Page 30 of A Wolf's Bargain

“Ah, there you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Have you? I’ve been here. I didn’t know we were expecting guests.”

Cora set the bowl down and wiped her hands on her skirt. Suddenly, she was aware of just what she must look like to their visitors. Her hair sat in a frizzy mop atop her head, strands sticking to her forehead and cheeks after bending over the hot pot. Streaks of blood and vegetable juice stained her dress, and a thick glob of the stew clung to her sleeve where she’d spilled it.

The old woman looked Cora up and down with an unreadable expression. Whatever she saw, she didn’t seem impressed. Embarrassment burned under Cora’s skin. She patted her hair, desperately trying to tame it. It was no use. She’d meant to change her dress and fix her hair before Cillian arrived to eat, but she hadn’t had the chance.

Cillian cleared his throat, his expression still cool and stiff. “You’ve been hard at work today, love. Why don’t you grab a fresh frock, and we’ll join you inside when you’re ready?”

His tone was deceptively mild, but she’d spent enough time around him to notice the anger hiding just below the surface. Whoever the old woman and her companions were, her husband wasn’t happy to see them.

Cora nodded, mumbled a quick apology to their guests, and ducked into the tent. As she ran into the tent, she wondered if her stew would be ruined.

In her whole life, Cora had never cleaned herself so quickly. Thankfully, they had a bucket of fresh water in the tent fordrinking, but Cora dunked a cloth in it and scrubbed her skin until it turned pink. There was no help for her hair without a decent wash, so she wove it into a thick braid to keep it contained. With a clean dress and fresh apron, she was as presentable as could be, given the circumstances. Her heart sank in her chest at the idea that it wouldn’t be enough. Had she embarrassed Cillian? Whoever those people were, they were clearly important. But what did they want?

Cora straightened their things as best she could in two minutes, then forced herself to walk back to the entrance. She thought of her mother and the way she’d made people feel welcome in her home. Despite her worries, Cora forced a smile and swept back the flap to their tent.

“My Lords and Ladies, please, come in! You are welcome in our home.”

She smiled at each of them as they walked into the tent without a sound. The old woman was the last, and she scrutinized Cora the way one might appraise a horse. Somewhere inside, something rankled.

Cillian followed behind her and took a moment to lean into her. With his hand in the middle of her back, he whispered, “Show them no fear, wife. All will be well.”

Easier said than done.

Cora followed the group inside and took her place by Cillian’s side. He had no throne or other seat that marked his place as leader, but he took his place at the head of his war table with confidence.

His voice echoed around the room. “Elders ofClann Abhaile, it’s an honor to have you in our home. To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Elders? Cora’s heart sank, and her stomach felt ready to revolt at a moment’s notice. What were the luchthonn elders doing here? Had anyone else known they were coming? HadCillian known? It had to be bad. If Cillian’s expression was anything to go by, it was something awful.

An older man, hair speckled with gray, stepped forward, his disapproving eyes sweeping the room before he spoke. “The clan leaders have heard some disturbing rumors concerning you, Cillian Fáelad. So disturbing, in fact, that we came immediately to speak with you. Given the serious nature of this discussion, I would ask that only—” he paused, glancing at Cora, “necessary voices be present.”

“All necessary voicesarepresent.”

Despite his deceptively mild tone, Cillian’s response put everyone in the room on edge. Cora knew her husband well enough to know he preferred to lead through loyalty rather than fear. It was the thing she admired about him most. He cared for his men, and despite their rough and often animalistic tendencies, he had their respect.

The only notable exception to that respect was Eoin, who slouched in the back against the wall. His eyes glittered with interest at the exchange, and a satisfied smile curled his lips. Cora’s suspicion that the elder’s visit was not by accident grew as she glanced back and forth between her husband and Eoin.

The man at the head of the table looked unrecognizable from the one she had come to know. His predator’s gaze swept over their visitors, and without saying a word, he gave the impression of a wolf being held back by a piece of string. She rarely saw the hard, frightening warrior she’d heard about in Bran’s stories, but she certainly saw him now.

The old woman Cillian had talked to outside stepped forward. The other elders fell silent, watching the woman closely. She didn’t seem as angry as some, but that didn’t mean she was on their side. The woman laid a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “We didn’t come all this way to fight, Bradán. Stand down. We’re only here to talk, aren’t we?”

The old man huffed angrily but dipped his head in acknowledgment. Cillian spread his arms and smiled. “Then, by all means. What rumors made you travel all this way? Is it the one about how my men and I turn into feral beasties during the full moon every month? I quite liked the poetry of that one, myself.”

It was clear by their expressions that the elders didn’t care for her husband’s humor. Cora forced herself to remain still and wait. She didn't know why he wanted her here, but he had a reason. She suspected they were there because of her, but until they’d all stop circling each other like... well, like wolves, she’d never know for sure.

The old man scoffed and said, “How can you jest at a time like this? After what you’ve done? Did you really believe that we would just—what—accept this farce?”

“What farce would that be, Elder? What have I done to vex you so? Last I knew, my pack brought a great deal of coin into your hands. Our blood and fangs have served you well, and you’ve never complained until now.”

The man looked straight at Cora, his anger almost tangible against her skin. Ordinarily, she would have been terrified. To have such ire directed at her should have had her knees knocking beneath her dress. But strangely, she was not afraid. Nervous, certainly. It was becoming quite clear that her presence bothered the elders, and it wasn’t hard to imagine why. But Cillian wanted her there. Cillian had said she was a necessary voice. His support and strength gave her strength, and rather than wilt beneath the man’s glare, Cora met it with one of her own.

“Begging your pardon, Sir,” she said, “Have I offended you somehow?”

The man’s lip curled in a sneer. “Your very presence offends me, human. You have stolen what was not yours to take.”

It was tempting to play the fool—to make him spell out what was clear to anyone in the room—but Cora resisted. “You speak of my marriage, I assume? I assure you, I didn’t steal him away like a maiden in the night. He went to the altar of his own accord, as did I.”