Highland Wolf Pact Read Free Page B

might have dreamed about and planned their wedding day, but Sibyl Blackthorne wasn’t every girl. She reached out to take the reins of her horse from his hands. He was surprised, and this gave her the advantage. She had her horse five steps away from his before he could even respond. “So I hear we’re not hunting for boar?”
    She said this last to change the subject and mitigate the sting of her actions. Alistair straightened on his horse, looking coolly down at her. He didn’t like what she’d done, that much was clear. She was going to have to do more to make up for it.
    “I heard the men talking about wulvers,” she said innocently, actually batting her eyelashes at him. She’d seen Rose do this with one of her guardsmen and had practiced it herself in a looking glass when no one was around. She felt ridiculous doing it, but she’d had a feeling it would come in handy. She was right. “We don’t have those in England. Are they like badgers?”
    The men, who had been watching the whole encounter, couldn’t help their laughter. Even Alistair reluctantly smiled, that same smile that never reached his cool, gray eyes, and gave a little chuckle at her ladylike misunderstanding.
    “Wolves,” Alistair corrected her with that same condescending smile.
    “Wulvers are wolves?” She blinked at him in surprise. “So wulver—that’s Scottish, er, Gaelic, for wolves?”
    She was surprised to hear it, as she’d never been on a hunt for wolves. Her father had told her, when he was a boy, wolves were one of the five “royal beasts of the chase,” but their numbers had dwindled over the years until they were almost nonexistent in England.
    “Nuh, m’lady.” Alistair’s brother, Donal, pulled his horse up beside hers. She was now sandwiched between the two MacFalon brothers. “Not jus’ any ol’ wolves. Wulvers is a whole other animal.”
    “What do you mean?” She cocked her head at Donal, frowning. “What kind of wolves are they?”
    “They’s not really wolves at all, ya ken?” Donal’s blue eyes glittered, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
    “No.” She shook her head, knowing he was somehow putting her on, but not quite understanding how. “I most definitely do not ‘ken.’”
    “They’s wolves that turn into men.” Donal leaned forward on his saddle to whisper this loudly. The rest of his men were watching her reaction, all of them smiling. “And men that turn into wolves. Wulvers—ya ken?”
    “Do’na scare the poor girl t’death.” Alistair chastised his brother when Sibyl didn’t respond to his stage-whispers. “She’ll run back t’her room and hide on ye.”
    “I will not.” Sibyl’s spine straightened instantly, which wasn’t easy to do in a side-saddle. For some reason, side-saddles always made her want to slump, an offense her mother often chastised her for. “I’m not afraid of wolves. Or… wulvers.”
    “Aye, she’s a brave lass.” Donal straightened in his saddle, laughing. “Might wanna give’er a bow, brother.”
    “She hasn’t seen a wulver yet,” Alistair countered, steering his horse closer to Sibyl’s. “I’ll keep ye safe, lass. No need for ye t’worry.”
    “Thank you.” Sibyl nodded, giving him an obligatory smile. “But I really would like to have a bow. Would that be possible?”
    She looked between the two men and saw Donal trying to hide a smile. He clearly understood his brother’s desire to have a dainty, feminine English companion, and just how far Sibyl actually fell from that mark.
    “Your brother tells me that Scots women ride astride and carry bows in a hunt,” she said, hoping she wasn’t getting Donal into too much trouble by repeating his words. Alistair gave his brother a long, cold look.
    “But ye’re English, m’lady,” her betrothed reminded her in his Scottish brogue. “Mayhaps—”
    “But shouldn’t I learn your ways?” She decided to try batting her eyelashes again. It seemed to have an effect on