Children of the Moon 04 - Dragon's Moon

deception an art was unthinkable.
    “S he fought the mating then?” Lachlan asked Eirik, amusement clear in his tone.
    The older man had not been amused when they began their discussion, but after Eirik told Lachlan that he and Ciara had spoken their mating vows despite her earlier protests, the powerful laird relaxed.
    “Aye. She did not want a mate.” Eirik was fairly certain she still didn’t.
    “Talorc has said as much.”
    Eirik was not surprised to find out that the two lairds had discussed Ciara. Both cared for her, one as father, the other as uncle. And the two men were much better friends than appearances might imply.
    “Nevertheless, she spoke her vows with conviction.” He had no intention of sharing the amazing Chrechte magic that had attended their mating though. “We are well matched.”
    “Talorc must agree or he would not have allowed her to accompany you on this quest without coming himself, or at the least sending Niall along.”
    Eirik considered the Balmoral’s words and frowned. The sneaky Sinclair alpha wolf had known all along Ciara was his mate. “She could not do better than a dragon for her protector.”
    “Even the most powerful Chrechte would make a poor mate for a man’s daughter, if he was not also a good man.”
    It was an unlooked-for compliment and Eirik gave it the silent recognition it deserved. “You will send a messenger to inform Talorc of the mating?”
    “Aye, that and the wedding.”
    Eirik didn’t ask, “What wedding?” He was no idiot. But he did warn his mate’s uncle, “She’ll balk.”
    “I’ve a way with reluctant brides.” Lachlan grinned.
    Thinking of what he had heard of the other man’s own nuptials and that of his second-in-command, Eirik had to agree. The Balmoral knew how to handle a reluctant bride.
    The laird proved himself as adept with a recalcitrant female as Eirik suspected a couple of hours later, when they found the women chatting in the solar after brief visits with the Éan that lived near or at the castle itself.
    The Balmoral had announced the wedding was to take place before Ciara and Eirik could leave to find the elder, Boisin.
    “What wedding?” Ciara asked, proving she was willing to play dumber than she was.
    “The wedding between you and Eirik, lass.”
    “But, Laird Lachlan—”
    “’Tis Uncle Lachlan and well you know it.”
    “Uncle Lachlan,” she said, drawing the name out with more sarcasm than a warrior would dare use on the commanding laird. “There is not going to be any wedding.”
    “Of course there is, lass. The priest is here now to perform the rite.”
    And indeed the human man had just entered the solar at a near run. He stopped in front of the Balmoral. “I was told there was an urgent matter for your family that needed my attention.”
    “Aye.” The laird indicated Ciara and Eirik with a sweep of his arm. “These two are to be wed.”
    “Now?” To his credit, the priest did not sound all that shocked by the demand of his laird, but obviously needing clarification.
    There was no give in the Balmoral’s expression. “Aye, now.”
    “No, not now,” Ciara inserted.
    Her uncle turned to face her. “You would shame your parents, my own sister and brother by marriage by refusing to follow your mating with a proper wedding?”
    Instead of answering him, Ciara spun to face Eirik. “You tattletale. Our mating is not a piece of gossip for two warriors to chew on.”
    “Would you rather he believed I took your innocence without the benefit of our Chrechte vows?”
    Ciara’s mouth opened and closed and opened again. “You did not have to tell him anything.”
    “I can respect your obstinacy; ’tis almost charming. But do not play the role of fool. Your uncle was aware of what had transpired between us from the moment we arrived in the keep.”
    “And whose fault is that?” she demanded with a glare.
    “I am not sure, Ciara. I thought we shared equal blame. Are you claiming we do not?”
    “You are saying the Éan prince forced his attentions on you?” the Balmoral asked with dangerous quiet.
    All color drained from Ciara’s face as she gasped. “That is not what I said at all.”
    “So, it was mutual?” the Balmoral pressed.
    Blood surged back into Ciara’s cheeks and she turned her scowl on her uncle. “Yes,” she ground out.
    “Then the wedding will commence.”
    “No, wait. I…we can’t get married without my father’s approval.”
    “He gave approval to the mating when