embers. For the first time since Thunderheart had died, Faolan felt at peace, content.
I am happy,
Faolan thought.
I am truly happy.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
E SCAPE OF THE S HE- W OLVES
KATRIA’S DEN SEEMED SO TERRIBLY empty since Kyran had been killed. She had been a silly little wolf, but Katria could not believe her daughter meant any real harm. It was very tempting to blame Ingliss, her best friend, for Kyran’s character flaws. Ingliss had always dominated Kyran. But that wasn’t fair either. Ingliss’s mother, Pegeen, had been killed the year before in a mating dispute. Such disputes were not uncommon in the MacHeath clan. Some lord of higher rank took a fancy to a she-wolf and normally had to fight it out with the she-wolf’s mate. But this time, Ingliss’s mother had stepped into the fray to object and called the lord a stupid cur. Well, that was the end of her. Malan, the pursuing male, forgot Pegeen’s beauty and lashed out at her, ripping open her neck. As she was dying, Pegeen managed to bite him and draw blood.
It was from Pegeen that Ingliss got her spirit. Now, Katria thought Pegeen was lucky to have escaped the horror of knowing that her only daughter had been murdered. What kind of life was this?
Katria’s mate, Donaidh, entered the den. “Well, you made a spectacle of yourself at the
gadderheal,”
he snarled. Katria didn’t answer him. “Oh, you’re getting all sulky on me, are you?”
He advanced on her to give her a bite. After all, he had to keep up with his chieftain, who had drawn her blood back there in the
gadderheal.
But this time, Katria did not cower; she did not sink to her knees and commence the submission postures as she normally did. She stood up, shoved her ears forward, peeled her lips back, and growled. Donaidh was stunned.
“What are you doing?” he snarled.
Katria did not answer but took a step forward and continued growling.
“Well, let me tell you something! I’m going with the chieftain and Malan and Blyden and Fretta. Yes, you idiot she-wolf. I’m going after the cub and then you’ll see. I’ll be promoted. I might rise nearly as high as Malan.”
It was obvious to Katria that Donaidh had not seen the malicious look that Dunbar MacHeath had shot himin the
gadderheal.
Katria knew Donaidh was aiming to succeed Dunbar, but he was
not
Dunbar’s choice. She sensed that Donaidh might be walking right into one of Dunbar’s tricks. He had never before been invited to join a
slink melf
or any other special mission. They needed him for all the wrong reasons.
But Donaidh was musing now about his luck at being selected for this cubnapping mission. “We’ll see who is dominant in this den. Remember, Dunbar has no sons to succeed him as chieftain of the clan. His mate is too old. But I am not old, nor are you. You could be the mate of the next chieftain, the mother of one someday.”
Never,
Katria thought.
I shall never bring another pup into this clan.
But she cast her eyes down in a semblance of submission. “We’ll see,” she replied in a docile voice.
“I thought you would.”
Donaidh turned and ran out of the den to join Dunbar, Malan, Blyden, and the scout Fretta, who had tracked Edme to the river where she had played with the bear cubs.
As Katria watched Donaidh vanish from the entrance of the den, she knew the time had come. She must leave the MacHeath clan for good and seek refuge with the MacNamaras. She-wolves had tried in the past, but theyrarely succeeded — at least not in Katria’s lifetime. But now the chieftain, his highest lieutenant, her own mate, and two of the best scouts were heading out of the MacHeath territory to look for a bear cub. The time to go was now!
She would leave in broad daylight as if she were going to hunt for small prey — rodents or marmots. Her trail would take her north and east, toward a peninsula jutting out into the Hoolemere Sea.
Over the centuries, a secret language had evolved among the abused females of the