The MacGregor Read online

  The MacGregor

  Jenny Brigalow

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  The MacGregor

  Jenny Brigalow

  In Children of the Mist, we discovered the secret history of the Children. Now, in the wilds of Scotland, one of them has come of age…

  Megan MacGregor has lived her life off the grid, in complete secrecy. Now she’s all grown up, and needs what every female werewolf before her has needed: a mate.

  Tracking one down in the lonely wilds of Argyll will be no easy task, but Megan is no ordinary woman. When she finds Sean Duncan, she’ll do anything to keep him. But Sean has secrets and a past of his own, and Megan might get more than she bargained for in a mate.

  About the Author

  Jenny Brigalow is a writer of rural romance, young adult fiction and, more recently, literary fiction. In 2010 her teen novel, The Overlander, won a place in a competition co-run by Allen & Unwin and Queensland Writers Centre. She has been writing for six years and her rural romance, A Man For All Seasons, is published by e-publisher Steam eReads.

  Born in Britain, Jenny arrived in Australia as a young woman in 1985 for an impromptu holiday and never left. She fell in love with the Australian bush, its unique flora and fauna, and the colourful personalities who inhabit the country. At present she is settled on acreage north of Toowoomba.

  For my sister Amy who has read every word that I have written.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Epilogue

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…

  Chapter 1

  Sean Duncan was waiting. He forced his eyes to stay on the string of horses that were galloping around the soft green turf. He missed nothing. Not the exuberant high jinks of the new grey mare or the bloody-minded reluctance of The Count, a talented but unpredictable black gelding. The sky was gunmetal grey but the breeze was soft, scented with apple blossom. He breathed deeply and inhaled his home.

  A tap on his back made him look over his shoulder. Ginny, his head girl, nodded discreetly to his left, her black ponytail bobbing. ‘Sean, she’s back!’ she whispered.

  Sean couldn’t help it. He turned and looked up to the top of the mountain, his blue eyes narrowing against the glare of the snow that still lingered in May. And he saw that Ginny was right. She was there. At last! A wave of satisfaction rolled over him.

  That made four times this week. Who the hell was she? What did she want?

  The distant figure on the peak was a woman. That much he sensed. And she had red hair. Really, really red. Last week the sun managed to shine and her head had burned like a beacon. But that was all he knew. It was intriguing.

  ‘She must be freakin’ frozen!’ said Ginny in a tone that clearly spoke of her lack of empathy for the stranger.

  There was also a slight suggestion of territoriality in her demeanour that made Sean uncomfortable. Ginny was an excellent horsewoman, but she wasn’t his type. She was attractive, with raven hair and luminous skin. But she was too…cold. There was just something about her that set his teeth on edge, despite her obvious attractions. And besides, it never paid to sleep with the staff. Always ended in acrimony.

  Sean turned his attention back to business, but he burned to look back over his shoulder. He scanned the track and soon found the string. He let out a long groan of despair as he caught sight of The Count in the process of bucking off young Billy. The bastard.

  He sighed as he contemplated what he would say to The Count’s owner, Callum Campbell. Perhaps ‘The Count’s in fine fettle’ would fit the bill. He couldn’t afford to be too honest. Well, he couldn’t afford to be honest at all. Owners were more fickle than politicians. They paid a pittance and expected the trainer to perform miracles. Any suggestion that their four-legged pride and joy wasn’t the next hot contender for the Cox Cup would send them scurrying to the competition. It was a dog-eat-dog world, and frankly, Sean was happy to eat anyone who stood in his way. Failure was not an option.

  He shook his head as Billy limped slowly towards him, The Count following like a little lamb, his black eyes glinting beneath the long luxuriant fall of his forelock. Sean grinned. The horse was a badass, but he had to concede he also had a certain style. Bit like the woman on the mountain.

  As he headed over to Billy to check out the damage, his head swivelled of its own accord and he scanned the highland. But there was nothing to see except the glittering snowy peaks. If the redhead was there still, he couldn’t see her. He felt strangely disappointed, which was daft. But, as he took the reins from Billy, he found himself wondering if she would be there the next morning. And, for some reason, he realised that he hoped so.

  He smiled at Billy’s woebegone face. ‘You all right, Billy?’

  Billy nodded. ‘Fit as a flea. Just twisted the ankle a bit.’


  Sean sensed it was more than that, but kept his counsel. These were tough kids. On the outside anyway. He nodded. ‘Good. Better go down to the house and put some ice on that ankle. Ginny’ll run you down in the Landrover. I’ll bring the horse.’

  Billy nodded and followed a huffy Ginny down to the car. She was obviously annoyed at being dismissed. Sean squashed down his irritation. He wished she was less bloody sensitive. It wasn’t a put-down. Just a practicality. Billy needed a lift and Ginny had to take him. Simple. But, in that way that he had, Sean knew that Ginny was going to make his life difficult. And soon.

  He sighed and led the stallion back up towards the rest of the string who were galloping back down on the home run.

  They made a pretty picture, grey, bay and chestnut, all in a row. Jockeys poised like thistledown on their backs. As they thundered by, their shod hooves kicked up clods of turf which showered through the air. The new grey mare was a high blower and he could hear the rhythmical sound of her breath as she flew by. He liked that. The high blowers usually had a big lung capacity. It was a promising start.

  Eventually they turned away uphill once more and began to slow. They pulled up to a walk and headed back for the gate and home. The lads grinned as they walked past, their horses’ hides steaming and shiny with sweat. Once they had filed through the gate Sean followed with The Count, who was a right royal pain in the arse, throwing his head around and barging like a deranged hippo.

  They were nearly back at the ramshackle yard when The Count stopped dead on the muddy track. Sean tugged on the bridle and clicked him on. But the black horse seemed oblivious, his eyes and ears trained on something in the distance. Sean looked around. Some sixth sense sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. The Count’s silky coat twitched and he whickered gently. Sean froze as his sharp ears picked up the softest of sounds.

  A movement caught his eye and The Count pawed the ground restlessly. It was only as he dragged the reluctant horse onward that Sean glimpsed her. Well, a glint of red hair and a flash of pale face as she ran helter-skelter across his track, bounded up over the stone wall and melted into the landscape like a fox.

  He hoped she’d be back. His little fox was turning into a bit of an obsession.

  Chapter 2

  Megan MacGregor ducked down behind the old stone wall and contemplated her next move. For a few moments she waited and then peeked cautiously through a small chink. She grinned to see him still there, the black horse fussing beside him. The man’s blue eyes, as bright as a periwinkle, scanned the mountainside. He had nice eyes. Nice everything, really.

  But she thrust the thought away. Wouldn’t do. Wouldn’t do at all. Life was complicated enough. But she couldn’t resist just one last look. And she watched until he finally turned and led the great horse back towards his house.

  Her amber eyes watched the black horse hungrily. She didn’t know what it was about the horses but she couldn’t stay away. Something drew her back, time after time. And she knew she’d have to finish what she’d started.

  Her stomach growled and she glanced up at the sky. Behind the cloud she could feel the moon watching over her. Close and pregnant with promise. Megan felt her senses stir. Half moon tonight. The moon was waxing. In a few months it would be Solstice. Grandad had promised to let her join the ritual for the first time. But the thought of her grandparent sent a ripple of anxiety through her. It was time to go home.

  She raced up the mountain, her feet as sure as a cat’s on the short-cropped turf and the granite stones. At the top she sped across the snow, her feet leaving no mark of her passage. Down the other side she went, through fragrant fir forest and cool pockets of deciduous trees. Each tree imprinted upon her subconscious. She recited to herself: alder, beech, birch and crab-apple. They were as familiar as her friends and family, and she greeted each with a soft stroke of her hand as she slipped past.

  Finally she reached a paddock. The sheep watched her warily, and the ewes bleated to their leggy lambs. But Megan took no notice. She was hungry, but not hungry enough to hunt in the light of day. And besides, there was plenty to eat at home. Slaughtering livestock stirred up trouble and drew attention. Megan never drew attention to herself. It was the golden rule of survival. And she had learned it well.

  For a moment her conscience twinged. She’d been playing hide-and-go-seek with the blue-eyed man. Only, he didn’t know it. And she was troubled. Why would she do that? What was it about him that made her so…careless.

  But, if she were honest, she understood it wasn’t him that was the problem. The recent changes in her body and her mind seemed to have unleashed all kinds of unexpected quirks. Her obsession with the horses, for one. And this new awareness of the opposite sex. She knew it was natural, that she could breed now if she chose. But she hadn’t expected to find herself dribbling over a mere mortal. Well, she expected to be dribbling, but not because she had a crush on one. Seriously, it was disgusting. Hopefully she’d get over it.

  As she stepped out onto the thin winding strip of bitumen a thought struck her. Why, it was no wonder she was eyeing off inappropriate males. She didn’t know any more suitable ones. Other than her granddad and his few cronies, she didn’t really know anyone. The Campbells didn’t count. What she needed, she decided, was a social life.

  This revelation kept her occupied until she picked up the distant whine of a car. Some ten minutes later a battered old Ford van coughed its way up the hill towards her. Megan stuck out a thumb. As it chugged by she turned to peer into the driver’s seat. A middle-aged man eyed her with growing interest and not inconsiderable appreciation. Megan smiled and the car crawled to a stop.

  The man wound down the window. ‘Where’re you headed?’

  Megan was silent for a moment as she assessed the ride. Looked like a mechanic in dirty overalls. She could see oil under his nails. He smelled grubby, and unwell. Probably his liver, she guessed. The flushed cheeks and bloodshot eyes seemed to back this up. ‘I’m going to Oban,’ she said softly.

  He nodded. ‘Jump in, you’re in luck, I’m on my way there myself.’

  Megan knew he was lying. She sauntered around to the passenger seat and opened the door. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. The car smelled. But she sat down without a fuss and slammed the door shut. The engine revved and they pulled away.

  The man glanced at her and smiled. Megan smiled back.

  Chapter 3

  Megan only listened with one ear to the greaser’s conversation. He was oily in every sense of the word. Probably thought his crude jokes and not-so-subtle sexual innuendos were endearing. But she just nodded and smiled and he seemed content with that.

  Megan’s sense of direction was infallible. Like she’d been born with a built-in GPS. So when the greaser made a wrong turn, she knew.

  She turned and appraised him coolly. ‘Mister, you’re going the wrong way.’

  He laughed heartily. ‘No, no, don’t worry, this is just a short cut.’

  Megan settled back into her seat. A short cut? Well, it was time someone redefined the ‘short cut’ concept. But she didn’t say a word, just watched the scenery sail by. The forests were in the full flush of spring green and the newborn lambs were like little clouds. The car soared up over a tor and down the winding road on the other side, and a great loch spread out before her, sullen and still.

  The greaser had gone uncharacteristically quiet and Megan could practically hear the cogs grinding in his thick skull. She was not surprised when they slowed and then cruised to a stop in a small empty parking lot. As the engine snuffed out she reached for the door handle.

  ‘What’s your hurry?’ he said, and fastened a dirty hand around her right wrist. ‘I just wanted to stop for a chat.’

  Something uncurled in a deep part of Megan’s brain. Something primitive. Something powerful. Something primeval. Hate. Megan turned and observed the man with his unshaven beard and bloodshot eyes. And she hated him. There were no shades of grey for Megan MacGregor. She
loved and hated with equal intensity. And she hated this man. This predator of lonely girls.

  ‘I don’t want to chat,’ she said softly. ‘Let me go, please.’

  He laughed, an ugly barking sound, and jerked his chin towards the water. ‘Don’t be silly. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Where’re you going to go?’

  She didn’t answer, which seemed to unsettle him. He shifted in his seat. ‘Look, I tell you what,’ he said, with a small smirk, ‘you be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you.’ He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. ‘Come on, what do you say? Can’t be fairer than that?’ He rubbed his hand up the black woollen stockings that covered her legs and stopped just short of her tartan skirt. ‘When you wander around with a skirt hitched up around your waist you should expect to attract a bit of attention.’

  Megan blinked. Oh, this was priceless. She leaned in, slowly and deliberately. She watched the pupils in his eyes dilate in greedy anticipation. When she was close enough to kiss him she turned her mouth to one waxy ear. ‘Frankly,’ she said, ‘I’d rather piss blood.’

  The grip on her wrist tightened and the hand on her thigh scrabbled up her leg like a tarantula. Fingers gouged and prodded into her panties.

  A red-hot rage enveloped her. Black spots danced before her eyes and Megan let out a low growl of protest. She lashed out with her free hand, smacking him on the side of his head. His busy hand emerged and he snarled, curled his fist and jabbed at her nose.

  The fist landed right on target and she heard her nose crack. She curled up and drew in great gasps of air. Megan felt the world tilt on its axis as the synapses in her brain answered to her call. She’d only transformed once before and the glory of it exploded like popcorn through her psyche.

  Then, as she felt him move over her and the stink of his swollen sex filled her nostrils, she lifted her face towards him.

  In other circumstances his expression would have been comical. But all she felt was a murderous rage. A desire to destroy. A need for vengeance.

  She ran her tongue over the long cusps of her teeth.

  He stopped breathing and shrivelled like a frost-nipped flower. ‘Please…please,’ he gibbered.