"You grow an inch each time I see you, lad." He gently set Andrew back down. "Good morning, Father McCloud," Andrew said properly, looking as grown-up as his small frame would allow. "We have some bread. I helped Mommie make it."
Andrew reached out and pulled on the handle of the basket Kolyn held. "See," he pointed proudly.
"My, what beautiful bread! Andrew, you are such a good boy." Father McCloud accepted the gift. "I just happen to have some gooseberry jam in the kitchen. Should we try this out? To make certain it is good bread?" Andrew took the basket and ran ahead to the kitchen, his burden nearly scraping the floor.
"You spoil him, Father." Kolyn tried to look stern, but a smile replaced her frown. Father McCloud's look told her he would not allow her this point. "Nonsense. And what of you, Kolyn? A lady of the manor does not bake bread. And what is this you are teaching Andrew?"
She merely shrugged her shoulders in feigned nonchalance, pushing off his concerns as easily as he had hers. Kolyn relaxed in the good father's company, their banter loving and honest. "I enjoy baking, and Drew enjoys helping me in whatever I do."
Well," Father McCloud concluded as they reached the tiny kitchen at the back of the church, Andrew anxiously waiting there for his bread and jam, "the better for me."
Kolyn sat beside Andrew, the small table barely able to seat them both. She watched Father McCloud retrieve the jam from a small, battered cupboard, which served as a pantry and sideboard in one. Carefully, he cut the warm bread, then spread it generously with the sweetened gooseberries. Andrew licked his lips and took the slice offered him.
"Thank you," he muttered politely, then wasted no more time before taking a big bite, evidence of what he ate left on his mouth. "Good!" He beamed his approval. "I'll warm us some wine, lass." It took Andrew only a minute to devour his treat. "May I go play?"
As Father McCloud placed the kettle upon the fire, Kolyn wiped the red stain from Andrew's face. "Stay in the garden. I won't be long." Feelings of love filled Kolyn as she watched Andrew skip out of the kitchen, so full of happy exuberance.
"You are truly blessed, Kolyn MacGregor." "Aye, Drew is a blessing . . . he is my life."
Kolyn paused, and the love that filled her heart was overpowered by a fierceness that shook her both physically and mentally. "I don't understand why God has chosen to curse me on my father's death. Why has he done this to me, Father?"
Father McCloud walked over to the window, his back to Kolyn as he watched Andrew playing in the church's tiny garden. "'Tis not ours to ask why, my child." He turned back to look at Kolyn, his face sympathetic. "You cannot question the path he has chosen for you to follow. "'Tis the path to Hell," Kolyn whispered. "I'm afraid."
"Your father has been buried but a week, lass, and your grief creates this fear. Look to God. He will guide you." Kolyn stood and moved to stand by Father McCloud. "Sometimes I'm not sure my faith is strong enough." He took her hand into his, then covered it with his other. His touch was warm and comforting. She wished she could remain in his care forever.
"You have always believed in God and trusted in him, Kolyn. Why do you doubt your convictions?" She was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Do you believe that he can turn into a wolf?" Kolyn knew she didn't need to define he. "Do you believe in such witchery?" The priest took Kolyn's hand and placed it upon his arm, continuing to pat it as he walked with her. They left the kitchen and went back to the chapel.
"Men are driven to many things by their weaknesses. A weakness in faith can be fed by ignorance, greed, or shame, leaving those who grasp it grasping their own destruction." They sat upon a pew, and Father McCloud gazed at the cross and the image of Jesus. "Ignorance drives the people of the village to embrace the idea of witchcraft and spells. What they do not understand they blame on witchery."
"I've always been secure in what I believed, or didn't believe." Kolyn looked down at her hands, confused, unhappy. "But I don't know what I think anymore, Father." "In the end, you will know what is the truth and what is not. Look into your heart for the answers." Andrew ran into the chapel, a touch of pink on his cheeks from his play.
"Mommie!" He stopped in front of her, taking in big gulps of air. "For you." He presented his hand-picked bouquet of flowers, pride glowing on his dimpled face. "They're beautiful, Drew." She accepted his gift and leaned over to kiss her son on the cheek, then pulled him onto her lap. Andrew laid his head on Kolyn's shoulder. Within seconds his eyes dropped, then closed in sleep.
"He's a lucky boy, Kolyn." "In what way, Father?" "He has you," he said simply. "It took great courage to raise another woman's child as your own, and to love him so completely, so unselfishly." "'Tis easy to love him. There is nothing I wouldn't do for Andrew." Her own words brought back the argument she had had with Emmett, and a cold chill ran over her. Kolyn's hold on Andrew tightened. "Lass." Father McCloud drew Kolyn's attention back to him.
"Kolyn, are you all right?" "Yes," she murmured. "I'm fine." Her words didn't seem to convince Father McCloud. "You looked quite" he struggled for the correct word "fierce." Kolyn tried to pull herself together and put a carefree smile on her face. "I am fine. And we must be going."
"But the wine should be warm." Kolyn gathered up her sleeping bundle and stood. "Another time perhaps." He nodded. "Father, I have a favor to ask of you." "Anything, my child." "Should something happen to me," Kolyn said, drawing in a deep breath and quieting her emotions, "would you take Drew?"
Surprise filled Father McCloud's face. "Child, what of your family?" Kolyn did not wait for him to go on. "No, I want you to promise to take him away from here. Away from my family, and" she paused again and then plunged on "away from his real family." Father McCloud looked confused. Then his eyes told her he understood. "I promise, Kolyn MacGregor."
She smiled in relief. "Thank you, Father." "May God bless you and keep you safe, my child."
Chapter Four
Kolyn pulled back on her horse's reins as the animal stomped impatiently to be off. "I don't want anyone injured," she called out to the men gathered about her. She was comforted by Father McCloud's promise given that very morning, knowing that should anything happen to her, Andrew would be taken away from all this hate and vengeance.
Dwight MacDougal looked at her, his scowl telling Kolyn he was not happy with her or what they were about. But he did not say anything. For that she was thankful. "We shall show Blackstone the MacGregor is not dead, nor to be forgotten." A shout went up among her men, and she understood their excitement. Yet her own emotions remained numb. Their actions gave them hope, while it crushed her own hope, killing the ideas and convictions she had always held dear. The wind that whipped her hair about in tangles kept her cool, keeping her mind clear about the chore ahead. Her mount reared, his giant hooves pawing the air.
As soon as the beast's front feet struck the earth he was off, his tremendous might carrying Kolyn with ease. They rode quite a distance, but it seemed like only a few brief seconds had passed. They slowed their breakneck pace, then stopped altogether. A silence claimed the group, which only the horses' heavy breathing and occasional snorts broke. Kolyn looked at the stone hut, the smoke that drifted from the chimney telling her the family was inside, the soft lowing of cattle letting her know their ride in the night had not been for nothing. For this she was grateful, even though she found it difficult to breathe as apprehension overran her mind.
''Are you sure you want t' do this, lass?"
Dwight's deep voice penetrated her raging emotions, the sound familiar, somewhat comforting. She turned to her uncle, determination bringing up her chin to a defiant angle. "Yes, I'm sure. He owes me a debt, Dwight. And I intend on taking payment." "Aye, I can see that. I dinna ken your reasoning's all." A sigh escaped before she could stop it. "Reasoning has little to do with it. It is merely a means to an end."
"'Tis the end that I'm fearing, Kolyn." A full moment passed, and Kolyn experienced an odd feeling of sadness. If she plunged on, there would be no turning back, and Kolyn w
ould be forever lost to the duties and honor of the MacGregor. "One way or the other, it will come to an end." "Aye, that it will." Dwight seemed puzzled over something. "What is it you're thinking? I'd be grateful, lass, if you'd tell me."
"I want the Black Wolf to know I am the MacGregor. He has taken my family from me, and this cursed madness has left my home and lands in woeful disrepair. We haven't enough stores to get us through the winter, and Ian Blackstone has plenty in his possession. So that is where I will start. Something for each brother that lies cold in the earth, and even more for Emmett as he lies abed for all his time."
Kolyn turned to look directly into her uncle's eyes, her voice deepening with emotion. "I will become a persistent thorn in his side. I want him to feel angry, as I do. With anger comes carelessness." Then, and only then, will I take final payment for my father's death. His life."
"You're a determined lass. "Yes, I am. Shall we go?" Dwight nodded, then followed Kolyn as she rode off. A strange pride overcame his other emotions. He admired her ingenuity. Much of the time she was more like her mother, gentle and kind. But at times like this, she reminded him of his brother, strong and stubborn.
Once in the courtyard of the small farm, Kolyn slid from her saddle, and Dwight did the same. He remained only a few steps behind her, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword, ready to defend her should the need arise. Dwight stepped forward to pound on the door, then backed away to let Kolyn tend to her business. A sleepy-eyed farmer answered, a wary look filtering past the haze of slumber.
"Aye, what is it you're wantin'?" "I've come to collect your payment to Blackstone." "Do you realize what time it is?" The aging Scot rubbed a calloused hand over his head, pushing back his tangled hair. "Yes, I do," Kolyn answered, patience reflected in her voice. "Now, please tell me what number of cattle you owe."
He raised a suspicious eyebrow to her. "Lord Blackstone visits me an' the wife an' decides what rent I pay. What are you doin' here?" His eyes narrowed as he studied the men who still remained on their horses. Nervously, his fingers wiped at the sweat that appeared on his brow, at the graying stubble prickling through toughened skin.
"We have no intention of harming you or your family. I want only the cattle you owe Blackstone." Fear finally settled in the man, and he stepped back. "I can no' do this, lass. 'Tis my payment to Lord Blackstone."
"And"Kolyn's voice remained even and calm, "I shall take these cattle as my payment. Tell Blackstone if he wants them, he can come see me." "And who might you be?" "Kolyn MacGregor. I am the clan chief, the MacGregor."
"This canno' be," the farmer said, his eyes widening. "I am the MacGregor, and you'd be wise to remember my words. I want the Black Wolf to know who has his cattle and why."
He nodded readily, his shaggy head bobbing up and down anxiously. "Aye, lass. Kolyn MacGregor." "Tell Blackstone this is only the beginning. He owes me a great deal, and I intend for him to make amends."
Dwight watched the man's reaction, the meaning of Kolyn's words slowly sinking into his simple mind. Again the farmer nodded, even more vigorously than before. Dwight stepped forward and demanded, "The number for payment?"
The farmer held up his hand, giving them the number. Kolyn smiled and motioned for Dwight and her men to collect them. "Blackstone is a very generous landlord."
"Aye, most generous," the old man agreed. "Now, remember to tell Blackstone exactly what I've told you. You will remember?" "Aye, every word. I will no' forget." "You'd best go back to bed. My apologies for having disturbed you."
Without saying more, Kolyn walked back to her horse and mounted. She wasn't prepared for the guilt that engulfed her when she looked at the man standing in the doorway to his house, his mouth still agape in wonder. She pushed the feeling aside and gritted her teeth in anger. How she hated this war of wills that struggled inside her. Tonight she had proven she was the MacGregor to her men, to the Black Wolf, and to herself. She could not tolerate any weaknesses. She would not!
Ian Blackstone stood in the small cottage, listening to the story his tenant, Malcolm, was telling. A cold anger churned inside him, an old anger he had hoped could be buried with the MacGregor. "This woman claimed to be the MacGregor?" "Aye, said she was Kolyn MacGregor the new clan chief."
"That's impossible!" Ian regretted his show of temper, the old man cringing beneath his rising voice. "I don't mean to dispute what you're saying, but . . ." "A bonnie lass she was. Said if you're wantin' the cattle to go see her. Said she would be back." "Well," Ian drawled, deciding it not worth his anger. "The witch is welcome to them. Perhaps she's worked out her tantrum."
"Perhaps," Malcolm agreed, but doubt crept in his voice. "I did no' do anythin' to stop them." "You were wise not to fight over a few cattle. Do not worry about them. Just watch after your family, and I'll take care of this Ko . . . K . . ."
"Kolyn," Malcolm repeated as Ian stumbled over the name. "Kolyn MacGregor, Lord Blackstone." "Aye," Ian mumbled. "I'll remember her name from now on, Malcolm. I'll remember." It was true. He would not forget. Kolyn MacGregor's name was burned into his memory by a fire he foolishly thought had died with her father. Ian let his mount run, a fast, hard ride working the anger from him.
Over and over the scene played out in his mind, and each time he came up with the same solution: nothing. By the time Ian reached Stonehaven, he had convinced himself that she would not be so foolhardy again.
"Here's to our benefactor." Kolyn lifted her drink to salute Blackstone, the man who generously, though unwillingly, had provided the meat for their feast. For two days the spits had turned over the stone fireplace in the great hall as well as in the kitchen, the staff happily preparing for the celebration. Meat juices dripped into the flames, sizzling, and aromatic smells filled the air. It had been much too long since Gregor Castle had known such joy. Everyone quieted to hear Kolyn speak.
"To Ian Blackstone!"
This time everyone joined her, lifting their mugs to him, their shouts ringing clear and echoing against the stone walls in the large room. The music began again, bringing many to their feet in dance. As Kolyn joined in the gaiety, her laughter drifted to Dwight, distracting him from his conversation. Her hair was loose, the jubilant dancing causing it to fall from its plait. It spilled like fire about her delicate shoulders, the light of the torches giving it life. Her face was flushed, and a brightness sparkled deep in her green eyes. Never had she been more beautiful.
His gaze followed her as she was pulled back amongst the dancers. The young man who whirled her about seemed to have had too much to drink. Dwight scowled, not liking the way the lad looked at Kolyn. Dwight drained his flagon of wine, then held it up for more. The more he drank, the less he would feel; he was sure of it. Enough wine and the burning inside him would be overcome with the numbness of drink. Again he emptied his cup.
A buzzing already invaded his mind, blurring his sight and slurring his thoughts. But still, he could not keep his eyes from Kolyn. She danced with the same Scotsman his name escaped Dwight at that moment, but his name didn't matter. What did matter was the hand that slipped about her tiny waist, the fingers that slid down over the gentle swell of her hip.
Dwight's grip tightened about the pewter stem and he drank again, long and deep, wishing for it to cool the heat spreading from his loins. He ground his teeth in vexation, clamping harder as the man pulled Kolyn closer. Jumping up, Dwight strode through the crowd like a bull, pushing aside and shoving those who stood in his way. His fierceness and bulk guaranteed no resistance as he reached for the man who danced with his niece.
"Get your hands off her, lad, or I'll be splitting your head in two." "Dwight." Kolyn's smile faded, and she scowled. "You're drunk." "Aye, my lady. That I am." "Perhaps you'd best retire."
Dwight was familiar with that look and knew better than to go against her. But he wasn't in the frame of mind to take heed of her warning. "I'll not let the lad paw you in such a way. He owes you an apology." Kolyn braced her feet apart and placed her hands up
on her hips. The anger nearly leaped from her emerald eyes, and he would have sworn he saw flames of a fire within them. The persistent knot that lay in the pit of his stomach tightened, causing him great discomfort.
"He was doing no such thing, Dwight. Perhaps it is you who owes the apology." This took Dwight totally by surprise. How in heaven's name did she come up with that? Women! He wanted to throttle her . . . no, he wanted . . . "I will not stand by and let him . . ."
"Let him what? Dance with me? Are you going to split everybody's head in two, Uncle? And . . ." Kolyn stopped, lowering her voice for his ears only. "If I were being pawed, I do not need you charging in to rescue me." "Hah," Dwight barked, making her flinch at his sharpness. "You're needing someone t' rescue you, lass. You're bent on finding trouble."
"Yes, I am," she replied, her eyes squinting up into his darkened ones. "If trouble has the name of Blackstone."
Suddenly, Dwight's look of anger changed into another, stranger one. "Let me take care of him, Kolyn. I'll kill the bastard for you, and for Douglas." "You cannot. You know that. It is for a MacGregor and no other." Kolyn's voice softened, but her words were firm, brooking no further disagreement.
The Black Wolf Page 4