Page 103 of Moon Craving

"It would seem that is a good thing," she replied and took a delicate bite of the

roasted rabbit.

When Talorc did naught but give Niall a halfhearted glare and a shake of his head,

Circin frowned much more fiercely. "You accept such an insult from your warrior?"

"Niall did not insult me, nor did my wife." He looked at Abigail, who was definitely

smirking now. "Did you?"

"Nay, my laird. I would never do so."

Circin looked wholly unconvinced. "But--"

"In fact, I have full confidence that my wife will readily promise to eat only that

which I proved for the next week."

"Certainly," Abigail said promptly.

Only then did the Donegal youth catch on. "You were teasing your laird."

An almost silent giggle issued from her throat. "Yes."

"No one teases the Donegal laird."

"Not even his wife?" Abigail asked.

"Our lady died ten years ago."

"That explains it. He's probably still grieving," Abigail said, clearly tongue in cheek.

The young soldier nodded quite seriously. "Aye. That he is. The biggest part of his

heart died with her. They were true mates."

"It is good for a husband and wife to be friends," Abigail observed, clearly

mistaking the meaning of the word mates.

Circin gave Abigail a confused look that went right past her as she studied Talorc's

face. He stared back.

"Do you agree?" she asked, a wistful expression on her pretty oval features.

"'Twould be enough to wish not to be enemies," was all he was willing to concede.

How could he be friends with a woman born and raised Sassenach? He would

never have a true mate now that he had accepted her into his bed. He would not be able

to father children, for a Chrechte could not have offspring with a human unless a true

mate bond existed. He, who believed strongly in preserving the Chrechte, would not be

able to pass his own wolf nature on to the next generation.