Struan cast his mind back, over the brief period of his reign. It had brought the clan together, but it had torn him apart. He realised it then. He had been deeply unhappy. And lonely. The years ahead would be lonelier still, now he had had a taste of what it would be like not to be so alone. He looked at Iona, her beautiful face distraught at their impending parting, the scent of their coupling still on them both. There must be another way. There must!
“Come,” Eoin said briskly, “We must prepare for the ceremony, we have little time.”
Alone in her chamber, Iona was tended by the Faol women, who were silent and grave, remote, on edge, no longer softly beautiful but glittering, like the hard awesome beauty of the cathedral cavern.
“What is happening?” Iona asked them, trying desperately to keep the quiver from her voice.
“Don’t you know?” Kirstin looked surprised. “Has not Struan…”
“Hush now,” Lillias said to her. “It is for the prince to know and us to find out.”
They bathed Iona. They braided her hair. She tried not to think about the coming ordeal. She couldn’t bear to contemplate what would follow. Her departure from Kentarra. She would leave her heart behind, even if she kept her soul. The gown they dressed her in was a rich velvet affair, black, braided with silver, the hem adorned with tiny silver bells.
“You know it ends tonight, don’t you?” Kirstin said maliciously. “You know the spell you have cast on Struan is broken? He was always meant for me.” Her inner wolf, small but lithe, with silky black hair, appeared suddenly before Iona, its eyes menacing, but she refused to shrink from its gaze.
“Kirstin!” Lillias said sharply, and the transformation was reversed.
The bell began to toll. The women led Iona out along the echoing tunnels and passageways of the caverns, past the throne room where the silver moon suspended over the chair cast a surreally bright light, out through the rock fissure that formed the main entrance, and into the night.
The moon was full. The skies had cleared to a midnight blue with the ghostly lunar presence suspended almost exactly above the top of the cliffs. It illuminated the path that wound down to a crescent beach. The waves were white-crested, foaming onto the steeply shelving shore, the sand rattling with the force of them as they ebbed and flowed, ebbed and flowed.
The Faol stood silent and ominous in a circle. At their centre, a fire. Beside the fire, Struan, dressed as he had been that first day, wearing a gold coronet, his wolves flanking him. Iona’s heart leapt at the sight of him, though she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, too, for here was Prince Struan of the Faol in all his glory. Intimidating, forbidding, powerful. She only just managed to stop herself calling his name. He gave no sign of recognition as the circle opened to let her through, and her female escorts fell back, leaving her alone before him.
Struan touched his amulet. He looked at the moon. He surveyed the circle of his pack, waiting tensely for his decision. He looked at Iona, hiding her fear, holding herself proud as ever. She loved him. Only now that she was about to leave him forever, did he allow the full import of her declaration to sink in. She loved him. This brave, indomitable woman had the true spirit of the wolf, though she was no Faol. She loved him, and she had been true to herself in telling him. She loved him enough to change for him. Enough to contemplate staying, though it would make her unhappy, though he could promise her nothing in return. She loved him.
His heart swelled. Was there any gift more precious than such love? He was a fool not to have realised it earlier, because he loved her, too. He loved her with all his heart and his very soul. She was his mate, the one he had been waiting for all his life. He loved her. Nothing—not duty nor tradition nor even the greater good of the pack he reigned over—was worth more than such a love.
It came to him then, so blindingly obvious, so terrifyingly dangerous. There was another way. The path he had always wanted to take. The path Iona, his brave, lovely Iona, would give him the strength and support to take. With her by his side, he could do anything.
His heart pounding, Struan began to speak. “My people, you are gathered here on the night of the full moon to celebrate an ancient ritual. Iona McKinley, who came to us in reparation, by tradition is now to be bound or marked.”
He surveyed his clan. Nods from some. Apprehension, too. He could smell its acrid odour. He straightened his shoulders, threw back his head, looked calmly and proudly around the circle, the man in him supreme, the prince. “My people, what I have to say will shock some of you, upset others. Of a certainty, you will all of you be disturbed by it, because it signals a great change.”
He held up his hand as the murmurs grew louder. “Silence. Hear me out, then you may have your say. Iona McKinley came to us payment for her father’s folly. By rights she belonged to the pack, but from the first, I have been reluctant to surrender her. That feeling has grown stronger as I have come to know her. Though she is not of our kind, I am certain that she is my life’s mate.”
A gasp, a look of stark disbelief on the faces of his people. If they were going to turn on him it would be now. Struan grasped Iona’s hand and pulled her to him. He would not resort to menace. “I know that this is against all custom and tradition. I know what you’re all thinking. She is not pure-born Faol and can never be Alpha. But the fact remains…I love her. Without her, I am not the man I was, nor can ever again be the Faol I ought to be.”
Behind him, he could sense Eoin, utterly confused, yet ready to leap to his defence. His brother, whose unquestioning loyalty was about to be tested to the limit. Struan beckoned him forward. “I do not expect you to accept my decision. I know that some of you will find it bewildering, for did I not fight with tooth and claw to keep us together, to hold us as a pack to the old ways? It’s true, I still believe that united is better than divided. For you. But not for me. For Iona and I, there has to be another way. I am leaving you tonight to form my own pack. A new pack, with Iona by my side. As my mate. As my other half, my twin soul. A melding of two races. We will create our own traditions, our own destiny.”
Iona could bear it no longer, but threw herself into his arms. “Struan! Oh, Struan…”
“Iona, I love you. You have given me the courage and the strength to be true to myself. I love you.”
“Oh, Struan, I love you so much.” He felt her shudder against him. He placed a brief kiss on the top of her head.
It was almost over. Struan turned to his people one last time. “My brother Eoin will be your prince now. I leave you in the safest of hands. He is young, but he is an Alpha like me, and a most formidable warrior as you know. I bid you welcome him.”
Struan placed the crown on Eoin’s head. The brothers embraced. Eoin gripped Struan’s hand tightly. “Struan, by the gods, do you know what you’re doing?”
“No, but I know it has to be done,” Struan replied with a wry smile. “Keep the pack safe, brother. I wish you the very best of luck, but I doubt you’ll need it. There is no one more fit to rule Kentarra than you. You will pass on my regrets to our sister when she returns?”
“Sorcha. I had not thought— She will be devastated not to have been able to say goodbye. But you are not going forever, Struan. You’ll come back and visit us?”
“Perhaps. We will see. Now go and greet your people.” Struan touched the noses of his wolves, and bid them sit by their new master. Eoin, the new Alpha prince, was soon surrounded by his cheering pack.
Watching him, Struan felt euphoric with relief. This unfamiliar feeling, it must be true happiness. He wanted to whoop with joy. The same happiness reflected in Iona’s face as he turned to her. “Come, my love, it is time for us to leave this place.”
They slipped away, almost unnoticed, into a waiting sgoth. Struan lifted Iona into the boat and pushed it out onto the sea as Iona struggled out of the Binding gown, and threw it to the shore. The waves pulled them quickly from the beach. As he let loose the sail, Struan raised an arm to Kentarra in farewell, and to h
is brother, a rapidly diminishing figure on the beach. Eoin waved back. After a moment, so too did most of Clan Wolf. There would be a time for reflection and sadness. A time for remembering, but it was not now. Struan turned his back on the Isle of Kentarra. Pulling Iona into the shelter of his arms, he wrapped his pelt cloak around them both.
“I can’t believe you’ve sacrificed so much for me. I would never have asked…never have expected. Oh, my darling, are you sure?” Iona asked, cupping his jaw in her hand.
“I have never been surer or anything in my life,” Struan said. “You have claimed my heart. Feel how it beats for you.” He took her hand and laid it on his chest. “It always will, for you and you alone. I love you, Iona. Gràdh mo chrìidh.”
“Love of my heart, you are to me, too, Struan. I would move the sun and moon and stars for you.”
He laughed. “You already have, my love. You already have.”
Look for the second installment in the Legend of the Faol series, Bound to the Wolf Prince, available April 2011 wherever ebooks are sold.
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Born and educated in Scotland, Marguerite Kay originally qualified as a lawyer but chose not to practice, a decision which was a relief, both to her and the Scottish legal Establishment. While carving out a successful career in IT, she occupied herself with her twin passions of studying history and reading, picking up a first class honours and a Masters degree along the way.
The course of her life changed dramatically when she found her soul mate. After an idyllic year out, spent travelling round the Mediterranean, Marguerite decided to take the plunge and pursue her life-long ambition to write for a living, a dream she had cherished ever since winning a national poetry competition at the age of nine.
Just like one of her fictional heroines, Marguerite’s fantasy has become reality. She has published history and travel articles, as well as short stories, but romances are her passion. Marguerite describes Georgette Heyer and Doris Day as her biggest early influences, and her partner as her inspiration.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8876-2
Claimed by the Wolf Prince
Copyright © 2011 by Marguerite Kaye
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