The MacGregor (30 page)

He did not acknowledge her, but she sensed he was deeply immersed within himself. Slowly he paced around the house, stopping occasionally, and seemed to be conversing with himself. And then he lifted the staff skyward and words poured from him like music. Each word made a different note. A few words she knew, but many she did not.

She heard it first. A strange sound. Soft. Scratchy. Her eyes went to the willow twig on the beach, for it was closest. And, to her astonishment, she realised that it was growing. But not into a tree. For a while Megan could not work it out. It wasn't until the twig shot new tendrils that spread left and right that she understood. It was a wicker wall. A living, breathing, woven wall of willow.

In the centre stood Sean. His face upturned to the clouds, his hands holding his oak shaft upward, his voice filling the sky until the bay was entirely bound by the willow. As the last lengths of twig met and meshed together Sean was silent.

Megan rushed to him as he dropped to his knees. ‘Sean, are you all right?'

He lifted his head as if it were a great weight. But his eyes were bright and he smiled. ‘All good, my little fox.'

She sat beside him and looked around. ‘What is it?'

He shifted and sat beside her. ‘It is a willow wattle wall. I guess.'

Megan looked around once more. How strange it looked. She could hear the sea but could not see it. The top of the cliffs reared up above the fence behind her. It was tall and strong. But it was not enough to keep out the vampyre.

‘Sean,' she said, ‘how will it work?'

‘Only I can leap it.' He smiled. ‘Don't worry, I won't leave you here.'

She nodded. Pleased. It would have hurt to walk away and know that all that she held dear would be despoiled. And it was good to know that, maybe, she could return. ‘I'll come back one day,' she said.

He took her hand gently in his. ‘
We'll
come back one day,' he said.

Megan breathed in deeply. ‘Yes.'

Sean stood up. ‘Come on, things to do, places to go.'

And it seemed strange to Megan that life should go on when Grandad was gone. It seemed impossible, somehow, that the moon would still wax and wane. Surreal. But Sean's words were true. This she knew. Tomorrow the moon would be full. Tomorrow night would have been her ceremony. But now?

Sean seemed to suffer none of her fears and doubts. ‘Come on. Let's go find Rory Wallace. You have a big night tomorrow, unless I'm mistaken.'

Megan hesitated, but knew in her heart that Grandad would have wanted her to proceed. He who revered the Olde ways. And Sean was right; Rory was just the person to step into Grandad's shoes. She nodded. ‘Yes.' And then she remembered. ‘Sean, what about the standing stones, you know, where
it
is to be found?'

He grabbed his staff and jumped up. ‘You first. Then me.
It
has waited for a long time. It can wait a little longer.' He put out his hand. ‘Come on, little fox.'

She took his hand and came to her feet. ‘Do you think that whatever it is will defeat the vampyre?'

‘To defeat the vampyre is to defeat yourself, Megan. You know that. Your grandad knew that. Whatever it is, in my hands it will be a tool for the greater good.'

And she knew that he spoke true. Grandad had known it, and so had Morven Smith. And now she knew it. She picked up her bag and took one last look around. And she was ready.

Megan smoothed the velvet folds of her gown with nervous hands. It felt soft and clean. The women had worked wonders, and perhaps a little magic, to remove the old stains and the new. Her hair was up on her head in a simple bun, bound tightly in a borrowed snood of black jet beads. Her feet were bare.

She tweaked aside the curtain at the caravan window and looked out into the camp site. It was dark. No fire or lantern twinkled. A misty rain fell. She could hear voices though. Excited and happy. Sometimes impatient and scolding. It was comforting to be in the midst of her people. The door opened and the traveller, Rose, entered. Sean was at her heels.

And he took her breath away. He'd always been hotter than Hades but now she felt the full force of his power. It shimmered around him like an invisible light. An aura of energy that seemed to reach out and touch her. It was as if they were linked by some mysterious life force. He smiled at her and Megan realised that he could feel it too.

Rose gestured to a small table. ‘Would you like me to look in my crystal ball for you, Megan? See what the future holds?'

Megan nodded. ‘I would like that.'

Sean came and sat next to her around the tiny table, and his hand slid softly onto her thigh. Her body responded as if she were a firecracker and he a flame. The wolf inside her rejoiced. And the woman waited.

She forced her eyes to Rose, who closed the curtains snugly shut, sat opposite them and pulled the black satin cover off the ball. Megan observed it curiously. She had, of course, heard of such things, but had never beheld one before. It was pretty, the soft light of the lantern making it glow.

Rose cupped the ball, drew it closer and peered down. For a long moment she was silent and then a small whistle of breath hissed from her lips. She bent closer and Megan watched as a dark curl of smoke shifted in its depths.

Rose looked at Sean. ‘Darkness.' She looked at Megan. ‘Something is coming. Something dark. Something dangerous.'

Megan felt a chill prickle over her. She glanced at Sean and saw her own fears reflected in his eyes.

Then Rose muttered. Her hands slid over the globe and she was still. ‘But I see two lights. Two small lights of hope marching side by side with a banner.' Rose shifted in her seat and closed her eyes. ‘And on the banner I see a dragon.'

Megan waited breathlessly but Rose draped the cloth over the ball once more. She shrugged and looked at Megan. ‘Does that mean anything to you?'

Megan shook her head.

Sean, however, sat up a little taller in his chair. ‘The banner of the dragon! It was the royal banner. The dragon was the symbol beneath which the Gods rallied to war.'

Megan stirred. ‘Darkness comes in many forms. Death. War. Famine. Pestilence. Grandad said —' But she stopped as grief gripped her heart with cruel fingers.

Sean shifted a little closer and Megan's head rested briefly on his broad shoulder. A few tears brimmed and fell before she pulled herself together. ‘Grandad said that the Darkness is always amongst us. It is an ancient evil that is the enemy of the Light. And that it had once been defeated by the Gods but had become wily, finding ways to seep into the world once more.'

Megan stopped, not because she was overwhelmed but because she was surprised at her own depth of knowledge. She had soaked up more of the Olde than she realised.

And then she remembered her grandfather's last gift to her. Her mother's skull. Could she commune with her mother again? Would her mother know more about the Darkness? She would try.

There was a knock at the door. Rose left them and shortly returned. She pulled a heavy tartan shawl from a hook and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘Come, Megan, it is time.'

Megan stood up and took Sean's hand. She looked into his beloved face. His blue eyes, as clear as a mountain spring, locked onto hers. And she knew that she was ready. Ready to take her place. Ready to embrace her destiny. Whatever that may be.

The whole camp waited. When Megan stepped out they all came to her one by one and took her hands in theirs, turning her in a full circle and handing her to the next. They did not speak but Sean could feel the pent-up emotions swirl beneath the pale, wild faces of the clan. The rain had stopped and the cloud shivered beneath the wanton kiss of the full moon.

Rory came to her last. He swung her in an insane circle, so fast that her feet lifted from the earth, skirts flying, and she laughed. Her husky voice unnaturally loud in the darkness. But it broke the mood. Two young men raced to her and scooped her up and sat her on their young shoulders. Sean watched her turn her head on her long slender neck and look around. When she found him he felt his heart should break for the beauty of her. Her red hair, dark as a fox pelt, her eyes like molten gold and her forehead as pale as alabaster against the jet-black beads.

‘Sean Duncan,' she called. ‘I love you!'

He grinned as the travellers roared with laughter at his discomfort. And then they roared louder still as he touched his hand to his heart. Across the dark camp they went, up the paddock, past the house and up the mountain until they finally stood upon the top. It was the place where Sean had first seen her. Snow covered the ground and drifted in waves against rocks and trees.

There was a huge fire built on the tor, waiting for a torch. But they led Megan away and into a copse of oak and silver birch. Sean followed, curious. And, in a small clearing, knee deep with bracken, was an old ruin.

Rory paused by his side. ‘This is an old church.' He pointed to a small square construction to the right of a long crumbling wall. ‘That is a well. But long before Collum Cille claimed it, this was a sacred site. A magic spring that bestows the gift of fertility upon our people. Rory paused and grinned wickedly at Sean. ‘So, I hope fatherhood is part of your plan.'

Sean was silent as he absorbed this snippet. A sacred well. Fertility. Fatherhood. Not exactly part of the plan. He grinned back. ‘Looks like I'd best prepare myself!'

Rory clapped him on the back and lifted up his head and let out a long howl of amusement. He moved off and, with the aid of his family, shifted several stones away from the well. Sean could smell the water below the ground.

One of the boys had a bucket, and in short time the bucket was tied to a rope and dropped away out of sight. Sean looked around for Megan and found her in the midst of the women, who were stripping her clothes away until she stood naked, as still and beautiful as a marble statue.

Then a harp string sang out. A single note of such perfect tone and clarity that Sean felt tears spring into his eyes. A woman's voice lifted and joined the harp. A voice as pure as the deep blue depths of an iceberg. The women moved back and circled Megan and the men joined them. Rosie raised the bucket of well water and put it at Megan's feet. Megan stepped in and the women came to her once more and bathed her from top to toe. The men watched on in silence. Finally the harp and the song faded.

Rory took Megan's hand and she stepped out. He looked around at the expectant faces of the clan.

‘Tonight we bring into the fold one of our own. Tonight this woman will forever more be known to us all. This night we will mark her as ours. And she will belong to us for as long as we walk the world!'

A girl slipped out of the crowd and approached Rory, her young face red with embarrassment and pride. She carried a fur in her hands which she handed to Rory. He unfurled it and Sean's breath caught in his throat. It was pure white. Pure white wolf pelt. Rory flung it across Megan's shoulders. And, as he did, the cloud slid away and the moon came out to play.

And Sean watched on in awe as he witnessed the full power and glory of the werewolves. Transformed by the magic of the moon they were both fantastical and ferocious. But none so much as Megan. His little fox.

She stood in their midst radiating a powerful magic. And Sean watched the pack mass around her, frantic to be under her spell.

Rory Wallace, huge and dark, came to her. ‘Behold!' he roared. ‘The MacGregor!'

Megan felt a shiver of ecstasy course through her. And she knew that it was true. She was not a freak. She was — The MacGregor.

She turned to find him. And he was there. Standing alone beside the well. And suddenly she could contain herself no longer. She lifted her eyes to the moon and she sang. And one by one her people joined her in a prayer of thanks to the Silver Goddess.

Their voices echoed through the woods and valleys, across the still deep waters of the lochs and down the bubbling burns.

Finally, as the landscape startled and then stilled, Megan stopped. A bloodlust surged and boiled in her body. And she could not — would not — deny it.

She held out her hand and Sean took it. ‘Come with us,' she said.

He reached out and grasped her waist. She went to him and rubbed her cheek against his own. He tilted his head back and exposed the underbelly of his throat. Her jaws opened and softly, tenderly, her teeth closed. She could feel his pulse beat beneath her tongue. And then she released him. She waited, willing him, wanting him to join her. To hunt with her. To be with her on this, her most glorious night.

He looked around at the pack. Megan could sense their curiosity. She knew that if Sean accepted, then his place amongst them would be cemented for all time.

And then he lifted his oak staff and his words fell around them as pure and perfect as an icicle. And the wind answered, streaming in from the sea.

And she seemed to play with him, picking him up and tossing him up and down like a birthday boy. The wolf pack went wild. Leaping and sparring and chasing their own tails. Megan was filled with joy when the wind finally stopped sporting and held Sean in readiness.

He laughed down at her. ‘Well, little fox, what are we waiting for?'

With an exultant yip Megan turned and bounded away. The pack fell aside and let her through, then followed like shadows in her wake. And as she raced across the rock and across the snowy mountain she could feel the cold wind around her. Her heart seemed like a bubble of happiness inside her chest.

She also felt hunger paw at her belly like a brumby finding forage in the snow. A musky scent caught her attention.

With unfailing accuracy she turned and raced into the great forest of fir trees where the moonlight danced and flickered through the canopy.

Her family kept pace, close, but leaving her the freedom of choice. She heard the deer next, the soft scrape of antler on wood and the suckle of a fawn at its mother's teat. She slowed and sent out subtle signals to the pack. They answered, spreading out, all eyes on her.