if they had it.â
âOur ancient coming-of-age ceremonies were violent, filled with a sexual aspect the modern clansmen would not find so easy to stomach, I think. Perhaps we gave up the stone when we gave up our ceremonies.â
âPerhaps. Or mayhap MacAlpin stole the stone like he stole the throne of Scotland from his relatives.â
It was as plausible a supposition as any Galen had put forth, Ciara supposed. âSome Faol believe it was stolen by the Ãan and that they hid it but have forgotten over the centuries where.â
âFaol like Wirp and Luag, you mean.â
Feeling chastised though Lais had not actually said anything against her, Ciara nodded. âAye, men like that.â
âMore like there never was a sacred stone for the wolves. What need would such powerful shifters have for extra gifts?â
The
Faolchú Chridhe
existed, but she wasnât going to tell Lais so. Then she would have to explain how she knew and she was not ready yet to share that secret. When she did, she was determined to do so with the man who called her daughter.
âTwould only be right.
E irik spun and kicked out, connecting solidly with the Sinclairâs thigh.
The Chrechte laird stumbled but did not go down. âYouâll teach that move to our soldiers.â
âNaturally.â
They spent each morning in mock combat with one another before training the Sinclair soldiers (human, Faol and Ãan) together. Eirik had discovered the predatorâs approach to fighting different than that of the raven. Both were effective, but together were devastating to their foe.
As even the most elite soldiers realized when they faced either their laird or the Ãan prince in mock battle.
âCiara has changed since you arrived.â The Sinclairâs fist connected with Eirikâs left shoulder.
Eirik went with it, lifting his right arm to block the next blow, but his movements were near as disjointed as his thoughts. He did his best to hide the temporary effect the lairdâs words had on him with a practiced sequence of moves that ended with Eirikâs arm around the lairdâs throat. âHaving new members is bound to shake the clan up a little.â
âAye.â Talorc broke Eirikâs hold with a sneaky move of his own. âBut new blood, new ways, they can be good for our people.â
They fought in silence broken only by the sound of flesh hitting flesh for several minutes before finally breaking apart and facing one another in preparation for the next bout.
âWouldnât you agree?â the Sinclair asked.
And Eirik had to think quickly to remember the lairdâs last words. âYes.â
âCiaraâs change is particularly welcome.â Talorc gave Eirik a look he could not quite read.
âGood.â But Eirik did not think the laird would be as happy with the events of the night before.
The kiss that should not have happened, the sexual desirethat had flared hotter than dragonâs fire between Eirik and Ciara.
The two warriors moved closer, circling each other. Eirik was watching for any opportunity as he knew Talorc was as well.
Finally, the Sinclair swept his foot out with a wolfâs speed to try to trip Eirik. âWhen Ciara came to live with us, she barely ate, spoke only occasionally and never, ever smiled.â
Eirik was no wolf though. He was not even purely raven. He was dragon. Jumping over the swiftly moving foot, he used the momentum to gain a short distance from the other warrior. Enough space to land a solid kick.
He kicked out with his right leg, while leaping forward to land an openhanded blow against Talorcâs head. âShe seems fine now.â
The Sinclair avoided the kick and moved so that the blow was glancing, while bringing his own arm up toward Eirikâs chin. âShe has nightmares and barely sleeps. Sheâs stopped eating again.â
The blow landed, knocking Eirikâs