Page 65 of The Wolf King

“Good. Now, come. There’s something I want to show you.”

***

The dark waters of the loch ripple. On the far side, there’s nothing but green craggy mountains. To our left, there’s a large forest.

The wind is gentle today. It whispers through my hair and carries the scent of peat and heather. Swords clang in the castle courtyard behind us, but we’re beyond the outer walls, and our spot is deserted. A few people looked in our direction when we passed by, but the dark cloak I found in the wardrobe hides the collar well enough.

I said that I’d wear it, I didn’t say I’d display it.

Callum and I sit on the damp grass. He pulls out a hunk of bread he stole from the kitchens and breaks it in two, passing me half.

I take a bite, then stretch out my legs, wincing at the ache that pervades.

“You’re still in pain from riding?” he asks, arching an eyebrow. “Ghealach, it’s been... what... four days?”

“We can’t all be big muscly Wolves like you.”

He laughs. “Aye. That may be true. Four days... Do all humans take this long to heal? Because if so... perhaps we won’t need the Heart of the Moon to beat you after all...”

There’s a teasing glint in his eye and I raise my chin. “You know, I may not be a big bloodthirsty warrior, but I’m sure there are things I can do better than you.”

“Oh aye? Like what?”

I shrug. “I have some skills in healing and apothecary.” I’d had to. I tended to my mother a lot as a child then developed an interest in it after she died. I always wondered if I could have saved her, if I’d just known the right combination of herbs. “And I do a lot of needlework, too, back home.”

He tears off a chunk of bread with his teeth and chews. “You like to sew?”

“I wasn’t allowed to do much else. I was ill for a lot of my childhood. And my father would never let me go out and do the fun things the other children were allowed to do.” I shrug. “It wasn’t appropriate for my station. So I found my own ways to pass the time.”

“What kinds of things do you like to sew?”

“Dresses, mostly. I love fashion.” I swallow. “And my mother taught me how to embroider. I liked to create the scenes she would tell me in her stories as a child. I would pretend I was living in them.” I shake my head. “It’s silly, really.”

“No,” he says. “It doesn’t sound silly at all. What else do you like to do?”

“Well... I like to read, I suppose.”

“Another thing you’re probably better at than me.” Callum rests his arms on his raised knees as he looks out onto the water.

“You can’t read?”

“I can. Not well. My mother taught me when I was a wee lad, but my father never thought it was important. He—”

Callum stiffens, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. We both look over our shoulders.

Blake leans against the outer wall of the castle around three hundred feet behind us. He’s speaking to a girl who is carrying a dead pheasant, but his eyes are on me. His gaze drops to my neck, and the corner of his lip quirks.

“Blake,” growls Callum. “What does he want?”

When the girl leaves, Blake walks toward us with his hands in the pockets of his breeches.

Halfway across the grassy expanse, he halts.

Callum sniffs the air, then jumps to his feet.

The two of them turn their heads toward the hill on the other side of the castle.

“What is it?” I ask, alarmed, as I get up.

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