Compromising Positions Read Free

his head.
    Lord Eldred shouldered Donal aside as two more loosed arrows hit the tree across the way, answering the first, these from the man’s captains, still hidden somewhere in the wood.
    “It appears the mongrels have given a parting shot before running off into the forest.” Lord Eldred frowned into the woods, where the poachers had retreated. “Shall my captains and I pursue?”
    “Nay, if they’re local, they’ll know these woods well—and they’ll be as invisible as the fey folk a’fore ye run ’em down.” Donal looked at the other man, head tilted, eyes narrowing slightly. “Ye marked ’em a’fore they were even in position. And ye weren’t due t’visit ’til the morrow, but ye’re in the MacFalon woods. Scouting, mayhaps? The tales of yer skill in the wild haven’t been overtold, Lord Eldred Lothienne.”
    “Nor have the tales of your courage and generosity been overtold, Donal MacFalon,” the Englishman replied with a smile, clapping the other man on the back. “It would appear that King Henry was correct in his assessment. You are as forthright as your brother was treacherous. It’ll be a burden lifted to carry that message back to the King. I’d wager my finest bow that you won’t be threatening the peace agreed upon with the wulvers.”
    “Ye can wager yer life on that.” Donal glanced up at Kirstin, still stuck in the net. She was panting lightly, waiting patiently for the men to free her, trusting Donal at his word. Not that she had much choice, given the circumstances. The Scotsman grabbed the end of the rope he’d left dangling, unhitching it with a sharp tug, and Kirstin felt the net begin to move.
    Her heart raced, and the closer she got to the ground, the more the fur on the back of her neck stood up. Her instinct told her to run. Or fight. And she had to force herself to stay still in the net.
    “All of these wulver traps shoulda been disarmed.” Donal frowned as he slowly lowered Kirstin toward the forest floor. She tensed, seeing the Englishman fully for the first time. He was an older man—a good ten, maybe fifteen, years older than Donal, at least—with a thick, dark beard shot with streaks of gray and salt and pepper hair. His dark eyes missed nothing, and his gaze settled on her and stayed there, making her hackles rise further. “I do’na know if they missed this one, or mayhaps someone’s re-arming them. ’T’will be quite a job for ye and yer captains t’undertake, I’m afeared.”
    “King Henry has entrusted it to me, and it will be done.” Lord Eldred squatted near the net, not touching her, but his gaze moved over her in wolf form as if cataloging her. Kirstin shuddered, feeling a growl building in her throat.
    “What’s free is what’s good, and what’s good is what’s free.” Donal unsheathed his dirk and began cutting the net apart.
    “You plan to just let her go?” Lord Eldred asked, craggy eyebrows rising in surprise. “In that form?”
    “She’ll change and come back,” Donal assured him, working more of the net free. “Won’t ye, lass?”
    Kirstin just looked at him, feeling his hands moving in her fur, soft, tender, as he worked to free her.
    “You trust a wulver?” Eldred Lothienne stood, taking a step back as Kirstin lifted her head to look at him.
    “Aye. She’s not a wulver warrior.” Donal snorted, shaking his head, unwrapping part of the net from her hind leg. “She’s a female, here to see to her wounded kin.”
    Kirstin blinked at him in surprise, at how much the man had deduced when she hadn’t yet said a word to him.
    “Ye go make yerself decent, lass,” Donal told her softly, freeing her up from the last of the net. Her body shook with the effort it took her to stay still. “And I’ll take ye back wit’ me to Castle MacFalon t’see yer kin. Ye ken?”
    She gave a low whine, but her gaze was on the Englishman, not the Scot. It was the former she didn’t trust, although she had no idea why not.
    “I’ll