The MacGregor

by Jenny Brigalow

  Megan was perturbed. Just what kind of friend left a man her house and stable yard?

  Perhaps something of her angst communicated because Sean grinned. ‘An eighty-six year old friend.’

  She smiled back. A touch ashamed. ‘I’m sorry, you must miss her.’

  A shadow passed over his face. ‘Like crazy.’

  With a horrible grinding and crunching sound, Sean backed the car out of the shed. Megan covered her ears. Thankfully, he made it out with the car unscathed and then proceeded to lurch and bunny-hop down the driveway.

  Not much unnerved Megan, but she had to admit the next few miles were hair-raising. Sean drove the car like a lunatic. They skidded around corners, screeched down the hills and — on one occasion — narrowly missed driving straight through a T intersection. She hung onto the cub.

  When they reached the freeway Sean turned to her. ‘Where to?’

  ‘Oban, Loch Goil.’ she said. ‘Look out!’

  ‘Shit!’ Sean muttered and drove the car back onto the road. ‘I must remember to go get my licence.’

  Megan glared at him. ‘You don’t have a licence?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, never learned to drive.’

  Megan was torn between outrage and amusement. Finally amusement won out. She giggled. ‘So, this is the first time?’

  The gears screamed in protest as he forgot to use the clutch. After a second he got it right and glanced at her. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What if we get pulled over by the police?’

  He laughed. ‘You’re kidding. It’s night. They’re all asleep.’

  A succulent scent stole into the car. Megan turned and peered into the forest. Red deer. She wished she could stop and hunt. A wave of frustration swept through her. How she wished she could take Sean out with her! It wasn’t fair.

  She reached out and rested her hand on the hard, muscular ridge of his thigh. Her heart fluttered like bats’ wings. She was afraid of losing him. Afraid of the truth.

  Chapter 48

  Sean sighed with relief as he turned the engine off. They got out of the car and walked to the gritty shore of Loch Goil. His eyes swept the cold waters and the vast forest that cradled it in leafy arms. Puzzled, he turned to Megan. ‘So, where do you live — exactly?

  ‘In a tiny bay off the coast. There’s no road. So we use the boat.’ She pointed to a number of skiffs that bobbed about by the shore.

  Megan opened her mouth to speak but drew in a sharp intake of breath. Alarmed, Sean turned, instinctively sensing that the source of her fright was behind him. And what he saw punched him like a prize-fighter.

  Caravans. Some big, some small. Some pulled by shiny 4WD’s, others by horse. The mobile homes ranged from brightly painted wagons to long silver trailers. The long train passed by slowly. Uncannily quiet. The engines purred as softly as kittens. The shod hooves of the horses were muffled to a gentle tap.

  A familiar mix of emotions stirred in Sean. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t encounter travellers, whether they be beggars on the street or a circus, without thinking about his mother. And now, as ever, he gazed wistfully at the procession as it went by. He could never resist the temptation: to imagine that he could be gazing at his mother’s family. His family. An uncle. An aunt. A distant cousin.

  Not that there were many to see. In the dark, the few visible individuals were not much more than blurry figures. But there were a few exceptions. An old gypsy wagon passed by. Lit up by the yellow flame of a lantern, Sean could clearly see the driver’s face. She was quite young. Her hair was hidden beneath a deep purple scarf, but her face was pale. Two startling green eyes grazed his, just for a second. And she moved on.

  Further on Sean spotted a boy standing on the roof of a truck. He was as skinny as streaky bacon, with a mop of red hair and the same eyes as the woman. He watched Sean watching him. And then he grinned. Sean couldn’t help it; he smiled back. The youth looked like an imp.

  Then Sean felt Megan stir beside him. A small hiss of air whistled through her teeth. And then he too gasped involuntarily as the last silver wagon rolled on by. In its wake came a herd of horses, the look of which made Sean salivate. These weren’t the docile, gypsy cobs that pulled the wagons. No. These were blood horses. Black, bay and silver white. Fine of head and flawless in structure, they were magnificent.

  They seemed unfettered. No hobbles and no tether. And then Sean spotted him. The rider. A man, not much older than himself, sat astride a black horse. The man was strongly built, with a mass of red curls that tumbled down to his shoulders. He wore a loose white shirt and tatty black jeans cut off at the knee.

  In his hand he held a rope that looped down the horse’s proud neck and affixed to a head collar. He rode bareback, his seat barely shifting as the animal shied and pigrooted in good-natured high spirits.

  As he rode past, Sean was transfixed. The man’s face was strong, rather than handsome. Amber eyes burned beneath a heavy brow. The large, hooked nose hinted at arrogance. And when he caught Sean’s eye, the lips parted to show excellent teeth, in what could have been either a smile or a snarl.

  The man turned the horse and halted a few metres from Sean and Megan. To Sean’s intense irritation the horseman eyed Megan with obvious pleasure and then turned his attention once more to Sean. He leaned forward from the waist a fraction.

  ‘Hark, hark, the dogs do bark, the beggars are coming to town,’ he said softly.

  And without thinking Sean replied. ‘Some in rags and some in tags and one in a velvet gown.’

  Without another word the horseman pressed powerful legs to the horse’s sides and the two took off, rejoining the mob.

  Sean watched until the caravan was less than a whisper on the breeze. He sighed softly. Filled with sadness and regret. But also strangely exhilarated, and so he turned to Megan, eager to share the experience.

  But the words on his tongue shrivelled up like autumn leaves at the expression on her face.

  ‘Megan,’ he said. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Chapter 49

  Megan was shaken. The arrival of the travellers had thrilled her. She did not know, but suspected (or hoped) that they were somehow linked to her forthcoming celebrations. She knew, with absolute certainty, that they were her own kind. Werewolves! She had a sixth sense for them. Not a scent. More a kind of…vibration that zinged into her subconscious like some magnetic undercurrent. It lingered still in the air. She only ever experienced it with her own. And — she acknowledged grudgingly — in the presence of the vampyre. Damn the Campbells.

  Yes, she was in no doubt about what she had just witnessed. Her grandad had told her the old stories, of how, in the darkest hours of the Dark Ages, the first rift had appeared in the clans of the Children Of The Mist. And in that dark time, many had rejected the One God and slipped away onto the road in a quest to preserve the Olde ways.

  And they were still there. Fewer each and every century, it was true. But no less real. Gypsies, jesters, travellers and troubadours throughout the ages. And today Megan had seen them with her own eyes. And she had been so delighted. So uplifted.

  Until the man on the black horse had spoken. And Sean had answered. She shuddered as the memory washed over her afresh.

  She stared at Sean, at a loss for words. How could she tell him what disturbed her? To speak of it was unthinkable. A mortal speaking the ancient tongue of her people? It was not possible.

  And yet she had heard it with her own sharp ears. And so had the rider.

  And that gave her fresh food for thought. The rider, that big red-headed man, had spoken to Sean as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Which was rubbish. There was nothing natural about it. Was there?

  And as she watched the happy expression on Sean’s face fade, she knew she must say something. She managed to muster a smile. ‘Nothing’s the matter. I guess I’m just tired.’

  He seemed to accept this and nodded, stepping closer. ‘Of course you are. It’s late.’

  S
he found her courage then. ‘Sean, how do you speak with the traveller?’

  His blue eyes slid away from her own. Megan knew he was going to lie before he opened his mouth.

  ‘Must have learned a smattering of Gaelic from my mum. When I was little. It’s just a nursery rhyme.’

  But it wasn’t just a nursery rhyme. Megan felt a ripple of unease. She needed to talk to someone. Her first instinct was Grandad. But — well — it was Sean, and Grandad might find reason to change his mind and try to stop her from seeing him. And then she thought of Douglas. Relief trickled through. Yes, Douglas would listen. She’d have to go see him.

  Aware that the silence stretched between them like a rubber band Megan reached out and took Sean’s hand. And dropped it.

  He took a small step back, the hurt clear in his eyes.

  But Megan didn’t have time to worry about the niceties. ‘Sean,’ she whispered. ‘We have a visitor.’

  As the slender figure of Ginny Campbell emerged like a wraith in the darkness, Megan realised why the vibration still lingered in the air. Her heart raced and her senses stirred. How long had the Campbell bitch been there? And what had she seen?

  Inside her shirt the small cub stirred. And Megan growled ever so softly. She tasted the air and cleared her mind. If the Campbell bitch touched a hair on the head of her loved one, then the bitch would die. It didn’t pay to mess with Megan MacGregor.

  Chapter 50

  Sean was more than aware of the hostility that hung in the air like a living, breathing thing. The two young women faced each other like a pair of gladiators. And, for a tiny instant, he could have sworn that Megan had…well…growled. But that was just silly. It was probably the cub. Or maybe his senses still suffered the effects of the potion.

  Or perhaps it was a kind of mental vertigo. Things seemed to be getting wackier and wackier by the hour. Megan seemed upset although she denied it. Things had seemed fine. Great even. Until the travellers. Were they the problem? It would be an easy explanation, but he wasn’t convinced. Sean had the feeling that the real cause lay with him.

  And now Ginny Campbell had materialised out of thin air. He really didn’t want her there. But he swallowed his irritation down. ‘Hello, Ginny. What are you doing here?’

  Ginny smiled. ‘I’m waiting for a lift.’

  Sean was surprised. It seemed an odd place to be waiting. ‘Oh?’

  She stepped closer, her dark eyes gleaming in her pale face. ‘My cousin, Calix Campbell, is picking me up to take me to the castle.’

  Sean had heard of Carrick Castle but had never been near it. He turned and looked over the loch. Not so much as a salmon stirred. But it wasn’t his business. ‘Well, nice to see you, Ginny. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Ginny nodded and turned her eyes back to Megan. ‘I guess you will,’ she said. Then she moved sinuously towards him. She was so close that he could smell the coconut scent of her hair. And the invitation in her large eyes was anything but subtle. ‘You could come with me if you like, Sean. Calix would be delighted to meet you.’ She practically purred.

  Sean was embarrassed. While he knew she’d had a crush on him, this full-frontal assault was inappropriate. To say the least. But he didn’t want a row. He wholeheartedly wished that he’d let her go when he’d had the chance. ‘Good bye, then,’ he said.

  He turned to Megan. And forgot the words he’d been about to say. It was mad, but he could have sworn that he’d seen one of her ears move! A pointy ear at that. Oh my God! Yes! And there it was again. A tip of an ear that just twitched through the heavy head of hair. What the hell?

  Megan must have sensed his scrutiny for she lifted a hand and ruffled her hair. The ear disappeared.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and gathered himself. ‘Come on, Megan, let’s go.’

  For one horrible moment Sean thought that Megan was going to refuse. But she didn’t. She took his hand and followed him back towards the car without any fuss.

  ‘Sean, there’s something I have to show you,’ she said.

  He glanced at her but she was looking away as they both slid into the car. Sean gunned the engine and they bunny-hopped down the road. They travelled for a few miles until Megan stirred and pointed towards the forest. He pulled over in the shelter of the pines. The engine snuffed out and they were quiet. The wind whined through the trees and a stream bubbled along its stony bed.

  He watched Megan expectantly. And blinked. ‘What the hell?’ His eyes narrowed in concentration as he stared at the side of her head. His hand seemed to move of its own accord. Fingers reaching out to her hair. Fingers gently lifting the soft tresses. ‘Holy shit!’

  Megan closed her eyes and let out a soft whine.

  Sean watched on, thrilled, scared and incredulous. Time and place suspended. He could not move. He could not breathe. He could scarcely believe.

  And then Megan turned to him. Amber eyes blazing. She licked her lips with a pink tongue. And then she smiled. Teeth shining like burnished ivory. ‘Let’s go hunting.’

  Sean ran a finger unsteadily along the downy length of her ear. His heart throbbed. Slowly he traced the line of her jaw. The red pelt felt as soft as velvet to his touch. Heat emanated from her as if she were about to combust. She was pure energy. Pure animalistic power. She was breathtaking. And she was his.

  Chapter 51

  Megan waited. Every nerve, every tendon and every synapse straining. The fox cub sat forgotten on the soft carpet of needles at her feet. She had eyes and ears only for Sean. Her mind was a maelstrom of emotion. Sean could speak the old language! Sean was not mortal! But, if he wasn’t mortal, then what was he? She didn’t know.

  And it did not change anything. He was in such peril. And she could not help him, if he did not understand. But there was risk. Such risk. She looked into his beautiful blue eyes, trying to see his thoughts. What if he were afraid? What if he were disgusted? What if he were to walk away? What if she never saw him again? What if someone hurt him? Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest.

  Sean’s finger hovered like a dragonfly on the pulse of her neck. A pulse already in fast forward. Perhaps her heart would burst.

  ‘Oh my God, Megan,’ he whispered.

  ‘Please, don’t be afraid,’ she begged.

  And then he smiled. And the moon came out in her mind and bathed her soul with light.

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ he said. ‘Megan, it’s just…so…freakin’ fantastic! You blow my mind.’

  And then she laughed too. She was so happy. Everything was all right.

  His finger pressed down on her collarbone and then ran back up her neck. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. ‘Megan…how is this possible?’

  But she couldn’t contain herself any longer. The night called. She lifted her muzzle to the canopy and let out the sad, sad song of her kind. It echoed through the valley and bounced back. And all the nocturnal creatures of the forest were still. Aware. Afraid. For they knew Megan MacGregor.

  When the last note had died Megan forced her mind to focus. It was hard. The heady scent of deer and cow and badger and boar consumed her senses. She leaned close to him and rubbed her cheek against his. ‘Sean,’ she sighed, ‘I am one of The Children Of The Mist. And I must be what I am.’

  And she could wait no longer. She left him then, drawn on by her unique nature to do what she did best. Kill.

  Chapter 52

  Megan was gone. Sean was shaking. His head was full of fireworks and his hands had St Vitus dance. If it hadn’t been for the cub at his feet he would have got back in the car and driven away and blamed it on the potion.

  He bent down and picked up the cub. It was the first time that he’d ever touched a wild animal. Then a hint of a smile touched his lips. Well, best make that the second time. The cub’s tiny body was soft and warm. For a moment Sean was overwhelmed as he recalled the feel of Megan’s…fur…? pelt…? at the tips of his fingers. It seemed that his little fox wasn’t a fox at all. She was a werew
olf.

  Instinctively he looked up at the sky, searching for a glimpse of the moon. But through the canopy he could only see a bank of cloud. Was it a full moon? He wasn’t sure. But it must be. Well, that’s if what he knew about werewolves was true. Not that he knew much. Although, perhaps, in this moment he knew more than most. Holy crap.

  And, for the first time, Sean forced himself to consider the possibility that Lydia and Nancy were right. Megan’s transformation had washed away the smog in his mind like a windscreen-wiper shifting snow. After all, if he accepted that Megan was a werewolf, then he must surely have to consider the possibility that he was some sort of witch. Or maybe wizard. Mind you, he really liked the sound of warlock. Warlock felt right. Yes, if he had to have a title, he’d go for Warlock. Cool.

  He shifted the cub into the crook of one arm, slipped his other hand into the back pocket of his jeans and dug out the acorn. The nut was the one absolute in all of this. The acorn was real. No doubt about it. But what did it mean? It was all very well reading messages on quilts and frolicking around the woods at night effortlessly felling oak trees, but where did it leave him? What was the use of it?

  He slipped the acorn back in his pocket. If only the potion hadn’t worn off, maybe he could have found the answer in the wind’s whisper or the hoot of an owl. Still, at least he had found some focus. Now what he needed was to find some answers. And the wacky witches seemed eager to help. Soon as he found a moment, he’d track them down.

  A high-pitched screech bought him back to the moment. Eager for a glimpse of her, he searched the dark recesses of the forest. Where was she? What was she doing? And it hit him like a locomotive. He was dating a werewolf. A supernatural creature. A myth. A legend. Quite a challenge, really. Still, Sean felt he was more than up for it. After all, he was a kind of a kook himself.

  The vixen stirred in his arms. She sniffed the air and yipped. Seconds later Megan slipped out of the gloom. Sean watched her, utterly enthralled. A creature totally at home in her natural environment. She moved like smoke. Sinuous and silent. He was captivated. And then he understood, with crystalline clarity, that she could destroy him as easily as he could rip up a sheet of tissue paper. Perhaps he was no more than a willing captive.