Wolfsbane: 3 (Rebel Angels)

by Gillian Philip

  Take it to the endgame, Kate.

  She was their queen, and they loved her. More than that, she was their queen because they loved her. It counted for so very much. She bore it in mind when she saw Cluaran detach himself from the small group of mutterers and approach her raised chair.

  Kate tightened her fist to stop herself tapping her long nails. ‘Cluaran. You’re worried.’

  Bull-necked and shaven-headed, he looked every inch a hard man, but the loss of Iolaire had wounded him deeply; what kind of a queen would she be if she took no notice of these things? Besides, Cù Chaorach’s lover had killed Cluaran’s. She knew fierce loyalty when she saw it, and it was there in his eyes, glinting as bright as the golden torque round his throat. He took her proffered hand, kissed it and touched it to his forehead, then stepped back a pace.

  ‘A few of us are concerned, Kate. There was a raid last night. Kinlaggan.’

  She frowned and put a finger to her temple. ‘Remind me.’

  ‘The settlement thirty miles inland and north from Murlainn’s dun. Loyal to him and his rebels, but outwith his claimed lands. Two dozen fighters attacked it at dusk and killed every man, woman and child.’

  Kate shut her eyes as an expression of pain pinched her face. Then she opened them once more, gazed at him, folded her hands in her lap.

  ‘This raid was nothing to do with me, Cluaran. But can I help it if my followers feel passionately?’

  ‘Kate, they love you. But some need a firm rein.’ Cluaran’s gaze was steady on hers. He’s loyal to me, she thought, but that doesn’t mean he believes me.

  ‘A crime like this: it wounds me in my heart, Cluaran. I would never condone it. Never. Do you know who did this thing?’

  ‘The rumour is that Cuthag led the raid.’

  Kate sighed as she rose to her feet and strode to the wall and back. ‘Cuthag is impetuous. He tries to please me. I can no more punish him with exile than I could you, Cluaran.’

  ‘I wouldn’t suggest such a thing.’ Cluaran kept pace at her side, urgency spilling out of him. ‘But a word from you–’

  She spun on her heel and stared at him. ‘And is there proof of Cuthag’s responsibility?’

  ‘No, but–’

  She raised a hand. Laszlo had listened to every word from his place in the shadow of the pillar, and she beckoned him with a quick sharp motion.

  He was already protesting as he approached to kiss her hand. ‘Kinlaggan was nothing to do with me, Kate. Cluaran knows it.’

  The two men exchanged a glance, one that was not without hostility. Interesting.

  Laszlo nodded at Gealach, who was busy comparing longbows with another fighter. He raised his voice. ‘Gealach was with me last night, and we were not on the road to Kinlaggan. Isn’t that true, Gealach?’

  She nodded, raising bemused eyebrows, then returned to her discussion.

  Irritation made Kate snap, ‘I never accused you, Nils. I want to ask you both. Is there proof the massacre wasn’t Murlainn’s doing?’

  Both of them gaped at her. Gods, but these men were idiots sometimes. ‘Murlainn?’ repeated Cluaran, incredulous. ‘Murlainn wouldn’t do it. I hate the man, but he wouldn’t.’

  ‘Once again, that wasn’t my question.’ Her voice dripped acid. ‘I said, is there proof he did not kill those children?’

  This time the pair of them shook their heads, slowly. The two men’s eyes did not meet. They were not close. Would never be conspirators. Were both her loyal servants, in their way. And even a pair as obtuse as these two could catch her meaning if she laboured it.

  ‘I know you both have doubts about Kilrevin,’ she told them silkily. ‘I understand your hesitation, but I ask you to trust that I have knowledge you do not have, and that I will use it wisely and against our common enemy. Yes?’

  ‘Yes, Kate,’ growled Cluaran.

  ‘Though I wish you’d trust us with a little of that knowledge,’ muttered Laszlo.

  She gave him a sharp glance. ‘As for Cuthag, my lands are extensive and my people scattered. He is loyal to me, he keeps order and enforces my law, and if my command of him has a certain informality, it is because I trust him and I trust his fighters. That doesn’t mean I encourage brutality.’

  ‘Perhaps you should discourage it more,’ grunted Laszlo.

  Her temper flared. ‘Look to our real enemies, gentlemen. Murlainn’s fortress is the one that harbours unlawful killers.’

  ‘I understand, Kate.’ There was something in Laszlo’s tone, an underlying sarcasm she did not like. And she was impatient with his hypocrisy. She understood perfectly why he had no wish to meet the full-mortal Cuilean in the field – that stupid prophecy that said he’d meet his death only at the hands of another full-mortal – but his strategic retreats were starting to look unpleasantly like cowardice, and that set a poor example. Perhaps it was time at last for the scales to fall from the besotted Gealach’s eyes. That might teach the man a lesson.

  She swept back her skirts and turned away from Laszlo as he returned to Gealach’s side. Cluaran she beckoned with an imperious gesture.

  Truly, she hadn’t realised how angry she was until she returned to her seat, and found her fingers were trembling. This time, she let her nails tap the carved and gilded wooden arm. The click and rhythm of them soothed her.

  She thought of Cuthag, and of Alasdair, and of Laszlo; of all her loyal, living weapons. There were other kinds of weapon, of course, and love could be the finest and the deadliest. And there were men who did not deserve happiness, however brief.

  She raised her head. Cluaran waited, stoic and patient. Gods, how she admired him.

  ‘I shall deal with Murlainn’s boy soon,’ she said, ‘and I’ll want you there.’

  He nodded, and kissed her hand, and made to turn.

  ‘Wait,’ she said.

  He hesitated. ‘My queen?’

  ‘There is a sacrifice I have always known I’d have to make,’ she said. ‘Do you know what that is?’

  His eyes were cautious, but very steady on hers. ‘Yes, Kate. We all know it.’

  ‘Then, Cluaran?’ There was the merest hint of regret in her smile. ‘Finish it now.’

  HANNAH

  ‘What have you done to your hair?’ Rory stared at me as I shut the heavy oak door.

  I glanced around at the traces and imprints Rory had left on his room. Books and DVDs all over the place: action thrillers and science fiction. Old film posters and unframed photos were stuck carelessly on the wall around his bed and on the iron bedstead itself. Most were of Jed and Seth, Sionnach and Orach, but there were some dog-eared faded ones of his uncle, the dun’s last Captain: Conal MacGregor.

  Dad. Swallowing, I looked swiftly back at Rory. He hadn’t seen my expression because he was still staring at my scalp.

  I rubbed my hand across it. My hair was cut back to about an inch all over, not very expertly. I should have been wary of Eili’s skills just from looking at the state of her own haircut, but I actually quite liked the amateurish result. I’d wanted it shorter, I’d wanted it shaved, but Eili had refused. It would give us away, she said.

  ‘Don’t you like it?’

  Rory made a doubtful face. ‘It’s okay. But everybody’s going to wonder who died.’

  ‘Oh, are they?’ Turning my back on the rough photo gallery, I smiled at him.

  ‘Yeah, because – oh, it doesn’t matter. I kind of liked it before.’

  ‘Too bad.’ I gave him another smile, a more belligerent one, and raked my fingers through my hair, making it stick up in spikes.

  Rory frowned and squinted at me as if reaching for a lost memory, then shook his head and shrugged. ‘Okay, okay. What’s up?’

  I wandered round his room, picking up DVDs and old toys, setting them down, flipping through books. ‘Rory. Why wouldn’t your dad let you go after the baby horse? After Sionnach shot its mother?’

  Rory flopped back on his bed. ‘Wasn’t exactly a good time, was it?’

  I
nodded thoughtfully. ‘She’s still there, though. Foal without a mother. And us with a free morning tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t start.’ He rolled onto his side, watching me. ‘I can’t go to the mere on my own.’

  I let that one hang in the air. I let my lips twitch, though.

  ‘Your point is?’ There was an edge of anger to his voice now.

  Judging I’d got the timing about right, I flopped onto the bed beside him. ‘Weird, isn’t it? I’ve seen you with everybody else’s kelpies. You can ride them all.’

  ‘I’m not supposed–’ This time, his mouth closed on the objection. I wanted to applaud but I knew I’d better not; instead I left him a moment to rejig his answer and recover his masculine pride. ‘I mean, it’s very unusual. They only answer to one person. Usually. That’s all I meant.’ His cheekbones coloured.

  I nodded. ‘So the rogue one, the white one, that was an exception for you. Only because it had a foal at foot. And its foal isn’t going to be like that, is it? Especially if you get it young, ’specially if it hasn’t got a mother now.’

  ‘Ahhhh... Dad didn’t think that was a good...’

  ‘He never took his own horse, did he? When you went out before.’

  ‘No. Thought it’d end up in a fight.’

  ‘Even if that was true, it doesn’t apply to the foal. A foal wouldn’t fight an adult horse. Another kelpie would reassure it. Probably.’

  ‘Not Dad’s.’ He laughed dismissively. ‘It’s a stallion. She’d run a mile.’

  ‘I’m not thinking of your father’s.’ I gave him a withering look. Careful, Hannah. Careful. ‘Eili’s is a mare.’

  ‘Eili’s kelpie?’

  Rory was visibly startled. After a moment, he shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with finger and thumb.

  I felt the curious brush of his mind, repelled smoothly by my perfect total block. I didn’t need to See inside his head, after all. I knew he needed his father’s respect; he needed it like he needed a heartbeat. And without any kind of telepathy I knew exactly what temptation was running through his head now, what thoughts of sweet bloodless revenge on Eili. Oh, to use her precious warhorse to get him his own...

  ‘Eili’s is a mare,’ he repeated slowly. ‘Dad would have thought of that, if it–’

  ‘I sometimes wonder if your father wants you to have that much independence.’

  For a moment I thought I’d timed it wrong, gone too far and too fast. Rory’s face hardened and his eyes narrowed. I was just beginning to curse myself in the foulest inward terms when he sat up straight, fists clenched in the bedclothes.

  ‘I sometimes wonder that too.’

  And that was when I knew I had him.

  FINN

  I woke with a sneeze, wolf-hair in my nostrils. The smell that clung to them was Branndair’s fur and his strong carnivorous breath, but it wasn’t unpleasant and I didn’t want to pull away from him. My arms tightened around his neck as his warm tongue lashed my cheek.

  ‘I thought you didn’t like him,’ I heard Seth say. ‘And now I’m all jealous.’

  Reluctantly I pushed Branndair off and sat up, yawning. Seth was dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed, fighting the slight smile that tugged at his mouth.

  ‘So.’ I jiggled my eyebrows. ‘Which one of us are you jealous of ?’

  ‘Ha, ha.’

  ‘It’s morning,’ I said blearily as Faramach clambered onto my forearm and gave Branndair a raucous piece of his mind. ‘Was that you in my head last night, Faramach?’ I tickled the spiky feathers at his throat. ‘Thanks, pal.’ I looked him not quite in the eye, a little shy after sharing his eerie raven-mind in the night.

  ‘I have the feeling I’ve been ganged up on,’ said Seth, rubbing his temple hard with a forefinger. ‘I didn’t drink that much.’

  ‘Have you got a headache?’ I asked guiltily. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well. That’s nothing, is it?’ He stared at me. Branndair lifted his massive bulk and stalked up the bed, flopping down proprietorially next to him, and Seth scratched his neck.

  I gave the wolf a rueful look. ‘He’ll never let me forget this.’

  Seth laughed one of his low villainous laughs. ‘No more hearth rug, my pet,’ he told Branndair. He glanced at me. ‘Thanks, lover. But don’t do it again.’

  ‘Oh, sure.’ I looked skywards. What was it with him? Testosterone?

  He snorted. ‘Well. You’re very talented.’ Standing up, he took my hand and pulled me off the bed. ‘But it’s dangerous, what you did.’

  ‘Yep,’ I agreed. ‘And riding around the woods with a sword on your back picking fights with kelpies is ever so safe.’

  He had the grace to look sheepish. ‘I’ve been at this game longer than you have.’

  ‘As you never tire of telling me. Just stick at ‘Thanks’.’

  ‘Thanks. I love you, you know.’ He held my wrist and kissed my temple. ‘Only don’t get mad at me if I don’t say it again for a while. Ah, Finn, you must be hungry.’

  ‘Starving, pal.’

  ‘There’ll be some kind of breakfast downstairs. Sulaire doesn’t get hangovers.’ Seth stretched and yawned. ‘Oh, Finn. Seven hours’ sleep feels so good.’ He wrapped his arms around me and bent his face into my neck. Then he pulled away abruptly. ‘You need some sleep yourself, though.’

  ‘I know. I just want her never to know if I’ll be there or not. She felt it, you know,’ I said with vicious satisfaction. ‘She felt it.’

  ‘Your ruthless streak is showing. Not before time. You think you could help my son find his?’

  I gave him a Look. ‘Give him time, you old despot.’

  ‘I got him something. Here, see what you think.’ He opened the low trunk at the foot of the bed. It was one of Sionnach’s, the fretwork over its lid as delicate as lace, but three centuries old already and still strong. Seth reached inside and with a nervous smile, handed me a rolled bundle of soft leather.

  I unwrapped it. A yew-and-deerhorn bow with a quiver of blue-fletched arrows. I drew one of them out and stroked the arrow’s tip with my thumb.

  ‘Do you think he’ll like it? He’s not keen on swords. I thought, you know... a longbow… and it belonged to his grandfather...’

  ‘It’s gorgeous.’ I eyed him askance. ‘Seth, I don’t think he’s ever going to be a mighty barbarian warrior, know what I mean?’

  He sighed, raked his hair. ‘I know. I just wish... he needs to defend himself.’

  ‘He’ll get there. Let him work it out for himself. What’s that?’

  I was glad of a distraction, but I was genuinely curious. I knelt by the trunk and lifted out a little wooden carving. Its edges were smoothed by time, the surface glowing with the sheen of years. The shape of it was primitive but it was still identifiable. I turned it very gently in my fingers as Seth crouched beside me.

  ‘It’s a wolf,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not a very good one.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Yes. It is.’

  I tucked my hair behind my ear, the better to see his face. ‘And she was too?’

  He nodded. ‘She made better ones later, but that was always my favourite.’

  ‘It’s very old.’ I stroked the little bumps of its wooden ears. ‘That’s a long time to miss someone.’

  He just nodded. I laid the carving carefully back in its nest of soft cotton. I was about to close the trunk lid when he caught it and reached inside again. He drew out a faded photograph and passed it to me.

  Conal and Seth, playing the fool. They were sitting on Leonie’s sofa at Tornashee, arms folded and leaning against each other, and they wore happy stupid grins. Between them was propped an incredibly startled week-old baby, its eyes round with confusion. I’d been staring at the picture for a while before I realised Seth was holding his breath.

  I looked up at him. ‘I’m so tiny. This is before my father died.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Don’t take this the wrong w
ay,’ I said. ‘But this looks almost as if you like me.’

  Embarrassed, he shrugged.

  ‘So what did I do?’ I winked solemnly at him as I stood up and examined it again. ‘Was I that awful a toddler?’

  He stood up too, looking over my shoulder and twisting a strand of my hair between his fingers. ‘It all went wrong after Aonghas was killed. You know that.’

  ‘Uh-huh. So why did you take it out on me?’

  ‘Oh Finn. I dunno. I was in a permanent rage with your mother, and you were a piece of her. And I was jealous of you and Conal and how close you were. And I’d been over there too long and I hated it. Hated it, hated the full-mortals, and I was afraid of getting fond of you because I didn’t want to get close to somebody who was going to be a kind of honorary full-mortal and never even know where she came from.’ He was counting mockingly on his fingers now. ‘Oh, loads of reasons, no excuses.’

  ‘That’s not all,’ I said.

  ‘Well...’ He looked shamefaced. ‘It’s embarrassing. I don’t even want to say it.’

  ‘Tell me or the wolf gets it.’ I pointed a finger-gun at Branndair’s head, and he made puppy-eyes at Seth.

  Hands over his face, Seth mumbled, ‘So there was this prophecy.’

  ‘Not another one!’ I couldn’t fight my huge grin. ‘About you and me? Couldn’t somebody have shot that soothsayer?’

  ‘She did catch it in the end,’ he reminded me darkly. He stared at the photograph in my fingers.

  ‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’ I flicked its corner.

  ‘Depends on your point of view. Stella wanted to have me killed.’ He gave me a wry shrug. ‘Finn. You and me. She said it would happen.’

  I almost roared with laughter. I had to bite my cheeks. ‘Is that why you wouldn’t come near me? Because you didn’t want to prove a soothsayer right?’

  His mouth opened in the beginning of a laugh, the start of a shared joke. It never quite got there. He moved away from me, ever so slightly.

  ‘What?’ My neck prickled. ‘What else?’

  He said it so fast I almost couldn’t make it out. ‘I’m going to be the death of you.’