Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(45)

Vicki shot her a deadly look.

“Bree says she loves having you there.” Emma smiled. “But, actually, I was wondering if I could hire you to repair something at our place?”

“Of course. Fixing things is the most fun in the world.” Relaxing, Darcy leaned back. “Mum said she knew my sire’s identity just from the way I was always messing with machines. Then again, my coloring might have been a clue.” Black haired, black-eyed Daonain were rare.

Bonnie tilted her head. “Native American like Zeb?”

“Roma. Mom said my sire hated the word gypsy.” She grinned. “He didn’t like the word tinker, either, but that’s what Mum called me.” “My tinker cub.”

“Ah.” Emma smiled. “You inherited the skills of a tinceard—a tinsmith. In ancient days, villages begged the tinkers to visit. It’s a shame the word has fallen out of favor.”

Tinceard. As Darcy turned her tongue around the word, Calum appeared with a tray of drinks.

“Quite correct, bard. The Daonain have always prized those who can build or repair.” Calum gave Emma and Bonnie fresh drinks and set a glass of wine in front of Darcy. “You are very welcome in my territory, tinker.” His English accent gave the word an exotic flavor.

The warmth of his welcome was an unexpected, lovely gift.

“Water for you, cariad.” He handed his mate a glass with lemon floating in it, then panther-quick, headed back to the bar before she could respond.

From his mate’s grimace at the water, she might have had a few choice words to share. “Gah. I hate water.”

“Poor Vicki,” Emma said with a grin.

Darcy could understand Vicki’s irritability over the inconveniences of pregnancy, and yet… “You know, the three females who were pregnant when we were captured lost their cubs before birth. No one knew if it was being underground or the cages or the horrible experiments they tried. But those females would have given anything to have been able…” Her voice trailed away as she saw the looks of horror.

Darcy shook her head. What had she been thinking? “Oh my Gods, I’m sorry, Vicki. I don’t know what—”

“Don’t apologize for being honest,” Vicki said quietly. “Or for smacking me upside the head for whining.”

Darcy wanted to crawl under her chair. How could she inflict her ugly memories on other people? What was wrong with her?

“It happens, Darcy. To me, too.” Emma gave her a sympathetic look. “Bad memories have a habit of pouncing at inopportune moments.”

“What a horrid time you had,” Bonnie said. After she took a sip of her drink, her lips curved and she started chortling.

“What?” Emma asked.

Bonnie pointed a finger at Darcy. “My oh-so-blunt brother is mentoring her.” She grinned at Darcy. “Thank the Goddess, I think he’s met his match.”

“Hey, Owen’s been…” Well, nice wasn’t the word she’d use. Although he had hugged her once. “He’s been…” Wonderfully kind sometimes. “He hasn’t…” Giving up, she took a big drink of her wine.

Emma made a snorting sound. “Owen has been a good friend to my mates—and me—but no one in the territory would call him polite. Or sweet. Especially to females.”

Bree had mentioned his dislike for females. “Why? Females are mostly likable, aren’t we?” Darcy took another drink. Wine surely was different from the beer that tasted worse than musty, liquefied bread. This wasn’t sweet, but crisp with a lingering fruity smoothness.

“We are likable,” Vicki said firmly.

“Bad experiences, maybe? My Ryder didn’t trust females because of one especially vile one.” Emma frowned. “After meeting her, I understood why he was wary.”

“Huh. I’ve never seen Owen hanging out with a woman.” Vicki frowned. “It seems as if he only talks with unattached females at Gatherings. When would he have had a bad experience?”

“As a cub. Our mother was…is…a ghastly person. And abusive to Owen. Actually, I’m not sure she’s even sane.” Bonnie huddled down on the couch.

Darcy recognized the defensive posture. The cubling captives would curl up like that after a beating. “She hit you?”

“Oh my Gods, yes. There were four of us in the litter. She adored Edwyn. Usually tolerated me and Gawain well enough. And she hated Owen from the minute he was born.”

“But why?” Emma asked.

“The gossip was that Owen’s sire got annoyed at the way she chased him and humiliated her so badly she left town. My aunt says Owen looks like him.”

“She took her anger out on a cubling?” Darcy scowled. “That’s just wrong.”

“It is,” Bonnie said. “Owen never had any mother’s love—only abuse.”

Darcy tried to imagine the big cahir as a child. His skin was almost the same shade as her olive tones. As a cub, he’d have had bright green eyes and tangled brown hair, would have been skinny and…and adorable. Who could hit him—or any cub? “I’ve hated the humans so much for hurting the cublings from our village. To find a Daonain abused her own children makes me feel as if the ground is a marshland.”

“I love my cubs so much,” Bonnie said. “And I don’t understand my mother at all. Owen—he’s a good person.”