The MacGregor

by Jenny Brigalow

  At Dunadd his own fate would be spun. For better or for worse.

  Chapter 94

  It was terribly squashy in the mini but they managed. They were all subdued on the ride to Dunadd. Megan sensed that Sean was uptight. One hand gripped hers and the other gripped the oak staff. She watched, wholly enthralled, as the small branches brushed softly over his wrist and the roots wound around his leg.

  The two witches talked softly. Megan could hear them clearly going over their plans. Nancy had a potion for Sean.

  The narrow road flattened out and finally the old fort reared up on the horizon. Lydia parked in the visitor car park and they all got out and peered about. The brook chattered softly down its bed and sheep baaed but otherwise the vast flat land was still.

  Nancy still seemed edgy. ‘Are we alone? No campers? No lurkers?’

  Megan shook her head. ‘No one but us,’ she said.

  The sound of their car doors slamming seemed extraordinarily loud. Quickly they travelled up the well-worn path until they reached the fort. Megan was up first and waited impatiently for the others. She looked around. It was beautiful. She could see for miles across the landscape. To the mountains in the east and the sea to the west. The scents of salt and pine mingled in this ancient place. A fox screamed and Megan felt a rush of anxiety, but couldn’t say why.

  But once Sean appeared, flanked by the witches, she forgot her preoccupation. She followed them upward until they all stood around a great rock on the ground. Clearly marked on its smooth grey surface was a footprint carved into the stone.

  Sean knelt down and touched it. ‘This is it,’ he said.

  Lydia nodded. ‘It’s not the original stone. But that shouldn’t matter. If you are truly who we think you are, then the magic here should reach you.’

  Megan could hear his heart pumping like mad in his chest.

  Nancy dug around in her bag and handed him a small glass phial. ‘Stand on the stone, Sean,’ she said.

  He took the phial and stepped up. Megan thought that she felt the smallest quiver in the close-cropped turf beneath her. But perhaps she just imagined it.

  Then the witches chanted as they walked around the stone. Megan moved back a little, out of their way. Faster and faster they walked, faster and faster they talked. Their shapes seemed to smudge and Megan found it hard to focus. And she realised then that their feet moved in coordinated steps. A dance. Soon they were no more than dark blurs. Megan felt her pulse race as if she too were spinning around the stone.

  The air around her became still and brooding. And, just as Megan became dizzy, the witches stopped. They threw something onto the rock. A yellow smoke writhed upwards and crawled up over Sean. Megan tried to move but couldn’t. She watched as he lifted the phial and drank the contents.

  And then he disappeared from sight, entirely covered by the eerie yellow mist. The witches dropped where they stood. Megan sensed their exhaustion. Like her, they watched and waited breathlessly.

  Megan jumped like she’d been branded as the ground trembled. Then a wind came from the east. It blew in like a cyclone. And Megan could no longer see. Something stuck to her face and she scrabbled frantically to clear it. Leaves. The air was full of leaves. And she watched wide-eyed as they swarmed into the swirling mist. Thunder cracked and lightning licked the cloudy sky with forked tongues.

  And then the wind dropped and was gone. The leaves fluttered to the ground. And there was silence. The yellow fog swirled away into the night.

  Sean materialised before her eyes. His face was distorted. Hidden behind a leafy mask. Only the brilliant sky blue eyes remained the same. His body was indistinct. Mossy and grey. The oak staff melded to what had been his legs. And his hands were twigs and sticks.

  And then the mask cracked wide and he spoke. And the Olde words poured over Dunadd once more. The skies opened and rain poured down. The leaves were washed away. And all that was left was Sean and a garland upon his head of oak and acorn. The King had returned.

  Chapter 95

  Water ran down his body like a lover. The stone beneath his feet spoke to him like a brother. And in his hand the oak staff trembled with the promise of his power.

  And Sean felt at peace. For everything was clear in his mind. He lifted his face to the sky and opened his mouth and drank. And then he looked around, searching for her. His fox.

  And he found her. Amber eyes glowing in the dark. And he stepped off the stone and went to her. Her dress was soaked once more. The jumper heavy with water. Her long red hair curled around the smooth plane of her forehead. She did not move. He looked down into her beloved face.

  ‘Megan MacGregor, will you marry me?’

  And she threw back her head and her lips formed a perfect O as she let out a long, lingering howl. On and on it went. Winding like a ribbon through the endless dark of the land.

  He grinned and pulled her close and stopped the sound with a kiss. ‘I’ll take that as a yes!’ he said when he surfaced.

  She smiled then. ‘You may.’

  He remembered Lydia and Nancy and turned to find them. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  Nancy smiled. ‘Sean. How do you feel?’

  Lydia peered at him anxiously. ‘Are you all right?’

  He breathed in deeply. ‘I am all that I should be.’ But then he realised that the two witches were saturated and shivering. ‘You must go, ladies, before you catch a chill.’

  Nancy looked at him slyly. ‘No chance of a quick-dry spell then?’

  He laughed. ‘I’m sorry, Nancy. But I fear not.’

  The two women came closer, their faces agog with curiosity. Lydia wiped water from her face. ‘Sean, what then? What are you now?’

  He pulled Megan closer and thought for a moment. ‘I am a conduit.’

  Nancy looked blank. ‘A conduit of what?’

  Again he considered the question. ‘A conduit of the elements. I am earth, wind, water and fire.’

  Megan stepped back. ‘Holy crap!’ Then she grinned exultantly. ‘That’ll fix the bastard Campbells. Don’t suppose you can add pestilence and plague to that list?’

  He laughed. ‘I’m not death, Megan. I am life.’ He thought she said ‘Bugger’, but couldn’t swear to it.

  The rain eased. He looked at his staff and realised that both the leaves and roots had vanished. It looked like it was no more than a fine, sturdy staff. But it wasn’t. It was mature wood. Eager and willing to aid him.

  Megan startled and looked around. Her ears twitched.

  ‘What is it, Megan?’ said Sean.

  She turned slowly and he followed the line of her gaze. Sheets of rain spread all around them. Silver and white. But he knew that her eyes were much sharper than his own. And her hearing too. Then she looked back at him, a frown creasing her pale forehead. ‘Something is out there. We should leave.’

  Sean nodded. ‘Lydia, Nancy, it would be wise to do as Megan bids.’ He stopped and thought. ‘In fact, I think that you should go away for a while. Until the moon begins to wane once more. Just to be on the safe side.’

  The two witches exchanged knowing looks. Nancy shivered. ‘I think we might just do that.’ There was no argument from Lydia. And after a heartfelt goodbye they ran down to the car park and drove away.

  Sean turned to Megan. ‘Home?’

  She nodded. ‘I will lead the way.’

  Sean could sense her frustration at the thought of matching her footsteps to his own. He smiled to himself and lifted the oak staff to the gunmetal grey sky. The words came to him, falling from his tongue like raindrops off a leaf.

  The wind came at his call. She caught him up in cold, clasping hands. Sean watched Megan’s eyes pop with surprise as his feet lifted from the ground. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he said.

  Megan blinked and then smiled. One hand went to her chest and checked that her bridle was secure. The other lifted her long skirts. And she ran. And where she went, Sean followed.

  Chapter 96

  The hounds pi
cked up the scent despite the rain. But there was no denying they were lucky. At the top of a steep cliff they stopped and cautiously peered over. The huge black dogs slavered and leaned against their leashes. But they were silent, as they had been taught.

  Calix smiled when he glimpsed the tiny croft huddled in the bay. He could smell smoke and fish. And lycan. He tasted the wet air. There was something else. Then he had it. Fox. He savoured the moment. It had been many, many years since they had tracked down a MacGregor. The last time had proved to be mightily entertaining. The lycan bitch had taken a long time to die. Hopefully today’s catch would be equally as rewarding.

  Behind him his sister Celeste moved restlessly. Her desire for revenge burned as brightly in her dark heart as his own. She had recovered from the silver bullet but she had suffered. Still he waited. Foolish to make a mistake now when they were so close.

  He backed carefully away and turned to the eager faces of his companions. ‘I can’t see anyone. But there is a boat moored, so someone is home.’ He spat on the ground. ‘Besides, I can smell their stink from here.’

  Celeste stepped closer, her eyes black as coals. ‘She’s mine!’

  Calix looked at his mother and his cousin questioningly. His mother shrugged but Cordelia nodded. Calix wondered where Callum had got to. What, he wondered, could have distracted his cousin away from the night’s sport? But there was no time to dwell on the matter. Callum would keep.

  ‘All right. Let the dogs go. We’ll go down. Be alert. When we reach the bottom, spread out.’ He pointed to his mother. ‘West.’ At his sister. ‘North.’ Then his cousin. ‘East. And I’ll come in on the south.’

  Celeste’s eyes glittered in the night light. ‘What if they won’t let us in?’

  Calix smiled. ‘Then we’ll burn the place down.’

  There was a satisfied silence and Calix enjoyed the delighted countenances of his kin. ‘Are we ready?’

  They all nodded and he unclipped the leads from the dogs’ collars. They streaked over the edge of the cliff and disappeared from sight. The Campbells followed as silently as wraiths. No more than shadows in the mist.

  At the bottom they split up and raced across the shingle, weapons primed and ready. In a few seconds they had surrounded the tiny white croft.

  A heartbeat later Celeste appeared at Calix’s side. ‘The door’s open. No one’s home.’

  Calix cursed to himself. And then he caught the scent of herrings and the frantic bark of dogs rang out from the west over the boom of the surf. A smile curled across his face. ‘The boat!’

  His sister nodded and slipped away, returning with the Mater and Cordelia. They exchanged exultant glances and raced seaward. The smell of dirty lycan grew stronger as the ground slipped beneath their feet.

  Thrilled, Calix stopped and stared at the boat. The dogs were gathered on the crumbling timber landing. They raced up and down, eyes and ears never losing sight of their quarry.

  Standing alone on the deck was an old lycan. His red hair was streaked with frost and time had traced deep trenches into his face. Only his eyes seemed young. As bright and green as spring grass.

  Calix sensed he was very old. Ancient even. He felt oddly deflated; he’d been anticipating better sport. It appeared the old lycan was alone. Megan MacGregor wasn’t there. Frustration washed through him. He would teach the bitch a lesson anyway.

  For a moment he was still as he contemplated a fitful end for the old ruin. But Celeste had less self-control. She sped past him and leapt upon the deck. She snarled and hissed and pulled out a long curved knife.

  Calix wasn’t sure who was most shocked, himself or Celeste, when the old man made a graceful sweep with one booted foot and disarmed her. The knife cartwheeled up and into the surf.

  Celeste screamed with rage. Or was it outrage? And Calix and his kin moved in for the kill.

  Chapter 97

  Every time Megan turned to check on Sean, he was there. Right behind her. It was strange and wonderful at the same time. She couldn’t wait to get home and see the look on Grandad’s face when he copped an eyeful of her intended. She could barely believe it herself.

  As they raced up mountains and skirted lochs Megan felt truly happy. In Sean she had met a man who could match her. A man who was not a man at all, but a great mage. Like the days of Olde. Her sense of wellbeing was heightened by the weight of the velvet gown. Her mother’s gown. And also by the bridle wrapped firmly around her chest and shoulder. Her mother’s bridle. She felt that some kind of balance had been restored to her life at last.

  The rain eased and the cloud thinned. Megan could see the moon’s silver shimmer behind the thin cover. Her power poured out like a potent potion and her blood leapt and raced like a salmon surging upstream.

  Finally they reached the rugged coastal terrain. Mountains cropped by sheep and sculpted by the wind and weather. Megan loved them. Sometimes she could feel the ancient rock beneath the thin soil shift slightly. Like a sleeping giant easing a stiff joint. This land was older even than her kind. A link to the past.

  With Sean moving effortlessly beside her they soon reached the edge of the steep cliff. And there she stopped in her tracks.

  Sean settled beside her and the cold wind dropped away and the world seemed strangely subdued. The only sound the rasp and surge of the ocean in the bay. It was still. So still.

  And then the wind blew in from the sea. And it brought with it the salty smell of brine, the rich scent of herring and the sickly scent of corruption.

  Megan felt a great tsunami of horror wash through her mind. Like a missile she launched herself over the edge. Sean’s voice touched her mind like a shadow and slipped away.

  Her heart beat like a war drum in her chest and her fear flew from her teeth in a harsh, snarling growl. She reached the cottage like a whirlwind and flew in. ‘Grandad! Grandad! Grandad!’ she sobbed frantically as she searched. But the house was empty. ‘Tippet! Grandad!’ But only silence answered her.

  And then she followed her nose. And she was crying now. Great racking sobs of agony that seemed to shake her very bones. Across the pebbly beach she ran to the sea.

  Her feet faltered at the stairs to the old walkway. The boat bobbed merrily at its mooring. A light burned yellow below deck. A fishnet spilled out into the water. Dead herrings bobbed around in the sea. ‘Grandad.’ But it was more a whisper. Or a prayer. ‘Grandad.’

  And then Sean was there. She turned to him, half blinded by tears and grief. ‘I can’t…’ But a paroxysm of grief gripped her and she bent beneath its weight.

  His arms caught her and pulled her to his warm body. ‘Stay here. I’ll go.’

  But she shook him off fiercely. Was she a coward then? ‘No!’

  He nodded. His face grim. ‘Together then.’

  She nodded but found her feet wouldn’t answer her. Again she failed as huge sobs of anguish racked her. And he held her until she had control once more.

  Finally she steeled herself and stepped upon the slippery planks. As she walked she trained her eyes on the tiny gaps between the timber and watched the dark water below. And then her hand found the boat and she leapt up. She looked around and staggered backwards. Her mouth opened and let out a long howl of agony. Her legs gave way and she fell upon her knees. Her eyes wandered over the deck at the bloody remains of her grandfather. So many and so small that he was no more than a grotesque collection of jigsaw pieces. Her hand reached out and touched a small patch of red fur. Tippet.

  And then her body bent like a bow until her head touched the deck. And she hit the timber hard. Again and again as if she could batter the horror of it all clean out of her mind.

  Strong arms wrapped around her and dragged her away. And she screamed. And found she couldn’t stop.

  Chapter 98

  Her screams pierced Sean’s mind like a sword as he carried her away. He was rocked to the core by the scene he’d just witnessed. It was like the worst horror movie ever made. Except it was real.

&
nbsp; Back in the croft he stood in the doorway. The house was small and shabby but it was clean and tidy. It smelled like tobacco and cheap carbolic soap. Sadness filled him. This was Megan’s home. The house to which she had brought him so gladly to meet her family. An old werewolf and a young fox cub. A family that no longer existed.

  And still the tortured howls and screams poured from Megan. Her eyes were glazed and her face was deathly pale. Sean was at a loss. What should he do? Should he take her away? Would the vampyre who had done this terrible thing come back?

  And then he wished that they would. Because then they would have to answer to him. He tightened his grip on Megan, still unsure of how to progress, his eyes skimming around the kitchen. He passed over the scarred old table in the centre and to the old china sink by the window. An ashtray sat over the fireplace, a pipe lying beside it. And there was a bottle. Whisky, if Sean were any judge. Which he was.

  Whisky. Just the thing. He went to one of the easy chairs before the fire and poured Megan into it. And, as he did so, she went silent. Her eyes were dilated, the whites peppered with red lines like crazy paving. Sean crouched before her. ‘Megan, stay there, I’ll get you a drink.’ He waited for a moment but she didn’t so much as blink.

  Quickly he went to the bottle and headed for the kitchen cupboards. A search located a dozen mismatched glasses. He grabbed the two biggest and sloshed a goodly amount in each, scooped them up and raced back to Megan. He held out a glass to her but she didn’t stir. He put the glass to her nose. But still nothing.

  Finally he pressed the rim of the glass to her lips and tipped. The whisky dribbled down her chin. Sean swore in frustration and then tried again. ‘Try it, Megan, it’ll help, I swear.’

  She blinked and her lips opened. Sean tipped the glass and she swallowed convulsively and then coughed and choked. Almost in tears Sean banged her on her back. The coughing stopped. Sean looked at her anxiously. Her colour was better and her eyes were brighter. He held out the glass once more and this time she took it. Without a word she swallowed the contents.