Page 39 of Moon Craving

A few minutes later, Talorc's attention was drawn to Abigail coming from the

cottage.

She wore a pale yellow blouse under his plaid. She looked worried, her lower lip

caught between her teeth and her gaze flitting from one person to another so quickly it

was like a butterfly lighting.

He put his hand out again and she seemed to relax a bit. She started walking

toward him with a faster gait.

Her mother went to grab her arm rather than let her pass.

Talorc let out a subvocal growl, and the only thing that saved the abusive witch

from his wolf was the MacDonald's wife slapping the Englishwoman's hand aside.

"No one touches a laird's wife without his permission," she spit out in heavily

accented English. The glare she gave the Englishwoman indicated she had seen

Abigail's bruises and either guessed their cause or had asked Abigail and learned the

truth.

"Sybil," the baron barked. "Come here, now."

"You would let him deny me my final good-bye to my daughter?" Lady Hamilton

asked with furiously offended dignity.

"If she touches what is mine, she dies," Talorc said in a tone that promised he

made no threats, only promises.

"I deny it," the baron said furiously. "You reneged your rights as her mother on too

many occasions to count. She is no longer your daughter. She is a Sinclair."

His willingness to marry such a viper put his wisdom in question, but Talorc thought

the Englishman might actually have some marginal intelligence after all.

"His king promised proof of the consummation," the woman shrieked. "How are we

to get that if he leaves with her now?"

"He can send the bloodied sheet by messenger."

"What if he doesn't?" She scooted around her husband and stood in front of Talorc.

"You promised your king. Are you a man of honor or not?"

Talorc's fury burned so bright, his wolf literally itched under his skin to get out and

tear out the bitch's throat. "You dare question my honor?"