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his tone a bright red. “The only thing unlucky about that raven today was it flying in the sky where an idiot boy could see it.”
    “So, your clan did not teach as much about ravens?” Verica asked in a neutral voice.
    “That they are bad luck?” he asked, as if he continued to find it nearly impossible to believe someone thought such.
    This was wholly unexpected and Sabrine did not know how to interpret his attitude as a Faol warrior.
    “Yes.”
    “No. Every Sinclair knows that all animals are necessary for our world to remain in balance.” He made a sound of disgust. “And Talorc, our . . . their laird, would have sent someone to the healer for suggesting a hunter pay closer attention to superstitions than to the hunt.”
    “Truly?” Verica asked.
    “I do not lie.”
    “You told the boy outside that a wild animal had attacked me and taken my clothes,” Sabrine interjected.
    “We do not know that is not what happened.”
    “So it was not a lie?” she asked, finding the whole conversation beyond her knowledge of the wolves.
    Barr shrugged. “There are lies and there is stretching the truth when it will not harm.”
    “You need to put a new plaid on,” she blurted out.
    The nearness of his naked presence was overshadowing all else.
    “You do not like my naked body?”
    “I think she likes it too much. I will get my basket of remedies.” Verica curtsied and left the room.
    The walls that seemed spacious before started to close in as Sabrine realized they were well and truly alone.
    Barr sat beside her on the bed and then proceeded to start tugging his plaid from her body.
    She grabbed at it. “What do you think you are doing?”
    “Verica cannot clean your scratches if she cannot get to them.”
    “I’ll remove the plaid when she returns.”
    “You were not so modest in the forest.”
    “I didn’t have a choice.”
    “Come, I’ve already seen your delectable body. It’s of no consequence if I see it again.”
    “Truly? You think to convince me with insults?” But was it an insult? He thought her body delectable. Though his scent had said he found her sexually appealing, ’twas not quite the same.
    “It’s not an insult.”
    Maybe that was not a lie. “Turn your back and I’ll get under the blanket.”
    She expected him to refuse, but he stood and turned around so his back was to her. She made quick work of ripping away the now-bloodstained plaid and climbing between the bedding.
    The blanket was the softest wool she’d ever felt and different colors than the Donegal plaid. Sabrine remembered something Verica had said. “Are you from a different clan?”
    That would explain his being laird when the Éan spies had named a different man.
    “Aye, I was born a Sinclair.”
    “But you have the armband of the Donegal laird.”
    Verica came into the room carrying a large steaming bowl of water. “That’s because Scotland’s king and our former laird, Rowland ”—she practically spit the name—“saw fit to give my brother’s rightful place to another clan’s warrior.” A girl followed behind her, carrying a basket that was half her size.
    “I am training your brother to take his rightful place when he has reached maturity.” Barr donned a plaid with deft movements.
    “And when will that be?” She put her hands on her hips and stared her laird right in the eye. “When he’s a grandfather?”
    The girl put the basket down, her downcast gaze flitting back and forth between her mistress and her laird.
    “If the boy isn’t ready to lead by his twenty-fifth birthday, I’ll wash my hands of him and this superstition-riddled clan.”
    Rather than look offended at the slur on her clan, Verica nodded as if pleased. “I have your word on that?”
    “You do.”
    Verica opened the basket and handed the girl a packet of herbs from within. “Drop two pinches into the water and stir.”
    The girl did as she was told, then Verica took some of the water and mixed it with several other