The MacGregor (29 page)

Finally they reached the rugged coastal terrain. Mountains cropped by sheep and sculpted by the wind and weather. Megan loved them. Sometimes she could feel the ancient rock beneath the thin soil shift slightly. Like a sleeping giant easing a stiff joint. This land was older even than her kind. A link to the past.

With Sean moving effortlessly beside her they soon reached the edge of the steep cliff. And there she stopped in her tracks.

Sean settled beside her and the cold wind dropped away and the world seemed strangely subdued. The only sound the rasp and surge of the ocean in the bay. It was still. So still.

And then the wind blew in from the sea. And it brought with it the salty smell of brine, the rich scent of herring and the sickly scent of corruption.

Megan felt a great tsunami of horror wash through her mind. Like a missile she launched herself over the edge. Sean's voice touched her mind like a shadow and slipped away.

Her heart beat like a war drum in her chest and her fear flew from her teeth in a harsh, snarling growl. She reached the cottage like a whirlwind and flew in. ‘Grandad! Grandad! Grandad!' she sobbed frantically as she searched. But the house was empty. ‘Tippet! Grandad!' But only silence answered her.

And then she followed her nose. And she was crying now. Great racking sobs of agony that seemed to shake her very bones. Across the pebbly beach she ran to the sea.

Her feet faltered at the stairs to the old walkway. The boat bobbed merrily at its mooring. A light burned yellow below deck. A fishnet spilled out into the water. Dead herrings bobbed around in the sea. ‘Grandad.' But it was more a whisper. Or a prayer. ‘Grandad.'

And then Sean was there. She turned to him, half blinded by tears and grief. ‘I can't…' But a paroxysm of grief gripped her and she bent beneath its weight.

His arms caught her and pulled her to his warm body. ‘Stay here. I'll go.'

But she shook him off fiercely. Was she a coward then? ‘No!'

He nodded. His face grim. ‘Together then.'

She nodded but found her feet wouldn't answer her. Again she failed as huge sobs of anguish racked her. And he held her until she had control once more.

Finally she steeled herself and stepped upon the slippery planks. As she walked she trained her eyes on the tiny gaps between the timber and watched the dark water below. And then her hand found the boat and she leapt up. She looked around and staggered backwards. Her mouth opened and let out a long howl of agony. Her legs gave way and she fell upon her knees. Her eyes wandered over the deck at the bloody remains of her grandfather. So many and so small that he was no more than a grotesque collection of jigsaw pieces. Her hand reached out and touched a small patch of red fur. Tippet.

And then her body bent like a bow until her head touched the deck. And she hit the timber hard. Again and again as if she could batter the horror of it all clean out of her mind.

Strong arms wrapped around her and dragged her away. And she screamed. And found she couldn't stop.

Her screams pierced Sean's mind like a sword as he carried her away. He was rocked to the core by the scene he'd just witnessed. It was like the worst horror movie ever made. Except it was real.

Back in the croft he stood in the doorway. The house was small and shabby but it was clean and tidy. It smelled like tobacco and cheap carbolic soap. Sadness filled him. This was Megan's home. The house to which she had brought him so gladly to meet her family. An old werewolf and a young fox cub. A family that no longer existed.

And still the tortured howls and screams poured from Megan. Her eyes were glazed and her face was deathly pale. Sean was at a loss. What should he do? Should he take her away? Would the vampyre who had done this terrible thing come back?

And then he wished that they would. Because then they would have to answer to him. He tightened his grip on Megan, still unsure of how to progress, his eyes skimming around the kitchen. He passed over the scarred old table in the centre and to the old china sink by the window. An ashtray sat over the fireplace, a pipe lying beside it. And there was a bottle. Whisky, if Sean were any judge. Which he was.

Whisky. Just the thing. He went to one of the easy chairs before the fire and poured Megan into it. And, as he did so, she went silent. Her eyes were dilated, the whites peppered with red lines like crazy paving. Sean crouched before her. ‘Megan, stay there, I'll get you a drink.' He waited for a moment but she didn't so much as blink.

Quickly he went to the bottle and headed for the kitchen cupboards. A search located a dozen mismatched glasses. He grabbed the two biggest and sloshed a goodly amount in each, scooped them up and raced back to Megan. He held out a glass to her but she didn't stir. He put the glass to her nose. But still nothing.

Finally he pressed the rim of the glass to her lips and tipped. The whisky dribbled down her chin. Sean swore in frustration and then tried again. ‘Try it, Megan, it'll help, I swear.'

She blinked and her lips opened. Sean tipped the glass and she swallowed convulsively and then coughed and choked. Almost in tears Sean banged her on her back. The coughing stopped. Sean looked at her anxiously. Her colour was better and her eyes were brighter. He held out the glass once more and this time she took it. Without a word she swallowed the contents.

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.

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.

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.

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.