Vegar shook his head. “English.”
“That is not a curse word, any more than Éan is one that should be spoken in that tone. Whatever you may wish otherwise, your mate and now wife is English.”
Vegar sighed. “I apologize.”
“What?”
“You heard.”
“You do not seem like a man who admits regret easily.”
“I am not.”
“So, I should feel privileged?”
“You are my mate.”
“And that gives me special privileges?”
“Aye.”
“I am still English.”
“You are Chrechte.”
“And a bastard.”
“Your father is the bastard, not you.”
“His parents were married.”
“His behavior toward your mother and the woman who carries his name decrees him such.”
“I always thought so,” Audrey admitted. “His wife was not an unkind woman. She treated Thomas and me better than our father did.”
“She is a woman of great character.”
“My mother did not think so.”
“That is to be expected.”
Audrey found herself smiling at something that had always before caused her pain. “Perhaps it is. Even if she had been his wife, I do not think my father would have known the first thing about tending another’s ailments, least of all my mother’s.”
The shrug was in his voice this time. “Warriors are trained to treat wounds as well as inflict them.”
“Are they?” She’d never heard of such a thing among the baron’s knights.
Though that was not a definitive circumstance. Their father had taken Thomas’s training very lightly. It had stopped almost completely when they were sent to serve in the Heronshire household.
Shona’s baron had made sure Thomas knew enough to protect his wife and the children only in a very rudimentary way.
“Aye.”
“Is it a Highlander tradition, do you think?”
He lifted one negligent shoulder, as if whether anyone outside the men he trained did as they did was of no importance. Probably, it wasn’t.
Unlike her, Vegar did not appear to be a man who would care overmuch for the opinions or accepted practices of others.
Vegar pulled his tunic off and she gasped as his torso was revealed. To be sure, his body was all that a woman could desire in both husband and mate.
Strong and well formed, but it was the evidence of the battle he’d so recently fought that drew forth her reaction. “You were so intent on treating my cuts, you have neglected your own.”
“You can treat them for me now.” He removed his kilt and approached the bed, his tumescent sex worrisome.
She nodded, his health more important than her worry or embarrassment. Holidng close with one hand the fur covering her nakedness, she sat up and reached for the wet cloth floating in a bowl of witch hazel–infused water Abigail had left behind.
Audrey now realized the lady had done so not so her own injuries could be treated again later, but so that Vegar’s wounds could be cleansed.
He sat beside her on the bedding in a way that made it easy for her to reach the majority of the small cuts and abrasions he’d sustained. “You are very tenderhearted.”
“Because I want to treat your wounds? You treated mine as well,” she reminded him. And had in fact, ignored his own to do so.
Again she was touched by the heart revealed in his actions despite his sometimes off-putting attitude and words.
“Because you allowed the laird to proclaim us man and wife rather than allow me to challenge him.”
“You were not being reasonable.”
“There is no reason when it comes to protecting one’s mate.”
“If you say so.” She reached out and touched him with the cloth, swiping at dried blood around one of his larger gashes. “None of these will need sewing.”
“I am Chrechte. I will heal quickly.”
“I know that, but I am still glad.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why?”
She did not understand the question. “I do not wish you to be in pain.”
“You see? Tenderhearted.”
“It is quite normal for a person to have compassion for others.” Did he not see it so?
“You are Faol. I am Éan.”
“You are my mate. Besides, I am not my mother. Whatever she believed, I cannot accept that others are less simply because they shift into a different animal, or do not shift at all.”
“You and Caelis’s lady are like sisters though you share no blood.”
“We are.”
“’Tis unusual among the Faol to be so close to a human.”
“Perhaps I would have believed that before coming here, but now I am certain the Fearghall are exceptions among our kind.”
“For the most part, but dinna be deceived, my beautiful mate, there are many Chrechte among the Éan and the Faol who believe themselves superior to humans. It is not only the Fearghall who believe the Faol are the strongest of the Chrechte and therefore superior. Do not be deceived about my people, either. Many believe we should remain apart and that we are better for the gifts we have been given through our own sacred stone beyond the ability to shift.”
“What gifts? What do you mean?”
“Each Éan is gifted with mystical talents during the ceremony of their first shift.”
“We do not have a ceremony for our first shift?” she asked, rather than said, because she was not sure.
“The Faol gave up many of their ceremonies over the centuries, but the Éan have always been the race with more mystical abilities.”
“Which makes some of you believe you are better than the Faol?”
“Aye.”
“And many of the English believe themselves better than the Scots.” This false sense of superiority seemed to be a universal problem among all of humanity.
His hazel eyes doubted her words. “You do not?”
“There is enough to occupy my mind and time without spending any of it worrying if I am in some way better than others.”
“Even a barbarian?”
Heat suffused her face. “I said that in anger.”
He nodded.
“You believe me?”
“We are Chrechte. I could smell a lie.”
Oh. Yes. It would take effort to grow accustomed to being around others of her kind besides her brother.
Which meant if he lied, she would smell it on him. “You are no longer disappointed to be mated to an Englishwoman?”
“No.” Only truth and sincerity infused his scent and his tone.
Inexplicable tears burned her eyes. She blinked them away. “That is good.”
He smiled, his handsome face even more compelling.
“You are very appealing in your looks.” Had she really said that?
Perhaps there had been something besides valerian root and chamomile in her tea.
His smile turned to a feral grin. “I’m glad you think so.”
“Do not be arrogant.”
“According to you, I have reason to be.”
“Annoying warrior.”
She went to rinse the cloth and wring it out, but it was an awkward task with only one hand.
He took the cloth from her and did it, handing it back to her when he was done. “Your touch, even in such an innocent fashion, evokes a strong reaction in me.”
Her gaze flitted to his very large manhood. “I noticed.”
He chuckled. “You are careful to look everywhere but there.”
“We are married, but we are not mated.”
He stilled, his expression turning almost frightening. “This is true.”
“I would prefer not to engage in certain…activities until after we are mated,” she said, her words speeding up until the final ones ran together.
“Why?” Had he even understood them?
“Neither my brother nor my dearest friend was there to witness our promises.” They’d barely spoken any. “I would have both by my side when I speak my Chrechte vows of mating.”