by C. D. Gorri
Twas thought unladylike and unlucky for high-born females to Change, undignified for them to run free with the Pack. They were scorned and mocked. Only those who were cuckolded lived to raise she-Wolves. Twas one of the more popular sayings.
Only female servants and some families in trade who Changed were left alone to be what they were. But she, a lady of status, well, she was expected to follow the rules of society. The rules today said Werewolves were to be male only. She-Wolves were uncouth and undesirable.
As if she had a choice in the matter? Nay, but even if I did, Ailis narrowed her eyebrows in defiance, I’d choose Wolf! Damn any man who made her sorry for what she was!
Would her new husband practice such barbarism with her? Would she be chained and locked away when she was just learning what it was to be free? Would he slit her throat one night as her father’s cousin, the Scotsman, Laird McKellen did to his Wolf bride? The stores of her murder were gruesome indeed and McKellen was still on the run.
Ailis cringed as she recalled the sting of her father’s backhand after her first Change. He’d cursed her for what she thought was her greatest gift. The betrayal still stung.
For weeks, she hardly ate or left her room. The night before that next full moon, Ailis watched from her window as rain poured from the sky that whole day. Such a sight it was, why she ran out from the house into the woods just to feel soak into her skin.
Of course, she found more than rain in the woods. She found a man. A poor one by the state of his dress, aye, but he was incredible nonetheless.
He wore only the simplest leine, but his hair was the color of the finest silk ribbon she owned. A pale yellow it shone like moonlight. Was he real? Sometimes she thought she dreamed him.
Most nights, she curled up and shed tears for the memory of their shared kiss. Oh Fie! Fate was a cruel mistress to tease her with such an experience! To have the passion of love shown to you so you were sure it existed, but for far too short a time!
Why did she ever run from him? Foolish lass. She may have missed the only opportunity she’d ever have to feel love. What now for her? What would her future hold? Another man who may see her in irons yet!
She’d surely die if she was locked up in cage! Bless Gwinnie’s heart for telling her the truth of such things. She’d heard similar tales from the wives and daughters of visiting clans and Packs. Her husband-to-be was a warrior and brutal man to be sure.
Why, he was told to have carved the eyes out of six Witches before he hung them and burnt them to cinders and ash! A horror of a man for certain. What will he do when he finds out what she is? She shook her head and bade her brain be quiet. Worrying would do for naught.
Ailis’ dreams that night were loosely woven images of thick iron chains, a ruin of a tower hidden deep in the woods, a black Wolf with a white paw, and silver moonlight shining through a narrow slit of a window. A snarl then, and blood, and at last an ear-piercing howl.
She gasped and jumped up in bed. Just a dream, Ailis, tis only a nightmare of sorts. She looked around at the unfamiliar room. She was in Castle MacContire, she was safe, for now.
The smell of freshly cooked meat invaded her nostrils. Her stomach growled. She saw the tray laden with food on the small table. A jug of thick milk was in the center, her personal favorite.
Some boiled grain and a small round bread near to bursting with dried currants sat next to a plate piled high with steaming slices of meat. Ailis was used to much simpler fare and sighed at her good fortune. She ate the food with an appetite as hearty as any young lad a hundred miles out.
“My lady, ye must not eat so!”
“Tis normal for Werewolves, Gwinnie! I’ve had my Change and find I am most ravenous in the mornings!”
“Nay, lady, do not speak of such!”
“Oh, he will know soon enough. And this may be my last meal as it were, besides, ye must have known I was hungry otherwise you’d have brought naught, but the thick milk and a crust of brown bread on my tray.”
“Aye, my lady, but the handfasting ceremony is tonight! Ye must look yer best!”
“I can assure you, Gwin, I will not go hungry till then,” Ailis tried not to smile in the face of her maid’s horror.
Twas true, ladies were expected to eat less than a bird, but Ailis was no bird. She was a Wolf and she was hungry.
“Ye will be safe, lady, I promise thee. Prithee, allow old Gwin to brush yer hair and braid it. Ye will look so beautiful yer new master wilt have no other thought than to keep you fer his own.”
“Thank ye, Gwinnie, but I think not.”
“But we shall scent you over and hide yer Wolf’s musk from yer lord husband and he’ll not know the difference. Ye must seduce him in bed with yer lady’s wiles then he’ll not be able to live without ye. Now let me to yer hair, miss!”
Gwinnie spoke with a slight bit of demand in her voice. Twas unlike her, but Ailis smiled. She was more than maid, she was a trusted friend and devoutly loyal to her mistress.
Ailis felt tears fill her eyes and felt her throat grow thick. She disguised her sudden emotion with a laugh and her quick tongue as she continued to eat though her stomach suddenly felt full.
“Gwinnie, I shall look well enough. I soaked myself in that tub for an hour last night and scrubbed my hair and skin to a high polish, I did. I even brushed it, but I don’t have a fondness for knots or ribbons today. I’ll thank ye to leave it alone. Nay, no braids! I beg ye, I much prefer it down.”
“But ye must let me! Yer hair, tis so long and unruly when ye leave it down! What kind of seduction wilt thou make looking like a demon?! Yer father sent no laced caul or jeweled hood to cover it either, the scoundrel, oh, what shall they think?”
“Mayhaps I shall cut it off then and worry it no more!” Ailis hid her grin behind her cup and drank the refreshing, tangy milk. She sighed after swallowing it down. Twas brilliant!
“No, please, my lady, tis fine I swear, I shall just braid the sides and ye will still be wanting yer plain veil?”
“If it will stop yer griping then yes, Gwinnie, you may that, indeed.”
Ailis smiled at her lady’s maid and finished her meal. She sat still while the buxom, yet nimble-fingered Gwinnie brushed out her naturally unruly hair and braided each side into long complicated twists before securing them to the back of her head with a bit of ribbon.
The rest of her locks hung down her straight back all the way to her hips in long large curls that were not any one color, but rather a combination of browns, reds, and golds. Some strands so pale they were as silver in the light, like the man from the woods who haunted her dreams, but others dark as slate.
“I will try and make ye respectable, my lady, but ye must know tis a heathen who sits and wears her hair down such as yers!”
“Oh, Gwinnie!” she laughed at her lady’s maid and drank the last from her mug of thick milk. The cool, sour liquid tasted fine going down her throat. A heathen indeed! She was as good a Catholic as any!
To the horror of her English mother, her Irish father refused to have his daughter raised a heretic. Her upbringing was Catholic. The priest of her village saw to her christening and education.
Ailis spent most of her life in seclusion at her father’s house. She longed for those days when she lived beneath her father’s notice. She’d run and play outside all the day long.
A wild thing, that was what Gwinnie called her. Nothing like the lady a proper lord, countrified or not, would allow for a wife. Even should he not discover her secret, he may still prove a wretch. Ailis had worried over her predicament till the wee hours of the morning.
Would he permit her to run barefoot through the wood or swim in the moonlight with naught on but her skin? Would she be allowed to read the plays and poems she brought with her hidden in her trunk under layers of linen and wool? Especially if they were written by an Englishman?
Ailis frowned. Women were property. Twas simply the way of things. Oh, but, how she longed for the freedom that was inhere
nt for man. She wanted to do and say the things on her mind without fear of repercussion. The one and only time she spoke out against her father’s will she was punished severely. But that did not stop her from rebelling in her own ways.
Before her Change, Ailis dreamt of leaving her father’s house, but only for a man who was certain to understand her. She would not be owned. She would have her life. She closed her eyes as the pain that squeezed her chest grew sharp only to abide once more.
She no longer dreamt of happily ever-afters with a knightly prince to take her away from the oppressive house of her father. Nay, now she wondered how her husband would let her live? Would he choose to cage her or would she be killed?
Curse it all! She missed her Wolf, the red-gold furred she-beast who lived inside of her, but was hidden as if in a fog from her during those days that led up to the moon.
“My lady, let’s put yer scent on, then I shall help ye dress.”
“Yea, thank thee, Gwinnie.”
Her father insisted she wear the twenty pounds of stiff perfumed fabric that had been packaged and sent along with her for the ceremony. He had spies everywhere and she dared not disobey him.
She suddenly wanted to leave, to disappear into the woods that surrounded her new prison. She wondered if she could just carelessly fling her responsibilities to the wind.
Was it possible for her to simply vanish on her own? To use her new improved senses to explore the world around her. Much like those who dared to sail across the vast sea to that exotic shore called the New World.
What would her new husband say if she told him she longed to see and hear and taste and touch the world around her on two feet as well as four. Would he think her a heathen? A demon, perhaps?
She bit her lip until she tasted blood. All her wild yearnings would come to naught. There would be no revealing her secret, no exploring the world around her, no poor lad in the woods with whom she could steal another kiss. Ailis exhaled.
She knew all her daydreaming would yield nothing except heartache. Ailis wondered if that fist-sized organ in her chest would ever know happiness. Would she ever know love? She should stop all her foolish wonderings! Poor fool, she sighed again. It would seem Ailis simply could not help herself.
“Oh my, lovely you are! Beauty is a kindness, my lady!”
“Oh, Gwin, I hope tis not the only kindness in Castle MacContire.”
CHAPTER 4
“How long have ye been in yer cups, brother?”
“What is it you want, Lyall?”
“Ah, well for one, father is furious. Tell old Lyall now, what ails ye so this evening? Can it be the beggarly maid you’re betrothed to or is it yer Wolf that plagues yer mind?”
Eoghan raised his head from the scarred wooden table and looked into the dark gray eyes of his younger brother, Lyall. Hmm, he seemed happy, an odd thing for his younger brother.
Eoghan saw no trace of the Wolf within the man. Lyall always was hard to read, but but even more so when it was between moons as it was now. He wished he too had mastered the art of hiding his troubles in public.
Mayhaps he should ask him for lessons in the matter for future reference. Twas too late for now, Eoghan wore his heart and his woes on his sleeve. What a sad and sorry wretch he felt!
“My lord, shall I help ye to yer quarters?”
“Nay, Tom, I shall remain with my brother. Ye may go.”
“Aye, sir.” Tom Kelly had proved a loyal lad and brave too. Eoghan wondered why he stared at them for a moment before heading out the doors to the courtyard.
“You know brother, wallowing in self-pity is not a pretty thing. Even for a Werewolf who looks like Adonis.”
“Oh, shut up, Lyall, I am not in the mood for yer sarcastic comments. Can’t you see my heart is torn asunder?”
“Ah. So, tis the other than? The mystery wench? Perhaps she was of the Coven you destroyed and haunts yer dreams as a form of revenge?”
Eoghan glared at his brother from over the top of his mug. He’d been drinking for three straight hours, but as was the way with Werewolves the ale had little effect. And none that was lasting.
Eoghan took in is brother and wondered at their differences. How was it he had hair as pale and fair as silver while his own brother’s sheared locks were dark as midnight. Like night and day, they were opposite in looks as with dress.
Eoghan favored the plain wool leines and trews of the common folk. He hardly ever wore the mantle his father had bestowed on him. It was a fine cloak of the softest wool dyed and stitched with great care, but Eoghan was a warrior and preferred to dress lightly to assure swift and unobstructed movement.
Lyall dressed to show his wealth and opulence. As if to announce his status to all. There was no doubt in his finely sewn inar and the exaggerated sleeves of his leine that he was the son of the Chief and Alpha.
“Nay, she was no Witch and I’ll have words with any who says otherwise,” Eoghan said.
His growl was fierce. Lyall moved quickly to expose his throat. Indeed, dress was not the only way in which he differed from his older brother. The Wolf in Eoghan knew prey when he saw it. Lyall sneered at the ground and Eoghan turned his head to regain his composure.
“We two have so little in common. That reminds me, I wanted to ask where you got the information on the location of the Coven? Twas quite useful knowledge.”
“A peasant girl told one of my spies that a Witch had passed in the wood where they were discovered. I never meant for ye to go yerself, Eoghan, those were Dungannon lands after all, wasn’t it dangerous?”
Eoghan scowled. His brother was always coming across tidbits of information that proved useful in their search against the Dark Ones. Though Lyall was not a Hound himself, he aided their fight against evil.
“When will ye heed father and join the priesthood, Lyall?”
“Thanks, brother, but thus far, I have resisted the call to serve the Lord. After all, who could be above mine own father in my eyes?”
Eoghan missed the flash of anger in his brother. He agreed with him though. Lyall did not have the temperament for priesthood. He was quick to anger, though his rage displayed itself not in physical challenges, but in more subtle ways.
Eoghan recalled the Wolf who made the mistake of calling his brother a dandy. The man was assigned to clean the garderobes for six straight months.
The typical time for that particular duty was no more than a fortnight per assignment for all members of the Pack. But Lyall kept the ledgers and told the foremen who was to work which detail. Twas only when Eoghan became aware of it, did he order the lad to another post. An error, Lyall had said.
“The danger came not from the Witches, but from the wondrous maiden who stepped softly through the woods like an angel on Earth. She stole my heart, I swear it, brother, and I am to wed another. Curse me for a fool!”
“Ease your mind, now, perhaps father would be willing to change his mind.”
“Nay, he cares not for my ordeal.”
“Let me think on it then, man, perhaps I can help.”
Eoghan grasped his brother’s shoulder and squeezed though he feared there was naught he could do to sway their da’s mind. We are so different, he thought. Lyall believed he could influence their father where Eoghan knew there was little chance of that.
Lyall’s dark hair gleamed in the dim firelight. He was smallish for a male Werewolf. Thin and slight despite is long sleeved leine and puffed inar. He lacked the physical prowess to fight his way to the top of the Pack, and so Lyall leaned heavily on his status to exert influence among others. He was cunning in the ways of man and court.
Eoghan had no use for such things. His father used to joke that he was born more Wolf than man. His only desire to run free. When they were pups, Eoghan often reveled in exerting dominance and strength over his younger brother. He competed against any who would rise to the challenge and won many a fight on their training grounds.
“If my position in the Pack was as secure as your
s, mayhaps I would not listen to father.”
“Oh, Lyall, ye don’t understand. I am father’s oidhre, his heir, by blood and by dominance. Tis I who must obey the most, for all watch me and act as I do.”
“Mayhaps a challenge then?”
“Nay! How could ye think it? I’d never harm father, if I even could. He is much loved by all. His sons included!”
“Yea, tis true.”
“Father has a grace and dignity reserved for very few in his position and yet he is much respected by his men and the Pack. Nay, I would die for father, I’d never dream of challenging him. I admit I am surprised ye would suggest it.”
“Aye, forget it. I just hate to see you so pained.”
Eoghan’s reputation for being good and brave was almost as well known as his fair face. His brother was not as easily trusted among the men. These days he shut down rumors about Lyall with little more than a look.
His mother bade him on her deathbed to watch her second son. He readily agreed as he saw how anxious it made her. Werewolves were naturally attuned to body language. Eoghan was no exception, but his brother was not so easily understood.
Eoghan chalked it up to differences in their nature. He was a leader of Wolves, both Pack and Hound. Lyall was a scholar.
He marched into battle with them against their true enemies. The Dark Witches and Demons who sought to rule the world. Lyall studied law and kept the Pack finances in order.
The destructive ways of the Dark Witches caused chaos, disease, and famine. The last fifty years had been filled with political and religious unrest across all of Britain. It was just the type of atmosphere those devils flourished in.
Sometimes hiding in plain site, even taking the role of village priest or counsel. Eoghan was their judge, jury, and executioner. He’d been tasked by his da to hunt the Demons and burn the Witches who dared practice on their lands. He did so with pleasure in the name of the Almighty and for the security of his Pack.