The MacGregor

by Jenny Brigalow

  Relieved, Sean picked up his own glass and took a sip. Mistake. He ricocheted around the room trying to find the bathroom. He barely made it to the toilet before throwing up. Must be the shock, he thought. But when he went back into the room he gave his whisky a wide berth.

  Megan had no such compulsion however. She held her empty glass out to him and he filled it. She tipped it down her throat and then looked up at him.

  ‘There’s nothing left of him. Of either of them,’ she said. ‘I can’t burn them. Not like that. I’d have to scrape them up and put them in a jar. Their blood’s soaked into the timber.’ Tears fell once more, but at least she was outwardly calm.

  Then Sean had an idea. ‘We can bury them, Megan. Why don’t we take the boat out to sea and sink it? Your grandfather was a seaman, after all. And the fox cub would want to be with him. Don’t you think?’

  She took a deep shuddering sigh of breath into her lungs and wiped her face. ‘Grandad would like that,’ she said. ‘If I can’t burn him then I’ll lay him to rest in the water. He’ll be at peace there.’ And she stood up.

  Sean looked at the wet dress. ‘Go get changed first.’

  She disappeared and came back shortly in a pair of jeans, a shirt and Guernsey sweater. The bridle was snug at her waist. Her feet were bare. Her hair was drawn back into a ponytail.

  Sean took her hand. ‘Ready?’

  She nodded and they walked back down to the ocean hand in hand.

  Chapter 99

  In the end Megan did it on her own. She loved Sean but this was her last duty to her family. There had only ever been the two of them. And then Tippet. And she needed to do this herself.

  Thank the gods Sean understood. He untied the mooring ropes and stood on the walkway as she turned over the old engine and headed out to sea.

  She stayed in the cabin, avoiding the deck for as long as she could. She busied her mind trying to think of the best place. And then she had it. The Pinnacle, of course. The deepest part of the ocean. The old vessel would swirl down, down, down into the abyss. Into the eternal darkness. To a place that only the kelpie could reach. Grandad could rest in peace down there.

  Once out of the bay Megan travelled unerringly between the two ancient volcanic islands until she found the strange flat, swirling surface of the whirlpool. She cut the engine and took the timber axe below.

  Several strikes later water oozed through a crack. A dozen more and the ooze became a steady trickle. Megan paused to catch her breath and attacked the old belly once more. Timber cracked and split and finally a section gave way.

  She dropped the axe and went up the stairs for the last time. Already she could feel the old girl begin to list.

  On the deck reality punched her like a prize-fighter. The remains of Grandad were sticky and cold beneath her feet. She had to overcome an urge to sink down and rub her cheek across the floor. Tears sprung once more. ‘Bye bye, Grandad,’ she whispered.

  And she untied the bridle and lifted it skyward. ‘Come, Kelpie!’

  And she came. Bursting through the oily surface and whickering a welcome call.

  Megan leapt into the sea and swam to meet her. The mare seemed to sense her distress for she swam close and laid her muzzle against Megan’s shoulder. Megan hugged her strong neck and then slipped the bridle home. Lithe as a seal she flipped over in the water, came up and climbed onto her kelpie’s back. They moved away. As the boat slowly subsided and sank, Megan sang her mother’s lullaby in the Olde language. And some of the pain in Megan’s heart diluted a little. How lucky she was to have loved him. And how lucky she was to have been so loved. Few of her kind could make such a claim. She realised that the measure of her grief was the measure of her love.

  And as the old girl groaned and curled over in the water the porpoises arrived. They swam in a wide circle, leaping and bowing in the waves. Their piercing song mingled with Megan’s own as they paid homage to one who had understood the Olde ways.

  When the mast finally dived into the deep, Megan turned her kelpie for home. The porpoises followed in her trail like mourners at a wake and Megan’s eyes looked to the shore. Where Sean was waiting.

  Chapter 100

  She came out of the ocean like a goddess. Sean stepped back in awe as the great black beast cantered out of the surf, eyes glowing gold and white teeth as sharp as a shark’s. Megan looked down at him and she gave a small nod of her head.

  Relief spread through him. It seemed that the act of burying her grandfather had taken the sharpest edge off her grief.

  ‘We should go,’ he said.

  She nodded and slipped off the kelpie. Sean was transfixed as the animal reached across and licked her cheek. She turned and put her arms around the slick, shiny neck and rested her wet head. And then she slipped the bridle off and the kelpie turned and surged into the water. And sank without a trace.

  Then she came to him and he opened his arms. She kissed him softly. ‘They will be back,’ she said.

  Sean was silent, afraid of saying the wrong thing. He knew Megan well enough to expect anything. What he feared the most was that she would seek a confrontation. Revenge. And, deep down in his soul, he wouldn’t blame her. ‘So…’ he said.

  She looked around the tiny bay. ‘So, we must go. There is nothing left for me here. Grandad is gone. I can’t bear it without him.’

  She shivered and Sean took her hand. Together they crunched back over the beach and into the house. She changed quickly and grabbed an old army bag and chucked her stuff in willy-nilly. Then she went to the fireplace and picked up the pipe and tobacco. These she stowed tenderly amongst her clothes. She disappeared into her grandad’s room and came back out with an old duelling pistol in her hand.

  Sean took it from her and admired the polished handle and silver fittings.

  ‘It is one of a pair. The other was lost to me when I shot the Campbell bitch.’ Then she took it from him and added it to her swag. She slung the bag over her shoulder and turned to him. ‘You don’t need to worry about me starting a war with the Campbells. I know it’s my fault that Grandad is dead. It is my arrogance and stupidity that brought them here.’ She stopped and she wiped her eyes. ‘Grandad kept this place secret and safe for over seven hundred years. It took me just eighteen to undo all that good. He was a werewolf, but he was a man too. A man of peace.’

  Again she paused and Sean watched her struggle to contain her emotions.

  She looked slowly around the room. ‘I cannot undo what has been done but I will not provoke the vampyre any more. I must try to find a way to make amends. Grandad would want that.’

  Sean’s heart went out to her. ‘It’s not your fault, Megan.’

  She turned on him then, eyes like flint. ‘If not my fault, then whose?’

  He was silent for a moment as he searched for the right answer. ‘Perhaps there is no answer to that, Megan. This is much bigger than you. Much older than you. Much deeper than you. You are no more to blame than anyone else.’

  She looked utterly lost. Her hand reached out and her fingers roamed over the battered timber surface of the table. ‘When they come back they will burn the place down.’

  Sean shook his head. ‘No.’ Perhaps his tone penetrated her grief for she looked up sharply at him. ‘Megan, I cannot bring back your grandfather but I can protect this place.’

  Disbelief struggled with hope on her pale face. ‘How?’

  ‘Is there a willow tree anywhere nearby?’

  She shook her head and then snapped her teeth together. ‘Yes, there’s a small stream to the north that falls over the cliff. There are willow trees there.’

  He smiled. ‘Let’s go then.’ He called up the wind and followed her into the night.

  At the watercourse they stopped. Sean went to a small tree and broke off four wands of twig. And then swiftly retraced their footsteps back to the bay. At the cliff top, Megan paused and tasted and smelled the air.

  ‘All clear?’

  She nodded. ‘All’s well
.’

  Back by the house Sean paused, twigs in one hand and staff in the other. He thought deeply, checking and rechecking that he had things straight in his mind.

  Megan watched him, wide-eyed with wonder. ‘What are you going to do?’

  He smiled and touched the tip of her nose. ‘Make magic,’ he said.

  Chapter 101

  Megan watched, entranced, as her mage went to work. First he called out and the wind obeyed and swept him in a wide circle around the bay. Fascinated, she watched him plant a twig at the four points of the compass. Then he came back.

  He did not acknowledge her, but she sensed he was deeply immersed within himself. Slowly he paced around the house, stopping occasionally, and seemed to be conversing with himself. And then he lifted the staff skyward and words poured from him like music. Each word made a different note. A few words she knew, but many she did not.

  She heard it first. A strange sound. Soft. Scratchy. Her eyes went to the willow twig on the beach, for it was closest. And, to her astonishment, she realised that it was growing. But not into a tree. For a while Megan could not work it out. It wasn’t until the twig shot new tendrils that spread left and right that she understood. It was a wicker wall. A living, breathing, woven wall of willow.

  In the centre stood Sean. His face upturned to the clouds, his hands holding his oak shaft upward, his voice filling the sky until the bay was entirely bound by the willow. As the last lengths of twig met and meshed together Sean was silent.

  Megan rushed to him as he dropped to his knees. ‘Sean, are you all right?’

  He lifted his head as if it were a great weight. But his eyes were bright and he smiled. ‘All good, my little fox.’

  She sat beside him and looked around. ‘What is it?’

  He shifted and sat beside her. ‘It is a willow wattle wall. I guess.’

  Megan looked around once more. How strange it looked. She could hear the sea but could not see it. The top of the cliffs reared up above the fence behind her. It was tall and strong. But it was not enough to keep out the vampyre.

  ‘Sean,’ she said, ‘how will it work?’

  ‘Only I can leap it.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t leave you here.’

  She nodded. Pleased. It would have hurt to walk away and know that all that she held dear would be despoiled. And it was good to know that, maybe, she could return. ‘I’ll come back one day,’ she said.

  He took her hand gently in his. ‘We’ll come back one day,’ he said.

  Megan breathed in deeply. ‘Yes.’

  Sean stood up. ‘Come on, things to do, places to go.’

  And it seemed strange to Megan that life should go on when Grandad was gone. It seemed impossible, somehow, that the moon would still wax and wane. Surreal. But Sean’s words were true. This she knew. Tomorrow the moon would be full. Tomorrow night would have been her ceremony. But now?

  Sean seemed to suffer none of her fears and doubts. ‘Come on. Let’s go find Rory Wallace. You have a big night tomorrow, unless I’m mistaken.’

  Megan hesitated, but knew in her heart that Grandad would have wanted her to proceed. He who revered the Olde ways. And Sean was right; Rory was just the person to step into Grandad’s shoes. She nodded. ‘Yes.’ And then she remembered. ‘Sean, what about the standing stones, you know, where it is to be found?’

  He grabbed his staff and jumped up. ‘You first. Then me. It has waited for a long time. It can wait a little longer.’ He put out his hand. ‘Come on, little fox.’

  She took his hand and came to her feet. ‘Do you think that whatever it is will defeat the vampyre?’

  ‘To defeat the vampyre is to defeat yourself, Megan. You know that. Your grandad knew that. Whatever it is, in my hands it will be a tool for the greater good.’

  And she knew that he spoke true. Grandad had known it, and so had Morven Smith. And now she knew it. She picked up her bag and took one last look around. And she was ready.

  Chapter 102

  Megan smoothed the velvet folds of her gown with nervous hands. It felt soft and clean. The women had worked wonders, and perhaps a little magic, to remove the old stains and the new. Her hair was up on her head in a simple bun, bound tightly in a borrowed snood of black jet beads. Her feet were bare.

  She tweaked aside the curtain at the caravan window and looked out into the camp site. It was dark. No fire or lantern twinkled. A misty rain fell. She could hear voices though. Excited and happy. Sometimes impatient and scolding. It was comforting to be in the midst of her people. The door opened and the traveller, Rose, entered. Sean was at her heels.

  And he took her breath away. He’d always been hotter than Hades but now she felt the full force of his power. It shimmered around him like an invisible light. An aura of energy that seemed to reach out and touch her. It was as if they were linked by some mysterious life force. He smiled at her and Megan realised that he could feel it too.

  Rose gestured to a small table. ‘Would you like me to look in my crystal ball for you, Megan? See what the future holds?’

  Megan nodded. ‘I would like that.’

  Sean came and sat next to her around the tiny table, and his hand slid softly onto her thigh. Her body responded as if she were a firecracker and he a flame. The wolf inside her rejoiced. And the woman waited.

  She forced her eyes to Rose, who closed the curtains snugly shut, sat opposite them and pulled the black satin cover off the ball. Megan observed it curiously. She had, of course, heard of such things, but had never beheld one before. It was pretty, the soft light of the lantern making it glow.

  Rose cupped the ball, drew it closer and peered down. For a long moment she was silent and then a small whistle of breath hissed from her lips. She bent closer and Megan watched as a dark curl of smoke shifted in its depths.

  Rose looked at Sean. ‘Darkness.’ She looked at Megan. ‘Something is coming. Something dark. Something dangerous.’

  Megan felt a chill prickle over her. She glanced at Sean and saw her own fears reflected in his eyes.

  Then Rose muttered. Her hands slid over the globe and she was still. ‘But I see two lights. Two small lights of hope marching side by side with a banner.’ Rose shifted in her seat and closed her eyes. ‘And on the banner I see a dragon.’

  Megan waited breathlessly but Rose draped the cloth over the ball once more. She shrugged and looked at Megan. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’

  Megan shook her head.

  Sean, however, sat up a little taller in his chair. ‘The banner of the dragon! It was the royal banner. The dragon was the symbol beneath which the Gods rallied to war.’

  Megan stirred. ‘Darkness comes in many forms. Death. War. Famine. Pestilence. Grandad said —’ But she stopped as grief gripped her heart with cruel fingers.

  Sean shifted a little closer and Megan’s head rested briefly on his broad shoulder. A few tears brimmed and fell before she pulled herself together. ‘Grandad said that the Darkness is always amongst us. It is an ancient evil that is the enemy of the Light. And that it had once been defeated by the Gods but had become wily, finding ways to seep into the world once more.’

  Megan stopped, not because she was overwhelmed but because she was surprised at her own depth of knowledge. She had soaked up more of the Olde than she realised.

  And then she remembered her grandfather’s last gift to her. Her mother’s skull. Could she commune with her mother again? Would her mother know more about the Darkness? She would try.

  There was a knock at the door. Rose left them and shortly returned. She pulled a heavy tartan shawl from a hook and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘Come, Megan, it is time.’

  Megan stood up and took Sean’s hand. She looked into his beloved face. His blue eyes, as clear as a mountain spring, locked onto hers. And she knew that she was ready. Ready to take her place. Ready to embrace her destiny. Whatever that may be.

  Chapter 103

  The whole camp waited. When Megan stepped out they
all came to her one by one and took her hands in theirs, turning her in a full circle and handing her to the next. They did not speak but Sean could feel the pent-up emotions swirl beneath the pale, wild faces of the clan. The rain had stopped and the cloud shivered beneath the wanton kiss of the full moon.

  Rory came to her last. He swung her in an insane circle, so fast that her feet lifted from the earth, skirts flying, and she laughed. Her husky voice unnaturally loud in the darkness. But it broke the mood. Two young men raced to her and scooped her up and sat her on their young shoulders. Sean watched her turn her head on her long slender neck and look around. When she found him he felt his heart should break for the beauty of her. Her red hair, dark as a fox pelt, her eyes like molten gold and her forehead as pale as alabaster against the jet-black beads.

  ‘Sean Duncan,’ she called. ‘I love you!’

  He grinned as the travellers roared with laughter at his discomfort. And then they roared louder still as he touched his hand to his heart. Across the dark camp they went, up the paddock, past the house and up the mountain until they finally stood upon the top. It was the place where Sean had first seen her. Snow covered the ground and drifted in waves against rocks and trees.

  There was a huge fire built on the tor, waiting for a torch. But they led Megan away and into a copse of oak and silver birch. Sean followed, curious. And, in a small clearing, knee deep with bracken, was an old ruin.

  Rory paused by his side. ‘This is an old church.’ He pointed to a small square construction to the right of a long crumbling wall. ‘That is a well. But long before Collum Cille claimed it, this was a sacred site. A magic spring that bestows the gift of fertility upon our people. Rory paused and grinned wickedly at Sean. ‘So, I hope fatherhood is part of your plan.’