‘See that sign on the tree by the road?’
Sean looked and realised she was pointing to the skeletal remains of an elm on which was hung a painted sign warning against trespassers. He nodded.
‘Watch,’ she said.
She lifted the gun with fluid grace, and a shot rang out. The white sign exploded. Another shot and the sign was extinct. Sean smiled. She was damn good. He was obviously in capable hands.
‘Your turn,’ she said. She emptied the cartridges and reloaded.
He took the gun. ‘What shall I try to hit?’
‘Just try for the tree.’
He nodded, but the tree looked a long way away. He lifted the gun, trying to emulate her ease of movement, stared down the barrel and fired. The gun kicked back and he stared at the tree hopefully. But it was too far to tell.
‘Very good!’ she said.
Sean laughed. ‘How do you know?’
She laughed back at him, her eyes blazing like molten copper in the moonlight. ‘Come see for yourself.’
And before he could argue she took off across the meadow. He shouldered the gun and followed. She was fast and he couldn’t catch her up. When he did, she was standing at the foot of the pale tree. ‘There!’ she cried, pointing high.
Sean peered up at the tree trunk, his eyes searching for the bullet. He missed it the first time, only picking up the scar as his gaze descended. He stepped closer and ran a finger over the spot. He could just feel the end of the bullet buried in the rotten wood. He was impressed. Not bad for a beginner. He turned and looked at her.
‘How the hell did you know?’
Her remarkable eyes shifted from his for a moment and he knew before she spoke that she was going to lie.
‘I didn’t, not really.’
He took a step closer. ‘Now, why don’t I believe you?’
She shrugged. ‘No idea. You’re probably just bloody-minded.’
Or stoned, he reminded himself. He didn’t want to argue. Especially when he could feel the light touch of a warm hand upon his own. Especially when he could feel her body heat melt into him. Especially when he could inhale the scent of her hair as he leant down to meet a pair of lush, lustrous lips.
Especially when she kissed him for the very first time.
Chapter 30
Ginny fumed. Only her name wasn’t really Ginny. It was Cordelia. Cordelia Campbell. Campbells dislike being outsmarted. Especially by a mere mortal and a dirty little lycan.
Several miles down the road she stopped, switched off the moped’s engine and pulled off her helmet. The night air smelled sweet now the stench of the MacGregor was out of her nostrils. For a moment she was still as she considered her options.
What she wanted to do was go back and destroy the little bitch. But to do so would be to risk exposing her real self to Sean. And she couldn’t do that. Not yet. Her instructions from Callum had been quite clear. Infiltrate and then seduce. Pillow talk should do the rest.
Cordelia sighed. The plan had gone awry. It was obvious that Sean had the hots for the dirty little dog. Clearly it was going to be more difficult than they’d anticipated to get that invitation into his home. The lycan would have to be sorted out first.
Cordelia made up her mind. She’d better go find Callum. Reluctantly she got back on the moped. It was the most loathsome vehicle, but suited to the wages of a stable girl. Best hang on to it for now. She was soon on her way, moving at a snail’s pace along the long winding road. As she travelled her thoughts drifted. It occurred to her that the lycan was unusually confident. Arrogant. Almost cocky. Which was not her experience to date. They were paranoid and secretive. Scared and cunning.
Suddenly she was bursting to talk. The stupid scooter became an intolerable impediment. When she spotted a dilapidated barn beside the road she stopped, listened, taxied over a cattle grid into the field and up to the building. The doors hung half open and she slipped in and secreted the bike behind a pile of mouldy hay.
With a moan of relief she slipped off the hated helmet and shook her hair free. She strode out the door and looked around. The scent of sheep and their succulent young rushed to her brain. For a moment she was tempted. But then she thought of Callum. She tried not to, most of the time. Think of Callum, that is. But every now and again he seemed to conjure himself in her mind. And she could not erase him no matter how she tried. How she loved him. Longed for him. Ached for him. There was nothing she would not do for him.
Her feet developed a will of their own and she was running. Across the meadow and down the hill. Wild flowers waved in the current that she created and a pheasant screeched in alarm. But she was airborne now. Faster and higher she flew, drawn along by her need to see him. To smell him. To hear him. To bathe in the aura of his power. And to nurture her hopes and dreams, that one day she would be good enough for him.
Soon she reached the forest, and her eyes searched the vast dark swathe of trees for the hunting lodge. Of course, he may not be there, but it was the most likely place. It was the weekend and unless he was watching his horses run, this was his favourite place.
Her heart fluttered like a moth in a jar when she spotted a tiny twinkle of light. He was home! She landed softly in the pine forest. A stream tinkled and chattered down the mountain beside her and the wind whispered in the pines. A pulse throbbed in the crotch of her pants. Perhaps he was alone. Callum was a loner. Unusual for her kind. But it was one of the things that drew her to him. A desire to break through that reserve. To untap and swim in those still waters.
A cry filled the air and she stiffened like a frightened fox, every synapse waving a red flag. But then she relaxed and smiled to herself as the voice rose and then sobbed away once more. Clever, clever Callum. He had been a busy boy.
She slipped as silently as a wraith through the trees and headed to the old timber house. It hunkered in a small clearing. There was no road or path. It was a secret place.
Cordelia raced over the bracken fern and brambles and knocked on the door. She held her breath.
‘Come in.’
Atremble with excitement, Cordelia pushed open the door.
Chapter 31
Megan only surfaced when she was forced to breathe or pass out. She was happy. It was an uncomplicated emotion. Pure as the first fall of snow. All was right with her world.
She smiled up into his face. And he smiled back. ‘I have to go,’ she said.
The smile melted. ‘Why?’
‘I must help Grandad with the crab pots.’
He nodded and picked up her hand. ‘I’ll take you home.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I can make my own way. It’s not far.’
‘Where do you live?’
She didn’t answer, not wanting to lie. Instead, she stood up on tiptoe, ran her cheek over the dark stubble on his chin and touched her lips to his. Strong hands enveloped her and she sank back down into the Elysian Fields once more.
This time he broke first. ‘How did you get here?’
‘A friend dropped me off. He’s waiting for me just down the way.’ She pointed to the road. It was nearly true.
‘I’ll walk you down.’
Megan felt a wave of panic. What should she do? Sean mustn’t know where she lived. It’d put him in danger. Her kind were not tolerant of strangers. It was a matter of survival. But she could hardly explain that to him. ‘I don’t —’ But she stopped and stared at him in concern. ‘Sean, what’s the matter?’
He shook his head but reached out and leant on her for support. ‘A bit dizzy,’ he muttered. ‘Bloody women.’
Megan would have dearly liked to interrogate him as to which women he referred, but it was clear it was not the moment. She helped him stagger back across the damp meadow and up to the house. They made it as far as the living room where he sank down into an easy chair.
‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked, hovering anxiously at his knee. But there was no reply. He was fast asleep. For several moments she just watched him, afraid he was ill.
But his breathing was regular and even and his skin cool to touch. She could taste no sickness on her tongue. And she relaxed once more.
She traced a finger softly down his neck and finally left. Outside she paused only long enough to scan the landscape. After a minute of intense concentration Megan felt confident to leave. There was no one else out there. She’d know for sure. Grandad said he could smell a Campbell six feet under in a lead coffin and Megan believed him.
Overhead the moon was sinking behind the mountain. Better get a move on.
She ran and thought about a motorbike. About Douglas. About The Jackal and Hide. But mostly about Sean. Deep down she knew she should stay away. Especially now she was back on the Campbell radar. She also knew that she couldn’t. He drew her to him like the moon pulled the tide. She was as helpless as a wave riding high to the shore.
When she reached the river she followed it, peeled off at the estuary and hotfooted over the range. It was a rugged stretch of bald rock and sheep-cropped turf, but to Megan it was home. At the tor she paused and peeked over the cliff. The croft was peaceful, smoke puffing out of the chimney.
But then she stared. Why, the Douglas boat was still there. How strange. Grandad’s boat merrily bobbed beside it. It was all wrong. Both should be hard at work. Had something happened? Perhaps her recent brush with a Campbell had caused the frisson of fear that brushed over her skin like an owl’s wing. She wiggled over the edge of the precipice, found a foothold, and skimmed down like a lizard. She dropped the last two metres, landed like a cat, and raced across the stony beach.
At the door she paused, looking and listening. All was quiet. But it was an uncomfortable silence. Broody and sullen.
‘Grandad!’ she called and pushed open the door. The heat enveloped her and she peered through a smog of blue smoke.
Sitting around the table was Douglas, his father and Grandad.
Grandad tapped his pipe into an ashtray. His green eyes skewered right through her like a harpoon. ‘And where have you been, Megan MacGregor?’
Megan looked at Douglas who looked as though he were about to cry. She dared a peek at Grandad. And glanced longingly back at the door.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Grandad.
Megan sighed. Things were about to get ugly.
Chapter 32
Megan MacGregor wasn’t scared of anything, but she did have a healthy respect for her mother’s father. The tips of his pointed, hairy ears were red. An interesting shade of vermillion. Unfortunately, aesthetics aside, this was not a good thing. It took a lot to piss Grandad off, but Megan realised she’d succeeded brilliantly.
She twitched as the old clay pipe held in his leathery, gnarled hand rapped on the table. ‘Are your ears stuck on, Megan MacGregor?’ he asked softly.
Megan was not taken in by the silky tones. The quieter Grandad got the madder he was. ‘I’ve been out,’ she said. It sounded lame even to herself.
His green eyes shafted through her like twin laser beams. ‘You don’t say?’
‘I’ve been hunting.’ That was much better.
Grandad snorted loudly, making the hairs in his nostrils quiver which gave Megan a fit of nervous giggles. He lifted one tufty white eyebrow and leaned over the table towards her. ‘And what, may I ask, have you been hunting?’
Megan was silent as she tried to decide just how much they’d squeezed out of poor Douglas. She glanced his way and he shook his head a fraction. Without a doubt the cat was not just out of the bag, but halfway to China. Oh dear. ‘I wasn’t hunting. I was visiting a friend.’
She caught an irritatingly smug look passing between the two old men just as Douglas rolled his eyes in his head and let out a loud sigh. Megan recognised exasperation in her friend’s hiss of breath. Her spirits plummeted into the abyss. Like a fool she’d totally misread the situation. Douglas had kept stum. Dammit.
With the light of battle in his eyes her grandfather put his dead pipe into his mouth and sucked. The pipe whistled obligingly. ‘So, which is it then? Hunting or visiting a friend?’
Megan glared at him but kept silent. After all, what could they do?
As if he could read her mind (and he probably could) Grandad beamed a tiny smile at her. ‘Well, then, if we can’t be having the truth, we’ll just have to put the ceremony off for another year or so. Or until you’ve found the use of your tongue. Whichever comes first.’
Megan was furious. Below the belt! He was just being mean. How she longed to tell him to stick the ceremony into his pipe and smoke it. But she didn’t. For her kind, the ceremony marked her coming of age. It was a rite of passage passed down through the ages. Without it she would be viewed as a child forever. She could not be joined with a partner, nor inherit the family home. Her arm would be bare of its totem for all her life. A shameful thing. And she would never be invited to the hunts or be privy to any matter of import. Possibly worst of all, without it she would always see herself as a child. Humiliation rolled over her.
The croft was silent. The atmosphere thicker than pea soup. The three men watched her, their expressions expectant. Douglas looked anxious, his father curious and Grandad implacable. Like a bare bit of rock on the mountain. Megan’s brain hurt as she tried to find some explanation that was not a lie. And failed miserably.
Finally she hissed softly, forced to accept she was beaten.
Grandad grinned at her in an infuriating manner. ‘So?’ he said.
Utterly wretched, Megan forced her lips to form the words. ‘I’ve been seeing Sean.’
Grandad grunted softly and tapped his big white teeth with the stem of his pipe. ‘And who is Sean?’
She eyeballed her grandfather defiantly. ‘He’s the man I’m going to marry,’ she said. And, although surprised at her own daring, Megan knew the words she spoke were true.
The three men stared at her like a catch of mackerel. All glassy eyes and gaping mouths. Megan grinned to herself. It seemed she may have gained the upper hand. At least, for the moment.
Chapter 33
The three men in the croft kitchen took a wee while to rally. Megan took full advantage of the fact and put the kettle on to boil. The mere act seemed to dissolve some of the tension that hung like invisible webs around the snug room.
‘Tea?’ she said sweetly.
They all nodded silently. Megan hid a smile. Things were turning out better than she’d anticipated. Her announcement regarding her forthcoming nuptials seemed to have taken the wind out of their collective sails. Appropriate for fishermen, she decided.
She felt a faint twinge of worry as it occurred to her that Sean’s sentiments may not reflect her own. But as the whistle screamed at her and she filled the pot, she decided that it was a minor matter. After all, what man could possibly resist her charms? She wasn’t just werewolf, she was magic. Bagging a mere mortal shouldn’t be too much of a challenge.
Behind her she heard Grandad shifting in his chair. ‘Well then, Megan,’ he said, ‘when do we get to meet the lucky man?’
Megan froze. ‘Sorry?’
There was no response and she reluctantly turned to face him. Grandad looked quite relaxed, a fact backed up by his fingers that were busy rolling tobacco to refill his pipe. The old horror strung her out as he tamped and tapped his tobacco. Then he lit a match and sucked vigorously at the stem. Tobacco crackled and blue smoke billowed in the air. He paused and Megan readied herself for the next assault. But the pipe was not cooperative and the whole performance had to be repeated.
Megan turned away and busied herself with pouring mugs of tea and adding a dash of milk and sugar.
When she picked up the mugs and placed them on the table Grandad was puffing away like a smug steam engine. Douglas and his father sat quite still, obviously riveted.
Grandad put down his pipe and took a loud slurp of tea. And then picked his pipe up once more. ‘So, Megan, how about we set a date?’
‘A date?’
‘For the lucky man to pay his respects and to
formally ask for your hand?’
Megan nearly dropped her cup. ‘Grandad, don’t be silly. It’s not the Dark Ages!’
Grandad’s green eyes flashed. ‘Maybe not. But if I haven’t had the pleasure of making his acquaintance within the fortnight, your ceremony will be null and void.’
A strange gurgling sound caught at her nerves. She shot a look across the table and found both Douglas junior and senior stifling their amusement. When she got Douglas junior on his own she was going to slow-cook him in oil.
But her irritation soon gave way to panic. There was absolutely no doubt that Grandad meant what he said. It was so unfair! Others of her kind had all the freedom in the world. No parents or grandparents to spoil their fun. Why, even Douglas got to go to the city and party on. Why was Grandad making such a big deal out of it?
She opened her mouth to tell him so. Then paused as she looked into his ancient face and realised, in a great gush of awareness, how much she loved him. And, how much he loved her. Where would she be without him? She’d be on the streets with the rest of the lost souls. And, in the end, she had to acknowledge a grudging respect for his guile. Grandad had outsmarted her.
She smiled. ‘Of course,’ she said steadily. ‘I’m sure Sean would be delighted to make a visit.’ Inwardly she cringed.
Grandad smiled, his pointed teeth still breathtakingly white. ‘Excellent! I’ll look forward to it.’
Megan drank her tea and refused to be drawn into further conversation. She had a lot to think about. For the first time in her young life, two weeks seemed a short space of time. It looked like she was going to be busy. Failure was not an option. Megan was a woman with her mind made up.
Chapter 34
It was light when Sean woke at the table from a deep and dreamless sleep. He lifted his head as someone thumped on the door. Then looked around the room. But she wasn’t there. The banging started again and he stood up.
‘I’m coming,’ he yelled and opened the door. It was one of the lads. ‘’S’up, Paul?’
The MacGregor Page 8
