‘Megan.’
Megan opened her eyes and was still.
A filmy vision floated past her. A woman dressed in a green velvet gown. She smiled. ‘My girl. Look at you. A woman grown. A princess indeed, for royal is your race. You will find your birthright at the castle. It is hung above the mantelpiece in the sleeping quarters of Calix Campbell. Go swiftly while the day is young. This night you will ride the Kelpie. Fare you well, my daughter.’
Megan reached out a frantic hand. For a second the soft nap of the velvet brushed her fingers. And then she was holding air. ‘Come back!’ she said. But she knew it was futile.
For several moments she was completely still. Her mind swimming with shock. Then she picked up the skull and hugged it to her chest. It was hard and unyielding. She took it to the dark recess of the cavern and slipped it into a fissure in the wall. ‘Goodbye.’
Back out on the narrow shelf she stood and stared out across the ocean. The islands were crowned with cloud. Promise of more rain. And Megan took in a deep breath of moist, cool air and swirled inward and downward. Then she lifted into the air and rolled across the ocean. With the southerly wind aiding her, Megan travelled swiftly. She sped up when she found the channel to the loch. Finally the castle’s forbidding countenance reflected beneath her on the still water.
Silently, stealthily, she roamed over its stone facade. When she found an upper room with a window too swollen with damp to shut, she slipped in. The room was empty. But Megan was drawn to an old glass cabinet. She stared in at the dressmaker’s dummy and rage sent her diving down once more into the pathways. Seconds passed and she retook her mortal form once more.
She barely felt the cold on her naked body as her fingers pulled the door wide open. With one fierce tug she pulled the velvet dress free. It was deep green. Almost black. Except for a dark rusty stain down the back. Even now, Megan could smell her mother’s blood. Without thinking she stepped into the garment. It fit like a glove.
She smiled at herself, and smoothed the velvet beneath her hand. Revenge was sweet.
Chapter 81
When Cordelia’s tracking device led her to the motorbike in the beech copse, she was tired but exhilarated. Somewhere, between this place and the sea, was the hiding place of Megan MacGregor. She could taste victory on the tip of her tongue.
For a moment she contemplated going on alone. But she hesitated. The MacGregor bitch was not to be trifled with. And, if Cordelia was honest, she was afraid. Although nothing would have made her admit the fact. And, besides, she must sleep. Soon it would not be a matter of choice. Her nerves quivered like a plucked harp string at the thought of the lycan coming back and finding her there, asleep upon the mossy ground.
Spurred on by this fear, Cordelia stepped out of the shade and pulled up her hood. The sunlight burned her retinas and made her bare skin prickle. She knew that she should head out to the castle. Calix should be told the news.
But her eyes wandered to the mountaintops. To the green dense cap of forest in which Callum’s lodge lay. He may not be home. She sighed wistfully. The mere thought of him. Of his sculpted, athletic body, his haughty aquiline face and those long, slender fingers that played the most exquisite melody upon her body. She felt her panties go wet. Her pulse pounded like pistons in her veins. And she was hungry for him.
She hated him. She loved him too. Like a spider caught up by its own silken thread she was drawn irrevocably towards him.
The sunlight seemed to burn through the quilting of her jacket even in the shade of the forest. She thrust her hands deep into the pockets. Every step was a struggle. Her eyes felt weighted and her limbs filled with sand. The soft bed of pine needles beneath her booted feet seemed to drag her earthward.
It was only her ardent desire to see him that kept her moving. She pushed her discomfort away as she tenderly recalled every waking moment of their night together. Every touch, every kiss, every move towards that sweet surrender. And the closer she got to the lodge, the greater her agitation. The greater her need.
When she finally staggered into the small clearing she stopped. Utterly exhausted. She collapsed to the ground and hunkered there like a wounded bird. Then, on her hands and knees, she crawled across to the door. She lifted her hand but could not knock.
The door opened silently and she looked up into his eyes. And she wept as he lifted her bodily and carried her inside into the delicious darkness of his home.
She lay on the sofa, railing at her nature and at the youth that should have felt like a blessing, but instead felt like a curse. Here he was, right beside her. Her nostrils flared at the sweet scent of him. But she must succumb to the biological burdens of her kind. It was so unfair! She tried to speak. But words failed her. Instead, she looked into the dark pools of his eyes until sleep washed her away.
Chapter 82
It was like a dream. It was a dream. An actual dream come true. Sean could scarcely believe it. He sat down on the stone wall and watched in wide-eyed delight as the travellers set up camp.
The vans were drawn into a circle, the horses uncoupled and set free. They trotted a few strides and sunk to the ground to roll away the stress of the day. Then they stood, shook and grazed. There was a thunder of hooves and the fine herd of blood horses galloped up. But the caravan ponies took no notice and, after some half-hearted henpecking, they all settled down to crop the sweet grass.
Sean was so busy admiring the pretty picture they made that Rory Wallace took him by surprise when he leant back against the wall beside him.
Sean felt strangely shy, which was crazy considering that this was, after all, his land. But that was simplifying things, and he knew it. He wanted to be friends with these people, whoever or whatever they may be. Maybe it was just a leftover from the romantic cravings of his youth, or maybe not. Sean didn’t care. He wanted to be friends.
He looked at Rory. At the strong, determined face. It was impossible not to speculate on his opponent’s inner thoughts. After all, they both wanted the same thing. Megan. It did not bode well.
Sean waited, hoping the travelling man would break the ice. For want of anything better to do, Sean looked back at the scene unfolding before him. The camp was a hive of activity. Men dug a pit for a fire while women dragged out copper pots. Probably for a meal, Sean thought. But he was wrong. Children set up makeshift clothes lines between the vans and the women went down to the river to collect water. Evidently it was wash day.
And finally Rory stirred. He stood up and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. With his other hand he removed a match from its folder and scored it down a stone. Fire flared and the white paper curled and browned. ‘It’s always grieved me,’ said the Last Of The Free, ‘that we are labelled as dirty tinkers. So hygienic are we, that we escaped the great plagues. Few have lived to boast such a thing.’
Sean nodded, afraid to speak and say the wrong thing.
Rory jumped up on the wall beside him. Sean didn’t dare move, willing the man to speak once more. He was rewarded for his patience.
‘It is from your mother that you have the gift,’ said Rory softly. ‘It is always through the mother. That’s why I desire that wild thistle of a girl, Megan MacGregor.’
Sean shifted uneasily but held his tongue. The depth of his companion’s desire was underscored by the rawness of his voice. The soft lilting sounds of the Olde tongue were missing this time.
A group of children, a raggle-taggle mob of red curls and brown limbs, raced towards them. They tumbled and rolled upon the earth like wild things. One tripped and landed at the feet of Rory Wallace. The boy looked up through a red forelock with brilliant green eyes.
Rory growled. The boy squeaked, got up and raced away. Then the traveller looked at Sean for the first time. He grinned. His teeth were white and strong. And sharp. ‘That’s my brother. He’s a good lad, although I’d never tell him that.’ His gaze wandered back to the camp. ‘Our children have strong minds and healthy bodies, unshackled by the triv
ial pursuits of the moribund masses.’ He sighed. ‘But we are persecuted for it. There are many who would erase us like chalk from a board. Our safe havens are fewer by the year.’ His hand swept around in an arc. ‘Sarah understood this.’ He dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out viciously with his bare foot. He eyed Sean curiously. ‘Are we welcome still, magician?’
He put out his hand. ‘You are welcome, indeed.’
The hand hovered in the air, lonely as a wallflower. For a horrible moment Sean thought the werewolf was going to snub him. But then Rory Wallace reached out with his huge hand and engulfed his own. Sean was overwhelmed with relief and happiness. It was a start.
Chapter 83
The castle was still. Megan looked up and down the corridor and memories washed over her. The last time she’d been within these walls she’d been with Morven and Zest. It seemed like such a long time ago.
She turned right and stopped at the first door. For a moment she was still, senses questing. But she could feel nothing from the room. And so she moved on, her long gown whispering on the floor. Before she stopped at the next door Megan knew it was occupied. Vampyre, without a doubt. That strange force field told her so. But, of course, she had no way of knowing who was inside.
There was only one way to find out. She reached out and gently turned the brass handle. She heard the mechanism slide free and she pushed the door inward. And stopped. And waited. But all was quiet.
Like a ghost she slid through the gap and into the room. It was dim but she could see perfectly. Her eyes went straight to the bed and the figure reclining upon it. It was the old one. Old even by her standards. Not that you could tell just looking at the seamless face and perfect complexion. It wasn’t that she looked old, it was more that she did not look young. Kind of like an antique that had been immaculately preserved. This was the Mater. Morven had told her all about the old bat.
Megan stared at her in contempt. Her fingers itched to close tight around the swan-like neck bound by a velvet bow. This was the woman who had orchestrated the demise of her parents.
A low growl escaped from Megan’s lips. The noise seemed to reverberate around the room like a Mercedes engine.
Megan froze as the vampyre stirred. She watched in fascination as the old woman’s eyelids flickered. She half hoped she’d wake up. At the prospect, Megan could not stop the instinctive response of her body to this ancient foe. But then the rapid eye movement ceased. The moment had gone.
Megan pulled herself together and backed slowly out the door and snicked it softly shut. For a few seconds she just breathed and chastised herself for forgetting her purpose. She had not come to single-handedly destroy the Campbells. That wouldn’t help Sean. And — said a tiny voice in the recess of her mind — it wouldn’t help her. Not really. It wouldn’t turn back time.
She set off with renewed resolve. The next room was empty. The last one was occupied.
The door opened easily but whined in loud protest. Megan grimaced but was committed now, so pushed on. The room was dark but a fire burned low in a fireplace. The embers sighed and subsided. Megan realised that whoever it was here sleeping, they had been doing so for some time. And then she remembered her mother’s words and her eyes lifted above the mantel. And her heart skipped a beat. There it was!
She turned to the bed on her right. And grinned. There was Calix Campbell in all his naked glory. Megan knew she was mad, but she couldn’t resist taking a closer look. Vampyre up close and personal, you might say.
At the foot of the bed she stopped. Her first impression was of sculpted perfection. A thing of beauty. For it could not be denied, Calix Campbell was a piece of art. He had a face and figure that artists would drool over. But that was all. To Megan, who knew of his cruelty and calculated cunning, he was just an empty promise. A sham. A fraud.
She remembered Morven, chained and crazed in the dungeons below and Zest trapped in a cage deep in the well. And she felt a wave of disgust. She wondered what he would do if she picked a hot coal from the fire and dropped it on his sixpack. Her head swivelled to the grate. It was tempting.
Reluctantly she turned away. This wasn’t the time. She went to the fire, reached up and lifted the bridle from its hook. It felt warm to her touch. As if the hide were a living thing. The white bit glowed orange in the firelight. Her mother’s bridle. And a wave of exultation filled her.
He stirred. Megan watched and waited. But he just shifted his limbs and smiled.
And the smile did it. It was so…smug. She turned to the fire and her hand snaked out. The coal sizzled in her fingers and she pirouetted on one foot and tossed it.
Bullseye! And she ran.
Chapter 84
Sean shook the hand firmly. And Rory’s grip tightened. For a minute they tested each other. Finally Sean grinned and relaxed his hold. The man was strong.
Rory Wallace’s lips twitched triumphantly but he looked down at the encampment. ‘The last time I saw Sarah she told me about you,’ he said in his husky voice. ‘She sensed your potential. And you carry the aura of magic around you.’ And then he looked at the oak staff gripped in Sean’s left hand. ‘I have never seen the like of that before.’
And, to his own astonishment, Sean held out the staff. Rory’s piercing green eyes met his and his auburn eyebrows lifted like kestrel’s wings. And then he reached out and grasped the staff. Sean let it go. And he watched the hairs on the horseman’s arms ripple and the pupils of his eyes dilate. The long curly hair writhed like a nest of snakes. And then the traveller cried out, as if in pain, and dropped the staff to the ground.
He leaned back against the wall as if for support and Sean thought he looked shaken. The horseman’s broad chest lifted and fell as if he had been running a mighty race.
‘Are you all right?’ said Sean.
Wallace laughed, a thunderous rumble, and snapped his teeth together. ‘I am well. But, I must confess I am awed by the promise of power that you wield.’
Sean gently picked up the staff from the turf and looked at it. ‘Don’t be too impressed,’ he said. ‘At the moment I think it’s more a case of it wielding me.’
Rory nodded. ‘Rumour spreads like ragwort. It is said that you left the vampyre at the gates of hell.’
Sean thought that Rory looked particularly delighted by this snippet. ‘Did rumour also tell you that I nearly killed Megan MacGregor too?’
Rory nodded and grinned. ‘What did she say?’
Sean grinned back. ‘She was thrilled. Wanted me to finish them off.’
Rory was silent and his gaze travelled around the valley and up to the snow-capped mountains. ‘Why didn’t you?’ His voice was flat and hard.
Sean had to think about it. ‘I don’t really know. It just didn’t feel…right. I don’t want to kill anyone.’
‘Shame.’
Sean stifled a chuckle. He was so like Megan. ‘And besides, I don’t know what I’m doing. What if I’d hurt her?’
‘You love her, don’t you?’
Sean looked at Wallace. ‘Yes.’
Wallace sighed. ‘And she clearly feels the same. And she is a wilful little vixen.’ Despite his words his tone gave the game away. His longing seeped through his frustration.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sean. And he was.
Wallace stood up and shook his large frame like a dog shaking off beads of water. ‘Come, there’s someone you should meet.’
Together they strode into the camp. Voices fell and eyes followed. A girl smiled. She was pretty and Sean smiled back. He felt foolish when he realised that her smile was for Rory and not for him.
‘Rory,’ she said, ‘I have rabbit stew on the go. It’s yours for the taking.’
Sean guessed that wasn’t all that was for the taking, should Rory just ask.
Rory stopped and put a finger on the tip of the girl’s nose. Her dark eyes flashed a subtle message. Rory chuckled and walked away, so he didn’t see the look on the dark-haired beauty’s face. Sean reckoned he’d seen t
he same expression on Megan’s face. By his calculations Rory was a marked man. He just didn’t know it yet.
But he forgot the short interlude as Rory leapt up the stairs of an old caravan. Its paint was faded but the windows were clean and the brass polished to a high sheen. Sean had never been this close to a real traveller’s van before. He ducked through the door and looked around curiously.
It was tidy. And sparsely furnished with polished antique pieces. The room smelt of the lavender that hung in small bunches from the arched ceiling.
There was a curtain at the back which Sean assumed was a sleeping area. And then an old woman pushed through and stared at him. She smiled, her brown eyes warm.
‘Hello, Sean.’
‘Hi,’ he said.
She came forward, long skirt brushing the polished boards beneath her bare feet. She took his chin in her strong hand and stared at him. ‘You have your mother’s eyes,’ she said.
Sean took in an involuntary breath of air. ‘You knew my mother?’
She nodded. ‘I did. I am your great-great-aunt Rose. My sister was your mother’s mother.’
Sean was silent. His heart was too full for words.
Chapter 85
Megan flew down the hall and down the spiral staircase like the demons of hell were at her heels. Which they were. Calix Campbell’s roars of outrage had woken the household. But Megan didn’t waste time worrying.
With wings on her feet she flew across the great hall, pulled back the bolt, and headed for the hills with her skirt clutched in one hand and the bridle in the other. She couldn’t hear them behind her. But then, she wouldn’t, would she? They were close though.
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