Compromising Positions Read Online Free PDF Page B

stood, hand on the hilt of his sword, at the ready. His cheeks reddened slightly while Sibyl sung the man’s praises as if he were the second coming of the human’s worshipful Christ, and Kirstin tried to fight her desire to separate the woman’s yapping head from her little body.
    “It’s been me pleasure, Sibyl,” Donal muttered, clearing in his throat. “The least I could do fer ye...”
    “Well, he rescued me from a trap.” Kirstin’s voice was much more strident than she meant it to be, and she stood there, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling her face growing red. “I mean, he... I...”
    “Oh, Kirstin, no...” Sibyl gasped at the thought. “The same one Laina was trapped in?”
    “Nay, t’was a net.” Donal frowned. Kirstin knew Laina had been trapped in a cage, a message left in her blood for the wulvers to find after she’d been taken to Castle MacFalon. “Should’ve been disarmed. But we’ll have help with that in the morning. King Henry’s sent his royal huntsman to ensure all the wulver traps are taken out of the MacFalon woods.”
    “Oh, that’s wonderful news.” Sibyl perked up at that, eyes bright. “Does that mean... King Henry intends to honor the wolf pact then?”
    “Aye.” Donal gave a satisfied nod. “I expect the wulver messenger Raife dispatched will return with similar news. But Kirstin and I—we met Lord Eldred Lothienne and his captains in the woods. They were already working on disarming the traps.”
    “I ran into an armed one,” Kirstin said wryly.
    “Are you all right?” Sibyl asked.
    “Donal saved me,” Kirstin reminded her, taking far too much pleasure in saying it, and enjoying the way Donal smiled in response. Kirstin approached the bed, putting the back of her hand to Darrow’s forehead. No fever—that was a good sign. “Where’s Laina? I would’ve thought she wouldn’t leave ’is side.”
    “I sent her to fetch some bread and soup for our wounded warrior.” Sibyl sighed. “Every time he sees her, he wants to get up, and he’s going to pull out all the stitching I did.”
    “So ye did stitch ’im up then?” Kirstin lifted the dressing to look. Sibyl was a fine healer, for a human, and had done a good job with needle and thread. The wulver in him had done a great deal of healing already, Kirstin noted—although she was shocked by how bloody the wound still was. It must have been very serious, quite deep. Wulvers healed from the inside out. Superficial wounds could heal within hours, sometimes minutes.
    “Yes, I think we have him well in hand,” Sibyl agreed, watching Kirstin’s hands moving over Darrow’s body, checking him for other injuries. She didn’t feel anything broken or out of place. “It’s just keeping his pain controlled—and keeping him in bed—that we have to deal with until he’s well enough to come home.”
    “Home...” Kirstin smiled at Sibyl’s choice of words.
    The Englishwoman had run away from this castle, away from the cruel Alistair MacFalon, her betrothed, and had ended up in the wulver’s den. Sibyl had spent months falling deeply, madly in love with Raife, the wulver pack leader. Kirstin had watched it happen, had been heart-glad of it. Raife sorely needed a mate, and while many of the wulver women had hoped to be marked by him, he’d never taken to any of them.
    Until Sibyl came along. Not a wulver—not even a Scot! An Englishwoman. A shasennach. But Raife loved her, and she loved him. Sibyl had been so changed. She no longer wore English gowns—even her English accent had begun to fade. And she now thought of a wulver den as her home!
    “It’ll be good t’have t’pack together again.” Kirstin agreed, seeing Donal’s brow knit at her words. It was a phrase that should have instantly filled her with peace and calm, but she, too, felt a strange new tug at her heart she didn’t quite understand at her own words.
    “Kirstin... you should know...” Sibyl glanced at Donal, biting her lip,