"I'm half a MacGregor. Does that not count for something?" Kolyn wished it did. But when it came to a Scotsman, his clan, his honor, his very way of life, it did not. "This is not for you to deal with, Dwight MacDougal, but for me and me alone." He stood staring down at her, hurt and anger clearly reflected in his face. Kolyn feared to breathe, thinking he would explode at any moment. Instead, he turned and walked away.
Dwight didn't stop until he reached the door to his rooms. He stood in the hall, his hand poised upon the door handle, listening as the noises drifted up to him. His eyes closed when Kolyn's voice came to him. He quickly disappeared into his room to escape the torture. The fire in the fireplace had burned low, casting only shifting shadows and dim light about his room. At that, the gloom around him was bright compared to the despair he carried in his heart.
The wine had taken away the intensity, but the feeling was still inside, gnawing at his innards like a disease consuming muscle and flesh. He could no longer control it. It came at its own will, as if his passions had a mind of their own. He felt the wicked desire festering, turning into a monster of sort, taking his mind under its control. '''Tis a wickedness you have awakened in me, Kolyn. I dinna ken what t' do."
Carefully, Kolyn placed the parchment back into the pouch and tied it securely. It had taken a second raid for Ian Blackstone to respond to her, his message gracious despite what she had done. If she were to act as Kolyn, she would accept his offer, but as the MacGregor she could not. She walked across the hall to the boy who stood waiting for her reply just inside the front doors.
"Tell Lord Blackstone that . . ." She paused, uncertain for a moment what to say, then shoved the pouch at him, making him grab it before it fell to the floor. "I don't want his offers of peace. I shall take what I want and when I want. He owes it to me."
"I dinna ken your meanin'," muttered the messenger in obvious confusion. Kolyn felt sorry for the boy, his nervousness apparent. But she couldn't allow him to see her own confusion, her own weakness. "You don't need to understand. Just tell him he owes it to me. No more, no less." He nodded, and all but ran from the castle.
Kolyn whirled around, stopping short when she saw Dwight watching her. She wanted to make excuses for the look on his face, the glow that lit his eyes, but she could no longer deny what she saw. Too much had changed. Nothing was the same. "Is there something you needed?" she asked. "No," he answered, giving no hint of what was going on in his mind. "I merely wondered what the rider was wanting."
"It is nothing. I have taken care of it." "Aye. I believe you have at that." Suspicion rose inside her. "Have you been drinking again, Uncle?" "Aye, that I have." "Why are you doing this?" "What, lass?"
His tone was infuriating, but she held on to her temper. "Are you planning to drink your life away?" He considered her question, then nodded. "Aye, I'm thinking it be a good way t' die. It takes away what I feel." "Not to feel, that's what you want?" "All these questions . . . what is it you want from me, Kolyn?"
"The truth, Dwight. I want the truth." Kolyn studied him, but found no answers to any of her questions. "Sometimes," he said softly, his voice husky and strained, "'tis best that we not tell what truly lies within our hearts." His words hurt Kolyn. "I am your family." "No," he said, a pain of his own moving his stony features into a sad expression. "You're no longer just family, Kolyn MacGregor. You're a woman. And I'm a man."
It was slow, the meaning of what he said taking shape in her mind. At first shock kept her silent; then a numbing despair claimed her. "Oh, Heavenly Father." When she looked up, Dwight was gone.
Chapter Five
"The woman is mad."
The wiry little man nodded in agreement with what Ian said. He held his hat in hand, the frayed brim crunched in his fists as he nervously waited for Ian to continue.
Ian paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, careful to keep his face a stone mask. He tried to keep from displaying what he was feeling, to hide the irritation that ate at him, but it was a difficult task to accomplish. The fact was he was not only irritated, but angry.
Ian stopped and leaned against the heavy oak mantle. The witch was pushing him too far. She had rejected his offer of peace and in the last month had persistently raided his tenants, taking whatever she pleased, whenever
she pleased. Yet what was he to do? Make war with a woman? Never! There must be some way to appease her, to make her forget this feud her father had started.
"Lordy, it's been over five years. Don't they ever let go?" "A Scotsman can't."
Ian turned to see his mother enter the room. He welcomed her advice. His mother was always calm and rational when he was not. "She hit Murray's farm last night," he said. Ainsley Blackstone nodded. "Yes, I heard."
She smiled warmly at the older man who stood waiting to be dismissed. "My son appreciates you taking the time to come and see him concerning this matter, Murray. I hope this unpleasantness hasn't disturbed you or your family. Please give my love to Patricia." The graying head bobbed and he wasted no time in starting for the door, his discomfort apparent by the relief lighting his eyes.
"Don't concern yourself over this, Murray. I'll take care of Kolyn MacGregor." Ian's voice was hard, his tone saying even more than his words. Again the shaggy mop of hair moved, and Murray disappeared out the door. Ian frowned for a moment, and then turned back to his mother. "Why are you smiling?"
She shrugged her petite shoulders and continued to smile. "I was just wondering how you plan to take care of Kolyn MacGregor." A sort of snort was Ian's first answer. Then he elaborated. "I don't know. I seem to be at a loss as to how to handle an angry woman. No, let me clarify that an angry Scotswoman who thinks she has a score to settle."
"Doesn't she?"
He had not expected his mother to say such a thing, and it brought forth instant anger, anger that was already smoldering inside him. "And what does that mean? I've only done what I had to. The MacGregor's sons each challenged me, not the other way around." "I know that, Ian. You needn't be angry with me. I'm just telling you that Kolyn MacGregor has lost her brothers and father to your sword. Were they your brothers and father, what would you think? What would you do?"
"I don't know," he confessed, confusion taking the edge from his fury. "What am I to do? Let the woman take whatever she feels like taking? She's raided three of my farms. Do I let that go?" "You could. She is doing no one harm." "So far, she has done no one harm. What about the next time? And when will she stop?"
Ainsley looked thoughtful, and then said, "When she feels she has collected all the debts you owe."
Flashes of each fight, each man succumbing to his sword raced through Ian's mind. He lived with his actions; he had no choice. But he couldn't fight a woman, he couldn't kill a woman, and he had no doubt that was what it would come to if she continued such reckless acts. Ian sighed, thinking that was exactly what she wanted. "And what if she decides to collect the highest payment of all my life? Would you still be so approving?"
"Of course not," Ainsley declared. Then she looked worried. "You do not think the woman would be so foolish?"
Ian was thoughtful. "I don't know. Perhaps." Then he smiled widely. "I have learned never to underestimate a Scotsman or a Scotswoman either!" A twinkle came to his mother's eyes, and he marveled at how beautiful she was. He could understand why his father had left England behind to be with Ainsley and live in Scotland.
"Ian, my son, your Scottish blood is overriding the English in you." Then her playfulness was gone, and in its place came a serious thought. "Be patient. The girl has a lot of grief to get past. You've had your own share and it has been difficult to get free of it."
This touched a nerve in Ian, one that was not pleasant to feel. Would he ever be rid of the guilt, the pain? He despaired ever having a normal life again. "It's the MacGregors who persist. They are the ones to end this, not me" "Well, let's pray that Kolyn MacGregor will come to her senses."
"You do that, Mother." Like a breeze blowing, Ian felt the
anger ease from him, and in its stead settled a great sadness. "While you're saying your prayers, say one for me. Pray I find an answer before someone does get hurt or killed."
The sun inched behind the mountains and the air was touched with coolness. Kolyn knew they should go in, but was unwilling to give up the enjoyment of watching her son ride his pony. Horses, manure, hay, and dust all fused into a strong, musty odor, a smell she always associated with the stables. She didn't mind the smell; she rather liked it. It was earthy and natural.
"That's very good, Drew." Kolyn ran alongside the pony, holding the bridle as Andrew sat tall and proud making his rounds in the stable yard. His laughter was echoed by hers, his high and shrill, while Kolyn's was sultry, a warm counterpoint.
"Let go! Let go!" Andrew tugged at her grip, trying to free her hand from the bridle. Kolyn was afraid to let go, but knew he wanted to ride without her help. She took a deep breath and released the pony. Taking charge with authority, Andrew stayed astride as the animal trotted along. His cries of victory brought tears to Kolyn's eyes. She clapped and cheered in response to his newfound expertise and bravery.
"Look at you," she called, turning in a circle as her son rode about. "You're such a big boy." "Look, Uncle Dwight." Andrew let go with one hand and waved, but quickly grabbed hold once again as he became insecure. "I'm riding all by myself." "Aye, you are at that, lad."
Kolyn felt a sense of uncertainty as Dwight walked over to stand beside her. He said nothing. They just watched Andrew as he continued to ride, his small body bouncing up and down in rhythm to the pony's slow, choppy gait.
"He's a fine lad, Kolyn. You've done a good job raising him." "I've done my best."
A tense silence descended once again. Kolyn wondered about her uncle's thoughts, but was afraid to ask. At times, she even convinced herself she had imagined it all, that what he had said was spoken in drunkenness and was not what was in his heart. He was her uncle, her family. Surely she had been wrong. Shame filled her, leaving her shaken and trembling. "Is there something wrong, lass?"
Kolyn turned to Dwight, her gaze meeting his straight on. He didn't remember. She was certain of it now. "Nothing's wrong." It was a lie, but Kolyn dared not let him think she was afraid of his feelings for her. It haunted her like an echo in a cavern of rock, bouncing back again and again. It was true. She was afraid of his loving her, not in the way a family loves, but the way a man and a woman love.
This revelation touched her with its power, making her anxious and twisting her stomach into a painful knot. It was impossible! Kolyn tried to argue with her own thoughts and emotions as they ran rampant. "Drew," Kolyn called out, unable to take any more. "We'd best let the pony rest. We'll ride again tomorrow." Andrew trotted over and reined the animal to a precarious stop. Pride seemed to explode from him, his golden eyes alive with accomplishment. "Can't I ride some more?"
"No, it's getting dark. You need to get ready for bed, lad." His lower lip pouted, but he did as Kolyn said and slid off into her waiting arms. "You used t' do the same, lass. You'd have slept on your pony if you could."
Nostalgia touched her lightly, easing some of her apprehension. Dwight had been the one to teach her to ride. "I still miss that pony. What was her name?"
"You called her Flower." "Flower." Andrew giggled at the name. "That's silly." "Just as silly as Blackie." Kolyn tickled his tummy and Andrew's giggles turned into laughter. "Let's get you ready for bed, Drew. It's getting late."
''Good night, Kolyn."
Kolyn turned to Dwight and smiled, the awkwardness she felt hidden. "Good night, Uncle. Is everything prepared for tomorrow night?" Dwight nodded but said nothing. Kolyn was aware he thought it too soon to strike again, but that was the very reason she wanted to remain unpredictable.
The sound of laughter, conversation, scraping benches, and crackling fire was like an old friend to Ian, The Raven like a second home. It wasn't so much the strong ale they served that he found appealing, but the company he kept there. Ian liked to spend time with his men, and always welcomed Geoffrey's companionship. He knew they were more at home at the tavern. Stonehaven's stiffness was too formal for their rowdiness. And they all, Ian included, respected and loved Ainsley too much to subject her to their drinking, so they kept to the tavern for such occasions. Ian looked forward to the quiet evenings he spent with his mother, and she did not mind his nights spent away with his men. She had grown used to his comings and goings, and never complained about the many nights he stayed at the inn, understanding his dark moods better than he did himself.
"Tell me, Geoff. What would you do?" Ian watched his friend closely, the good humor and teasing Geoffrey had engaged in coming to a halt as he thought upon Ian's question. "'Tis a bit of a problem, Ian. If it was a man, you could handle it as you have in the past. But since the MacGregor is now a woman, I've no clue what to do about it."
"Mother thinks I should just leave her be, let her work this tantrum out." "Do you think 'tis but a tantrum?"
"I don't know. Time will tell us the answer, I'm sure." Someone entered the tavern, distracting Ian and Geoffrey from their conversation. The man's excitement stirred everyone up.
"Looks to be a fire! 'Tis the grain!"
Both Ian and Geoffrey stood in unison, the wooden benches nearly toppling as they bolted for the door. Within minutes they were on their horses and headed toward the fire, its glow guiding them in the darkness, the smoke disappearing into the night sky. When they arrived, the fire had already been put out. A woman stood in the midst of the smoke and ashes, beating the last of the flames out with her plaid. She was covered in soot from head to toe, and there was not an inch of flesh left unmarred with black. Her hair hung in tangles, heavy with ash and dirt, sheaves of wheat clinging to it.
Kolyn looked up to see two men on horse-back watching her. She stopped and coughed to clear her lungs of the smoke she'd inhaled. When the fire broke out she had ordered Dwight and her men away. Now she wished she hadn't. But she would not run. She stayed her ground, facing them in all her unkempt glory. "What are you doin', lass?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" They were close enough for Kolyn to read the looks on their faces. They obviously hadn't expected her to be so cocky. A warning went off inside her head, telling her it was best not to be that way, but she ignored it. "Are you puttin' it out or are you startin' it?"
Kolyn watched them closely. The taller, darkhaired man remained silent. He was the one she kept her eyes on. "I'd be asking your own men who started the fire. Dropping a torch in the middle of a granary is not a smart thing to do." "So you were puttin' it out." "Actually, I was stealing it." This they definitely did not expect. But neither did Kolyn expect the dark man's reaction. He began to laugh, not a quick laugh, but a long, heartfelt one. She thought he might fall off his horse he was laughing so hard.
Kolyn ran over to him and grabbed a big, booted foot and shoved with all her might. The giant man toppled from his steed, landing with a thud on the ground. "I don't take kindly to those clods burning my grain. I expect payment in full. You tell Blackstone, payment in full."
Standing, he brushed off the dirt and cast a quick glance to his companion, stilling his chuckles. He casually walked up to Kolyn. He was over a full foot taller than her, his shoulders broader than any she had seen. The humor still lingered in his eyes, but a seriousness had smoothed out the laugh lines. His eyes were a vivid gold, surrounded by features so prominent they looked to be carved from stone, each line strong and sharply defined. His black hair was pulled straight back and neatly tied at the base of his neck, the hair as dark and rick as the night sky. Boldly, she examined the full curve of his mouth, and she found herself wanting to touch it.
"I suppose it is time we met. I am Ian Blackstone." Kolyn's voice was gone, as was her intense scrutiny.
"I would assume I have the pleasure of meeting Kolyn MacGregor. Am I right?" "I assure you, Blackstone, there is no pleasure." Mirth returned to his eyes, and Kolyn saw them twinkle. Ang
er began to seethe and guilt twisted in her as she realized she had thought him handsome.
"I thought so," he said. "What exactly is it you're thinking? Are you wondering what to do with me? Are you angry with me, Blackstone?" "Yes, I am angry with you. You've been causing me a lot of trouble lately." "And I'll cause you more before it's over." "Damn you, woman. What do you want from me?"
It was a fair question, and Kolyn wanted to answer it. But she wasn't sure she could. "I want . . ." "What, woman? What?" "I want you to pay for what you have done to me." Ian looked at her for a long moment. "Nothing I have can ever replace your family."
"No, nothing can do that." "Then what is it you want? What will get you out of my life?" Kolyn moved closer, standing toe to toe with him. She craned her neck to look into his disturbing eyes. "I want your life, Ian Blackstone. I want you dead."
At first, she thought she read anger in the eyes she studied up close. Then she saw the twinkle return. "You're a bonnie lass, I'll give you that." Then he started to laugh again. This time, she struck him hard across the face. His laughter ceased. The look he gave her would have frightened most men, but Kolyn did not take heed. She plunged on.
The Black Wolf Page 5