Lucy Monroe - Moon Craving

“I don’t know. He never told me either, when I was here as his intended. Lachlan wasn’t the one that told me about the Chrechte’s true nature either. Cait did.”

“But why hide it?”

Emily gave her a pointed look. “You of all people should know the answer to that.”

“Because differences are often seen as threatening.”

“Exactly. If their secrets were to be discovered, it is likely the Chrechte would be hunted and destroyed like animals. You know what could have happened to you if people had known of your deafness; how much worse if they discovered someone was capable of turning into a wolf? The Chrechte are mighty warriors but small in number in comparison to their full-human counterparts.”

“That does not explain Talorc not telling me.”

“No, it doesn’t. I do know that the Chrechte protect the secrets of their people very closely. If they are discovered to have betrayed the secret, or someone they tell is found doing so, the sentence is death.”

“But you told me,” Abigail said, worried for her sister.

“Of course I did. You are my sister and you are mated to a Chrechte warrior. You are no security risk to the people.”

“Clearly Talorc disagrees.”

“He’s not an easily trusting man.”

If he loved her, he would trust her, but that wasn’t something Abigail was going to mention to her sister. “And I deceived him.”

“Yes. Though just as you should understand the Chrechte’s need to keep their secrets, he should have understood your need to hide your affliction and not judged you untrustworthy because of it.”

“He gets very angry when I call my deafness an affliction,” Abigail said, realizing that if she did not change the subject soon, she would break down in grief over the implications of what she had just learned.

“He does?”

“Yes. He says it is not an affliction, just an infirmity and not much of one the way I compensate for it.”

“He can be a smart man.”

“Yes.” It was all Abigail could do to maintain her façade of normalcy for her sister. Her heart was shriveling in her chest at all the conclusions to be drawn from Talorc keeping the secret of the Chrechte from her.

Why was she delivered such demeaning blows each time she thought she had found happiness?

“Are you all right, sister?”

For the first time in her life, Abigail lied to Emily. “Yes. Of course.”

“I would like to be a fly on the wall when you break the news to your husband you know all about his wolf.”

Abigail could not prevent a grimace from twisting her features.

“He’ll be relieved, believe me. Lachlan’s wolf needs my acceptance and love as much as his human side. He adores being scratched behind his ears; I bet Talorc does, too.”

Abigail forced a laugh and a smile that would even fool her sister. She maintained the façade through her sister’s final evening meal among the Sinclairs and leave-taking the next day.

That night for the first time, Abigail begged off making love with Talorc using the excuse of tiredness. Silent tears tracked down her cheeks in the darkness as her husband slept beside her on the furs.

He had deceived her just as she had done him, but still he had cruelly condemned her for keeping her own secrets. He doubted her love for him, but more important, it was clear now that he would never love her.

Not only was she not a Highlander by birth, but she was not a Chrechte. Emily had shared the role her humanity had played in Lachlan’s difficulty accepting his feelings for her. And that man was as besotted as any man had ever been in the history of the world.

What chance did Abigail have of overcoming a prejudice so noticeably more ingrained in Talorc?

He had no desire to share his special heritage with her in any way. The wolf, who according to Emily, needed Abigail’s love and approval, was withheld from her. Even though they could share the intimate bond of speaking in each other’s mind, Talorc held back from doing so with her.

And that was perhaps what hurt the most. Talorc must realize the devastation Abigail had experienced losing sound from her life. To have the chance to hear again, especially her husband’s voice, was the most amazing miracle possible.

But he denied it to her because sharing it with her meant sharing his secrets as well. It meant trusting her. Something he would never do for a woman born and raised in the country he reviled. The agony of that knowledge battered at Abigail’s already abused heart.

Emily had expressed the wish to be there when Abigail confronted Talorc with her knowledge of the truth.

Only Abigail wasn’t sure she had any intention of doing so. She had no desire to have him tell her to her face why he did not believe her worthy to know the truth. Nor did she want to risk Emily getting in trouble with the other Chrechte. No doubt Lachlan would protect her, after all Lachlan of the Balmoral loved his wife, but Abigail did not want to risk causing her sister even the slightest grief.

Emily had never done aught but protect and encourage her. She deserved the same in return.

The next day, Abigail left their “bed” before Talorc woke, having no desire to speak to her husband while her mind and emotions were in such turmoil.

She did not know if she could forgive him for withholding the sound of his voice from her when he had the power to gift her with it.

Her thoughts in a jumbled mess, she was not paying as close attention as usual traversing the narrow stairway. Her foot landed against the step, but something rolled under her shoe. Losing her footing, she tripped forward. She grabbed desperately for the wall, but the smooth stone did not give her purchase.

Terror gripped her. She was going to fall. Unable to stop her forward momentum, she did her best to throw her weight toward the wall, rather than the empty air, and tuck her head down. She wrapped her arms around it in hopes of preventing a fatal hit as she continued to try to halt her bumping tumble.

She screamed Talorc’s name in her head as she landed with a heavy thump at the bottom of the steps that caused her arms to flail involuntarily. Her head knocked against the wall and that was the last she knew.

Abigail awoke on the furs in her bedchamber to an insistent voice demanding her attention. Talorc was leaning over her, his expression fiercely concerned. Or so it seemed. She ignored the voice in her head, knowing it was him calling to her. She turned her head away.

He touched her ear, telling her he wanted to say something.

She refused to look at him. “I fell down the stairs.”

He tugged her chin, oh so gently, so she had to meet his gaze. “Do not worry. I am not angry for you walking down the steps alone.”

She did not need his assurances. “It was not my fault. There was something on the steps. It rolled under my shoes and I lost my footing.”

“Do not feel you have to make excuses.” Talorc shook his head. “Lachlan was right, though it pains me to admit it. The stairs are not safe for a family. I will have a rail installed.”

She ignored his reassurance for the important issue at hand. “There was something on the stairs. I felt it under my shoe.”

“There wasn’t. I found you moments after you fell and nothing was there.”

“You found me?”

“Osgard did at first, perhaps a second or two before me, and for all his bluster, he was most concerned.”

Talorc frowned and turned his head to glare at someone behind him.

Guaire returned his laird’s frown with equanimity. “Osgard has proven time and again that he does not accept our new lady. He knows of her habit to come down the stairs before anyone else in the morning. He is usually the first in the great hall. He could easily have put pebbles on the steps and cleaned them up before you arrived to discover your wife’s fallen body.”