the mood amongst your council these days?”
Lara frowned, wariness rising. “They are behind me.”
“Really? Last time I joined one of your meetings, the atmosphere was … frosty.”
“Aye, well … they were upset … concerned I’d made the wrong choice.”
“They’ve forgiven you?”
“Aye.”
That was a wee lie—for although she was getting along better with her advisors these days, they still weren’t happy about the alliance she made. But once she drove the Shee from The Uplands, they would be.
“And what of the people of Duncrag? We didn’t get a warm welcome upon our arrival.”
Lara pursed her lips. “They’ve never had such close contact with wulvers before. Give them time.”
“Perhaps we need to hurry things along.”
Her gaze narrowed. “How exactly?”
He smiled. “Don’t look so suspicious. I’m only suggesting we take a walk through the fort this morning. I’ll take my captains with me … you bring your council. Seeing Marav and wulvers walking together, united, might help them thaw.”
Lara stepped out into the overcast morning and pulled her fur cloak tightly about her. She and Alar had just breakfasted on oatcakes, butter, and honey together. Later, they’d meet with her council in the hall, as promised.
But now, she was, reluctantly, taking his advice.
He was right. They couldn’t hide in her broch. The High Queen and the prince consort had to be visible. They had to encourage the residents of Duncrag to accept change. The wulvers were here to stay.
Her breathing grew shallow then.
Why did she feel as if she’d crossed a river and then burned the bridge down behind her?
Alar stepped up to her side, clad in black leather and armed with his blades, as usual. She eyed him, considering whether the events of the night before had changed her opinion of the Half-blood.
They had.
It wasn’t just the sex—although the fact that he’d treated her gently and let it be her choice had surprised her—but that they’d both lowered their guard around each other.
She’d revealed a vulnerability he could have exploited, while he’d told her a little about his past, a tale he didn’t usually share by all accounts.
She still didn’t trust him, and whenever their conversation shifted to war or politics, they often clashed. But the fact remained that Alar was a strong ally.
His gaze glinted as it met hers. “Ready?”
She nodded. “Let’s face them.”
They crossed the yard to the gates, following Cailean and Torran—and Skaal. Bree and Roth flanked the royal couple, while Lyall and Dolph strode behind them. The rest of the High Queen’s council brought up the rear.
As soon as they left the broch’s perimeter behind and stepped out onto The Thoroughfare, they drew a crowd.
That was a good thing, even if the atmosphere was strained. Bairns clung to their mothers’ skirts as they eyed the wulvers, while the men and women of Duncrag watched their High Queen with resentment simmering in their eyes.
Lara pretended not to notice. Instead, she spoke brightly to them, stopping at intervals on the way down the hill to introduce her husband and his captains, and to assure them that the wulvers would help them win back the North.
It was hard work.
Many of those she approached were too distracted by the sight of the wulvers, Lyall especially—for he was a hulking figure—to concentrate on her words. Usually, it was Cailean’s fae hound who drew the eye. But today, no one paid Skaal much attention.
“Where will the wulvers live once The Uplands are reclaimed?” One man asked, his tone belligerent. He was one of the ironsmiths, who’d ventured out of his forge wearing a soot-covered apron. “Will they remain here?”
“Aye,” Lara replied with more conviction than she felt. In truth, she and Alar hadn’t discussed what would happen afterward—she could only deal with one obstacle at a time—but this smith wanted a clear answer. “And you will welcome them.”
“And what will they eat?”
“The same food as you. There’s plenty for us all.” Indeed, the fields around Duncrag were fertile, and it had been a good harvest this year. No one in this fort would go hungry.
“We are good at fishing,” Lyall said then, his gravelly voice carrying across the crowd. “And we are happy to share our catches with you all.”
The man scowled at this, eying the wulver captain as if he’d just offered him a turd.
“Wulvers aren’t savages,” Alar said smoothly, speaking up for the first time. “They’re peaceloving by nature. They’d have lived alongside you years ago, if you hadn’t shunned their kindness and driven them out.”
Dolph growled something under his breath then, while a rumble went through the surrounding crowd.
“Gone are the days when the Marav had nothing to do with faerie creatures,” her husband continued.
“The world has changed … and we must adapt … or the Raven Queen will march upon Duncrag and take it for her own.” He paused then.
“Would you rather wulvers shared this fort with you … or that the Shee became your masters?”
Muttering began then, and they moved on.
Leaving the top terrace of Duncrag behind, they walked through the two levels of the wulver encampment. Here, Alar called for more of his brothers and sisters to join them. Lara’s gut tightened when they did.
This ‘stroll’ wasn’t going well, and the lower levels of Duncrag were rougher than the top ones.
She hoped Alar knew what he was doing. At the same time, she wanted the wulvers with her.
The unfiltered hostility toward their new allies was starting to leave a bitter taste in her mouth.
This had always been a Marav problem: the belief that they were superior to the other races who inhabited Albia.
But their prejudice couldn’t continue.
Farther down, they walked past the middens, where their Shee prisoners pushed barrows of rotting food, excrement, and offal over to deep pits before emptying them.
Lara wrinkled her nose. She usually only ever passed the middens on horseback and would urge Bracken into a brisk trot to escape the stench. But today she was on foot, and there was no escaping the putrid odors that enveloped her.
And as they walked by, she marked the way Alar watched the Shee.
“They fascinate you, don’t they?”
His head jerked her way. “Not really.”
She huffed. “You must want to ask them about your father.”
An emotion she couldn’t quite place rippled across his face. “Why would I?”
“Because everyone wants to know where they came from.” She paused then. “I’m surprised your mother didn’t tell you about him.”
“Well, she didn’t.”
His answer was blunt, his tone a warning, and she heeded it. She’d touched a raw nerve.
They left the middens behind and descended lower still. The roundhouses flanking The Thoroughfare crowded closer together here, and half-naked bairns chased each other amongst the crowds. The air was only slightly less foul than the cesspits.
“Betrayer!” A woman shouted then from the front of the crowd. She was one of the fort elders, her white hair pulled back into braids, her dark eyes as sharp as flints of granite. “You will drag us all into darkness!”
Lara halted, her skin prickling at the woman’s venom.
The gathering crowd lining the road rumbled with anger now, like an approaching storm. She couldn’t walk on. She had to address this.
“My father already did that,” she replied, her voice cutting through the muttering that swelled around them.
“He angered the Shee and brought the Raven Queen’s wrath down on us.
And now they’ve allied themselves with trows and powries, and Gods-know who else.
” She paused, her pulse thumping against her ribs.
“If we don’t make strong allies ourselves, we’ll never take back The Uplands.
Worse still, The Wolds could be overrun. ”
Some of the faces around them screwed up. A man a few yards away even spat on the ground.
“Craven bitch,” someone shouted from the back.
“Traitor!”
“Your High Queen didn’t want to marry me,” Alar cut in. To Lara’s surprise, he’d stepped close to her, his stance protective as his gaze swept over the press of people. “But she did it anyway, to save your ungrateful lives. She’s selfless and brave. Is this how you thank her?”
He broke off then as a brittle hush settled over the crowd. Meanwhile, Lara’s chest tightened. She should be vexed that he’d stepped in to defend her, yet she wasn’t. Instead, a knot deep within her chest loosened. No man had ever spoken up for her like this.
“Don’t think the Shee aren’t coming for you all,” Alar went on, an edge to his voice now. “Don’t stand here so smug and self-righteous. Duncrag isn’t untouchable. Mor is merely sharpening her blade … and soon she’ll march on The Wolds. When she gets here— if she gets here—there will be no mercy.”