She didn’t have a plan, other than putting distance between herself and them. Sheep bleated and rabbits thumped a caution as she raced up the hill. Her heart beat like a pneumatic drill and her blood flowed like a raging river.
As she leapt over a wall she dodged an arrow that hissed a handy warning. She giggled. Was that the best they could do? Pathetic.
Once she met the forest her confidence waxed. It was nearly full moon and she had never felt better. Or stronger. Or fleeter. Without his horse, Calix would never catch her.
And so it was. By the time she’d reached the peak she sensed they were a long way behind. How angry they would be. She wondered when Calix would realise the full extent of his loss. What would he say when he went to get the bridle, his black heart filled with dark thoughts of her demise, only to find it wasn’t there?
Megan could only imagine. And she did. Each possible scenario as rewarding as the last.
She headed for the sea. The wild coastline was potted with hiding places. Hidden coves and caves. The water was her natural habitat. Like the wolves that once lived on the shores and swam to the islands to hunt and rear their young.
At the edge of a cliff she finally stopped. She listened long and hard and tasted the air. And she probed her brain for the faintest pulse. But there was nothing.
She sighed and dropped her skirts. In the daylight the dress looked faded and worn. But Megan’s hand caressed the fabric gently. It was her mother’s dress. She knew it. The blood told her so.
And then her heart twisted with pain. Her mother’s dress. Displayed in a cabinet like some sick trophy. But she was a little consoled by how much Calix Campbell would be suffering. It didn’t take a mage to work out that the bridle was a rare and precious commodity. After all, they’d killed her mother for it.
She looked at it then. It was lovely. And more so because her mother had once held it in her hands. The same hands that had rocked Megan to sleep and tended to her needs.
Megan climbed nimbly down the sheer face of the cliff and stepped out onto the rocks. Waves surged and ebbed beneath her. Cormorants lifted into the grey sky. She sat down, tucking the long skirt beneath her, legs crossed. And she looked once more at the bridle. She recalled her mother’s words: ‘This night you will ride the kelpie.’
The kelpie. Fabled wild water horse. Man-eating monster of mythology. Servant of the damned. And she shivered with excitement. This was a powerful gift indeed. She smiled to herself and smoothed the ivory bit beneath the pad of her finger. What would Sean say when she brought the kelpie home? He might be a magician but she was a match for him. And her heart rejoiced.
Then she settled and closed her eyes.
When she opened them she hummed a tune. An old lullaby. And as the music filled her she found the words and they rained sweetly on the ocean.
Her eyes swam back and forth across the waves. A seal bobbed up and watched her curiously. And a whale’s spume broke in the distance. And still she sang and waited.
She did not recognise it at first. It looked like a rock beneath the waves. Twice she panned by. The third time she realised that the rock was moving. She leaned forward and stared. There! It moved again. With tremulous hands she lifted the bridle. ‘Come, Kelpie!’ she called.
And it came.
Chapter 86
The hour that Sean spent in the old van was truly wonderful. He did not speak a word. He listened. And he learned that his mother had had the ‘gift’ but had walked away when she met his father.
Rose shook her head. ‘She loved him. And that was that. It happens. And — in truth — her father didn’t give her a choice.’
‘Why?’
‘She was promised to another travelling man. It was our way. Marrying out was almost unheard of then. It’s still uncommon.’
Sean thought about this. It must have been hard. Especially when she realised that she’d forsaken her family for a man who was ashamed of her heritage.
Rose got up. ‘Rory Wallace is your cousin.’ She laughed huskily and lit a cigarette. ‘Everyone here will be family somehow.’
Sean looked out of the window. The camp was in full swing. Women washing, men talking and grooming horses, children playing around the horses’ legs. His family.
And then something occurred to him. ‘Aunt Rose, not everyone here is werewolf, are they?’
She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘No. Many are, but not all. Take myself, my people were show people. When the circus closed, my grandfather threw in his lot with the Wallace Clan. Some, a few, are without magic or power of any kind, but we all have two things in common.’
Intrigued, Sean leaned closer to her. ‘What?’
‘We follow the Olde ways. The Olde religion. Some call us Pagan but we go back further than that. To the days when the Gods walked two worlds. Some, like the werewolves, go back to the Gods. Our kind,’ she paused and twitched her finger at Sean and then back to herself, ‘are distant kin of the Mage Amergin. Of course, the millennia have seen us weaken. But we are still here.’
Sean nodded. ‘What’s the second thing you have in common?’
Rose’s lips tightened in a straight line. ‘The other thing is a lasting loathing for the vampyre in general, and the Campbell Clan in particular.’
‘Why?’
‘Remember that I told you that the werewolves go back to the Gods?’
Sean nodded.
‘Well, so do the vampyre. For an age they were as one people. The Children Of The Mist. It is said that they were shape shifters. Vastly powerful. Worshipped by the mortals. But one day the Campbells, and their close kin, got greedy. They started to systematically destroy the MacGregors. Today they call it ethnic cleansing. Many were forced to choose a side. Those who joined the MacGregors and their kin suffered alongside them.’
Sean was absolutely enthralled. It was a family history of unparalleled magnitude. His were an ancient people. And, he realised, so were Megan’s. No wonder he was drawn to her. Their history marched side by side for an eternity. He wondered how much Megan knew, and guessed she must know something. Certainly she fully grasped the whole Campbell-hating concept. He felt a little light-headed.
Rose stood up. ‘I have things to do, Sean. But my door is always open to you and yours.’
He grabbed his staff and jumped up, feeling that he had overstayed his welcome. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
For a moment her brittle, dark eyes twinkled. ‘Bring that young woman of yours for a visit and I’ll take a look in my crystal ball for you both.’
Sean blinked. Crystal ball? Seriously?
Rose raised an eyebrow. ‘You stand with the Staff Of Life in your hand and yet you are a doubting Thomas?’
Sean blushed. What an idiot! ‘I’m sorry.’
She patted him on the shoulder. ‘I’m just ribbing you, boy of mine. You have a lot to take in.’
Relieved, Sean smiled. ‘I’ll see you later, then.’
She nodded. ‘Indeed.’
And then he left. Dazed, he wandered through the camp. He had so much to tell Megan, he barely knew where he’d begin.
Chapter 87
The ocean boiled and thrashed at Megan’s feet. Spray soaked her to the skin. The velvet dress clung like wet kelp to her body. But it barely registered. Her whole being was focused on the dark figure below the water.
And then Megan sucked in her breath as a pair of black ears, a long black face, and two golden eyes emerged. The kelpie swam forward and surged out of the water to stand on a great rock beside Megan. It was so beautiful. Megan’s eyes swept over its shimmering ebony coat, the long curling mane and tail and the sculptured proportions of its body. Water ran in rivulets down its long slender legs and pooled at its hooves. The eyes shone brighter than Halloween pumpkins.
Terrified that it might slip away as easily as it had arrived Megan still sang softly as she leapt onto the narrow rock. Close up she noted that her kelpie was a girl. Not a stallion at all. But she didn’t care. Her kelpie was pe
rfect.
With trembling hands she eased closer and closer. The kelpie snorted and she glimpsed the red membranes in the aristocratic nostrils. The water horse let out a small whicker and Megan discerned the two rows of sharp teeth. Teeth that would never graze on grass.
Slowly, slowly, Megan sidled closer until she reached out a hand and placed it gently on the wet warm shoulder. The slick coat felt like wet suede. Water dripped from the mane onto her hand. The kelpie stood firm.
Encouraged, Megan moved to her neck. The kelpie pawed the rock. Megan froze and waited. After a half minute she slid her hand over the mare’s nose and carefully placed the bit to her mouth.
The water horse opened her teeth, the bit slipped in and Megan lithely passed the headpiece over her ears.
A surge of euphoria swept through her and without thinking she turned, gathered her sodden skirts to her thighs, and vaulted onto the mare’s broad back. The beast’s head came up and Megan could feel all the great muscles contract beneath her seat.
The kelpie reared, forelegs slashing the air. Megan sat easily and stopped her song. She gathered a handful of the long mane in her hand and waited.
When they took off she was ready. Into the water they plunged with barely a ripple. The ocean closed in over Megan’s head. Terror snapped at her heels. Fishes flickered past her face and seals blinked their surprise.
Megan held her breath until black spots swirled before her eyes, and she opened her mouth. Salt water cascaded in. But then her head and shoulders burst into the atmosphere. She coughed and choked helplessly. Finally she recovered enough to look around.
She was on the bank of a small river in a picturesque, green valley. The kelpie picked her way delicately out of the river and up the bank.
‘Megan MacGregor!’
Megan smiled at Rory Wallace. Oh, what a glorious day this was. ‘Good day to you, Rory,’ she said sweetly, aware of the stir she was creating in the small encampment. ‘I have come to pay my respects to my fiancé.’
Rory stared at her horse, his green eyes roving from the clinging velvet of the gown, past her wet naked thighs, and to the great beast beneath her.
The travellers pressed forward and the kelpie backed up into the edges of the water. ‘Not too close,’ Megan warned. ‘I’m not sure if she’s eaten today.’
Rory’s mouth fell open. ‘It’s a kelpie, by the Gods!’
Megan tried to look nonchalant but gave up. She grinned exultantly. ‘No, Rory Wallace, she is MY kelpie. I have reclaimed from the Campbells that which they stole.’
There was a buzz of excitement through the ranks. Rory smiled. ‘We’d best be celebrating then, Megan MacGregor!’ He looked at her slyly. ‘You’ll be looking for a likely stallion to stand at stud?’
Megan hadn’t actually given it a thought, but immediately knew that he was right. Damn him. ‘Possibly,’ she said. But they both knew she was hooked. ‘I’ll be away then,’ she said.
Rory bowed mockingly. ‘Until we meet again.’
Megan looked up the hill to the house and her heart reached out greedily to Sean. And her wild water horse carried her with all the speed of the north wind.
In the horse yard she stopped. Sean’s head popped over the edge of a stable door. ‘What the hell?’ he said.
Megan smiled at him, her heart overflowing with love.
Chapter 88
When Cordelia arrived at her cousin’s, the castle was a ferment of malcontent. Calix was like a caged tiger. His mother, coldly irate.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Cordelia.
Calix snarled. ‘That feral bitch has been here! Here! In my house. In my room.’
Cordelia was fairly sure she knew who was the cause of Calix’s murderous rage, but wanted to be sure. ‘Who, Calix?’
By way of answer he lifted his hand and swept it across the mantelpiece. Priceless china statues and exquisite lamps soared into the air and then smashed on the ground. Calix stamped a Dresden shepherdess into dust. Then he stopped, his chest heaving with rage. ‘That lycan bitch.’
Cordelia nodded. Her guess was spot-on. Megan MacGregor. And she smiled to herself. Sometimes, timing was everything. Calix was in exactly the right frame of mind to receive her glad news.
She sashayed across the flagstones, feet crunching in the glass and china. ‘What would you say, Calix cousin, if I were to tell you that I know where the lycan lives?’
The room went quieter than a monk’s cell. Calix’s dark eyes scorched her own. ‘I would say — tell me!’
The Mater recovered first. ‘Cordelia, my dear, where are our manners? Would you like a drink?’
Cordelia was delighted. Never before had she been received with such courtesy. She followed the Mater out of the bedroom, down the corridor, up the winding steps of the tower and into the dining room. She sat down at the glossy walnut table. ‘Thanks, Aunt, that would be lovely.’
Minutes later Calix appeared and placed a long-stemmed crystal glass before her. Cordelia’s nostrils flared in excited anticipation. She lifted the glass and took a sip. The blood bathed her throat like the elixir of life. Which it was.
Soon Calix and his mother sat facing her. ‘So,’ said Calix, now the picture of calm, ‘how did you come by this information?’
Cordelia took another swallow. ‘I have been tracking her motorbike. She is somewhere west of Oban. I suspect the coast. We know there has been rumour of lycan that way for years.’
Calix smiled. ‘Cordelia, this is great news. It should not be hard to sniff out their stink.’ He put down his glass and looked at her. ‘For this, I would reward you. What would you like?’
I want Callum, her heart said. But her tongue said, ‘I want nothing, Calix. It is my duty to serve the family. I want no reward.’
‘Prettily put,’ said the Mater. ‘But come, my dear, there must be some little thing, some small trinket that would please you.’
Cordelia smiled. ‘I would have the lycan’s eyeballs for earrings.’
The Mater clapped and laughed. ‘But of course!’ She looked at her son who nodded. ‘You’ll stay to dine, of course?’
Cordelia smiled again. ‘I would be honoured.’ She relaxed a little and dared to voice a question. ‘When will you go?’
Calix’s hand clenched. ‘Tonight. The moon will soon be full. It would be foolish to wait too long.’
Cordelia leant longingly towards him. ‘Take me with you?’
He nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Will you ride? Take the dogs?’
His face darkened and Cordelia thought she’d said the wrong thing. But then his features relaxed. ‘No. We’ll go on foot. The terrain is too rugged for the horses. But we’ll take the hounds.’
Cordelia was content. She could not touch the lycan but she could still watch the entertainment. What a merry blood-letting it would be. Callum would be so thrilled when she went to him tomorrow and told him the news. She’d wear her new earrings. How he would laugh. How he would flatter her. It opened up so many possibilities. This time he couldn’t fail to see how suited she was to him. And he to her.
She shivered in anticipation. This time tomorrow all her dreams must surely come true.
Chapter 89
Sean looked down at Megan’s russet head resting on his shoulder. It was dark outside. He knew he should wake her but he felt so at peace he was loath to. His eyes wandered to his oak staff, leaning against the door. It had grown a little longer and had tiny new buds next to the leaves that he suspected might be the beginnings of acorns. Time would tell.
Then his gaze moved to the bottom of the bed, to the dark velvet mass of Megan’s gown. Beside it was the bridle, its ivory bit glowing softly in the dim light. The only visible evidence of the mythological beast who had returned to its watery home. It was still hard to believe. Even though he had seen the kelpie with his own eyes. Megan’s engagement gift to him. It was mind blowing.
He’d never forget it, not as long as he lived. Awe filled him. Megan had sat as
tride the great black beast like a goddess. He gently touched her bare shoulder and she sighed and stirred. His heart contracted with love.
But he was troubled. She was delighted, euphoric even, at her besting of Calix Campbell. And he could understand this. After all, a Campbell had killed her mother and probably her father as well. He had asked her if she was worried that her act might put her in more danger. Megan had seemed genuinely surprised at his concern. She wasn’t, she said, scared of the Campbells. She wasn’t scared of anything. And Sean believed her. And that’s what scared him.
When he had finally recounted his news, the story of his ancestors, she had been so happy. ‘See Sean,’ she’d said, ‘we are fated to love each other!’
And somehow, even while he knew that she spoke the truth, a sense of dread trickled down his spine. No good could ever come of this ancient feud.
His eyes searched her sleeping face. The flawless, pale complexion with the tiny freckles on her nose. The dark red eyelashes that curled onto her cheeks. The full red lips that he loved to kiss and the long pointed ears that never failed to fascinate him. And his heart ached with his love for her. And his mind filled with fear. For he could not bear the thought of living in a world without her.
Frustration filled him then. He was a magician. So they said. His was the Staff Of Life. So they said. But what did it all mean? What good was it if he couldn’t tap into this potential. Deep down he sensed that the time would come when he may have to protect Megan. It was like his life had become an hourglass through which the sand was running too fast. He looked at the clock. Seven thirty. Time to make a move. The witches would be waiting at the Jackal and Hide.
Gently he shook her. ‘Wake up, Megan.’
And she was wide awake. Her amber eyes looking into his. Her ears twitching. Pink tongue licking her lips. Her hands roamed freely and he pushed her off reluctantly. ‘Behave. We’ve got an agenda.’
She stretched and sighed. The sheet fell away and revealed the familiar curves and planes of her lithe body. Sean smacked her lightly and got out of bed.
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