Lonely Moon (The Wolf's Bane Saga Book 2)

by M. Katherine Clark

  Chapter

  Eight

  With his mead finished and his body relaxed, Marrock set the manuscript aside and blew out the candle beside his bed. The room was cloaked in darkness. Several minutes passed and still he found no rest. Turning to lie on his left side, his hand slid under his pillow and he closed his eyes.

  Opening them a short time later, sleep eluding him again, he stayed on his side. The moon was high in the sky, the pack long since asleep, but as Marrock lay alone in his room, in his mind’s eye he saw Mabh lying beside him smiling and stroking his hair. Closing his eyes against the vision, he turned to his right side and gazed out of the archway leading to his balcony. The drapes billowed in the midsummer’s breeze and fresh air with a salty tang from the loch blew over him. Taking a deep breath, his chest ached deliciously with the overexpansion and his mind relaxed. Closing his eyes, blissful sleep claimed him.

  “Marrock,” he heard Mabh whisper a short time later. “Marrock, my love.”

  “Leave me be, please,” he breathed.

  “But why? I am here. Come to me,” with a curse, he opened his eyes and sat up. Pulling the furs off of him, he stood, pulled on his trousers and walked onto the balcony. The fresh air stirred him and he took another deep breath. He looked out, surveying the land before him. The peat smoke from the chimneys made him smile. His people were prospering. It gave him a sense of pride to know that he had not only preserved his father’s lands but he had added so much more to it and several hundreds more wolves to his pack.

  When he was a boy and newly Alpha, the neighboring packs thought to take advantage of his naïveté and attacked. But he shocked them by running out to meet them head on with his uncle and men by his side. He fought against the usurpers and even at a young age he held the title of warrior. He commanded his troops with a knowledge far beyond his years. He had heard the rumors, the whispers, the blessed one, they called him. He had been conceived under the Hunter’s Moon and as such he was blessed in battle strategy.

  Looking out to the arena, his body ached with the urge to exhaust himself to the point of collapse. Hopefully then, the blonde haired angel would not invade his dreams and he could sleep. Half-phasing, he jumped over the balcony and down the three levels to the ground. He landed on his feet with one hand outstretched in a pouncing pose. His yellow eyes burned and his mind cleared. Looking to the right and left, he saw no one about and ran to the arena and beyond. He ran the perimeter of the village, running as fast as he could, feeling the wind through his hair.

  Weylyn appeared beside him.

  “What are you doing here, cousin?” Marrock demanded.

  “’Tis my watch,” Weylyn replied. “I saw you jump down from your room and run. I thought you might like some company.”

  “No’ particularly,” Marrock answered.

  “Oh,” Weylyn sounded dejected. “I am sorry. I will leave you to your thoughts.” Running faster to get ahead of him, Weylyn ducked into the forest.

  Pulling up, Marrock stopped just outside the training circle.

  ***

  “Kinnon?” Kyna’s voice came softly from their bed. Kinnon turned to look at his mate from his place at the archway of their balcony.

  “I am sorry, love. I did nae mean to wake you,” he said.

  “You did nae,” she replied. “Your absence did.”

  She stood and walked over to him. Taking her in his arms, Kinnon placed a kiss on the top of her head and held her to him.

  “What steals your sleep from you, Kinnon?” She asked.

  “Weylyn is running the perimeter. I am watching for him,” he said.

  She smiled into his chest and shook her head. “He is a grown wolf, Kinnon,” she said. “He can take care of himself.”

  “I ken,” he answered. “But I still worry about him.”

  “So do I, my love,” she said. “But you have trained him well.”

  He turned to look back out into the courtyard. They saw Marrock in the arena sparring and slashing the clay dummy they used to train children. The fierceness in his attack worried Kinnon, and sensing his concern, Kyna looked up at her husband.

  “Go to him,” she said.

  “He needs to be alone,” Kinnon replied.

  “How do you ken that?”

  “Because he is wrestling with things he does nae understand,” he answered.

  “What things?” She asked.

  “Things he has never experienced.”

  “But you have?”

  “Every day,” he replied and leaned down to kiss her.

  “What is it?” She asked.

  “He is wrestling with the fact that he could possibly be in love and he would do anything for his mate,” he confided.

  She looked up at her mate coyly. “You wrestle with our love every day?”

  “All the time,” he answered.

  “Why?”

  “Because I donnae deserve you,” he kissed her again.

  Leaning into him, she returned his kiss and grasped the back of his neck. Pulling away she playfully bit his lower lip and stroked his shoulder.

  “Help our nephew. You are a father figure to him and right now, if what you say is true, he desperately needs a father.” Then, pulling him closer to her, she slipped her hands around his neck and grasped him flush against her. “Then hurry back to me.”

  “I donnae think he needs me at this precise moment, I could stay,” he answered.

  She slipped away from his grasp and giggled.

  “Nay, you have a duty to our alpha first. Then. I promise you, if you delay the gratification it will be all the sweeter.”

  He glanced back to see Marrock slash the head off of the clay dummy. Knowing she was right, he still wanted to tease her as much as she teased him. Flashing his yellow eyes at his mate, a sign that he wanted her, he watched as goose flesh rose on her arms. Enjoying what his gaze did to her, he slowly stripped from his tunic and held it in his grasp as he half phased. His mate’s perusal of his naked torso stopped him for a moment. But then Marrock grunted with exertion and his mind flew to his nephew. Enjoying his mate would have to wait. Kyna was right, he had a duty to the alpha first.

  ***

  Kinnon heard his nephew’s grunts as he approached the arena. As usual, every time Kinnon approached Marrock to lend an ear or advice, Kinnon closed his eyes and prayed.

  “Give me the right words to say, brother.” Opening his eyes, he walked on and saw Marrock in the bright full moon, half-phased, slashing at the clay training figure.

  Kinnon stood on the outside of the arena’s stones, not stepping into the ring, when he called out.

  “A warrior like you, Alpha should nae be playing with a pup’s toy.”

  Marrock stopped his slashing and looked back at his uncle.

  “Did I disturb you?” He asked panting.

  “Nay, I was awake, ‘tis Weylyn’s turn to run the perimeter, I was watching for him when I saw you,” Kinnon said. “What is on your mind?”

  Marrock phased back to his human form and looked away from his uncle’s wise eyes.

  “I never had a chance to mourn my father, Uncle,” he finally said. “I have held on to my tears for so long and I desperately need him right now. I need to speak with him, I need his council. As much as I care for you and Aunt Kyna, I feel an orphan.”

  “Oh, Marrock,” Kinnon sighed and crossed into the ring, reaching for him. Marrock looked down and Kinnon lowered his arms. “I ken I am no’ your father, but I have always loved you as a son. If you would allow me I would be happy to help you in any way I can.”

  Marrock finally looked at his uncle and Kinnon saw the unshed tears Marrock was trying so desperately to hold back. He was still a lad even if he did not look or act like it. If they were human, Marrock would have only be the human age of twenty-four.

  “I am sorry. I donnae mean to seem ungrateful,” he began. “You are a wonderful man, Uncle Kinnon and I am blessed to have you in my life, but… forgive me, you are nae my
father.”

  Kinnon looked down attempting to hide the stab of pain that struck his chest at his nephew’s words.

  “I ken, Marrock,” he answered. “And I wish to the gods every day that your father was nae taken from you. I wish that he was standing here instead of me, and that he could answer all of your questions but he is nae and there is nothing I can do to change that. But… Riok was like a father to me as well. Did I ever tell you that?” When Marrock shook his head, Kinnon continued. “Our father, your grandfather was an unforgiving alpha. During that time there were many battles with the shapeshifters and he was constantly on alert. He never showed either Riok or I affection. You see, our mother died as she whelped with me and I donnae ken if my father ever forgave himself, or me.” Kinnon looked down at the unpleasant memories that assaulted him.

  “Riok was nearly forty years older than me and when father would fly into a rage for nae reason, Riok would prevent him from hurting me. I remember once he was nae there and father… well, struck me. Riok was away at the time trying to negotiate with a new human village that settled a day’s journey away. When he returned I tried no’ to show him my bruised face, but he saw what had happened and he confronted our father. After that, father never struck me again. He came close, but Riok stood before him and prevented it. So when I lost my brother, I no’ only lost my kin, I lost someone dear. He asked me to take care of you and your mother, I have done my best, but I am nae alpha. I donnae ken the burdens you bear and as much as I wish to the gods to share them with you, they are yours and yours alone. But ken this, lad, I am here and there is nothing you cannae ask me.”

  “Even if it is to do with a lass?” Marrock’s voice was so soft Kinnon almost did not hear it.

  “Aye, even then,” Kinnon answered. “I have my share of knowledge with lasses. Your aunt is a fiery one.”

  That made Marrock breathe a laugh but then a serious expression clouded his face.

  “Is it about Mabh? Is that who you need to speak to your father about?” Kinnon asked. Marrock looked away. “There is nae shame in loving her, Marrock.”

  “I hardly ken her,” Marrock replied.

  “Then learn about her,” Kinnon answered.

  “What if she is with another?” Marrock asked. “What if she does nae want me?”

  “If you feel this much of a pull to her, I assure you she feels it too,” Kinnon said.

  “How?” he asked.

  “Because I have experienced this. ‘Tis a feeling I am well aware of.”

  “She is unlike any female I have met,” he said.

  “Then tell her that,” Kinnon said.

  “How?” Marrock asked again.

  “Usually using the words is best,” Kinnon replied playfully sarcastic.

  Marrock looked deep into his uncle’s eyes and Kinnon smiled slightly pulling his nephew into an embrace.

  “Your father loved you more than life, Marrock,” he said. “And I love you just the same. Never fear mourning your father with me. And if you would like to talk about him or ask about him, you have but to ask me. Remember he is always with you.” Marrock nodded. “Now, get to bed? ‘Tis past the witching hour.”

  “I need a bath before I go to my room. I will go down to the river,” Marrock said.

  “I will come with you,” Kinnon offered.

  “Thank you but I would rather be alone. I thank you for your council, Uncle, it is much appreciated. I promise I will nae be long this eve and will be in my bed before long,” he said. “’Twill give me a chance to clear my head.”

  “Very well,” Kinnon replied. “Be careful.”

  “I promise I will,” Marrock said and headed for the gate leaving his uncle at the arena.

  Chapter

  Nine

  Marrock stopped at the main gate and told the guards he was going to the river in the woods. He refused the escort they offered and walked through the archway.

  Once he reached the river, he pulled off his tunic and stripped to the flesh, stepping into the water. Quickly immersing himself all the way, the sting of cold eventually warmed as his one hundred and two degree body heated the water. Dunking his head back to wet his shoulder length hair, he ran a hand through it to hold it out of his eyes. Sighing, he leaned back on a bolder and commanded his body to relax. But his mind drifted to his father.

  Unconsciously, he touched the wooden medallion that hung around his neck. It was on similar nights, when he was alone, that he would speak to his father. He knew Riok heard him, even if some did not believe as he did. On multiple occasions he could hear his father’s voice. He swore that on the battlefield many moon cycles ago, when he was getting tired, that his father’s voice shouted a warning to him. At that moment, Marrock ducked and narrowly missed a fatal blow. Since that time, he would speak to his father as if he were beside him.

  Fingering the medallion, he felt the smooth craftsmanship of the cedar wood that had been plucked from one of the ancient trees within the very wood in which he sat. It is said that cedar is also known as memory wood and can hold the thoughts of so many lives. The necklace had been passed down from father to son, alpha to alpha for longer than anyone knew, each alpha instilling their fighting spirit and leadership into the necklace.

  A sound caught his ear and instantly he was on alert. Ducking his naked body down into the water, he peered over the edge of the bolder to the origin of the sound. His eyes narrowed as he watched an old man with white hair and a full white beard, wearing a long brown cloak ease his way through the underbrush and out of the woods.

  The old man’s scent reached Marrock’s nose.

  Druid.

  Suppressing the growl that instinctively rose in his chest, he half phased as soundlessly as he could. The old man looked towards the water’s edge when he heard the splash of Marrock’s half-wolf body. Marrock breathed silently and watched the old man go back to building a fire. Easing out of the river and creeping on all fours, Marrock approached the man from behind and rose up to his full half-phased height, well over seven feet tall.

  “You are on my land, Druid,” Marrock’s voice was a mixture of gravelly authority and inhuman power. The man froze and turned slowly to see Marrock’s body dripping wet behind him.

  “We meant nae disrespect,” the old man said raising his hands in surrender.

  “We? You send an army against me, Druid?” Marrock’s voice stayed neutral.

  “Nay,” the old man answered. “’Tis only myself and two of my daughters. We are journeying to our sister grove in the east.”

  “This is as far east as you can go in the Highlands,” Marrock replied. “You are trespassing on my land and have given nae credible reason as to why you are here. Give me one reason why I should nae kill you.”

  “I shall give you three, Marrock son of Riok,” the man stated and Marrock watched, in abject horror, as the old man shape shifted his form into a much younger man. Producing a sword from the folds of his cloak, the man lunged at him. Backing up to defend himself, Marrock’s arms were pinned behind him by two females.

  As the man before him lunged and slashed at Marrock with the sword, Marrock swung back and forth dislodging one of the females. She went flying and her back collided with a tree. She fell unconscious.

  “Isla!” the other woman screamed for her as she still held tightly to Marrock’s neck from behind.

  Reaching over and behind him, Marrock tore at the woman; his claws sinking into the flesh of her shoulder. In one quick move he dragged his claw around almost taking her arm off at the shoulder socket.

  “Eithne!” The man yelled hearing the woman scream in pain. Her grip on Marrock released and the wolf lunged forward.

  Isla rushed to the woman who bled.

  Knocking the man down on his back, the sword he held went skidding and fell into the river, Marrock stood over him.

  “Father!” One of the women screamed.

  “Go, Isla, take Eithne and heal her!” The man ordered.

  “I will n
ae leave you!” Isla screamed back.

  “I said, go!” the shape shifter commanded.

  Isla helped her sister and they rushed back into the woods. The old man looked up into Marrock’s crazed face, the wolf’s yellow eyes burned with hatred.

  “Nae matter what you do to me, Wolf,” he started. “You cannae destroy my Grove. We will be the death of you.”

  “What is your name, Druid?” Marrock demanded.

  “I am Gabhran Dervorgilla, High Priest of Alba, Druid of the Isle of Skye,” the man pronounced.

  “Tell me, Gabhran,” Marrock spat out the words. “Do you ken what happens to Druids who are bitten by wolves?”

  Gabhran look up at him with steely eyes. “Do you?” he asked producing two knives from the folds of his cloak.

  Chapter

  Ten

  Mabh woke to pounding on the front door of her parents’ cottage. Slowly rising, she gazed down from her loft room to see her parents still asleep below. The pounding had stopped and for a moment she thought it had been a dream but something inside her forced her to gather her cloak and climb down the ladder.

  The pale light of predawn began to paint across the sky as she went to the door and opened it. Marrock stood before her in his trousers but without his tunic; his bare chest covered in blood, his black hair matted but dry. He swayed back and forth in the doorway as he gazed at her with empty eyes.

  “Gods above, what happened to you?” she cried. His blood flowed down his chest onto his trousers and dripped to the ground at his ankles. Some was dried already but the jagged cuts still oozed.

  He said nothing only swayed towards her, his eyes closing. Mabh broke his fall and together they crashed to the floor. Screaming for her father, Mabh made sure life still flowed within their alpha. Her father woke with a start and rushed to his daughter’s aid.

  “Mabh, what happened?” Conall demanded.

  “I donnae ken,” she admitted. “I heard someone knocking and when I opened the door, Marrock stood before me. He fell.”