Beyond her, Faol paced about the inner chamber of her home as if he knew that something was amiss, something that would change life as he knew it. He approached Brenna and nuzzled her, sniffing at the rose-scented oil she’d used on her skin. “We’re having a wedding, cariad. The man you brought to me is going to take me as his wife today, and I will take him as husband,” she explained to him. “We’ll be a family.” Restless, the wolf left her to sniff the freshly stuffed pallet in the bedbox. Things had changed between them since she’d stopped putting herbs to curb his desire in Rory’s food and tea. He’d eventually gotten over his anger at her for her precaution, or so he claimed, but his humor had been no less irritable, especially when she made up a bed on the rug next to Faol by the fire and left him on the pallet alone. Granted, it was hard and cold, but Brenna refused to let him take her place.
