The MacGregor (31 page)

With the stealth and secrecy of her kind, Megan slipped through the trees. And then she had them in her sights. A small herd. But all in peak condition. She picked out a young hind. Not fully mature, but toothsome and plump.

Megan swept amongst them before they could even compute her presence. It was only as her teeth sank into the sweetness of the hind's throat that the herd turned to flee. But Megan barely noticed. Blood burst into her mouth and slid down her throat. The hind trembled and sagged to the ground. Megan fell with her into the pine needles until the hind's heart faltered and stopped.

Megan reluctantly let go and stood up. The pack gathered around her. Sean settled to the earth once more. She grinned at him, and snapped her teeth and he laughed back. She turned to the deer and with effortless ease she ripped the taut belly apart and discarded the mess of intestine. She reached in and drew out the liver. The richest and most prized part. And she took it to Sean and held it out.

He looked at it. And then he looked at her. She could sense his unease. And for a horrible moment she thought he would refuse her.

If he did, then she would be deeply shamed. For this offering was an unspoken acknowledgement of her respect for him. Her way of honouring him as first among equals.

But then he reached out and took the liver. With an unsteady hand he moved the purple organ to his lips. Then his teeth sank into the raw flesh. He ripped and worried at the meat, blood oozing through his fingers. And then he chewed, and chewed and chewed. And swallowed.

And Megan took the flesh from him and she ate. Then, as the pack moved in on the carcass, they slipped away.

Sean ran a finger down Megan's soft flank, revelling in the lustrous softness of her pelt. Sated and complete she sighed and stretched beside him. His eyes roved over her and he marvelled. He couldn't help but wonder…why him? What had he ever done to deserve such a woman? But he could find no answer.

He smiled to himself. He had done some difficult things in his time. But eating raw liver probably made all else pale by comparison. No doubt about it, there wasn't another woman on earth he would do such a thing for.

Her eyes opened and she rolled over and ran her pink tongue lightly down his chest. He reached for her but she evaded him with ease. ‘We must join the others,' she said.

He sighed but stood up. He'd only just put on his pants when the massive form of Rory Wallace loomed out of the trees.

‘Come, you two, we are not yet done. We will return to the mountain.' Seconds later the rest of the pack swarmed into the small clearing. Sean summoned the wind. She came and carried him swiftly on the trail of the wolf pack. Soon he sank back onto the frozen earth of the mountain.

Megan was waiting and he went to her. But Rose led her to a rock and bid her to sit. She slid the thick white fur over Megan's lap.

An old werewolf approached and he set up a rough hide tent around Megan. Hidden from the moonbeams she shed her wolf form and was Megan MacGregor once more.

And, as if she had worn herself out, the moon sailed behind a black anvil of cloud once more. One by one the pack morphed back into human shape. They gathered around the tent.

The old werewolf ducked inside the shelter and unrolled a canvas pack. It took Sean a moment to work out the meaning of the strange tools inside. He'd never seen a tattoo artist at work before.

But once started it did not take long. Sean watched on in fascination as the man etched blue ink into Megan's right shoulder. And as the sharp face of the fox emerged, Sean felt a deep sense of rightness. It was perfect.

When the old man finally downed tools, and a mirror was procured for Megan, her pleasure was apparent too.

Rory peered into the tent. ‘Megan, come. There is just one more thing.'

She came out, and the crowd murmured their appreciation. Sean could sense her happiness. It shone from her like the morning star. Sean followed her back to the great pile of timber and stood beside her. Her small hand slipped into his.

One of the young men walked up to the bonfire, carefully carrying a flaming torch. He dropped it and backed sharply away as the tinder went up despite the wet weather. Sean sniffed the air and picked up the stringent scent of petrol.

Rory Wallace tapped Megan on the shoulder. She turned away from the fire and looked out to where he pointed. Sean's eyes followed his finger. But he could see nothing.

Then he heard Megan make a small ahh of delight. And his own eyes found the orange, flickering light far away to the north. And then, one by one, fires flared all around them.

‘Our people,' said Rory to Megan. ‘Those who would not or could not be here, but want to greet you, anyway, in the way of Olde.'

Megan turned in a slow circle, her eyes shining with delight. She looked to Sean. And smiled. She did not need to speak. For half an hour they all stood and watched until the distant fires died.

Rose came to them. She pinched Megan's pale cheek. ‘Come, let us go and dance and sing and celebrate.'

And Megan laughed and turned to Sean and took his hand. ‘Will you dance?' And how could he refuse her?

And they danced and they danced and they danced until Megan's feet were sore. But it was a discomfort that she bore with pride. She had danced with all. Men, women and a few blushing boys. But mostly she danced with Sean. He danced with the same grace with which he sat a horse. None could match him. Although, if she must be truthful, Rory Wallace came a close second.

Finally she sank down upon a cushion and took the goblet filled with wine that a young woman pressed into her hand.

Sean collapsed beside her and ran a hand down her bare calf. ‘Are you worn out then, my little fox?'

She glared at him. ‘Only my toes! The rest of me is fighting fit.'

He grinned. ‘I have a mind to go pay a visit to Dunadd. Are you game?'

She looked around the camp anxiously but it was clear that the festivities were on the wane. Mothers carried young ones to bed and men were lighting their pipes. A harp played softly and the fires were low, the peat burnt down to an orange glow.

She looked back at Sean. ‘I'm game. But how will we get there?' At once she grieved for her beautiful motorbike.

Sean nodded over at Rory who watched them both. ‘Rory has promised to take us. And a good number of those who will come. Despite the full moon he is anxious for our wellbeing. Whatever is hidden there, the vampyre will fight to the death to possess it. And we cannot dismiss Rose's warning.' Then he grinned and leaned in closer to whisper. ‘Although I do believe Rory is more concerned for your health than for mine.'

Megan knew he was right and did not argue the point. Besides, she was pleased at the prospect of a vanguard. The memory of her grandfather's cruel demise would be burned into her brain for all time. She could not bear the thought of Sean falling prey to such a fate. Or worse.

She stood up and smoothed the velvet of her gown. Sean reached over and pushed the fabric off her shoulder. They both admired her artwork.

His finger brushed the fox and she trembled beneath his touch. She never ceased wanting him. She loved him more by the moment. There was nothing she would not do for him. Not that she intended to tell him so. ‘Let's go, then,' she said.

She squealed with delight and surprise as he swept her up in his arms and carried her out into the field beyond. He whistled and two horses startled, lifted their heads and cantered across to meet them.

Sean swung her onto the back of a silver white mare. And then he vaulted onto a bay stallion. Megan watched, fascinated, as he guided the animal effortlessly back to the camp with just the silver words that fell from his tongue. She followed, enjoying the fine mare beneath her. Soon they were joined by a dozen men and women. All mounted on the beautiful blood horses, singularly or doubled up. Rory Wallace turned and looked back briefly. Then he was away. The horses flew across the paddock, jumped the wall and were away to the mountain. Megan exalted as the mare beneath her showed her true mettle, eating up the ground beneath her hooves.

Thrilled, she looked for Sean. And he was there. At her elbow. And he cut an impressive figure, sitting easily astride the great brown horse, dark hair rippling in the wind and his blue eyes sparkling like sapphires. The company were in high spirits, and their wildling calls spilled out over the landscape. And, as they poured down into the valley, she realised that these horses had magic in them.

Dunadd rose up before them, dark and majestic. The pack slowed, and in single file they walked reverently past the ancient landmark. And then they were away for one last mad moment. Sheep skittered and cattle bellowed as they tore across the fields and soared over the stone wall.

And then Megan saw them. The standing stones. Still and silent like broken teeth in a great circle. Beneath her seat, the mare slowed. And it soon became clear that no amount of persuasion or coercion would persuade her to go past the stones.

Megan slid off and thanked her. The wolf pack followed suit. They watched silently as the herd pranced away into the darkness, homeward bound.

Sean took her hand, and together they walked into the circle.

It was quiet. So still that Megan could hear the water dripping off the stones, the pitter-patter of a hedgehog ambling in the bracken, even a spider spinning. Sean let her hand go and stepped into the centre of the stone circle, his oak staff held loosely in both hands.

Megan moved back to the stones and joined the others who stood in the gaps, arms outstretched to make a solid chain. Rory Wallace broke into a chant and, one by one, the others followed suit. After a few minutes Megan picked up the refrain. She could not understand all the words but got the gist. It was a prayer to the Gods begging for protection.

Then, over the chorus, came Sean's voice. His eyes were closed and he moved around with the staff as if he were divining. He stopped. And Megan watched in fascination as he lifted the staff and rammed it down into the peaty earth. The staff sank. With just the tips of his fingers upon the staff, Sean sang. The melody wove in and out of the werewolf prayer as if they were playing tag.

Megan's voice faltered for a moment as she felt a tiny tremor in the ground. A superstitious prickle of fear rippled over her as the earth at Sean's feet shifted. It curled up and rolled over as if someone were ploughing beneath the turf. Higher and higher it went, earth cascading and sinking.

Something shiny glistened for a second and sank. Megan leant forward, eager to see. Seconds later she watched as a casket oozed up, inch by inch. The soil seemed alive. And it was.

Hundreds of earthworms wiggled and strained at the box.

It popped out of the ground like a bullet from a barrel. Megan sighted a mole briefly before he dived back into the ground.

The casket slid down the soil, teetered on one edge and settled.

Voices fell silent as every pair of eyes fastened on the beautiful prize that lay in the dirt. Although small, Megan felt sure it was silver. Built like a tiny house or hut, the silver chest had a pointed roof and a row of small gems decorating the sides. Rubies. Dark like venous blood.

Sean opened his eyes and he crouched down, one hand on the staff, the other touching the casket. Megan could stand it no longer. She raced to him and hunkered down opposite. Her kin wasted no time waiting and soon they all crowded around them.

‘What is it?' Megan asked.

Sean shook his head. ‘I don't know. I've never seen anything like it.'

A cold, cruel voice answered from the crowd. ‘It's the Book Of Kells. Or at least that part of it that was lost long, long ago.'

Megan's teeth snapped together and she leapt up to see who had spoken. A slight breeze drifted from the south. And she snarled.

The pack howled in rage and turned as one to face the enemy. Megan felt as if her heart must explode as she honed in on the source of her angst. As she lived and breathed it was that murdering piece of excrement. ‘Calix Campbell!' she spat.

He stood just outside the circle, looking in at her, and smiled. It was the self-satisfied, smug smile that had riled her once before. She should have finished him then.

He lifted a hessian bag and tipped the contents at his feet. He placed one booted foot on top of his trophy. Megan looked and tried to pretend that it wasn't true. But Grandad stared out of a ravaged head with eyes that could not see, and a mouth that could not speak. Tied to his beard was a fox's tail.

Megan screamed and she forgot her vows. She forgot her good intentions. Her eyes swam red with the spilled blood of her grandfather. Her brain filled with red for the blood on her mother's dress. Her heart swelled in agony at her own loss and all the losses of her kind for all time.

Light swam over the circle and the moon came out to play. And Megan answered her call. Complete once more, she lifted her head and howled, utterly consumed with her desire for revenge. On paws of satin she stalked towards Calix Campbell. He was dead meat.

He laughed as dark shapes whistled through the air, swooped and landed at his side. Twenty Campbells, all in a row.

Which suited Megan MacGregor just fine.

Sean watched the unfolding scene with growing horror. It did not take the mind of a mage to grasp the murderous intent on both sides of the stones. He felt sick as his eyes fell on the bloody, mutilated head beneath the boot of the vampyre. And he forgave Megan for forgetting her good intentions. It was cruelty beyond comprehension.

At the same time he realised that, despite everything, all-out war would resolve nothing for any of them. But he was at a loss to know how to stop it. He strode forward to go to Megan and try to dissuade her. Too late.

With a growl of fury she launched herself at the vampyre she called Calix Campbell. Rory Wallace went next, hurling himself at the throat of a young woman. Sean stepped back involuntarily when he realised it was Ginny. His head girl. And then the rest raged in and the valley was filled with the blood cries and snarls of the two ancient foes.