"What is it you plan t' do?" Kolyn shrugged her shoulders, and Dwight turned away completely. Even such a slight movement from her caused his body to react. "I don't know. For now, I think I need to let Blackstone know I am the clan chieftain . . . that the MacGregor isn't dead."
The dream came upon Ian, as it always did, sneaking into his slumber with the stealth of a thief.
Ian landed heavily upon the dirt floor of the stable, in a heap of twisted arms and legs with Emmett MacGregor. Together they rolled, over and over, dangerously moving under the hooves of their mounts. The horses stepped away, used to the noises of battle, trained to remain close enough to their masters should they be needed. Breaking free, Ian scrambled to his feet. In one swift motion he drew his claymore, just in time to block the blow that fell from his enemy's sword. The clang of metal on metal rang out, shattering the stillness of night.
"The Devil take you, Blackstone." The Scotsman's ferocity exploded at Ian, but he matched it with equal fervor. "Don't you know, MacGregor? I am the Devil." Ian brought the shining edge of his sword around in a great circle, its weight and his thrust slicing the air in a grim arc of death. The tip struck MacGregor's arm, tearing muscled flesh away from bone. Dark stains marred the bright tartan, seeping across his chest and down his arm. The big Scot didn't suffer a moment's grief as he countered with a cry of outrage and a shattering stroke of his own.
Falling to his knees, Ian braced against the great weight and strength of MacGregor. Sweat trickled down the length of his neck and from his brow into his eyes, burning and itching. He heard the guttural growl coming from the man, his nostrils flaring, his teeth gritted. As the blade inched closer, he felt the heat of the man's breath on his own face. Hate burned like coals in MacGregor's eyes, as threatening as the man's broadsword.
With a great burst of energy, Blackstone threw MacGregor from him, sending him tumbling. In two long strides Ian was upon him, striking out, their claymores clashing, steel against steel. MacGregor fought his way back onto his feet, the Scot matching Ian stroke for stroke, his wounded arm hanging by his side.
The muscles in Ian's arm quivered from exertion, yet he gave no quarter to pain or tiredness. He could no longer feel the weapon he held, each strike threatening to break his hold. Blair's scream called up turmoil within. The flush of emotion made him stumble, and this time the cold edge of MacGregor's sword sliced into his side, blood marking the path the metal had taken.
The pain was immense, the weariness hard to overcome. He drew in a sharp breath, to ease the agony in his lungs, then swung his broadsword up in an arc, the force of his swing pulling MacGregor's weapon with it. MacGregor's heavy weapon flew into the air, landing with its point buried deep in the ground. MacGregor's face showed surprise, then anger. Ian had the advantage, but he hesitated one second too long.
With another Highlander's cry, MacGregor jumped at Ian, his entire body lifting from the ground before slamming into him. Ian felt more than saw the point of his sword bury itself in the Scot. Together, MacGregor now clutching Ian like an animal its prey, the two men stumbled back until the wall blocked their way. When they hit, the force knocked the air from Ian's lungs. MacGregor stilled as the broadsword went deeper. It took a full moment before Ian realized he held a dead man.
Ian came awake. He threw his long legs over the side of the bed and laid his head in his hands. Pain crawled over him, just as it had the last five years, ever since that night he thought he'd killed Emmett MacGregor. The dream, the memories, and the hatred hung about him like fetid fog. The feelings came full circle, just as they always did. Ianstood and crossed to the window. Angrily, he pushed aside the hangings and studied the night sky. The rain had stopped and the clouds moved away to reveal the full moon. Even it mocked him, its golden light a reminder.
Dwight stood at the side of Kolyn's bed, watching her as she slept. The great amount of drink he had consumed had dulled the lust that burned within him, but could not keep him from seeking her out. He reached out and picked up a soft curl from the mass of red hair spread out in wild disarray on her pillow. The fire that still burned in the fireplace cast enough light for him to see the vibrant color, bright against the whiteness of the linen. He smelled the scent of heather she always used in her bath.
''Katey," he mumbled, the liquor slurring his speech. "My bonnie Katey." He sighed, long and heavy, and dropped the curl he caressed. "Dwight?" He stepped back, startled. Kolyn sat up in bed, pulling the bedcover up to her chin. "Is something wrong? Is Drew all right?"
When Dwight did not move or answer, panic took Kolyn. "Drew!" She tossed the cover aside, swung her legs over the side of the bed. Dwight held up his hand to stop her. "Drew is fine. He's sleeping." Then why . . ." Kolyn brushed back her hair in sleepy confusion. "Why are you here?" Kolyn could smell the strong odor of wine upon his breath. He took another step backward, and his tall frame rocked from too much drink. She felt anxious.
"I . . . I thought I heard a noise. I came in t' see if you were all right." "As you can see, I am fine," Kolyn mumbled, her nervousness slowly turning to fear under his open stare, a stare that was unguarded and clear in meaning. "Forgive me for intruding, lass."
When Kolyn heard the door shut, she let out her held breath, ending in a sob. She crawled out of bed and went to the door to listen, fearing her uncle would return. The sound of slamming down the hall confirmed he had gone to his own chamber. The relief that flooded Kolyn was so great it left her weak and shaking. She climbed back into her bed and hugged herself, pulling her knees between her arms. Confusion muddled her fear. She understood the look upon her uncle's face. Having grown up with three older brothers had not left her totally innocent of men. What she didn't understand was why it was so suddenly there. Since her father's death, Dwight had acted strangely toward her.
Something was now different between them. When he looked at her, she saw . . .
Kolyn didn't want to put a word to this feeling, not yet, not until she was certain. Shaking off her unwanted thoughts, Kolyn slipped from her bed and walked to the door. She winced when the hinges squeaked, the sound loud in the tense silence. She peeked outside. The long corridor was empty. Quietly, Kolyn moved to the room next to her own and stepped inside. The moon's light filtered through the tall windows guiding her way to her son's bed.
Andrew slept hard and undisturbed. Kolyn brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and watched him sleep. "I promise, little Drew, I'll not let this ugliness scar you." Kolyn closed her eyes, but tears escaped beneath her lashes. A deep-seated fury grabbed her and shook her clear to her toes. She turned and fled. She ran down the hall and into the bedchamber that had been Duncan MacGregor's. Above the stone fireplace hung a portrait of her father. Standing before it, she studied the man.
Her gaze fell to the claymore that lay in its place on the mantel. The sword the MacGregor had fallen withthe sword she had sworn her oath upon. Slowly, Kolyn removed it. It was heavy, but it wasn't unfamiliar. She'd played with swords with her brothers more often than she'd played with dolls by herself. She lifted it high in the air. Kolyn felt a chill run over her flesh, but it was the coldness that settled in her heart that terrified hera stoic indifference that cut her tender feelings off, leaving her empty.
"I'll do your dirty work, Father. And may you be damned to Hell for the sins I commit." With an anguished cry, Kolyn swung the broadsword and slashed the painting, bringing it back around to complete her destruction.
"What's the matter, lass?" Kolyn turned to face her uncle, her emotions running too high to pull back. "Nothing's the matter. Go back to your drinking, Dwight. But mind you, you'd best be sober tomorrow. We'll be taking a midnight ride." She dropped the sword. It clattered on the stone floor, echoing the thunderous storm that churned inside her. Kolyn walked past her uncle, but he grabbed her arm, stopping her.
"What madness are you planning?" She twisted free of his grip and turned on him, the fear she had felt only moments before gone, leaving only anger. "Are you ques
tioning me?" The surprise was clear on his face, and he took a step back in the face of her fury. "You're the MacGregor. 'Tis not my place t' question you. Again, I ask forgiveness."
Suddenly, Kolyn felt foolish, wondering if she had overreacted to his appearance in her private chamber. "Once again I forgive you, Dwight. But only if you promise to be just as forgiving. I'm not myself. "Nothing you could ever do will distress me. I love you, Kolyn MacGregor." He was her uncle and he had said those words before. Only this time, what she heard made her take a step back. Something was different, and she understood why. "Good night, Dwight."
Chapter Three
"I spoke with Kolyn last night. She's not thinking straight, lad, and it worries me." Emmett MacGregor watched his uncle pace back and forth at the side of his bed. He pointed to the straight-backed chair near his bedside table. "Sit. And stop fretting like a mother, Dwight."
Dwight did as he was told, his frame overly large on the simple chair. "Kolyn's talking crazy." "She's harmless. Let her be." The look on Dwight's face prompted Emmett to go on. "Kolyn will be doing us a great favor." Dwight's confusion was apparent even before he expressed it. "I dinna ken your point, Emmett."
"My point is," Emmett drawled, a smile twisting his lips, "my sister will provide a distraction for us while we do our business." "What business is that?" "Killing the Black Wolf." Dwight said nothing, his only movement to push back a graying strand of hair from his temples. "Kolyn swore an oath to see him dead," Emmett said.
"Aye, she did," Dwight agreed. "But a woman cannot fight Blackstone." Emmett's smile remained. "Of course not. What a woman can do is distract the Black Wolf, keep his mind on other things, and then you can kill him." This made Dwight smile, years of sun-baked flesh wrinkling up around his hazel eyes, a small scar appearing as it whitened against tanned skin.
Suddenly, Emmett's own joy disappeared. "I should be the MacGregor, not Kolyn." He pointed to his legs, lying dead beneath him. "My legs are useless, not my mind! I could have led the clan. Instead my father declares a woman chieftain, denying his son because of his shame." "The lass will need your help, Emmett."
"Don't patronize me, Dwight. I will not just help, I will be the MacGregor. But first, Ian Blackstone must die. I want you to bring me that bastard's head!" Dwight shook his head. "I cannot interfere with the oath she swore t' my brother." Emmett was undisturbed by his statement. "You will, and together we can rule the clan."
Dwight stood and moved to the window. Emmett went on. "I know it is a desire you keep hidden in your heart to be a MacGregor . . ." "'Tis an impossibility, lad." "No," Emmett yelled. "You will marry Kolyn and become the MacGregor. I will be the brains; you will be my legs." Slowly, Dwight turned back to watch Emmett, his features carefully masked to hide the surge of emotion he was feeling.
"Dwight, my dear uncle. Do you think I do not know your dark secrets? Do you think I do not know of your love for Kolyn?" "Of course I love her, just as I love you, lad." Emmett's laughter caused Dwight to wince. "The look in your eyes and the fire in your loins are not for your niece, but for a woman. You can have her, Dwight, with my blessings. But I'll have no more of your lies."
Dwight moved back to the side of the bed. "Aye, Emmett. No more lies."
Ian rode through the cool shade of the forest, the sun's light blocked by the thick overhang of leafy branches, stretched fingers of entwined wood creating a canopy above him. The smell of dampness and earth was stirred with each step of his war-horse, mildewed needles and leaves long ago fallen softening the sound. He had spent the night in the forest, as he had many times in the past years, seeking the peace it offered.
He stopped when the black wolf paused, its ears alert to some sound Ian couldn't yet hear. The animal held his head high, then moved toward the noise. Ian followed and, slowly, the wind brought children's laughter and song to him. Curious, he rode to the edge of the trees, careful to remain hidden.
A group of children ran in the tall meadow grass, some so young they were nearly hidden, the elder ones helping them along. Their innocence rang clear in joyous laughter, contagious among them. It touched Ian, drawing him to their playfulness. He made out a young woman who ran amidst the children, a full head taller than the rest. Her voice was softer, gentler, her own laughter drowned out by the shrill cries of the children. His gaze remained on her.
Envy washed over him, the force of it catching Ian off guard. He watched her lift one child and whirl him about, his cries of delight heard above the others. The other children gathered close, their arms lifted to the woman, calling out to her to let them too fly like birds. One by one, she caught them up, then circled about so they could fly. Finally, she fell upon the ground in exhaustion. All the children piled about her, hugging and kissing her gratefully.
Ian's heart constricted and his breath caught in his throat as it tightened. He wondered if he would ever know the delights of having a child. Was he deserving of such pleasures? In his own mind, he thought not. God had given him a child, and he had turned away in anger. Even the knowledge that he had not done so intentionally did not relieve him of the guilt. What would he have done had he known Blair was with child? Would his fury at her betrayal have tainted his feelings for the baby?
"Drew!"
The woman's cry intruded on Ian's thoughts, breaking his cycle of self-inflicted torture. It took a moment for him to locate the woman, who was moving away from the group. "Drew," she called again. Ian glanced back to see the older children gathering up the younger ones and starting back to the village. Only the woman headed toward the forest, her pace showing her urgency.
The little boy's cry from within the forest rippled over Ian, causing him to react instantly. Fear spurred him into action, his war-horse responding to his command. As Ian reached the child, the boar charged. Ian hung low off his saddle and swept up the boy in his arm just as the black wolf intercepted the wild hog, blocking its attack. The growl of the wolf and the grunts of the boar sounded as they clashed again. The boar retreated in face of the wolf's fierceness.
Golden eyes looked into Ian's, the color like dark honey. Rumpled black hair and dark skin made him think this might have been what his son would have looked likehad the child been a boy and lived. ''Drew," Ian heard the woman call out again, her voice closer. "Are you all right, lad?" Ian asked.
The small head nodded. Gently, Ian lowered him to the ground. The child pointed to the wolf. "Doggie not hurt?"
Ian smiled. "Doggie's all right, Drew. Go on now." Again Kolyn called out for her son, her instincts telling her of the danger. "Drew." "Mommie." Tears blinded Kolyn as she ran toward his voice. When she saw him, relief flooded her. She knelt down and hugged Andrew to her.
"You scared me, Andrew. You know you aren't supposed to wander off alone." "I see bunny and wanted to take home." Kolyn gathered Andrew into her arms and stood. "Let's catch up with the others." Andrew twisted about in her arms and looked behind her. "Take doggie home." Slowly, Kolyn pivoted about; then she froze. "Nice doggie," Andrew cried, squirming to get down from her arms.
"Ssshhh," Kolyn whispered in Andrew's ear, stilling his struggles. "Doggie wouldn't want to come home with us. He likes living in the forest." She took a cautious step away from the wolf, her grip on Andrew tightening as she prepared to run. "Look," Andrew squealed in delight. "Doggie go home."
Daring a glance back, Kolyn watched the wolf inch closer. Fear rushed forward as a dominant thought, yet instinct told her that the animal was not menacing. He sat back on his haunches and waited, his head cocked to the side, as if curious. "Doggie help me."
She didn't see any fear in her son's eyes, and when she looked back to the wolf, he had stretched out on the ground, his head cradled on his front paws. His manner was submissive, even friendly. Kolyn tossed that notion aside, chiding herself for being careless. "Listen to Mommie, Andrew." Andrew turned inquisitive eyes to her and waited.
"Wave good-bye to the doggie. We must go." Andrew waved his chubby hand in the air, and Kolyn wa
lked away, glancing behind every few steps. Now the animal simply watched them, making no move to follow. It wasn't until they were out of the trees that Kolyn allowed herself to slow her pace.
Ian turned to leave only when he knew the young woman and her child were safely away. He had not been able to see the woman clearly, her head covered and her face turned away from his view. He knew only that she had a son named Andrew. "Come on, doggie," Ian called out to the wolf, then laughed outright at the child's innocence. A sudden desire rushed forward, and he longed for a dozen just like that little tyke.
Kolyn walked into the small village church, its doors open wide to any who wished to enter. As always, a sense of peace touched her, the support welcome in her time of inner turmoil. She paused a moment, gathering to her the strength it gave, then walked past the worn, wooden pews and the simple altar to the back, where she knew she would find Father McCloud.
"Good morning, Father." Father McCloud looked up from his book and smiled, his gray eyes lighting with joy. "Kolyn, what a pleasant surprise. You've not been by as often as I've grown used to." The priest rose and hugged Kolyn, the strength of his grip belying the gray hair of age that covered his head. He picked Andrew up and tousled his hair with affection.
The Black Wolf Page 3