Page 15 of A Wolf's Bargain

Fane rolled his eyes and lazily gestured toward her. “Christ, Fergus, she already knows. No need to play stupid for her sake.”

Her father’s eyes widened as his calm demeanor disappeared in an instant. “How? What did you do to her?”

“I let her walk into my camp and then out again. More than I usually grant people who show up without manners or sense.”

Her indignant huff seemed to amuse him. Cora fought the urge to pull her dagger and stab him in his smirking face, allowing herself to imagine the satisfaction she’d feel as he tried to fend her off.

Her father grabbed her shoulder, shaking her roughly. “Tell me what he did, lass. Did he hurt you? How did you see...the beast?”

Her murderous thoughts came to a screeching halt at her father’s question. “He... after I’d made my offer. He asked me what I knew of him, and I told him the stories I’d heard from others. He showed me—quite clearly—that they were not simply stories.”

“Did he harm you, lass? Did the beast harm you?”

“No. He showed me his true form, and I...I didn’t take it well.” Fane’s snort annoyed her, but she ignored him just as he’d ignored her. “But no, he didn’t harm me. I was taken somewhere safe to rest, and by morning, I was well again.”

Her father was silent for several minutes. When he spoke again, it was with barely restrained hostility. “Your word that she’ll be safe and treated well?”

Fane straightened, his serious expression mirroring her father’s. “Aye, Fergus. She’ll be safe. Won’t have a castle and all that anymore, but she’ll be cared for.”

Her father nodded, and Cora’s stomach sank with every second that passed. Somewhere in her heart, she’d hoped that her father would refuse. She’d gone to Fane of her own will, but after seeing the monster that hid below his skin, she’d held onto a small, selfish bit of hope that she could take it all back.

But she couldn’t. And with that realization, any argument or protest she might have made slipped through her fingers like sand. One look at her father told her what he’d do. He was the lord of the lands. It was his responsibility to care for all itspeople. And if he could do that—not just now, but anytime—in exchange for a bit of land and a lowly daughter? All the better.

She wasn’t surprised when he met her eyes, the anguish and regret back in place. “Cora, you know what you must do. What is needed. Can you forgive me, lass?”

No.

Yes.

Before she’d gone off and tried to save the day, she might have blamed him for using her marriage to meet his ends. But she’d done this to herself. She’d never forgiveherself. She’d be old and on her deathbed, still cursing the day she rode into Cillian Fane’s camp.

Fane stepped forward, a large hand extended in front of him. “So, do we have an agreement, Fergus?”

Her father stared at the hand for several long moments before he placed his hand in Fane’s. “Aye,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “We do.”

Chapter 8

Cora

As a little girl, Cora had imagined her wedding. Most girls did, after all. But it had always felt a bit like a dream—something too far off to concern her much at the time. Even when she’d grown old enough to understand the power of a marriage contract, she’d avoided the thought of it. They were at peace. Their lands were prosperous, and their people were content. As far as she knew, there was no need to marry her off, so she simply didn’t worry about it.

There was no ignoring it now. Not with Deirdre pinning her into her mother’s wedding dress. Deirdre had been her mother’s attendant first, but when she’d passed, the cheery, matronly woman had stayed on to help raise Cora. Cora had never kept secrets from Deirdre before. She’d gone to her for everything, from her first kiss and heartbreak to her first monthly cycle. Deirdre’s silence and furrowed brows as she pinned Cora’s dress in place hurt just as much as her father’s anger. She’d hurt them both, and they’d both shown their grief in their own way.

In Deirdre’s eyes, Cora had all but sold her life to a devil. The older, superstitious woman believed Cora had likely written her own death warrant. And what was worse, she’d done it all in secret. She’d said nothing to anyone before running off and offering herself as the sacrificial lamb for her people.

“Stop that wriggling, My Lady, or I’ll stick you well.”

The pins in her mouth muffled Deirdre’s words, and it eased some of the tension in Cora’s heart. It had been a common threat when she’d been young and unable to keep still. Several times, Deirdre had made good on the threat and pricked her sharply.

“My apologies,seanbhean.”

If she hadn’t been watching Deirdre’s face, she would have missed the slight, betraying twitch of her dear friend’s lips. “Watch your tone, Lady, or this old woman’s hands might shake uncontrollably and prick your arse. Old age, you know. Can’t be helped.”

They shared a moment of laughter before it faded away like a sweet summer breeze gone too soon. Deirdre returned to her work, and Cora stared out the window. The room went quiet until Cora whispered, “Do you hate me terribly?”

Deirdre sighed, her hands dropping away from the hem she’d been pinning. When she spoke, she sounded every inch the old woman that she was. “Ah,A stór, I could never hate you. My heart aches for you, child, and for what you’ll face. I wish for anyone else to take your place in this wolf’s den. I love you as my own, Lady. How could I hate you? I only... I only wish you would have told me. That you wouldn’t have had to bear this burden on your own.”

Tears blurred Cora’s vision, and she blinked until they fell down her cheeks unhindered. “I had to, Deirdre. It was... it was the only way.”