Chapter 10 | Cora

Chapter 10

Cora

C ora woke slowly, drawn from her sleep a bit at a time by the gentle notes of birdsong and pale early morning sunshine. The gleaming light spilled through gaps in the tent, warming her skin in patches. Somewhere nearby, men were talking, and their indistinct murmurs invaded her dream.

She didn’t want to wake up. All night long, she’d dreamed of soft, lazy kisses and the smooth slide of bodies moving against each other. Phantom hands and lips had caressed her body and brushed over sensitive skin. She’d writhed with nameless, faceless lovers, losing herself in the pleasure they gave as long as she could.

Something rustled nearby, chasing away the last vestiges of her dreams. She blinked, wincing at the morning sun in her eyes. Someone laughed behind her.

“Not much of an early riser, I see. We’ll have to fix that.”

Cora whirled to find the source of the voice. Cillian Fane stood near the bed, tying up the laces of his trousers. The events of the night before came rushing back, and she realized that the nameless, faceless lovers in her dreams hadn’t been so faceless at all. Her face flushed at the idea that she’d felt his long dark hair, rough beard, and talented fingers all over her body as she slept.

A cool breeze fluttered through the tent. Her nipples tightened in response, reminding her she’d fallen asleep last night completely naked. She scrambled for the blanket, pressing it to her chest as though it would undo what he’d already seen.

“Aw, come now, wife. Don’t be like that.”

Her mind stumbled over the word ‘wife’ like a stone. She was a wife now. She was Cillian Fane’s wife. The world felt upside down and inside out as she tried to make sense of her new reality. And Fane, damn him, didn’t seem bothered by it at all.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, eyes averted to anywhere but him.

“Yes, you do, lass. I know you do because we wolves have special mind-reading gifts once we’ve married. I can see all your thoughts.”

Cora’s eyes widened. He couldn’t be... There was no way he could...

“You... you... I don’t believe you!” she exclaimed. But she mentally screamed the worst curses she could think of—just in case.

Her husband— husband —grinned like a mischievous child. “Well, that’s good because it’s a lie. I don’t need to read your mind to tell what you’re thinking.”

She scowled, wishing for something large to throw at him. “Oh? What am I thinking, o wise husband?”

“Oh, I’d wager good money you’re cursing me to a life of knots in my tail and piss in my ale. Something evil like that. Am I right?”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Something like that.”

“Ah, so she can smile. I was beginning to worry.”

It occurred to Cora that their conversation might be easier if they were both clothed, so she scanned the floor for her dress. When it failed to materialize, she asked, “Where are my clothes, Master Fane?”

Fane snorted. “First off, there’ll be no more of that ‘Master Fane’ shite. We’re married, lass. I’ve seen your bare arse and a fair sight more than that. You’ll call me by my given name, aye?”

She wondered how long she could blush without it becoming permanent. “There’s no need to be vulgar, M—Cillian,” she said.

Cillian stalked toward her with a predatory smile. Cora scooted backwards, clutching the blanket to her chest. He followed her until her back hit the tent. She glanced around nervously, realizing there was nowhere else to go. Cillian leaned over her, pressing closer and closer until their noses touched. Cora held her breath, fear and anticipation warring for dominance in her heart.

“What if I like being vulgar with you?” he whispered.

She resisted the urge to shudder at the way his lips brushed hers when he spoke. “What if I’d like you to be vulgar with me ?”

The cool morning suddenly felt too warm. She was sure she must be red down to her toes. “I—” she stuttered, words failing her. “I don’t—”

Cillian sighed and stepped back. He adjusted the front of his trousers, fixing her with a look she couldn’t interpret. He glanced away and grabbed a shirt, tugging it over his head. When it became clear he didn’t intend to continue, she bent to search the floor beneath the large table.

Nothing.

When she looked up again, she found Cillian staring at her. “I meant what I said, you know.”

When she didn’t reply, he continued. “Last night. I won’t hurt you. Have no intention of forcing a woman into my bed.”

Cora nodded but stayed silent. Cillian opened his mouth as if to continue, then shook his head and crossed the room without a word. He lifted a bag from a large basket, and Cora’s heart skipped a beat when she recognized it as her mother’s. Only one person in the world would have sent it to her.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

Cillian shrugged dismissively as he handed it to her. “Some old hag who said she was close to you in the castle. Said she’d packed you a bag so you’d have something to start with.”

Cora opened it carefully, as though one wrong breath might send all of her possessions flying away.

Paper and quills, fresh and ready for use.

A dried bouquet of her favorite wildflowers to remind her of home.

An extra pair of shoes.

And last but not least, clothes . Her own clothes!

Cora wasn’t sure if God heard prayers to bless people for things like this, but it couldn’t hurt to try. It felt silly to cry over bits of fabric and paper, but she couldn’t stop the tears from coming. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”

Cillian was quiet for a long moment. Then a smile spread on his face, and he announced, “Get dressed, then. We’ve got things to do.”

“Like what?” she asked. She’d known her duties as the lord’s daughter. She knew them so well that she could have done them fast asleep. She had no idea what Cillian might expect from her.

Other women of her station would go into their marriage prepared to oversee a household or some sort of charitable work. Cillian and his men didn’t seem the types to bother with dusting the fixtures or polishing the sconces.

Cillian adjusted the gold pin securing the wolf skin on his shoulders and cinched his sword belt tighter around his waist. “Time for you to meet the lads, for starters. After that, we’d best find something to keep you busy here. My father always said a woman without a purpose would make it her purpose to be a pain in the arse. So, in following his wisdom, I suggest we find you a task.”

Every time she thought she might like him, he went and opened his mouth and ruined it.

“I’m assuming your father had a terrible marriage, then. Or a very patient wife?” she asked, turning away from him to dress.

“Oh, my mother was a saint, to be sure. I’ve never met a more fearless woman—and handy with a weapon to boot! My father thought the world of her. Worshiped the ground beneath her feet, he did.”

Cora lifted her head at his tone. “Did she die?”

Cillian shook his head. “No, she’s still alive and well. She still lives with my father’s clan. A hunt went bad a few winters back, and he caught the wrong end of a big buck. Bastard all but skewered him.”

“I—I’m sorry. My mother died of sickness when I was young.” She wasn’t sure why she told him. Camaraderie, perhaps? Evidence that they had at least one thing in common?

“Sorry, lass. I didn’t know.”

They fell into silence then. Cora wondered if he felt as out of sorts as she did. He’d seemed so much larger than life when she met him. Since then, he’d been a whirlwind of contradictions. She’d had a picture in her mind of what Cillian Fane the Wolf King would be like, and she’d expected him to be cold and hard. Cruel, even. She hadn’t expected a man who’d be patient with her on her wedding night or apologize for her mother’s death.

After they were both dressed, he led her outside. It was still early, but people were already busy. Some men banked fires, while others took on domestic tasks like washing and mending. Cillian led her toward a group of men seated on logs around the remains of last night’s fire. Cora noticed they each wore a wolf skin around their shoulders as Cillian did, with the same gold pin. They passed pieces of bread and strips of meat around, laughing and chatting amicably as they ate. Whatever she’d imagined of the wolf-men of Bran’s stories, she hadn’t expected them to seem so... normal.

The moment the men spotted them approaching, they erupted into loud cheers. Several stood, congratulating Cillian with a thump on the back. A few offered crude suggestions for their marital life, which Cora did her best to ignore.

Once they’d settled, Cillian wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. “ Deartháireacha , say hello to my wife, Cora. Cora, these are my brothers.”

Cora stared at the group of men in shock. “Brothers? What, all of them?”

Laughter rippled through the group, except for one man. He sat at the edge of the group and scowled into his drink. Cillian chuckled and said, “Not as you’d think it, no. The luchthonn live in family groups and raise their pups together. Blood or not, we are clan and pack. In all the ways that matter, we are brothers.” He thumped the scowling man on his back. “Even Eoin here, though he’d just as soon use us for rugs most days!”

Eoin’s scowl deepened. He shrugged Cillian’s hand away, baring his teeth in an animalistic snarl. The teasing laughter disappeared, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence. Some stared at Eoin in shock, while others cast worried glances toward Cillian.

Cillian’s cheerful demeanor disappeared, replaced by something cold and hard. He stared into Eoin’s eyes and held his gaze without so much as a blink. No one said a word, but even Cora understood the power play at hand. She’d seen shades of it over the years in soldiers and merchants around the castle. Anytime a fresh-faced recruit got too big for his drawers, éogan would put him soundly in his place. More than once, she’d watched her father intimidate a merchant set on cheating them out of money or resources.

This was more, somehow. Something about Cillian’s expression froze her in place. He’d treated her with such kindness that morning that she’d almost forgotten who and what he was. For the first time since she met him, he looked exactly like his moniker—a king, and a feral one at that. Truthfully, when she’d first approached him, she’d expected him to be this way—brutal and fearsome. But he hadn’t been, to her surprise, and she wasn’t sure why the sudden shift bothered her as much as it did.

It took only moments for Eoin to look away. He rose to his feet without a word and bowed stiffly to Cillian before stalking away.

“Ah, to be young and stupid again,” an older man in the group said, shaking his head. “I miss the days of having more balls than sense.”

The tension broke like a wave on the shore. With a few good-natured jabs about the man’s balls and lack of sense, the men resumed their conversations.

Cillian's expression remained cool and calculating as he watched the young man walk away before glancing down at her. “My apologies,” he said, gesturing toward a nearby log with a small smile. “A seat for you, My Lady?”

A few minutes later, it was as though the strange interaction had never happened. The men joked and jostled each other, passing food around the circle and introducing themselves one by one. Cora surprised herself by enjoying the easy camaraderie and did her best to push her curiosity aside.

It was easier said than done.