Chapter 14 | Cora

Chapter 14

Cora

C ora lifted her ladle to her mouth. She blew across it to cool the steaming stew before taking a bite. After the unexpected conversation with Cillian the day before, she’d wanted to do something kind for him. Cooking had never been one of her gifts, but a stew seemed easy enough. Seamus certainly hadn’t complained when she’d made good on her deal weeks back. The camp’s cook, a large, portly man called Artúr, had unknowingly given her the idea last night at dinner. He’d lamented the evening meal, complaining about the lack of meat in his stew. She’d enjoyed the vegetables just fine, but several of the men agreed, complaining that men needed meat to be strong. One had hooked a finger in his own mouth and pointed at his blunt teeth, claiming that a wolf’s teeth would fall out without enough meat. That several of his own teeth were missing seemed of little consequence to those who agreed with him.

Early this morning, she’d asked Seamus to trap some morning hares for her. He’d brought them to her only a few hours later, beaming with delight when she explained why she needed them. Thank heavens she had. She’d given no thought to how she was going to skin and clean the animals, but Seamus helped in exchange for a bowl of stew.

With Seamus’s rabbits and one of Artúr’s pots, Cora set to work. She’d spent enough time around the kitchens as a girl that she felt confident she could make something passable. At least, she didn’t think she’d poison anyone. Cora carefully sipped a spoonful after a moment. If anyone died because of her cooking, it ought to be her.

By mid-day, the stew bubbled continuously over the fire. Evidence of her struggle with her task littered the front of her dress. Blood from the rabbits, orange from the carrots, and green from the herbs she’d chopped all stained the fabric, but she didn’t care. The stew smelled wonderful and tasted even better. Once Cillian arrived for their mid-day meal, she’d be able to surprise him with something she’d made herself!

Last, Cora laid out spoons and bowls. She tied a wildflower to Cillian’s spoon and wondered if he’d find the gesture silly. After several minutes of back and forth with an imaginary Cillian, she left it. If he didn’t like the flower, maybe he’d overlook it in favor of the stew.

Cora stood and wiped the sweat from her forehead just as a group of men jogged past. She tried to catch a few words of their conversation, but they were gone too quickly. A commotion caught her attention as she bent to ladle stew into the bowls. The camp was always noisy, but not this much. She straightened, a bowl of stew in hand, and craned her neck to see what was happening.

A crowd approached their tent—men and women on horseback mixed with Cillian’s wildlings. Unlike the men in camp, the newcomers wore fine clothes made of good leather and sturdy cloth. If not for the wolf skins around their necks, she’d have thought them to be nobility.

At the head of the group, Cillian walked next to an old woman on a white horse. His expression was difficult to read from a distance, but he didn’t look pleased. The old woman sat atop her horse with all the regal bearing of a queen. That couldn’t be right—there were no queens in Ossory, and she knew of no queens from anywhere at all that might come to call on the luchthonn.

Cora was so distracted by the scene that she forgot herself. They approached Cillian’s tent—her tent—and stopped just a few yards from where she stood, bowl of stew still in hand. Cillian helped the woman dismount. For as old as she appeared, the woman slid to the ground with ease. They looked up, both noticing Cora at the same time. Cillian gave her a stiff smile, while the old woman’s expression might as well have been carved from ice.

“Ah, there you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Have you? I’ve been here. I didn’t know we were expecting guests.”

Cora set the bowl down and wiped her hands on her skirt. Suddenly, she was aware of just what she must look like to their visitors. Her hair sat in a frizzy mop atop her head, strands sticking to her forehead and cheeks after bending over the hot pot. Streaks of blood and vegetable juice stained her dress, and a thick glob of the stew clung to her sleeve where she’d spilled it.

The old woman looked Cora up and down with an unreadable expression. Whatever she saw, she didn’t seem impressed. Embarrassment burned under Cora’s skin. She patted her hair, desperately trying to tame it. It was no use. She’d meant to change her dress and fix her hair before Cillian arrived to eat, but she hadn’t had the chance.

Cillian cleared his throat, his expression still cool and stiff. “You’ve been hard at work today, love. Why don’t you grab a fresh frock, and we’ll join you inside when you’re ready?”

His tone was deceptively mild, but she’d spent enough time around him to notice the anger hiding just below the surface. Whoever the old woman and her companions were, her husband wasn’t happy to see them.

Cora nodded, mumbled a quick apology to their guests, and ducked into the tent. As she ran into the tent, she wondered if her stew would be ruined.

In her whole life, Cora had never cleaned herself so quickly. Thankfully, they had a bucket of fresh water in the tent for drinking, but Cora dunked a cloth in it and scrubbed her skin until it turned pink. There was no help for her hair without a decent wash, so she wove it into a thick braid to keep it contained. With a clean dress and fresh apron, she was as presentable as could be, given the circumstances. Her heart sank in her chest at the idea that it wouldn’t be enough. Had she embarrassed Cillian? Whoever those people were, they were clearly important. But what did they want?

Cora straightened their things as best she could in two minutes, then forced herself to walk back to the entrance. She thought of her mother and the way she’d made people feel welcome in her home. Despite her worries, Cora forced a smile and swept back the flap to their tent.

“My Lords and Ladies, please, come in! You are welcome in our home.”

She smiled at each of them as they walked into the tent without a sound. The old woman was the last, and she scrutinized Cora the way one might appraise a horse. Somewhere inside, something rankled.

Cillian followed behind her and took a moment to lean into her. With his hand in the middle of her back, he whispered, “Show them no fear, wife. All will be well.”

Easier said than done.

Cora followed the group inside and took her place by Cillian’s side. He had no throne or other seat that marked his place as leader, but he took his place at the head of his war table with confidence.

His voice echoed around the room. “Elders of Clann Abhaile , it’s an honor to have you in our home. To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Elders? Cora’s heart sank, and her stomach felt ready to revolt at a moment’s notice. What were the luchthonn elders doing here? Had anyone else known they were coming? Had Cillian known? It had to be bad. If Cillian’s expression was anything to go by, it was something awful.

An older man, hair speckled with gray, stepped forward, his disapproving eyes sweeping the room before he spoke. “The clan leaders have heard some disturbing rumors concerning you, Cillian Fáelad. So disturbing, in fact, that we came immediately to speak with you. Given the serious nature of this discussion, I would ask that only—” he paused, glancing at Cora, “necessary voices be present.”

“All necessary voices are present.”

Despite his deceptively mild tone, Cillian’s response put everyone in the room on edge. Cora knew her husband well enough to know he preferred to lead through loyalty rather than fear. It was the thing she admired about him most. He cared for his men, and despite their rough and often animalistic tendencies, he had their respect.

The only notable exception to that respect was Eoin, who slouched in the back against the wall. His eyes glittered with interest at the exchange, and a satisfied smile curled his lips. Cora’s suspicion that the elder’s visit was not by accident grew as she glanced back and forth between her husband and Eoin.

The man at the head of the table looked unrecognizable from the one she had come to know. His predator’s gaze swept over their visitors, and without saying a word, he gave the impression of a wolf being held back by a piece of string. She rarely saw the hard, frightening warrior she’d heard about in Bran’s stories, but she certainly saw him now.

The old woman Cillian had talked to outside stepped forward. The other elders fell silent, watching the woman closely. She didn’t seem as angry as some, but that didn’t mean she was on their side. The woman laid a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “We didn’t come all this way to fight, Bradán. Stand down. We’re only here to talk, aren’t we?”

The old man huffed angrily but dipped his head in acknowledgment. Cillian spread his arms and smiled. “Then, by all means. What rumors made you travel all this way? Is it the one about how my men and I turn into feral beasties during the full moon every month? I quite liked the poetry of that one, myself.”

It was clear by their expressions that the elders didn’t care for her husband’s humor. Cora forced herself to remain still and wait. She didn't know why he wanted her here, but he had a reason. She suspected they were there because of her, but until they’d all stop circling each other like... well, like wolves, she’d never know for sure.

The old man scoffed and said, “How can you jest at a time like this? After what you’ve done? Did you really believe that we would just—what—accept this farce?”

“What farce would that be, Elder? What have I done to vex you so? Last I knew, my pack brought a great deal of coin into your hands. Our blood and fangs have served you well, and you’ve never complained until now.”

The man looked straight at Cora, his anger almost tangible against her skin. Ordinarily, she would have been terrified. To have such ire directed at her should have had her knees knocking beneath her dress. But strangely, she was not afraid. Nervous, certainly. It was becoming quite clear that her presence bothered the elders, and it wasn’t hard to imagine why. But Cillian wanted her there. Cillian had said she was a necessary voice. His support and strength gave her strength, and rather than wilt beneath the man’s glare, Cora met it with one of her own.

“Begging your pardon, Sir,” she said, “Have I offended you somehow?”

The man’s lip curled in a sneer. “Your very presence offends me, human. You have stolen what was not yours to take.”

It was tempting to play the fool—to make him spell out what was clear to anyone in the room—but Cora resisted. “You speak of my marriage, I assume? I assure you, I didn’t steal him away like a maiden in the night. He went to the altar of his own accord, as did I.”

Nervous chuckles rippled through the room, but they disappeared at the man’s low growl. “It was a mistake!” he snapped. “Your husband had no right to enter a union—let alone such a perverse one as this—without consulting us!”

Cillian’s angry snarl quieted the crowd before Cora could answer. He leaned forward on the table, his teeth bared. His eyes flashed as he reached for the gold pin over his heart. “You’ll keep a civil tongue when you speak to my wife, Elder, or I’ll remove it myself.”

The old woman stepped between the two men. She raised her hands in a sign of peace while she cast disapproving glances at them both. “Cillian, that’s enough!” she barked. “You know better than to speak to an elder this way.”

Before Cillian could protest, she turned to the elder. “ You will remember we are guests in this camp. Cillian is the alpha here, and you will show him respect.”

A moment passed, then both men nodded in agreement. The old woman turned her attention to Cora. Again, she looked her up and down, an unreadable expression on her face. “Quite a lot of fuss over you, isn’t it? Do you even understand why?”

Under normal circumstances, Cora would be terrified. A small corner of her brain insisted that she should be terrified. But she wasn’t. She was furious.

“From what I can see, it’s because your elders are inexplicably threatened by short, human women.”

The corner of the woman’s mouth twitched but resettled a second later. She turned her attention to Cillian and said, “We received word that Cillian Fane, alpha of Clan Fáelad, had taken a wife. Imagine our surprise when none of the women of our clan knew anything about it?”

“Am I to send a message every time I take a piss, too?”

The woman arched a single imperious brow but otherwise seemed unmoved by Cillian’s comment. “You had to know how this would look, Cillian. A human woman? Married to the most well-known alpha of his generation without so much as a whisper to the other clans? You didn’t give the women of Clann Abhaile so much as a sniff when you visited last. There were many fine choices there.”

Something sharp and ugly writhed in her heart at the idea of Cillian married to one of those women. Warrior women. Women who could be wolves like him. She imagined him smiling at her—this other woman—and barely resisted the urge to growl.

Cillian glanced her way and smirked. “Cora made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

The old man spoke up again, still clearly upset. “What could she have possibly offered to make you go against your own kind? The luchthonn have never mixed with the humans before!”

Cillian’s sharp laugh echoed in the tent. “You were in a roaming pack yourself once, Elder. With all due respect, you’re telling me that no one ever enjoyed a visit to the local villages in all that time?”

The man sputtered and snarled. His reaction was all the answer that was needed. The old woman cleared her throat and gave the man a pointed look. “I think we can all agree that casual... encounters are not the same as lifelong bonding. But that’s neither here nor there. I too am curious about this offer.”

Cillian sighed in annoyance but explained the circumstances of their marriage. He described the situation in her father’s lands and the threat of Edwin’s invasion. His description of her arrival and offer differed somewhat from her own memory of the event. She noticed that he conveniently left out the part where he nearly frightened her to death.

The old woman listened, occasionally interrupting with a question. “I’m not sure I understand the benefit for you—for the luchthonn—in this agreement. What is it you hope to gain from this alliance with Ossory?”

Cillian gestured around the room and replied, “Look around you. Even with the madraí , our numbers grow smaller each year. Meanwhile, the humans multiply like fucking rabbits. When our elders were young, it didn’t matter that the luchthonn roamed in packs because there was enough room to go around. Now, it seems every piece belongs to some lord or another, and they’re just as likely to chase us off as they are to hire us. Those that only know rumors won’t let us near for fear the stories are true. Those that know the truth won’t let us near because they fear what they don’t understand. We need a home for the roaming packs—a place where our males are safe between their jobs. A place where there’s no risk of pitchforks and priests.”

He paused, then nodded toward Cora. “My mate is the daughter of Lord Fergus Kilkenny of Ossory. Our agreement came with the condition that he allow the luchthonn to settle here undisturbed. This land is ours forever. In exchange, he charged the luchthonn as Ossory’s solemn protectors. We’ll guard the borders and protect the people as though they’re our own for as long as we claim this land.”

The old woman nodded thoughtfully. She said nothing for several moments, then turned to the older man who’d been so outspoken. “A slightly better deal than he would have gotten by mating your girl, isn’t it?”

The man scowled but remained silent. Cora tried and failed to keep a self-righteous smile from her face. When it seemed everyone was waiting for someone else to speak, she stepped forward.

“I know that ours is not the usual union—for humans or luchthonn. Necessity, not love, was the foundation of the match. It has not been a... smooth transition. I have had much to learn about your people. But I’ve found happiness here, and I consider this pack my own. You may disagree with what we have done, but the fact is that you can’t change it. What’s done is done, and though I may not wear the wolf’s skin, I think you’ll find that I’m quite willing to fight for my home and my mate.”

The elders stared at her as though they hadn’t noticed her before. As though she hadn’t been real.

She was damn well real now, wasn’t she?

Cillian grinned from across the room, his eyes shining with pride. Heat flared, a tangible thing despite the distance between them. They hadn’t been intimate since their wedding night, but Cora hoped that would change soon.

It had to.

Cillian clapped his hands together and asked, “So, any other questions? Or can we all go back to minding our own bloody business?”

Most of the elders nodded and filed out of the tent. The old man said nothing, just bowed to them before making his way outside.

Finally, the tent was empty except for the old woman, Cillian, and Cora. When everyone was gone, she looked at them and smiled, the ice in her expression melting for the first time. “You never could resist a spectacle, could you, lad?” she asked.

Cillian shrugged and drew the woman in for a fond embrace. “I’m not the one who showed up at your house and questioned your sanity, am I?”

They laughed as Cora looked on, nonplussed. When Cillian noticed her expression, he smiled and reached out his hand. “Ah, I suppose some introductions are in order, aren’t they?” He gestured toward the woman with his other hand. “Cora, I’d like you to meet my mother, Aoife.”