 
Wolf Land

Book One: Bluebells

by Fiona McShane

Text Copyright 2015 © Fiona McShane

All Rights Reserved

Cover Design by mvcoverdesign

Website: https://fionamcshanewrites.com

Table of Contents

Sorcha

Rory

Sorcha

Cormac

Rory

Sorcha

Rory

Sorcha

Rory

Sorcha

Rory

Sorcha

*

Seven Years Later

Cormac

Rory

Sorcha

Rory

Sorcha

Rory

Sorcha

Rory

Sorcha

Rory

Sorcha

Rory

Sorcha

Rory

Sorcha
1652
Sorcha

A wolf may roam freely here. He is mac tire, son of the land. But such freedom could be coming to an end. A few weeks ago the first English hunters arrived in our village to earn their bounty. They will earn six pounds for every female they kill, five for the males, two pounds for the younger wolves and ten shillings for the cubs. With so much money to be made, more hunters are sure to follow.

The settlers and the hunters call Ireland Wolf Land. My own village, almost entirely surrounded by forest, is known as Wolf Wood. I wonder: what will they call us if they succeed in killing every single wolf?
Rory

'It will soon be dawning,' my father said. He stamped his feet on the ground and blew warm breath into his cupped hands. 'What say we rush through a few more traps and then get on home to our beds?'

'To our beds?' I raised an eyebrow. 'To work, I think you really mean.'

I rarely felt the cold, even in winter. And in the early hours of a spring morning like this one, I was not especially eager to return to the heat of the forge.

'Well, it is a good time to go about certain tasks, now you mention it. We are safer making traps and weapons while the soldiers still keep to their beds.'

My father was called Brian. He was a tall, well-built man who still had a full head of dark brown hair, the same shade as mine. He was many things: a hard working blacksmith, a brilliant hunter and trapper, but most of all he was my hero. He had never needed to raise a hand to me, because I did whatever he said, almost always without question. That night – or morning, seeing as it was nearly five o'clock – was exceptional. It was the last day of April, and food was needed for the evening's Bealtaine celebrations. My mother had promised to make enough rabbit stew to feed at least twenty. So far, I had only one rabbit.

'You get on home, then, and I shall not be far behind you. If we are to worry about them catching us forging weapons, then we should be just as worried about poaching on his lordship's land. It is bad enough coming this close to his woods, without leaving the evidence behind.'

'They are not his woods, though, are they?' My father's nostrils flared and he threw a twig into the air. 'They are ours. They are everyone's. And I would not worry about waking him. At any rate I would wager that Lord Tolbert is already awake. In fact, if that man does sleep, then he probably sleeps with his eyes open. A man like him must have countless enemies to fear.'

I glanced over at the huge castle: the home of Lord Tolbert, and his newly arrived wife. The castle was a mile away, but its shadow seemed to cast over the entirety of the woodland, no matter what time of the day or night. We knew, from hearing the talk of the English hunters and soldiers, that the castle was bigger than anything to be found even in London. In one of the towers a light shone brightly, and in the kitchens at the bottom of the building, torches were flickering to life.

'Has anyone seen her yet?'

'The new Lady Tolbert?' My father shook his head. 'Two weeks she has been at the castle, and not a man or woman in Wolf Wood has caught a glimpse of her.' His expression turned from angry to thoughtful, as he mused, 'They say he has survived a hundred rulers. I wonder if he shall survive marriage so easily.'

'A hundred?' I scoffed. 'And I suppose there is not the slightest hint of exaggeration?' I looked along the walls, wondering where Lord Tolbert might sleep – assuming my father was wrong and he did actually sleep. Probably in a tower. With guards at the door. 'At any rate, at least he is not an Englishman.'

He sighed. 'It is not about Irish or English. Get that out of your head, Rory. It is about them that work, and them that take. He is a taker. And one of the worst, mark my words. At any rate I do not know what he is. I cannot think of a man in the village – besides Lord Tolbert himself – who knows where he came from all those years ago when he was given the place by the king.'

'Which king?'

My father shrugged. 'I could not rightly say. Before my time. It may not have been a hundred rulers he has seen off, fair enough. He does not look to be more than fifty, I suppose. But whether it is the King, whether it is Cromwell, or whether it is our own lot, he will still be there, lord and magistrate of Wolf Wood. I cannot remember a time without him. Right now he has the army garrisoned in barracks as fine as the best quarters in his castle. In the rest of the country the New Model Army are in tents, battering down town gates, forcing their way in. But here? Here they have near enough been welcomed with open arms. He handed Wolf Wood over to them without so much as a fight. But as soon as a king is back on the throne, it will all be forgotten. He shall be the King's man again, and it will be as if all of this never even happened. You mark my words.'

I walked to a trap. 'There is nothing in this,' I said, carefully examining the trap I had laid the previous morning. 'But it has been sprung. Could have been a fox, I suppose. Or wolves.'

'Or one of the wolves.'

I laughed. 'The wolves. The infamous wolves of Wolf Wood. Hark – ' I put a hand to my ear exaggeratedly. 'I think I hear them howling their immortal howl in the distance.'

My father laughed along with me. I doubted that even he believed the stories he told. But still he told them to me night after night as we hunted or, more accurately, poached. The special wolves of Wolf Wood. The immortal ones. The ones he knew he had seen as a boy. The ones who had almost caught him, during more than one full moon. Larger, faster, more fearsome than the average wolf.

All I had ever seen were average wolves. They were fearsome enough, I thought, without imagining monsters.

'It will more likely have been the soldiers at the traps, do you think?' I asked. 'I hear they have been going after traps all over the country. If the rebels cannot eat, they cannot fight.'

'I have heard the same,' said my father. 'But those that want to find food will find it no matter what the soldiers do. Trapping is hardly the only way to go about it. For now, though, we shall have to make do. There might be a bit less rabbit than usual in your mother's stew, but we will tell her it is just as tasty without.'

I looked at him. I was nearly as tall as him, and just as broad, but he always seemed bigger and stronger than me. He always seemed like he could pick me up and carry me away from any danger. If one of the soldiers came to arrest us he would know what to do. If one of his wolves came bounding towards us, he would deal with that, too. He would know what to do about anything. I took a deep breath, and asked a question I had been avoiding the whole night long.

'Is it true, this business about Lord Tolbert and Peggy Moore? I have been afraid to speak to Sorcha about it, in case I should upset her.'

He looked at the ground and, when he did speak, his voice was not his usual confident boom. He sounded hollow. 'Peggy is not his first, and she will not be his last – whether he has a new wife or not. Believe me, if there was anything I could do, I would do it. Peggy has refused my help. Does not want anyone's help, she says. Her mind is made up.'

I sighed. 'I suppose I knew she would be that way about it. It will break Sorcha's heart if Peggy goes through with it. They always come across like... well, like more than just sisters. Peggy acts almost like a mother to Sorcha. It will be torture for Sorcha, to have Peggy leave the farm.'

My father squeezed my shoulder. 'Well, perhaps you will have to think of some way to un-break the heart of Sorcha Moore.'

I blushed, and decided the best tactic was to change the subject. 'She says Lord Tolbert makes her head ache.'

I thought that my father would laugh, but he looked at me intently. 'Sorcha says?'

I nodded. 'A ringing, she calls it. Ringing in her ears and her mind, whenever he is near.'

'And Peggy?' he pressed. 'Does she say any such thing?'

I shook my head. 'Not that I know of. I was not expecting you to take this so seriously. You are worrying me, with your reaction. You cannot really think that the stories about them are true, can you? I mean, do you not think that if any of it was true, then they would have done something to Lord Tolbert by now, so that Peggy would not have to go through with it? Turned him into a frog or some such. It is nonsense, all of it. They are not what their father thinks they are. Even if they were... I hardly think it would matter much.' I looked at my father. 'Do you?'

'No,' he said, emphatically. 'If they are like their mother before them, then I for one would not think it such a bad thing. Peter Moore would do well to realise what he has in his life before it is all taken from him. Any other man would be thanking his lucky stars to have such daughters as his. But Peter? No, he would rather work their fingers to the bone and then sell them off to the highest bidder.'

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I swivelled around, looking at the tower. The light had gone out.

'I think you were right,' I said. 'We should get off home. I will collect the other traps tomorrow. They will be empty, I fear, in any case.'

'Thanks be to God. I was beginning to feel like that tower was watching us.' He laughed self-consciously. 'Did you ever hear the like? I am scaring myself out of my own skin with the stories I tell. Remind me to keep my mouth shut next time, will you.'

'Father?'

'Yes?'

'Keep your mouth shut next time.'

Laughing, but a little more easily, he put an arm around my shoulder and we walked back to the forge.
Sorcha

For the first time in weeks my sister asked me to help deliver the eggs.

'Why?' I asked.

'No need to be so suspicious,' Peggy replied, a little irritably. 'I just fancy the company.'

'But it is too early!' I complained, looking outside at the darkness. 'And we cannot both go. One of us has to stay and get breakfast ready for the lodgers.'

'Yes, and that is why we have to go now,' she insisted. 'So we can be back in time to get their meal ready. Together. You should not have to do it alone every day while I go to the barracks.'

'All right,' I said, still not quite convinced I was getting the truth. 'If you are sure.'

She smiled – with a little too much relief – and I looked carefully at her.

'That cap is your oldest,' I pointed out. 'You have been wearing the prettier one the last few mornings.'

She bit her lip and, with a sigh, said, 'Well, it is due time I learned some modesty.'

We went out into the darkness and began the short walk from our farm to the village. I took in a deep breath of the spring air, beginning to feel more alert. I suddenly remembered: early mornings had their advantage. It had been days since I had a chance to get into the village. It had been days, in fact, since I ventured much further than the kitchen. I felt giddy, and it was because of more than just the air. I tried to calm myself. It would not do to smile too obviously. But the doors of the forge were wide open. I could feel the heat from the fire.  I must be ladylike, I must not stare, I must be ladylike, I must not stare.  Even as I mentally repeated the words, I feared I was already staring. Had I really expected that I could do anything other than stare? My eyes had a will of their own, where Rory Farrell was concerned.

He was at work already, standing in front of the fire. I was always amazed when I watched him in the forge. They stood so close to the heat all day long, Rory and his father Brian, and managed not only to withstand the temperature, but also to produce perfect pieces. At just sixteen, Rory's skill was becoming known for miles around. But his concentration left him, that morning, as it always seemed to when I approached. Before he could have even seen us, he turned around. As we drew closer, Rory looked at me with a broad smile, and then came to the door. Behind him, his father shook his head wryly as he went to check on the work that Rory had abandoned.

'How are you this morning?' he asked.

'We cannot stop, I am afraid,' Peggy told him. 'We have to get this food to the soldiers.'

Rory raised an eyebrow and grinned wickedly. 'Do you now? Sure, they can wait for their breakfast a wee while longer, can they not? Better yet, you could forget about their delivery altogether. Let them starve. Maybe then they will go home.'

I was about to agree with Rory, but Peggy put a hand to my arm, hurrying me along.

'Will I see you tonight, Sorcha?' Rory called after me.

'I hope so,' I called back. 'I shall be there if I can.'

I was almost walking backwards as we moved away from the forge, straining to keep him in my sight for as long as possible while he, too, stayed at the door and looked right back at me. It was not until we turned a corner that I returned my attention to my sister.

'Sorry,' I told Peggy as I saw her shake her head. 'I am quickening my steps now, honestly I am. But I seem to find it so hard not to look at him.'

There was a resigned tone to my sister's voice as she said, 'You know there is no point to it. You will only hurt yourself in the long run, letting such feelings take a hold when nothing can come of it.'

'How hopeless you make it sound!' I exclaimed.

'Well, it is hopeless, Sorcha. You know father will never agree to you and Rory. Even if he thought you were old enough, he is never going to change his mind about marrying you to Sean, and you know it.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Well, nothing has even happened with me and Rory. And do you not think it a bit... wrong... my marrying Sean? Father took him in as an orphan, after all. He is very nearly our brother.'

'You could do far worse than Sean, Sorcha. He works hard, and he cares for you. Very few of us get to be with the one we want. Life does not work in such a way.'

'I do understand the way that life works, Peggy,' I said, slowly and carefully, hoping she would not grow angry at my words. 'Sometimes I think that we are doomed to learn yet another harsh lesson each and every day. And I know that you can hardly have positive feelings about love, given what is soon to happen. But... when we spoke of Rory last week you had an entirely different opinion on the matter. Last week you said I should never give up. I remember what you said, word for word. You said that no one should give up on love, no matter what. You said love was precious, and if we were lucky enough to find it, we should grab onto it with all our might and never let go.'

She slowed her steps as the barracks came into view. 'Last week I had no idea what I was talking about.'

She bowed her head low, and walked around to the kitchen doors. A tall man in an army uniform stood there. I stopped to shake a stone from my shoe, and I think perhaps he did not notice me at first – bent, as I was, on the ground behind my sister.

'Peggy!' he cried. 'I am so relieved that you came, after all. I thought... after yesterday...' As I stood up and came forward, he let his words trail off. 'Ah. I see you have brought a chaperone.'

'I should really be giving the delivery to the cook,' said Peggy curtly. 'Is she here?'

'Peggy, please stop ignoring me,' he said. 'After everything that has passed between us, how can you act this way? As if you do not know me, as if none of it meant a thing.'

I tried to walk away from them, to leave them to talk, but Peggy turned as I left, saying, 'You have baskets, too, Sorcha. Are you just going to walk off with them?'

I continued walking, so she rushed to my side and grabbed my arm, holding on so hard that I winced.

With a whispered 'Sorry' she let go and sprung back, as if in hurting me, she had also injured herself.

Still shocked and sore, I roughly placed my baskets on the ground and moved away from my sister. When I felt I was at a safe distance, I said, 'Now that you are done with squeezing the life out of me, maybe you should talk to him.'

I took as close a look at the man as I dared. He was tall, with fair hair and dark blue eyes. Judged by his physical features alone, he would be an attractive man. It was the expression in his eyes, though, that made him more attractive still. They shone with concern, warmth, and integrity. I liked him, immediately and absolutely, and found myself wishing that Peggy would soften.

'And you must be Sorcha,' he said, smiling gently. 'Peggy has often told me that you are the wise one in the family. Evidently she was right.'

'Well, I may have to revise that opinion,' she said, placing her eggs on the ground next to mine. 'Give these to the cook, will you, Major? And tell her we will want the baskets back.'

'And I hear you have recently turned fourteen,' the soldier went on addressing me. 'Was it a nice birthday?'

'Not in the slightest,' I said. 'It was as absent of joy as every other day at the farm. Although I fear that even when I am as old as Peggy I will still be stuck at home, looking after our father and Sean and the endless stream of hunters – provided, that is, that they have not managed to kill off every wolf in the country by then.'

'Do not let such glum thoughts invade, Sorcha. Life does not have to turn out as miserably as all that, not if you do not let it. Maybe when you are twenty-one, like Peggy here, you will have sense enough to realise that you can do whatever you wish. Maybe you will realise that all you have to do is be brave, and follow your heart.'

'Just stop it!' cried Peggy. 'Stop talking to my sister.'

'Well, as nice as she is, I would much rather talk to you, if you would only let me. You have not said a word to me since the other soldiers saw us together. You gave no answer to my proposal. You ran from me, without looking back. And you run from me still, even as you are standing before my eyes. The only clues I have as to why you avoid me have come from my regiment. And I would much rather hear it from your own lips. Is it true? Are you really about to do what the men are saying?'

She looked at him then, with her eyes full of pain. 'Oh, yes, I imagine the soldiers have had plenty to tell you about me. I am sure that, in amongst all of the bawdy jokes of which I am the subject, they have taken the time to congratulate you for such a lucky escape. And what of it, anyway? What if it is all true, every word of it, down to the last rotten detail. Is it really your business, Major? After all, you and your regiment seem to answer to him as much as the rest of us do.'

He approached her, gently and cautiously, and took her hand in his. To my surprise, she let it remain there.

'So that is the reason you have sometimes seemed so far away. You should have told me, Peggy. Surely you know you can tell me anything, and it will not change how I feel. And as for me answering to Lord Tolbert, he is not my commander. Even if he were, you know my views on class and rank.  Neither of us has to answer to him, Peggy. What they say he is asking of you is... it is inconceivable to me.'

My sister raised an eyebrow, and her body grew rigid. 'Is it? Really? And you a man of the world, Major. My father will collect the money for your supplies on the usual date. And do not forget the baskets.'

She wrenched her hand from his, before grabbing me once again and marching me from the barracks.

The Major rushed after us, but she just walked faster.

'He wants to say more to you, Peggy,' I said, almost breathless. 'I really think you should slow down and let him have his say.'

She tightened her grip on my hand. 'Keep walking. The hunters will be back soon. You know how they get if they have to wait more than a minute for their food.'

The Major continued on behind us, a stubborn shine in his eyes.

'Peggy!' he called. 'Please just speak to me. You know how I feel about you. Every word I said is true. Even if you will not marry me, at least let me help you!'

Peggy was biting her lips, and her hand would waver between loosening and tightening on mine. I was sure that soon she would let go of me and turn her head to look at him. My heart fluttered hopefully. I wanted her to turn just as much as the Major did.

'Good God, Peggy!' he cried. 'Just stop and talk to me. Can you not see that I am absolutely, without a doubt, head over heels in love with you.'

At those words, she stopped. Her eyes shone in a way that had been missing all morning. As my sister turned I turned along with her, expecting to see him standing there with open arms. But all that I could see was mist. The Major was still there – he must have been – but he had become invisible to us. I turned my head in every direction, seeing nothing but thick, grey mist. I could no longer see Peggy. I only knew she was still standing next to me because she squeezed my palm so tight.

The freshness of spring was gone, taken over by something damp, something earthy.

'I cannot see him, Sorcha. I cannot see a thing. Can you?'

'Call out to him,' I said. 'Your voice will guide him to us.'

I think she might have done as I suggested, if it were not for the sudden, thunderous sound.

The carriage did not come out of the ether. It could not have simply popped into being. It only seemed that way, as the mist cleared, and the great dark vehicle came hurtling towards us, drowning out all other noise. A cloaked driver sat at the front of the carriage, guiding four black horses, whipping them madly, although it did not seem to me that they could travel any faster than they already did. As it was, the carriage was veering from side to side. We stood back just in time, barely avoiding being trampled by the animals. We had to squeeze our bodies tight to the hedgerow to let the vehicle by. I stared at the horses, and the steam coming out through their nostrils and off their bodies.

'It is the horses making the mist,' I whispered.

'What did you say?' asked Peggy.

'Nothing,' I lied, trying to shake such thoughts from my mind. 'I did not say a thing.'

I had to be wrong. It was my imagination, running wild as usual. Just as the carriage could not have come from the ether, it was surely impossible that the mist could have been created by the horses.

'It is only Lord Tolbert,' said Peggy in a tight voice as the carriage drew away. 'His speed and carelessness should not have surprised us. After all, he thinks that the roads, along with everything else, are his and his alone. I suppose I should be glad that he did not pluck me up here and now.'

I shook my head. 'It is not the Lord. It is... someone else. Someone we do not know. Possibly it is the lucky woman who has just become his wife.'

Peggy looked at me strangely. 'The curtains were drawn. You could not have seen inside. And yet... you are always right about these things.'

'Can you not smell it? The perfume? The scent is so strong,' I said. I did not mention the scent I could smell beneath the perfume – a scent that was earthy and unpleasant.

The carriage drew to a stop beside the Major, and we watched as a veiled head leaned slightly out of the window.

'Why, I do not believe we have yet had the pleasure, Major,' said a female voice as soft as silk. 'Although,' she giggled, 'I must admit I have simply been dying to meet you. But tell me, dear man, what on earth has you out at this hour? Do they really work you so hard, you poor thing?'

I could see the Major's struggle. His eyes were on Peggy, and he seemed to be finding it difficult to greet Lady Tolbert in the way expected by a woman of her position.

My sister began to move, once again, walking quickly along the road. I followed, but kept looking back, as Lady Tolbert leaned further out. The veil she wore was black, and it completely shrouded her face.

'I would like you to give me a tour of the barracks, Major,' she went on. 'After all, it is my husband who has provided you with such comforts. And as the new wife of the Lord, I plan to take a very close interest in the rule of Wolf Wood.'

He had begun to sway, I noticed. He was physically swaying, and holding his head in his hands. I looked at the horses. Their nostrils were steaming again. Mist was swirling, concentrated only around the Major. I heard him stutter, 'Well, I... I just have a little bit of business to... to attend to at... at the moment, so perhaps – '

'Perhaps,' she interrupted, a harsher note entering her voice, 'your little bit of business can wait its turn.' She opened the carriage door. 'Climb aboard.'

With unsteady movements he stepped up into the vehicle, all the while gazing after my sister.

I looked, too, at Peggy. I noticed the way her shoulders sank. I saw the light – which had glowed so brightly only moments before – fade from her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was low and hollow.

'Well,' she said. 'It seems that fate has intervened. The Major and I are not, after all, meant to be.'

*

Breakfast was a lengthy meal, each morning. The men who went out at night were still full of energy when they returned, and they would idle over the meal, drinking beer and talking loudly of the night before. For weeks I had been alone with them. In recent times Peggy had been taking longer to deliver the supplies, not returning until I was cleaning the pots and pans. That mystery, at least, had been solved.

I wished that this morning had followed suit, and not only because I wanted Peggy to be happy with the Major. The second reason I wished my sister was elsewhere was because, with Peggy serving breakfast, the hunters were lingering even longer than usual.

When I was the one looking after them they would talk and chat too long for my liking, but I could at least be sure that, by ten at the latest, the house would be filled with the sounds of their snoring. That morning I feared they might never go to bed. I feared I would be stuck there forever, watching each man attempt to sweet-talk my sister. She barely acknowledged them at first, but soon they were testing her patience. When one of them asked, 'Is there anywhere special you like to go walking, Miss Moore?' she blandly replied, 'Anywhere, as long as it is alone.' When one of them said, 'And what is your favourite colour, so that I may be sure the present I buy you is to your liking?' she sighed and said, 'It would have to be a colour bright enough to blind me, for I would have to be blind to ever consider accepting a present from you.'

As Peggy continued to rebuke them, one after another, they tired and drifted away. Two hours after the last man before him, however, one hunter remained. He was our most recent arrival. His name was Robin, and he was different to the others. They all drank in the evenings – sometimes in the mornings, too – and talked in loud voices of the wolf hunt. But Robin, in the two days I had known him, seemed to always drink more, and to talk louder. He was not a very tall man but, because he was overweight, he seemed to fill the room. He was a huge presence, an annoyance, no matter how you might try to ignore him.

Every time Peggy turned away from Robin, his eyes would follow her. And oh, how I disliked the look in those eyes. He persistently prattled, boasting of his skill as a hunter. Every word, I was sure, was exaggeration.

'It is long past time someone like me got here,' he said. 'You people cannot keep letting them roam around the way you do.'

Peggy laughed scornfully. 'And what makes you think you can kill them?' she asked. 'What makes you think you are any better for the job than our own men?'

Robin met my sister's laughter with scorn of his own. 'Well, for a start I have killed more wolves than even I can keep count of. But more importantly, do you actually think, pretty Peggy, that Cromwell is stupid enough to allow the Irish to wander around with weapons at a time like this?'

A shadow crossed the kitchen. I looked at the doorway to see Sean standing there with flared nostrils, glaring at Robin. Sean's fair skin flushed, and his blue eyes darkened, but he said nothing. He turned on his heels and went back to the yard. Robin left his seat and went to the door so that he could be sure Sean had really left.

'Alone again,' he said, winking at Peggy. 'Me and two beautiful young ladies. If I were not in need of a bit of kip before tonight's hunt... '

He let his sentence hang there, and I rolled my eyes at him. He was nothing, obviously, this man. He was of no importance, otherwise he would know what the rest of us knew, and what the new major had only just found out: my sister was off limits to anyone but Lord Tolbert.

'Dangerous creatures, those wolves,' he said emphatically, taking a knife from his bag and letting the metal catch the light. 'Two pretty young ladies like you should be very afraid. Why, with this whole place surrounded by forest, I am surprised every baby in the village has not been devoured.'

I resisted the urge to laugh while I noisily lifted his empty cup away from him.  Anyone else would have taken the hint and hurried up to bed.

He sat back lazily in his chair. 'Will I see you at that... what do you call it?... that bonfire thing tonight on the village green?'

Peggy shrugged. 'The celebration is called Bealtaine, although I doubt you care. The whole village will be there. But I am sure you shall be too busy protecting us all to be able to free up the time.'

He flashed a smile at Peggy – one I'm sure he thought was disarming – and said, 'Oh, I can always make time for a beauty such as you.' With those words, he finally left the kitchen.

Peggy shuddered, and went to the fire to check the kettle. 'The water is almost warm,' she said. 'Any moment now we shall be able to wash their dirty dishes. And after that we may entertain ourselves a little more by laundering their filthy underclothes. Will the fun never end, Sorcha? Oh, I do wish we did not have to take these men in as lodgers. As if Lord Tolbert has not already asked enough of our father.'

With as much control as I could muster, I said, 'I wish you would not do that, Peggy. I wish you would not talk as if our father is some poor, put-upon man whose hand is being forced. For one thing, he would take in these lodgers whether Lord Tolbert asked it or not. It is easy money for our father, when it is you and I who do all the work. And for another thing, it is you and not our father who is going to have to... you know. I do not think you should do it. I think you should just... just run away.'

She shook her head and looked down at me. 'Look around the village, Sorcha. The New Model Army are busy at work all around us. The O'Neills, south of the forest? Every building on their land was razed because they were supposed to be hiding a band of tories. Their crops were burned. Their cattle were confiscated in case they might use the meat to feed the rebels. And I wish I could tell you that was the worst to happen to the O'Neills. We are luckier than most, to be in Lord Tolbert's good books. And, though you may disagree, father does not have a choice in the matter. If he refused Lord Tolbert's request, or if I do as you suggest and run away... it would not only be the army who are directed our way. If Tolbert does not get his way, losing the farm will be the least of our worries.'

I poured the warm water from the kettle and began to clean the dishes, while she spread flour on the table, preparing to bake bread. I looked at her hair – fiery red like our mother's had been – and her pale skin and bright green eyes. Like all of the women in our family, I too had green eyes. But my skin was not so pale, and my hair was a darker – almost brown – shade of red. I was not as tall as my sister and my figure had not yet developed in the way that hers had. She was a beauty. Every man said so. Every man fixed his eyes on her as she passed. But I had never – not once – been jealous of that beauty. I did not hope that, one day, my body would be as full as hers, or that men would stare at me wherever I went. I thought of what Robin had said – that the wolves were something to fear. I would never fear the wolves the way I feared the New Model Army, or the hunters; and I could never fear anything as much as I feared becoming as beautiful as my sister. Beauty like Peggy's attracted all men. Beauty like Peggy's had attracted Lord Tolbert.

After a while I realised she was not doing much, only staring down with tears in her eyes, tracing and retracing her fingers through the flour, writing the letter A.

'Losing the farm would mean nothing.  Not when compared with what you must do for us to keep it,' I said, unable to keep the distress from my voice. 'I could run away with you, if you are worried about what might happen to me should you leave. Or maybe... maybe the new major could help. He seems a fairer sort to the soldiers we have become used to. He is definitely a better man than Lord Tolbert. He said he loves you, Peggy, and I believe him.'

She sighed, and quickly poured out more flour, erasing her daydream. 'You are fourteen, Sorcha. Some day you will understand. I am doing this, and I will not hear another word about it.'

*

The hunters left early that evening, saying they were going to have their supper at the tavern before they went after the wolves. They did this far too often for my liking. I could not bear to think of drunk, clumsy men stumbling through the woods, creating more wounds to the wolves than kills. A clean kill, at least, would be something.

But while I worried about the wolves, Sean was happy. He avoided the house as much as possible when the hunters were there. While they were out hunting or at the tavern, however, he would take his meals in the kitchen.

My father and Sean sat at opposite ends of the table, while Peggy and I stayed on our feet, serving them. On rare occasions, our father would ask us to eat with them. That night was not one such occasion, and I was glad. While we were busy looking after them I could at least avoid having to talk to them, or look at them, or engage with them in any way.

'I would think she is nearing the right age. Would you agree, lad?' my father said with a wink at Sean. 'Might be organising the big day in the next year or two. Sooner the better.'

I felt my stomach sink. I knew it was unlikely that my father would marry me off to Sean any sooner than he had to, but the day would eventually come. Unless I did what my sister would not do, and ran away.

'Maybe you could get a start on the shearing this evening?' my father went on.

Sean nodded eagerly.

I tried not to let my annoyance show. My father did not limit his torture to one of us – not when two would do. Yes, he was always delighted to see me suffer at the thought of marrying Sean, but the hold such talk gave him over Sean delighted him even more. Sean had been up since first light, and this meal was the first break he had taken all day. When I brought them some food earlier, I saw my father eat Sean's share as well as his own. He told Sean he could get a bite when the work was finished. But the work was never finished when Peter Moore was the employer. Sean had been orphaned at seven, and taken in by my father. He was seventeen now, and during the ten years he lived with us, my father treated him much the same way he treated my sister and me – which is to say, little better than a slave.

'You have had a long day,' I said to Sean. 'I am sure it could wait until tomorrow.'

My father raised an eyebrow, and Sean shook his head. 'It is full moon,' he said. 'It would be foolish not to take advantage of the light.'

My father winked again. 'Good lad,' he said. 'I can always rely on you.'

'More cider?' asked Peggy, refilling my father's cup.

I took a look at the jug, and smiled gratefully at Peggy. She had been pouring the strongest cider throughout supper, and my father had been gulping it down. We might, after all, get to go to the village green.

*

Peggy's generous measures worked, and my father's head began to droop soon after he finished eating. When he went to his bed we waited a short while, to be sure his sleep was sound. When we left the house we were as quiet as we could possibly be, even though all I wanted to do was squeal with delight.

Outside I felt amongst the shrubbery until I found what I was looking for.

Peggy smiled sadly. 'Mother's May torch. You never forget it. Each year without fail, you carry on our mother's tradition, and each year I try to recall just when it was that I told you about it.'

'You did tell me,' I replied, rushing out of the garden. 'You must have.'

Bealtaine was a time people still celebrated in our village. Most did not think about the origins. The ritual of walking the cattle through the fires and out to their spring pasture was simply another part of the year. Some probably believed it was unnecessary and that nothing terrible would happen if the ritual were not followed. But there would always be the ones who wondered: What if the old ways are the right ways after all?  Cattle were meat, and milk, and clothing. Money. A living. Following such rituals was the safer option. No one could afford to face the what if.

We, however, were different. We were the daughters of Deirdre Moore, a woman who had kept to the old ways because she wanted to, and not because she feared the what ifs.  She did not keep up with the old festivals hand in hand with the new religion just in case.  She went to church rarely. I knew of only two certain occasions – her marriage, and Peggy's baptism – and people told me that even on those occasions she went reluctantly. She honoured the festivals. She knew the name and the use of every plant in Wolf Wood. She helped bring babies into the world, and sometimes she helped the old slip painlessly out of it.

Like our mother before us, we Moore girls were different, and my father hated the fact.

We would never be like her. Not if he had his way. We would follow one religion – the only religion, as far as he was then concerned – and we would stay away from anything remotely pagan. Far too many times he said, 'Did I not suffer enough being married to that witch all those years without people thinking my daughters are as bad.'

And, not often enough, I would counter, 'If you thought she was a witch then why in hell did you marry her?'

In her too-short life my mother had helped so many, but my father acted as if she were some shame we ought to forget. Some monstrous creature we must never mimic. Peggy, he was sure, was the one to worry about. After all, she looked exactly like our mother, so surely it followed that she would be just the same. He pinned crucifixes up on the walls around Peggy's bed. At my last count there were sixteen of them in our bedroom, all staring down at my sister, serving as a constant warning. When did he think she would have the time, I wondered, for witchcraft? And as for me? I always suspected there was a reason for him to worry about me. I glanced down at the torch I carried. I never admitted it to Peggy but, like her, I had trouble recalling when she had told me about the torch. But it did not matter how I knew. It was only a tradition. It was hardly witchcraft. I did not think about what my mother had been. I did not think about following in her footsteps. These days, in the time I had away from cooking, cleaning, fetching and mending, I thought about little other than Rory.

I felt my palms grow clammy as we walked past the forge. My skin tingled. The doors were closed, but that was no matter. Rory lived there, and worked there. His scent was all over the place. I shook my hands out, trying to calm myself. After all, he was only a boy. Hah! Only a tall, strong, handsome, delicious smelling boy.

'You are letting your heart have the run of you again, are you not?' Peggy said, seeming to read my thoughts. 'Did you listen to nothing I told you this morning?'

'Oh?' I arched an eyebrow. 'And I am supposed to value your advice, am I? And why would I do that, when I can see how your decisions are cutting you to the quick?'

Realising that I was upsetting her I added, more softly, 'You really have no need to worry, Peggy. As I told you this morning, nothing is happening with Rory. After all, when would I have the time?'

'That would be welcome news indeed, if only I could believe it. Look.' She nodded towards the village green. 'It is all so beautiful. I only wish our mother could be here to enjoy the night the way she used to.'

We could see the two fires blazing, and hear voices singing and laughing. We had missed the walking of the cattle between the fires, because of our late arrival. The animals now grazed freely, seeming content to wear the bright May flowers that had been put about their necks as part of the celebration. The villagers who were gathered around the fires appeared to be in high spirits. Peggy smiled, seeming to share my excitement. She nodded her head to the tavern as we passed. 'See how busy it is?' She quickly peeked in the window. 'It is filled to the brim with hunters and soldiers. They will be too busy drinking, I hope, to bother us tonight.'

I smiled along with her, but for a different reason. I saw Rory, suddenly, standing up and looking at me from the other side of the farthest blaze.

'Nothing is happening?' said Peggy with a troubled sigh. 'Sorcha, the look he is giving you has more of a blaze than the fire he stands beside.'

'I have saved spots for ye,' Rory said as we drew closer. 'No Sean tonight?'

'He is away off shearing, taking advantage of the full moon and the good weather,' I said. 'In other words, trying to get in our father's good books.'

'Oh, what a shame he could not join us.' Rory kept a straight face. 'And will ye be able to stay long?'

I looked at Peggy and raised my eyebrows in hope.

'An hour or two, I should think. Although I will not be joining you, either. The priest has arranged a meeting at the Mass rock.'

'You did not tell me that,' I said uneasily. 'I cannot think of a more foolish idea, Peggy, but if you are going to the Mass rock, then I am coming with you.'

Peggy shot me her best I am the big sister and do not forget it look. 'It will be safer for you to stay put. Will you promise me, Rory, that you will keep her here by the fire? You will look after her?'

Rory nodded seriously. 'You can count on me, Peggy.'

Reluctantly I sat down by the fire, and Rory sat next to me.

'I wish she would not keep going to Catholic masses,' I said with a sigh, as my eyes followed my sister. 'She does everything by the book, but when it comes to religion she is happy to break the rules. And why does she bother? It certainly will not make our father think any better of her, given that he is no longer Catholic. Although I suppose I can understand why she would want to go against the man. If he is not calling her a witch then he is calling her a... well, you know what he is calling her. There are probably quite a few judgemental idiots saying the same. But him? He forces her into this, and yet treats her like she is the sinner. She has enough worries, without putting herself in the path of danger for the sake of a mass.'

Rory handed me a cup, and I examined the clear liquid within, afraid to try it.

'I know how hard it must be for you,' he said. 'And believe me, I would never make light of such things. But just for a while, let us try not to think of it. We have two hours together, at most, and who knows when you might be able to get away again. Let us just... try and make the most of this time.'

I took a sip of the drink. 'You are right, I know. And I will try.' My voice became hoarse as the heat of the drink travelled through my body. 'What is this?'

'Poitín,' he said with a wicked grin. 'Do you know, my mammy still makes it to Deirdre's recipe?'

I smiled and lay back on the grass, listening to the music playing. The bodhráns beat a steady rhythm while the fiddles soared. Deirdre's recipe. My mother's poitín. All worries were forgotten as I took another sip, a smaller one this time, and felt the liquid warm me all the way through.

I watched Rory through hooded eyes, amazed at how the fire highlighted every one of his features. Light shone on his brown hair, lending it streaks of gold. The blaze illuminated his hazel eyes, making the amber flecks at their centres glow as brightly as the flames. The fire continued to cast shadows and light, sending them dancing across his skin, revealing the dips and curves of his muscles. I marvelled at how strong his body appeared. Even at sixteen, he was taller and more powerful looking than any man I knew. He looked like a warrior, I thought. I closed my eyes for a moment and pictured him in battle, charging towards the enemy, leading his men. Someone rushed at him, but Rory easily batted the man off and threw him to the ground. During the short fray, though, the enemy managed to pull Rory's shirt off his back. I blushed. Why was it that, every time I pictured him in my mind, he would inevitably end up shirtless? I shook my head, and tried to return my attention to reality. But Rory was reality. He was sitting so close to me that I could feel his breath on the side of my neck. I could see each and every hair on his forearm. I could smell his skin, clean and sweet. Fantasies about him made me blush, but not nearly so much as being close to the real thing.

'Oh no,' he said, sitting up and looking across the green. As I followed his gaze I saw that the doors of the tavern were opening, and dozens of men were spilling out into the village.

Rory nodded to one of the bodhrán players. 'Play the warning tune,' he whispered. 'Hopefully those at the Mass rock will hear it.'

The beat changed, and a horn was added, as all eyes turned towards the men who were approaching the green.

'I thought they said we could have the fires,' I whispered, terrified.

Rory gritted his teeth. 'As if they have the right to say what we can and cannot do.'

I quickly drained the rest of the poitín, gasping as it hit my belly. 'There are wolf-hunters with the soldiers,' I said. 'That one on the right there – that man is one of our lodgers. Robin.'

I moved an inch or so closer to Rory, wishing I could have his arms around me. I would feel safe, I knew I would, once his arms were around me. The soldiers and the hunters, I feared, were not coming to join the party.

'Ah, and there is young Sarah,' said Robin as they drew closer. 'Is she not a beauty, boys?' He turned to the soldiers, who laughed. 'A beauty, all right,' Robin went on. 'And have you seen her sister, boys? My, but there is a sight to behold. Still, you are fast catching her up in all the right places, Sarah.'

'Her name is not Sarah. It is Sorcha,' growled Rory, standing tall and glaring at Robin. 'Sur-Ka.  Even an oaf like you should be able to pronounce it properly. We have managed to learn your foul language well enough. And on behalf of Sorcha, I am telling you that if you ever speak about her in such a way again, I will make you sorry.'

Robin's nostrils flared, and one of the soldiers put a hand to his arm.

'Leave it, you idiot,' he said. 'Do you have no idea who you lodge with? This beautiful sister you speak of is the very same who belongs to Lord Tolbert. This time tomorrow, she will be with him.'

Robin reddened, but managed to bluster on. 'She could be the mistress of the devil himself, for all I care. But where is she now, I wonder. Pretty Peggy. She flouts propriety easily enough. Perhaps she has disregard for every law. Perhaps as we stand here talking about her indecencies she is standing in front of a Catholic priest, pretending to be pious.'

'That is where the rest of them are, is it not?' the soldier asked, turning back to address the villagers. 'At one of your not-very secret masses? I mean, the amount of revellers by these lovely fires is a bit lacking, especially as you all went out of your way to get permission to have the festival in the first place.'

Rory put a hand in mine to steady my shakes. I could see I was not the only one who was terrified. Most of the men and women wore their fear on their faces. Only Rory and his father seemed at ease. And it was a dangerous ease. A calm watchfulness. I wondered if the soldiers realised: the Farrells were not men to be taken lightly.

'Beer in the tavern was so cheap tonight, as well,' the soldier went on. 'Because of Bealtaine, or so the lovely landlady informed me. Considering the prices, I thought it was a bit short of locals in there too.'

Behind the soldier, the Major approached. I knew that more senior officers rarely came to Wolf Wood. Although the Lord had assisted the parliamentarians in their re-conquest of the area, and although it was at his request that they remained garrisoned in our village, none of the men were happy to be there. They did have fine barracks, it was true. And it was widely known that Lord Tolbert ensured they were given better food than most in the New Model Army. Fine food and comfortable beds did little, however, to encourage many men to stay. We still had large bands of tories and a huge wolf population in our forest. Wolf Wood was hard work, and everyone above the rank of major stayed as far away from our village as they could. Peggy's major, therefore, held rank above every soldier on the green. He walked hurriedly to the men, pulling them back from us and speaking to them in low, angry tones. I wondered, as I looked on: would they respect his rank?

The hunters moved a short distance away, most of them watching the soldiers with interest. Robin, however, stayed close to the fire and said to me, 'Is she in the woods then? Is your pretty sister in the deep dark woods? No matter what jumped-up Irish lord owns her, or you, it is no excuse for breaking the rules. Not as far as I am concerned. And it is no guarantee against the dangers she may encounter tonight.'

Hearing the comment, the Major stepped in front of Robin, forcing him to stand back.

'When exactly did you become one of my regiment?' said the Major in icy tones. 'Was I elsewhere that day? Because unless I have lost my mind, I believe you are a mere wolf-hunter, are you not? And as such, you have no interest in this matter, do you? So please be on your way.'

'I will not have you talking to me like that,' said Robin, petulantly. 'We hunters are doing as much – more than you lot – to whip this place into shape. I do not think the powers that be would think much of you ignoring a Catholic mass, do you? Illegal is illegal, and if you refuse to do anything about it, maybe there are others who will.'

The Major gritted his teeth. 'We will deal with the matter,' he said. 'Without your assistance.' He turned to the soldiers. 'Into the forest,' he ordered.

We watched the soldiers disappear into the woods. I was not surprised to see the hunters follow only a few moments later. I doubt even the Major had expected Robin to obey his orders.

The voices around the fire became so noisy I had to cover my ears. People were arguing back and forth. Patrick O'Brien, who worked as a gamekeeper for Lord Tolbert, thought we should leave the worshippers to their fate.

'They have made their beds, the idiots!' he spat. 'Damned if I am risking a well-paid job to get them out of a hole.'

'Your brother is out there, Patrick!' cried Áine, Rory's mother. 'Along with your niece. What sort of a man are you?'

'The sort who is not fool enough to bite the hand that feeds him,' retorted Patrick.

So many people were bickering in the same way, I wondered if it would ever stop, if a decision would ever be made. If only they would all shut up, I might be able to think.

'Enough!' cried Brian.

Everyone went quiet. Relieved, I turned along with the others to look at Rory's father.

'Panic gets us nowhere,' he went on. 'So hush now, and listen. Fine, most of us around these fires care little for the mass. But I will tell you what I do care for. I care for freedom. I care for the right to do as I choose. To worship as I see fit. And our friends and family are at that Mass rock, about to be caught and punished, all because they are trying to worship as they see fit.

'And if they have heard the soldiers approaching, they will be frightened. They will be panicking. They will more than likely have scattered like headless chickens. So if you care about them – hell, if you care about freedom – and if you think yourself up to the task at hand, then get out there. Flank the woods, get them back to their houses if you can.' He paused to shake his head as some people walked away from the green. 'Fine. We can do better without the likes of them, anyway. Anyone who does want to help can get a trap off me. The Mass rock is not on his lordship's land. The area is too full of wolves, and he wants nothing to do with it. So if you are caught, you have every right to say you are after rabbits.' He reached into a sack and pulled out traps, handing them to the volunteers.

The men took the traps and fanned out, entering the woods in different directions. Beside me, Rory stood. I stood up alongside him and put my hand on his arm.

'They will kill you,' I said. 'You have given them so much cheek, especially tonight. You know what they are like. They will say you came at them, or attacked them. Robin, especially. He will make up some excuse, any excuse, after the way you spoke to him.'

He looked at me seriously. 'Peggy is out there. I know the soldiers will mean to keep her safe for Tolbert, and I know that the new major seems a fair sort. But in the dark, amongst a dozen other women... they might not recognise her. And as for the hunters... you say that Robin is the sort who would kill me for the way I spoke to him? If that is true, then how do you think he would treat your sister, if he catches her out there, alone? He is too thick-headed to care for the consequences. You know all of this as well as I do. And so you also know, as well as I do, that I have to go.'

I looked at the ground. 'I know. I know that you are the sort who would want to go out there. It is part of the reason why I... '

I could not find the courage to finish the sentence.

'Will you look at me, Sorcha?'

I looked up nervously, and was relieved to see that he was just as nervous. With a trembling hand he pulled me towards him, and pressed his lips lightly to mine. A sweet scent surrounded us – it was the unmistakable smell of bluebells. The kiss lasted barely a second, but in that second I could feel his heart thumping close to mine. I could feel my own heart, too, so fast and strong, beating out towards his. I could feel my lips tingling. I could feel his lips, his chest, his whole body and mind, as though it was all my own. There was no doubt any more. There were no nerves. Everything I felt about Rory Farrell, I now knew for sure he felt in return.

He looked me full in the eyes, and I thought he might kiss me again, but he pulled reluctantly away. 'Walk home with my mother,' he said, his voice low and husky. 'I promise you, Sorcha, that I will send Peggy home safe to you.'

He rushed off, and Áine approached. For a moment I stood still, not even acknowledging her, while I watched Rory move towards the forest. My hands were pressed to my lips, as if I thought I could hold the kiss there by sheer will. I could still feel it though. The tingling in my lips had rushed through my whole body, and it felt like pure, perfect energy. My first kiss. It was the daze of the kiss, I thought, that had made me smell bluebells. We were nowhere near bluebells. In any case, as soon as we parted, the scent was no longer in the air.

'Though I am loath to break you from such sweet daydreams, we must go,' said Áine, taking my hand. 'My son is strong, and he always keeps his wits about him, so you need not worry for his safety. Come, Sorcha. He would never forgive me if I did not get you home and out of harm's way.'

'Wait.' I bent to the flames, holding out the torch I had brought with me for the purpose and lighting it from the May fire.

'Deirdre would have been just like this,' Áine said, lighting a torch as I had done. 'I almost forgot, with everything that is happening, but your mother, like you, would not have let it slip her mind. She always said, "No matter what is happening around you, stay calm, keep your wits, and do what must be done."'

I let her lead me back to the farm, each of us carefully holding our torches. It was almost midnight when we arrived at the back door, and she walked with me into the kitchen. I crept towards the staircase and listened carefully, not relaxing until I heard my father's snores drifting down from his bedroom. Satisfied that he was sound asleep, I went to the fireplace and bent down to set some wood alight with the May flame.

'I will make you some hot milk,' Áine said, setting her own torch in a holder and looking around the room. 'I see he has not let you bring the May flowers to the house.'

I shook my head. 'He has never let me do it. This much – the fire – I can only get away with because he does not know that I do it.'

She looked sadly at me, and went to the milk jug.

'There is very little milk here. Is there more outside?'

'I will do without a hot drink,' I said. 'We will only wake my father if you stay too long. And Sean might be back from seeing to the sheep any moment now. It will be better if I just get off to bed and pretend that everything is as normal.'

She nodded, but looked hesitant. 'Sorcha, it has been difficult to get to talk to you. Your father works you so hard, and rarely lets you into the village.'

'There is little I can do to change that,' I said. 'You must know what sort of a man he is. I sometimes think he will not let me leave this house until the day I die.'

She sighed. 'I fear you might be right. Rory hopes otherwise, but... I have known your father for a long time, and he has always been the same. Perhaps he will never change. Has Peggy been able to teach you much?'

I nodded and smiled wryly. 'Unfortunately. I know all about cooking and mending. I will make some man a perfect wife, some day. The only problem is that it will be the wrong man.' I reddened as I realised the words I had let slip, but Áine seemed to have other concerns.

'I did not mean cooking or mending. Sorcha... each time I see you, I talk to you as much as I can, given the short time you have away from the house. And with each conversation you prove yourself more like your mother than I could have hoped, but... have you been taught any of the things she knew?'

I shook my head. 'I was born at the precise moment she died. And Peggy was just seven at the time, so she had little time to learn anything from our mother. There is no one to teach me.'

Áine came close to me, smelling sweet and smoky, and I felt myself wondering: what would it be like to have a mother who could hold me, who could look after me the way Áine looked after Rory?

'I cannot teach you magic,' she whispered. 'But the herbs, the medicines, I can teach you something of those. She gave me a lot of her knowledge in that regard.'

I felt hopeful. 'Truly?'

Áine nodded. 'Truly.'

'But how will I ever get out of here? There are only so many times we can trick my father into a drunken sleep before he realises we are up to no good.'

'We shall find a way.' She hugged me briefly. 'As soon as we can,' she said, taking her torch and leaving the house.
Cormac

My bones were aching. Every movement brought a new, sharper pain. These days the change was torture. I had no urge to hunt when it came. All I seemed to want, even with the swell of the moon, was to sleep. So why was I out tonight?

If my thoughts were clear enough, I would have better recollections of the dream that brought me here. Now, I could only vaguely remember the face of the woman. The love, on the other hand, was something that never went away, regardless of my transformation. Even all of these years later, the moon only made my love stronger.

What had she said? Had she spoken at all? No. There had only been her body. Her long, lean, beautiful body, standing in the woodland. And then she was moving, silver and beautiful, flying through the forest, showing me the way to go.

I followed the path she had laid in my dream, even as it brought me to parts I would rather avoid. There were pits around here, I knew, concealed amongst the bramble. Deep and dangerous. An area to be avoided, for one with limbs as old as mine. Tonight I would have to brave the consequences.

I came to a stop, hoping that I was in the right place. I could remember nothing of the dream from this point onwards.

I looked to the sky, and waited. That would be where she would first appear, I thought. In the sky. Shining. It was how she had come to me the last time, and the time before that.

Close-by, I heard voices. And then I heard growls. Oh dear. I kept my eyes upwards, trying my best to ignore the sounds of the wolves nearby, and not to worry about the fate of the men they must be hunting. Obeying the dream was more important.

And then it came: a silver glow appeared in the sky above, and began to trail towards the earth like a falling star.

'Oh.' My voice surprised me. It was a voice I used so rarely, these days. And to hear it now, so full of longing, was a shock. But how could I feel anything other than longing, when she was coming to me again. Finally. My eyes did not once leave the light as it zoomed faster and faster to the ground.

My heart drummed. My thoughts grew clearer. I exhaled with relief, relief at the return of a state I was finding ever more difficult with age. As always, the sense of clarity was powerful now that she was near. My awareness was absolute.

'Good evening,' I said, as the light stopped right at ground level.

Though I did not take my eyes off the ball of light – not for a second – I missed the change. It happened in an imperceptible flash. One moment she was a pulsating orb, the next she was a woman.

My woman. Still filled with light, still pulsating, but now in human form. Years seemed to lift from my heart. Weariness was gone. There was nothing but joy as I gazed at her.

'It has been a while,' she said, reaching out to stroke my fur.

'You still make me want to roll over,' I joked.

'And, as always, you make me wish I could stay.'

I shook my head, trying to ignore the sadness in her voice. Sadness was a waste of this precious time. And yet... it was beginning to invade me too. Despite my best intentions, I asked, 'How long will it be until I see you again?'

Her eyes filled with tears. It always amazed me that she could still cry, but there they were: silver tears falling to the ground. 'Seven years,' she said in a broken voice. 'And tonight, I am afraid, our time is short. Do you recall the dream?'

I shook my head. 'Just vaguely. I knew to come to this place but... little more. It is not the same, you know, without you. Standing here, now, this is the clearest I have felt since the last time I saw you. It feels... it feels like it was not worth it, sometimes. Even then, it did not seem worth it.'

She looked away from me. 'We did what we had to. And you do have the power you were promised. I know. I watch you, when I can.'

I almost growled, but stopped myself. When I spoke, I think I managed to sound only a little bit as frustrated as I felt. 'And what have I gained? What have any of us gained? It will be seven years, you say, until I see you again. But no years – not a single one – did we get to spend as the family we should have been. You say you watch, from wherever it is you rest. You watch, you see, you know it all, so tell me, did we make the right choice?'

She stroked my head. 'I will say it again: we did what we had to do. And tonight, there is not time enough to wonder if it was the right thing or not.' She turned from me and looked across the forest. 'In that direction there is a boy. He will be like you. He will think, he will speak, even with the moon. For seven years to come, he will help you. After those years have passed... you need miss me no longer. Teaching him, being with him, will give you strength until it is your time to be with me. You will see, when you meet him, that he is the one to help you take back Wolf Wood. You need to turn him, and it must be done tonight.'

At some point, she returned to light. Again, even though my eyes never once left her, I did not perceive the precise moment of the change.

'Will you follow me?' she asked, beginning to dash through the forest.

I took off after her at a run. Had she really needed to ask? I would follow that woman to the end of the world.
Rory

Hunting was never a game to my father and me. It was not some pleasurable pastime, as it was for the rich. Whether we were stalking a deer or trapping a rabbit, we were always at risk. There was the danger of the soldiers, catching us in the woods and mistaking us for tories. We were not, after all, allowed to carry weapons. Even a skinning knife could be enough for an arrest. There was the danger of the rebels, too. Sometimes those men were hungry enough to fight us over a rabbit. A hungry man can quickly forget the face of an ally. And the fact that the knife he carried was forged by the man in front of him... inconvenient truths can be put to the back of any man's mind. Then there was the danger of Lord Tolbert's gamekeepers, arresting us for poaching if we ventured onto the land he owned. Or there was the danger of the wolves, or the wolf-hunters. Every night was a challenge and, because of that, our skills were sharp. We knew how to be quiet. We knew how to signal to each other. And we knew when someone close to us was stalking our quarry. In this case, our quarry was Peggy, and our rival hunter was – unsurprisingly – Robin.

So far we had been in the woods for two hours. Most of the villagers were safely away from the Mass rock and on their way home. But until moments ago, we saw no sign of Peggy.

I was just about to step out and greet her happily, when I heard a twig snap.

Peggy jumped, looking all around her but seeing nothing. My father and I saw him though, standing behind an oak tree and staring at her.

Tears were streaming down Peggy's face. Everything made her start – a bird's call, an insect landing on her cheekbone. She looked terrified. I wondered if, somewhere in the back of her mind, she could sense that there was worse behind her than a bird, an insect, a rat or a bat... I wondered about women, and the ancient parts of their brains that must tell them when a dangerous man is near.

Robin stayed behind the tree, watching Peggy, and unaware that we were watching him. A smile flickered across his round face and he licked his lips.

I crouched down and signalled my father. He glanced at me and I waved an arm, letting him know I wanted him to stand up.

My father stood and moved out. Relief lit Peggy's face. I glanced at Robin and watched him scowl. He did not, luckily, see me.

'Brian!' Peggy exclaimed. 'You have no idea how terrified I was. I thought... I do not know what I thought. I felt that someone was following me. For the past hour at least. I am so relieved it is you who has found me.'

'Come on, love,' he said softly. 'We shall get you back to the village.' With a slight glance behind him he said, almost to himself, 'Whoever was following you will soon rue the day.'

As they moved away, Robin began to go after them. I sighed. Why must people always behave exactly how I expected them to? I wished that, just once, I could be wrong. But his nose was wrinkling. He was drawing his knife. And he was closing the distance between himself and my father and Peggy.

Even the sound he made when I slipped my hands around his mouth was a sound I expected. High-pitched. A sound that would have been a girlish scream, had I not got him muffled.

'You are a piece of dirt,' I told him. 'What do you think I should do with you? Injure you? Worse? What do you think you deserve, Robin?'

He bit my hand and, feeling my grip slacken with the pain, he screamed out. 'A rebel! There is a tory rebel over here!'

I pulled away from him, hearing voices and the sound of men running. Fine, so he had surprised me. He was even more of a coward than I had thought him.

I looked at him, considering. What was the right thing to do, here? He still had his knife in his hand. That, I could probably overcome. But he also had a musket. And a bow. And many, many arrows.

I could see them now – a dozen or so soldiers, running towards Robin. As yet, they did not seem to have seen me.

I put my hands to my mouth, and made an owl-call.

Ahead of us, my father cried out in an English accent. 'This way! The rebels are running north!'

The soldiers changed direction.

Robin glared at them, calling, 'He is here, you idiots! This way!'

By the time he turned around to look at me again, I was gone.
Sorcha

In the bedroom I shared with Peggy, I laid my body on her bed with my eyes wide open, knowing I would not sleep a wink.

I passed a little time by counting the crucifixes on Peggy's side of the room. Three more had been added, I realised, since morning. Peggy the witch. I almost laughed at the thought. Some witch, with no way to get herself out of this mess. Some witch, who had not even the power to say no.

I heard every sound acutely: the snores of my father in the room next door; the bleating of the sheep and the clicking of the shears outside... just before three, though, I heard a sound in the distance that caused almost every hair on my body to stand up straight. It was the howling, loud and long and pained, of at least two wolves. I sat up in bed, shivering. Rory, I thought, irrationally. I could see him, really see him, in my mind's eye, lying on the forest floor. I shook my head, refusing to let myself see any more. It was ridiculous, anyway. A picture that my mind painted, drawing on my worry. It was imagination, and nothing more. It was wolves I heard, not Rory.

I turned around, burying my face in Peggy's bedding, unable to stop myself wondering: why was the vision of him so clear?
Rory

I looked at the sky. It was the middle hours, I guessed, probably close to three. Little more than two hours had passed since I parted from my father and Peggy. It felt like so much longer.

After the first group of soldiers entered the woods, more of them had come from all directions. But by then, I knew, most of the mass-goers were safely back in the village. I would have slipped away, had it not been for Robin. I could have gone home as soon as Peggy was with my father. I could have gone home at any time. But as long as Robin was occupied by me, then he was not going after Peggy, or my father. He was not going to the soldiers, to tell them who he saw in the woods. He was here, looking for me, and as far as I was concerned it was the safest place he could be.

He had been watching me, keeping close to me, and all the while I let him keep on following. At first I zigzagged, this way and that, hoping to tire him and send him home to bed. Every now and then he would stop, panting for breath, and he would take a drink from a flask. The smell was strong, and I could tell that it was cheap whiskey. But cheap though it smelled, it revived him time and time again.

I knew I would grow tired myself and, unlike Robin, I did not have a flask of whiskey to revive me. And I did not have his weapons, either. I needed to come up with a plan. Keeping him away from Peggy and from telling tales to the soldiers was all well and good, but it was getting to the point where I knew that I would soon have to keep him away from me. I did, however, have one big advantage over Robin – I knew the woods far better than he did. I decided to lead him to a part of the forest that hid deep, dark secrets. This was forest my mother took me to, while she gathered herbs. This was forest my father took me to, when he hunted large prey. This was dangerous forest, for anyone who did not know it well. The ground was blanketed with growth. There was moss, bramble, fern... and masked beneath it all were the pits that I was leading Robin towards.

I slowed, sighting the best place to reveal myself. I stepped loudly onto a branch, and walked out into a green, harmless looking clearing.

I heard his breath. It was the sound of victorious surprise. I tried to control myself as he strolled towards me, but it was difficult not to laugh. A malicious smile played at the corners of his mouth. As he parted his lips I knew he was about to say something that he had rehearsed.

'Well, look who we have here. The brave little boy who thought he could escape me,' he said. 'I will wager you are not feeling quite so brave any more.'

My laughter escaped.

'I knew it would be something along those lines,' I told him. 'And now you will mention how, with me out of the way, you shall try and keep Sorcha company or something equally disgusting. Is there a school, then, where men like you learn to speak in such a way? Or is being a run-of-the-mill villain something that just comes naturally?'

He wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes. He was a little big man. That was how I thought of him that night. Big in stature, but none of it was muscle. His small, weak chin was covered with an uneven beard. His eyes were hard to see amongst facial fat. Beneath it all – the hair, the blubber – he was small. Insignificant. I laughed as he rushed at me. I stepped out of the way, and watched the surprise on his face as the ground moved beneath him. What had appeared to be firm ground was really just twigs and leaves. His mouth opened to scream, but I suppose the sound was caught in his throat, because it was only an odd little half-cry that he emitted as he fell into the pit. It was the deepest pit, in fact – one in which I knew that some tories, only the month before, had trapped three soldiers.

I looked down into the pit, and could barely see Robin through the mess of twigs and leaves he had taken with him. From the noises he was making, I could tell that some of those twigs had been bramble, and that the thorns were cutting into him. He was panting and gasping and cursing as he struggled to climb out of the pit.

'Just wait till I get up there,' he said.

Again I laughed. How could I not?

'You are serious?' I scoffed. 'You actually think I am going to wait for you to get out of there? Would you also like me to extend a helping hand?'

Still laughing, I turned on my heel, but as I did so all of the hair on my body bristled.

A wolf.

When you have grown up in a place like Wolf Wood, you know when a wolf is close-by. I thought, irrationally, of my father's stories. A real wolf, or a monster – did it really matter which of the two it was – both were to be feared.

I heard shouting, coming closer to me. I heard the sound of musket fire. My nose twitched. Gunpowder. A bad smell. A wrong smell. I heard footfalls, as something came closer yet. Through gaps in the trees I saw something shining in the moonlight. It was the glint of a soldier's coat-buttons, blurring through the forest as the soldier ran. A wolf loped behind him, in lazy pursuit. The soldier was working desperately at his gun, trying to ready another shot. Clearly the shot I heard moments before had been unsuccessful. I found myself balling my fists and wringing them out again, undecidedly. Should I help the man, I wondered? True, he was one of the New Model Army. But he was still a man. I looked closer, trying to see a way for him to escape.

And then I saw the second wolf – the wolf that the soldier was unknowingly running towards. Had they planned it this way? Many of my father's stories centred on the cleverness of the wolves of Wolf Wood, of the traps they laid for men, of the fun they seemed to find in the chase. As I stood, wasting time thinking, the second wolf suddenly snapped its head around, and stared at me.

I turned and ran, back towards the pit where Robin lay. It was the closest pit. It was the only place I could think of. I looked back, every couple of seconds. The second wolf had changed direction. It was following me, now, while the other continued to stroll behind the soldier.

There was the sound, again, of musket fire. One of the wolves – the soldier's pursuer – fell to the ground, wounded by musket shot. But there was no time for relief. If anything, I wished I had kept my eyes straight ahead, because as one wolf fell, another appeared.

Years, I thought, frustrated. I had spent years in the woods, in this part, in every part, and I had not yet seen three wolves in one night. And never had I seen a wolf such as this. The sight and sound of the third wolf was like something from a nightmare. Trees were crushed beneath its feet. The ground shook. And its teeth... How big were those teeth? How big was it? The soldier, who had just a moment earlier been lucky enough to shoot one wolf, was now faced with a far more dangerous animal. This new wolf, though, barely paid him heed. It picked the soldier up, but only to throw him from its path. I heard the soldier cry in pain as he was smashed against a tree, and cry out yet again as his body fell to the ground.

I knew that any plan was futile against this creature. It would be cleverer than Robin – although to be honest, anything would be cleverer than Robin. I stood, again, at the edge of the pit where I had let Robin rush me. This wolf would know the woods. This wolf would not be fooled. It stopped, directly in front of me, and grinned. It was all teeth, but it was a grin. It made a low sound, and then a smell surrounded me. It was warm, and musky. It was a smell that made me feel calm.

It might have ended there, with me accepting my fate. But suddenly the second wolf, the one who had been pursuing me moments before, reappeared. Seeing the two animals so close together confirmed it for me: one of these creatures was not an average wolf. The larger animal let out a low, warning growl. I would have obeyed that growl. But the smaller animal was intent on me. It ran, regardless, and lunged at me with bared teeth.

I jumped back into the pit. The bramble probably should have hurt me. I could see that much of my skin was scratched or pierced by thorns but, somehow, fear overrode pain.

Robin smiled at my arrival.

'I see you did not get far,' he said, pointing a knife at my throat.

'My God, you are the most enormous idiot I have ever come across,' I told him as I wrestled the knife from his hand. Possibly Robin was too tired, too drunk, or just too unfit to fight for very long. By the time the wolf jumped into the pit, I had a firm hold of the knife, and I held it out, letting the weight of the animal do the work of driving the knife into its neck.

With a whelp of pain the wolf fell, thrashing, on top of Robin. I did not help Robin. I glanced back at him as I began my climb, and heard him cursing. The wolf, I saw, had become still. It was now a dead weight on top of Robin's torso.

My escape from the pit was not a fast one. I was in no rush to return to the woods, not when I fully expected the biggest wolf to be waiting. Had Robin been quicker, he could easily have caught me and dragged me back down. Had I been feeling more wicked, I might have let Robin pull me down. I might have let him climb out ahead of me – even offered to give him a leg up – so that he would be the easiest meal for the wolf. But I was not feeling wicked. If anything, I was feeling calm. Perhaps it was the musky smell still doing its work. Perhaps it was just plain old common sense. There was no way I could fight this creature, even if I wanted to. And that, I suppose, was the strangest thing about the night: I was not altogether sure that I did want to fight the wolf. As I arrived at the top of the pit, the animal did not move. It simply stood and watched me as I emerged and drew myself tall. My sense of calm grew deeper, and I found myself staring at its eyes: yellow, then blue, yellow, then blue...

'You are one of them,' I said, stupidly, as it took a step towards me, and opened its mouth.

*

My neck itched. Groaning irritably, I began to scratch. Somewhere close to me, I heard a noise – someone standing, and pulling a stool along the floor. I sniffed. Someone... familiar. I blinked. My body was not fully awake, but my mind... my mind was alert. I sat up, slowly, and looked at the man. In the most fleeting of moments I processed everything about him: his height, his apparent age, his girth, his bright blue eyes... his smell...

Why was everything so different? Why was everything so sharp? Usually I only felt things so acutely when I was with Sorcha.

He stopped pulling the stool and looked at me, sighing as he watched me sitting up.

'I am sorry,' he said.

I looked around the room. I was on a circular bed of straw, recessed into the floor. Through an open door I saw another bed, ornately carved and laid with a floral bedspread.

He had moved the stool so that it was a foot or so away from my bed. As he took a seat there, I sniffed him. 'It was you.'

'It was me. And I am sorry. Sorrier than I have ever been about changing someone. But also surer than I have ever been about changing someone.'

'Changing someone...' My head began to pound, but it was nothing compared to the hammering of my heart. I felt everything – every pulse of my organs – so vividly. 'You... there were more wolves. Smaller wolves. You are... '

'A werewolf is the popular term, I believe. Most of the time we simply call ourselves wolves. Though I sometimes think the real wolves would laugh at such an assumption.'

'I used to laugh at my father, when he told stories about wolves like you. You were so much bigger than the other ones. So much faster. Am I like you, now?'

He bowed his head. 'I fear that, unfortunately for you, you will be more like me than any of the others.'

I growled, surprising myself with the sound. 'Just speak plainly, please. No riddles, no weighted sentences. Could you not simply... begin at the beginning. Your name, for instance. Rory is mine, in case you are interested.'

He moved the stool even closer to my bed, so close that I could feel his breath and hear his heartbeat. He looked at me, a slight smile playing on his lips, at odds with the worry I could see in his eyes. 'It is a while since I have met a new-turn who is quite so confident. You are right, Rory, it is time to speak plainly. My name, for a start, is Cormac. And you, Rory, are indeed a werewolf now. I have been one for quite a few hundred years. But just over fourteen years ago, I became something different again. A spell was done. The spell changed Wolf Wood. It even changed me. Now, I am still a werewolf but, unlike the others, I can never completely lose myself. I have mind, and heart, even as I kill. Granted, these days, it is getting a little bit hazier but... age comes to us all. In any case, it was a choice I made willingly, to help Wolf Wood, and to try to create others like me. Until now, though, no matter how many I have turned, no one has had the same clarity. They are lucky. They feel no guilt, only pleasure with each kill.'

He looked at me squarely as he finished speaking. I did not, though, want to believe the certainty behind his eyes. I shook my head dismissively. 'But that was a spell done to you.  Witchcraft had nothing to do with what happened to me – not that I know of. If, in all of these years of turning men into wolves, not a single one of them has wound up the way you are, then why should I be different? Why on earth would you think that I would be anything like you?'

'The reason I think it,' he said, his look of certainty unwavering, 'is because she chose you. She is... she was a witch who knew me when my clarity was given to me. She is long dead, but... death is rarely the end, with witches. She came to me, and told me where to find you. She said we needed you. She said that you would be like me. That is it, plainly speaking. Wolf Wood... we are a different sort of a place. And now you are part of the fight to keep it that way. To keep it safe from harm. And, in that vein, I have a question to pose. My question is: do you want to fight along with us, Rory?'

'But who am I to fight against?'

He looked at me as if trying to decide something. 'What about the New Model Army?' he asked carefully.

'The army? Well, obviously, even though most of them seem like they do not want to be here. But if they are your enemy, what does that make the tories? Are they your allies, because they fight against the army, or are they your enemies, because they side with the monarchy?'

He let out what seemed to be an unbidden laugh. 'It is not an easy one, I will grant you that. And do not underestimate how difficult it is when in wolf form to tell the difference between a tory rebel, or someone with ideals closer to your own – an average villager, loyal to neither king nor parliament, dispossessed, living in the woods because he has nowhere else to go. You can at least see, though, that the wolf-hunters are a clear enough enemy?'

Thinking of Robin, I said, 'I would gladly tear those mercenaries limb from limb, given half the chance. Although I cannot believe they would be any match for a werewolf.'

'Not a fair fight, you think?' he asked with another laugh.

'None of this is a joke to me,' I said through gritted teeth. 'I want to know.  Who am I to fight against?'

'I am not laughing in the way you think,' he said. 'I am... relieved, if I am honest, that you are not willing to blindly follow my every word. But in any case, you are not fighting against. You are fighting for. As I said before... Wolf Wood is a different sort of place. And we fight for it. We turn as many strong people as we can, to swell our ranks and increase our advantage. We keep the wolf-hunters at bay so that they cannot rid the woods of wolves. For if they do rid the woods of wolves, then the woods will be destroyed and that... that is the worst thing that could happen.

'To the others in the pack I do not say such things. To them I say – we fight against the hunters, we fight against the soldiers, we fight for our loved ones and for our country. It is not a lie. Not exactly. But what I fight for, is Wolf Wood. I ask again: do you want to join the fight?'

I sighed. There was far more I wanted to know, but I was tired and frustrated with talking. 'Do I have a choice?'

'No,' he said, sounding troubled. 'But neither do I. And now I am going to allow something I do not usually allow. I am going to give you a few hours to go home, and say your goodbyes. You will have to be back well before sunset, however. I need time with you, to teach you some things before you change.'

'But... how can I say goodbye? You do not understand. I have family and...'

'Family who need a wolf in their home? Rory... tonight the moon will shine. With it, you will change. You will be quicker. You will be stronger. Bigger. And you will be a killer. If you are, as I fear, like me, then you will be sick at the thought of it, but you will be a killer. For the good of Wolf Wood, yes. But a killer nonetheless. Whatever it is that you will miss, that you will be homesick for... all of that ended last night. Everything you ever wanted, everything you ever loved... that part of your life is gone. I have known men who have killed their wives. Their children. But in the place of the love they once felt for their life, and for the people in it, they now have new needs and new desires. When the moon changes, when you turn tonight... trust me, few men ever sicken for their old life once they have felt such a thrill. But you... as I said, maybe you will feel the thrill. But if my witch is correct, then you will also feel the pain. However... time is getting away from us. Do as I said and go home one last time. You need to say goodbye.'

He walked to the front door, saying, 'Remember – you must get back before sunset,' as he went.

I rushed outside, but he was nowhere to be seen. His scent, however, was clear. The smell of home was clearer still, though I knew it was miles away. I breathed it all in: the village, the forge... the farmhouse. How could I say goodbye?

Sorcha

It was light when Peggy came into the room. She knelt by the bed and softly shook my arm.

'I am awake,' I said. 'Did you really think I would sleep a wink without you? Is everyone else all right?'

Peggy nodded. 'We were able to run and hide, knowing the woods as well as we do. But Sorcha, when it is dark out there, and you hear soldiers and hunters coming, and wolves howling... I cannot begin to tell you how frightening it was. For a while I completely lost my way. I had no idea where I was heading and I... I really thought that someone was following me. I could not see anyone but... the feeling was so strong. My hairs were standing on end. My heart was bursting from my chest. I was just... running, aimlessly, expecting the worst to happen at any moment. But Rory's father found me, thankfully. He and some other men found all of us before the soldiers or hunters got anywhere near. They failed to catch even a single person. I would have come back to you sooner, but Brian thought it was safer that I should stay at their house until the soldiers went back to the barracks. Which took a long time. The soldiers patrolled the village the whole night long.'

I nodded at almost every word she spoke, unable to steady my breath, waiting for her to give me the news I really wanted. When she stopped speaking, though, I impatiently gripped her arm and asked, 'And Rory? You saw him at his house?'

She bit her lip, and concern darkened her eyes. 'Well, I did, this morning... '

I did not look away from her. There was no way I could hide how much her answer mattered to me while I pressed her for more. 'And?  Tell me Peggy. Was he all right?'

'He... yes. Yes I think he was. But he took so much longer to get back than the rest of us. He tripped over into some bramble, he said, and then got a bit lost, poor thing. When I think of how frightened I was, for a comparatively short time in the woods... I can barely imagine how frightened Rory must have been. He got a bit scratched up but... nothing that will not heal, I should imagine.'

*

I could not get out of the house that morning. With Peggy getting ready to move, I had to do everything for my father and the lodgers. The hunters were excited after a night of chasing people as well as wolves, and they stayed up for hours after getting back to the farm, almost constantly bellowing for more beer, more cheese, more everything. Robin was the last of the men to return, and he looked as though he had fought with the whole forest. But his injuries did not seem to bother him. Whenever I got near him, he would resume his boasting.

'I should thank those holier than thou villagers, really. If I had not been helping the soldiers to catch them, then I would not have been in that part of the woods. And if I had not been in that spot, sweet Sarah, I might never have caught such a fine wolf. Though it was no easy catch, mind you. I had to use all my strength to take it down. But I got a clear kill in the end, as always. Knife in the throat. Clean. Quick. You should have seen me, Sarah.'

I thought of Rory, then, while Robin once again mispronounced my name. I smiled at the memory of him standing up to Robin on the green. Robin mistook my smile. He seemed to think I was impressed by his story, and he smirked and drew himself up in his chair as he went on.

'Big brute it was. And yet no match for me. Thing is, there was another one close by, I know there was, but it bolted and I just thought – a bird in the hand and all that. If it was the thing's mate I could have got even more. Did I tell you the females fetch a whole pound more?'

I handed him his fourth beer of the morning. 'Yes, you have told me. Many times.'

'You are a cheeky one, Sarah.' He flashed a horrible grin. 'I bet your sister will lose some of her cheekiness this evening. Why did you not tell me she was off limits? Letting me make a fool of myself like that. Could have gotten myself into trouble there.'

'It is a pity you did not. You might have been the one with a knife in your throat instead of the poor wolf,' I said, leaving him by the fire and going to help Peggy pack.

*

'Sing to me,' said Peggy.

We sat side by side on her bed and she clasped my hand. I could feel her shivering, and when I looked at her face her skin was paler than usual.

'You do not have to do this, Peggy. What is the worst that can happen if you refuse? What, our father disowns you? He is doing that, anyway, is he not? He is screaming to the world that he is no father, by making you do this.'

'Sing to me,' she said again.

'And there is the Major. I have been thinking... last night, you said the soldiers did not catch a single mass-goer. Do you not consider such failure a little odd? This man, he is on our side, Peggy. I know it. Last night, he was only putting on a show. He did not want his men to catch anyone in case they caught you.  I feel it so strongly, Peggy – he is looking out for you. If you say the word, he will help you get away.'

'Sing to me,' she said for a third time.

I sighed, but sang nevertheless. I chose her favourite lullaby, one she said our mother used to sing to send her to sleep. It was a song, Peggy always said, that could calm all fears.

'No crying, sweetheart

Time for sleep

Close your eyes

And do not weep

Morn will come

Blue, bright and clear

Until then, your dreams hold dear

In your dreamtime, think of me

And I shall be there

To cradle thee.'

Peggy smiled as I sang. When I finished, she said, 'Your voice is just like hers.'

I tried to remain bright. 'Is it? It is nice to know I am like her, if only in small ways.'

Peggy clasped my hand more tightly. 'No, Sorcha, you are like her in ways that are far from small. Here – ' She reached around her neck and unclasped the locket she wore. 'I have lost count of how many times I have tried to give this to you. This time, you must take it.'

I felt my body curl away from my sister. 'No. It is all you have of her. It is the only thing you have to remember her by.'

Peggy's eyes narrowed. 'That is not why you refuse this locket, Sorcha. Do you think I cannot see your fear? I know you think I go to mass to distance myself from our mother, but you are wrong. I go to mass for the same reason as anyone else in Wolf Wood – because when someone forces you to give up a belief, you hold that belief ever more dear. But you, Sorcha... oh, you may not look quite as similar to her as I do, but you are the one who takes after our mother. And you are afraid of that. You are afraid of your own power.'

I shook my head. 'Power,' I said dismissively. 'It was never power. She knew how to heal, but anyone can learn that, if they have a mind to.'

Peggy clasped the chain around my neck, and the locket lay against my breast bone. It felt hot. Silver, I thought, should not feel hot.

'Open it,' she directed.

I remained unmoving, so Peggy opened the locket and turned it so that the picture within was facing me.

'We are all in here,' she said. 'All three.'

I would not look. 'How is that possible? She was dead the moment I breathed my first breath.'

'Look,' Peggy commanded.

My eyes seemed to take control of themselves; though I fought and tried to pull them away, I found myself looking at the picture. It was a miniature portrait of my mother, sitting on a chair with Peggy on her lap.

'You cannot immediately notice, because of the way I am sitting in the picture, but her belly was huge that day,' Peggy said. 'It was two weeks before you came. She had been saving so that she could have the miniature painted. She put by a little bit of money whenever she could, hiding it in the sewing box. She was weak. I remember that much. She was so tired, but she would not rest. I remember her working every hour of the day and night making up oils and perfumes to sell at the market, brewing drinks with Áine that they sold to the fieldworkers... she nearly collapsed many times during those last weeks. But the painter was to be in the village for a short time, only. And... sometimes I think she knew she was running out of time, because she was so desperate, so determined to get it done before the painter left. When we went to pose for the picture, she patted her belly and said, "You sit here, Peggy, next to your sister. All three of us, together." That is what she said. And that is why I am sure she knew. She knew she would have a girl. She knew she would die. She gave me the locket, as soon as the picture was inside. And she told me to give it to you. I think she knew, even before you were born, that you would be just like her. And what do you think she would say, now, if she knew that you were afraid – or maybe even ashamed – of that.'

I blinked wildly and my face reddened. 'I am not ashamed.'

'Then keep the locket, Sorcha. For our mother. For me.'

I nodded, forcing back tears. 'I will keep it.'

*

Lord Tolbert's carriage made its noisy way towards us with his four horses and his cloaked driver. Lord Tolbert was inside, I knew, by the way my head began to ring with the carriage's approach. When it halted outside our house, no one climbed out. It just sat outside the gate – dark, quiet, and waiting. I looked out through the upstairs window and, as I did, one of the curtains of the carriage was drawn aside. Lord Tolbert looked up at me through bloodshot eyes, his mouth stretched into a wide grin.

I shrank back from the window, but his face was burned into my mind.

'He is here,' I called to Peggy with a hollow voice.

My father stayed away from the house, apparently busy at work. Sean helped Peggy with her one, small bag, so that my sister and I could walk together. I did not cry, and neither did she.

'I shall come and visit you,' I told her. 'During the daytime, when Lord Tolbert... when he is not with you.'

She shook her head. 'Father might not let you.'

'Do you imagine that he could stop me?' I said, as I squeezed her hand.

The door of the carriage opened. Lord Tolbert did not get out. He remained seated, not looking at either of us. Peggy hugged me briefly and, as she pulled away, I saw her lips tremble slightly. It was the only outward sign of her upset as, with no help from the driver or Lord Tolbert, she climbed into the carriage and took a seat.

The driver signalled the horses, and they were on their way.

I stood watching. The carriage moved more slowly than usual – or maybe it only felt that way to me. I did wonder, though, if Lord Tolbert had directed the driver to travel slowly as they left the farm, in order to prolong my misery. When I walked back inside Sean tried to put an arm around me, but I shook him off and went upstairs.

As soon as I was in the bedroom I unclasped the locket. I had promised Peggy I would keep the locket. I had not promised that I would wear it. If she knew how hot it felt against my chest, maybe she would understand. It seemed to glow as I looked at it, so I quickly covered it beneath my blankets before sitting on the bed to think.

Was Peggy right? Was I ashamed, or was I afraid?

No. I stood up. No, I was not afraid. I was not afraid of anything. I went to her side of the room, prising the crucifixes from the wall one by one before rushing to my father's bedroom. His room was stark, as always. I walked to the stool that sat next to the bed, and picked up his bible. It was a beautifully bound copy, and had cost my father two shillings more than the cheaper loose-leafed version. It was the only time that I could recall him boasting of spending more than he had to. He would clutch it proudly on his march towards the church, hoping to elicit some jealous glances. Few people owned books in Wolf Wood, never mind bibles. Few people in Wolf Wood could read.

I took the bible in my hands and, using it as a hammer, I nailed the crosses all around the walls of his bedroom, saving just one to fix upon the wood of his headboard.

With some of my rage released, I returned to my own room to sit on Peggy's bed.

Áine once told me, on a rare day we managed to speak, that my mother had been able to see the future. Well, feel the future was the way Áine had explained it to me. Over my life I had experiences of something similar. I knew certain things, like whether a woman would give birth to a boy or a girl, or when the weather was going to change. These were little things I could not help. But as for trying to predict the future in more serious matters... I was reluctant to do so. It was not that I feared being shunned. I was already shunned. It was... it was the lack of ability to change anything which stopped me from trying to see what was to come.

I knew Peggy would have to go to Lord Tolbert. I knew it would not end well. Knowing made no difference. I could change nothing.

So what was the point? What was the point in being like my mother when it meant nothing?  Even now I felt a shift in Wolf Wood. Something had changed, at Bealtaine. I knew it, but knew nothing of what it meant. I had no one to tell me. I had no one to teach me. And even if I did, would it matter? I went to my own bed and peeled back the bedclothes. I looked, once more, at the locket. It was no longer glowing.

No, I was not afraid. And no, I was not ashamed. I was merely resigned.

*

Eventually I had to leave the room. It was time to bring my father some food. In the larder I found the stalest bread and gave it the barest scraping of butter. Next to it I arranged the oldest cut of ham, one I had been thinking was not even fit to be fed to the dogs. The water had been drawn the day before, and normally I would have made sure to get some fresh from the well. But not today. I may have had to bring him food, but I was not going to serve him anything decent.

I found him in a stable.

'Here,' I said, roughly setting the plate on the ground. 'I hope it sticks in your throat. Oh, and when you go to your room tonight, you will find some pleasant new decorations. I thought they might remind you of the lord you say you serve.'

He did not turn around as he spoke. 'Do not start missy,' he said. 'I am as cut up as you.'

I rushed across the floor and placed myself in front of him. I held my eyes on his, drawing him so that he had to look at me.

'Are you?' I asked. 'Do you really feel anything close to the upset that I endure? Because that is not what I see in your eyes.'

'Your mother could do that, as well,' he said casually. 'Force a man's eyes to hers. Hopefully that is the only thing of hers you have inherited.'

My breath came out in a gasp. 'What did she see in you? Actually, do not answer that. I have figured out the reason that you married her, though.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Have you now?'

'Oh yes. I have. You taunt the things she was able to do. You act like you hated her. I am absolutely sure now, that the only reason you put up with her was because you enjoyed the money and the gifts people gave her when she cured them or delivered their children.'

He did not deny it, just kept on with his fork, painstakingly picking out the dung, managing not to lift a single piece of straw along with it.

'And now you have let her daughter, her first born, go off to be Tolbert's mistress, all so you can keep your precious bit of land. My mother would be turning in her grave if she could see you now.'

'Her grave?' he spat. 'She is in hell is where she is. Grave, indeed.'

Gasping at his words, I left the stable. As I walked away I heard him shout.

'At least I will not have to worry about you whoring yourself to the young blacksmith any more! What with him doing us all a favour and leaving Wolf Wood!'

I stalled for a moment, and turned on my heels. Almost in the same breath, I thought better of confronting him, and turned away again. There was no time to argue with my father. Not if what he said was true. I ran, away from the farm and to the forge, knowing I probably had flour on my face and soot on my apron, but not caring what I looked like.

When I arrived at the forge Brian was standing at the fire, cursing as he worked.

'Is he going?' I asked, breathlessly.

Brian looked at me, his face puzzled. 'You mean he has not even said goodbye to you?'

I shook my head. 'It is true then.'

'It is true, right enough, though I cannot say I understand,' said Brian. 'Hurry after him, Sorcha. The coach might not have left yet. If anyone can talk him out of this madness, it will be you.'

I was already running before he finished speaking. I headed for the tavern, where the coach made its daily stops, and I arrived just as the driver was drawing up. There were half a dozen people waiting, all with luggage, and Rory was at the end of the queue. Seeing me, he tried to move forward more quickly. As he did so, the horses began to rear and whinny, and the driver tried to calm them. Ignoring their distress, Rory continued moving forward.

'Howld on a minute now,' said a middle-aged woman as he tried to pass her. 'If you think I am about to move out of the way for you... '

I caught hold of his arm, pulling him from the queue.

He looked at the ground. 'How did you know?'

'My father told me you were leaving. Your father confirmed it.'

Rory laughed scornfully. 'I thought Peter would be glad to see the back of me.'

'He is. I am not. And neither is your father. Why did you not tell me? I thought... ' I could not finish the words. What had I thought? That I loved him? That he loved me back?

For a moment we stood silently, until Rory asked, 'Well? What did you think?'

I stayed silent, just... trying to feel him. He was not with me, even though he was standing so close. At any other time, when Rory and I stood near each other, it felt as if we were just a touch away from being bound. Being yoked. That was how it felt, usually. As if, had one of us the nerve to reach out, we might never part again. But now... now there was nothing but air between us.

He ground his teeth, and spoke again. 'One stupid kiss. That does not make us... that does not make us anything. You are fourteen, Sorcha. Even if I could be bothered waiting around till you were old enough, it is not as if your father would let me anywhere near you. He has you promised to Sean.'

My face burned. He was lying. I could hear it in his voice. Maybe if he would look at me, even for a second, maybe then I would feel him again. Maybe then I would see the truth – whatever it may be – in his eyes. I thought of what had happened with my father, and how I forced him to look at me. Anyone could do that, surely? Anyone could draw another's eyes to theirs. It had been more than that. In that moment, I had seen my father. I had known him. He was bare to me, in that one glance.

So I gazed at Rory and felt him struggle as, inevitably, his eyes were locked with mine.

'Your eyes.' I held them more firmly, feeling him try to turn them away. I was right. Just as with my father, there was something more revealed to me. 'Your eyes have changed.'

They were paler. But it was not only that. Something flickered, behind his irises, before they returned to their usual shade of hazel.

I felt him strengthen his will and, tired of the effort, I let him look away.

'There is something wrong. Something is different about you.' I glanced at the coach. 'And you are going east, I suppose. To Dublin? You said you would never step foot there. You said it was as English as England itself.'

He shrugged. 'Maybe I have realised that this place is just as bad. What is so different between here and Dublin, after all? Everyone here rolls over to Cromwell. To his soldiers. To Tolbert. You know that better than I do, Sorcha.'

I burned again. 'Oh, do I? Because of Peggy, you mean? Thank you, Rory, for making this parting a little bit easier, after all.'

He shook his head, looking genuinely sorry. 'I did not mean – I really did not mean that Peggy is rolling over to Lord Tolbert. I would never speak of her in that way. But your father, on the other hand. Better I do not say what I think of him.'

'Are you on or off?' called the driver.

Rory looked away from me again. 'On,' he called back.

Feeling desperate, I grasped his hand. There it was. There he was. He looked at me, and I felt that he was Rory again. I felt as if he was mine.

'Kiss me,' I said. 'Just once more. Please.'

There was a flicker, again, behind his eyes. They went from hazel to yellow, and this time they did not change back. He pulled his hand from mine, and walked to the coach. Again, the horses began to panic. They reared and whinnied as the driver struggled to calm them. Ignoring the animals, and me, Rory climbed onto the coach and did not look back.

*

Sleep did not come easily that night. It did not help that I came home from the village to find the crosses back in the bedroom. Only this time they were not surrounding Peggy's bed. They were surrounding mine.

Too tired to remove them just yet, I curled up in Peggy's bed. I wished so much that she was there with me. I still could not have let my tears out, because my father would have heard and told me to be quiet. But having her there to hold me would have been some comfort, at least.

I told myself it was not really heartbreak that I was feeling. I told myself that I was using Rory's absence as something to concentrate on, something other than Peggy. If I could feel sorry for myself, then I would not have to spend the entire night imagining what might be happening to my sister.

However hard I tried to reason with myself, though, it would not work. I was aching for Peggy. But I was aching just as much for Rory, no matter how selfish it may have been.

On the few occasions I managed to even close my eyes, images of him, yellow-eyed and angry, lay behind my lids.
Rory

I cannot bear to think of how that night would have gone, had it not been for Cormac. My memories are not altogether clear. I do not recall breaking the window, or clawing at the wood of the cottage door, or fighting with Cormac in my effort to get out. But all of the evidence was there for me to see when I woke in the morning light.

I glanced sheepishly at him as he passed me my clothes.

'Yes,' he said, holding out his arm so that the bites and scratches were clear. 'You did do that.'

'Oh.'

He sat down opposite me. 'I have not told you much about myself, or my role in the wolf pack I am taking you to.'

I shrugged as I pulled on my last item of clothing, relieved that the rips in the material looked easily reparable.

'I am the leader,' he said. 'The man in charge. My second-in-command – a man called Malcolm – has often suggested I use the term alpha to describe myself, and beta in reference to his own rank in the pack. It strikes me as odd. Malcolm is not a speaker of Greek, so why should he choose their alphabet? And neither is he a religious man, so I cannot even presume he is calling for our use of these terms based upon the words ascribed to God – I am the alpha and omega – and so on.

'No, we are an army, however reluctant I may be about the fact. So I am the colonel, Malcolm is my lieutenant... and so on. You, for now, will be a private. Are you happy with that term?'

I shrugged again. 'It does not matter what I am called. I am more concerned with what I did to you.'

An odd expression was upon his face. He seemed to have mixed feelings, happiness and worry at once. 'I have turned a great many men,' he said. 'That is not a boast, just a fact. And if I happen to turn a man in the middle of the cycle, giving me no time to train him before his first full moon, then I do as I did with you last night. I stay with him, to make sure the transition is without unfortunate incident. And, until last night, not a single one of those wolves has ever done me injury. Usually my smell, or in extreme cases a warning growl, is enough to stop one of my own wolves. But you... you fought like a true wild beast. You fought like your life depended on it. I want to be happy about that, Rory. I want to be happy to have one so strong as part of the pack. And part of me is happy.'

As if he wanted to prove it, he let the smile overtake the worry on his face. 'I am happy,' he said. 'I am certainly not angry with you, if that is what you think.'

I looked, again, at his arm. 'I cannot remember doing that to you. What if I hurt someone I do not want to hurt?'

'The person you were desperate to reach last night, you mean?'

I hung my head. 'Was it so obvious?'

He smiled wryly. 'I have had some personal experience of such matters. There are certain smells that are unmistakable. But whatever the reason for the fight in you, it is still fight.  And a month lies between you and your next moon. It is ample time for me to train you. Trust me, Rory, I will teach you the tools you need to ensure you do not hurt anyone you do not want to.'

He grasped my hand and tried to meet my eyes, but I could not bring myself to look at him. All I could see, though it was only in my mind's eye, was Sorcha.

'Trust me?' he said again.

Reluctantly I nodded, and looked at him. 'I trust you.'

*

Cormac's house, I discovered, was on the edge of the werewolves' territory. A half a mile or so beyond his cottage was an entire village, situated in what Cormac told me was the very centre of Wolf Wood. It was there that I would live.

During most of the month we ate the sort of food any human might eat, but the way we conducted our meals was all wolf. On fine nights we ate at a large table outdoors, and when it was raining or cold we would eat in a circular hall, known as the Great Hall. The ritual of eating together, Cormac told me, was an important part of being a wolf. For one thing, listening to and taking part in the talk around the table meant that he knew what everyone was thinking and feeling. More importantly, though, it enforced rank. Cormac was served first, always. Next came his lieutenant, Malcolm. After that the food was passed around the table, with the lowest ranked wolf – me, Private Rory, the new-turn – being served last, and sitting further from Cormac than anyone else.

Although meal times were spent at opposite sides of the table, Cormac tried, whenever possible, to spend as much of the day as he could with me. This was one of the things that set me apart, from the beginning. Cormac was not the one who was supposed to be welcoming me, or teaching me. Rightly, the task should fall to a wolf closer in rank to me – a wolf right at the very bottom of the pack. But Cormac had sired me. That, I discovered, was unusual in itself. Cormac rarely turned anyone and, when he did, he chose carefully. The chosen men would be soldiers. They might be hunters. Sometimes he might choose the stronger of the rebels who lived in the forest. Never before had he turned a sixteen-year-old boy.

I did not know how to feel about it all. Most of the others seemed to accept me, and to treat me as they would treat any new -turn. There were some, though, including Malcolm, who seemed resentful. Malcolm was a large man, broad and strong. His face would probably be handsome, I thought, if it did not seem quite so cruel. I found it unusual that he was Cormac's lieutenant, but as yet I had not dared ask many questions, and Malcolm's position was a subject that no one seemed to broach.

There was a great deal to learn, so much that I should have had no time to think of Sorcha. Instead, she was on my mind all the time.

As it drew closer to full moon, I began to change. Since being turned I had felt everything more acutely, but as the moon waxed, that feeling only amplified. My sense of smell was incredibly strong. My house was far from the kitchen, but when they began to prepare the days' food, I could smell it all – I knew what we would eat each night, I knew how fresh the milk and eggs were with a simple sniff, I knew how long the animals had been hanging from the roof of the cold room.

I had one training session remaining, and it was on the morning of full moon.

'Imagine their faces,' Cormac said, as we sat together outside his cottage. 'Bring to mind all of their smells.'

'How will that help?'

He raised his eyebrows.

'All right, all right, I am imagining the faces and the smells of the ones I love.'

That was a lie. The only one I was imagining was Sorcha.

'Now. Imagine you are lunging for them.'

'I... no. No I will not imagine that.'

'You go for their arms first. Limit their ability to fight you off.'

'Stop it!'

'And after that it is one clean bite. It will have to be to the jugular, mind you. I am not looking for old men and women. I am not looking for young girls. I am looking for fit, healthy young men. Your family, your friends, they are of no use to me. If you go to them, then you go to kill them.'

'Stop it!'

'Do you see them? Do you see them, lying there? Are you picturing them dead?'

Tears were in my eyes. 'Please, just stop!' I cried. 'What is wrong with you?'

'Who do you love most? Which one of them do you love most? Is it a she? Oh, she will taste all the better for it, then. Warm blood, spilling out of her throat. Soft flesh, melting like butter in your mouth.'

I stood up and ran, barely making it to the grass before I vomited.

When I finished, I wiped my mouth and glared at him. 'Are you happy now?'

He shook his head. 'No, not happy. But at least now I know you will not hurt the ones you love.'

'How can you be sure?' I asked.

'How? How? It is full moon, Rory. Think of how you have felt the last few days. You have been changing, have you not?'

'I... yes,' I agreed. 'You know I have.'

'And yet this great hunger you have felt has never once extended to your loved ones? All you feel, right now, is sick. Some wolves are a worry. Some have killed loved ones. Some have no control over the hunger. But you are not such a wolf.'

'But... can I be sure of that?'

He walked over to me, and sat down on the grass. He looked as tired as I felt. He looked as though he had thrown up along with me.

'There are no guarantees,' he said. 'Staying away is sensible. And that is why I had to drive you to vomit. It is not an absolute, but it is the best trick I know. You must practice it before every full moon. Drive yourself to sickness at the thought. It is hard, I know. But it is like everything else I have taught you. You must focus on your target while you are still a man. You must remind and remind and remind yourself of what you do and what you do not want to kill. It is the only way.'

*

There was a stone throne at the heart of the village. It was the place we were to gather for important meetings, and before each hunt. An hour before sunset I lined up with the other new recruits, while Cormac sat upon the throne and looked thoughtfully at us all.

'Barry.' Cormac nodded to a stocky, red-haired man. 'As usual I am putting you in charge of the new recruits. But only two of them will go with you, so you will have even more time to watch them than usual.'

Barry wrinkled his forehead and looked at the new-turns.

'Begging your pardon, Cormac, but there are three new lads, are there not? What about the other one?'

Cormac nodded in my direction. 'Rory will go with Malcolm's pack. They lost a wolf last month. Rory will make up the numbers.'

Malcolm's face reddened. 'Seriously?' He glared at me. 'You are seriously expecting me to spend the night babysitting a new-turn.'

'You are a man down, are you not?' Cormac said calmly.

'Well, yes, but... '

'Well, there you go, then. Rory is with you. Now – ' He turned to the new recruits. 'I do not need to tell you how to kill. At the crucial time, instinct will take over. But. When the rules have been drummed into you while you are human, those rules tend to stick. So. I will repeat what you have been learning since your arrival here. No children – ever. No women – women are always given the choice, and are never attacked by us unless they have expressly requested to be turned. Even then, there are procedures to follow, and it is not a bargain to be made by a new-turn. We target soldiers, hunters, rebels, men who are healthy and strong. Remember, it may feel like sport, but this is not a game. Now go! Go out and make us proud!'

*

When we set out, we were men.

'The sun will set soon,' said one of the pack, a man called John. 'We are used to the change. It might be more difficult for you.'

Malcolm snorted. 'It will be difficult all right. He is still a child.'

'I have changed before,' I said.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. 'Ah, yes. With our brave leader by your side. In the comfort of his cottage. Well, none of us will be wiping your brow and easing your pain tonight, boy. You are on your own.'

There was an odd feeling in the air when Malcolm spoke. None of the men, I realised, liked him. And yet I had never observed a single one of them arguing with him.

As the sun set, I felt the heat spread through me, hotter than the forge, hotter than anything I knew. The heat was not quite pain. There was a tingling that came along with it that was not altogether unpleasant. My throat sucked in some air, cooling my lungs. I stretched out my limbs, easing the slight discomfort. I looked up to the moon – silver that night – and heard myself begin to howl.

After that, I registered little else.

*

'You were successful, I hear,' said Cormac.

We were outside my house, which was a small, round, simple cabin. Both of us sat on stools, watching the others go about their day.

I shrugged. 'I remember very little.'

Cormac tilted his head back and looked carefully at me. 'Malcolm was gruffer than usual whilst giving me his report. Reticent, to say the least. But I have other ways of discovering things. For instance, the best of the new recruits smell distinctly of you. My nose has reliably informed me that to our ranks you have added one hunter – a man who has been irking me for some time. It will be so much better to have him on our side. And you have also brought me one soldier – a young man, but incredibly strong. Malcolm's work last night... hmm, let me think of the ones that have his stink all over them. An old rebel man with big words and little to back it up. That one is a little bit too happy to have joined our ranks if you ask me. And... who else? Oh, yes, a chubby young butcher who was getting along a tad too well with his mother-in-law.'

Images flashed into my mind. A man and a woman lying together on the forest floor. The woman seeing us and screaming in terror. The sound of growling. Was it me doing the growling? Yes. Yes, I had been fighting with Malcolm.

'You remember?' Cormac grinned.

'Snippets. Did he... he was angry with me. I must be remembering things wrong, because the way I recall things... Malcolm wanted to turn the woman.' I held my head in my hands. 'I must have taken things the wrong way. I must have misunderstood. Please tell me I did not fight with your lieutenant.'

'I cannot tell you a lie, I am afraid.'

I sighed. 'So what happens now? I suppose he shall hardly want me in his pack tonight.'

'He will have you in his pack tonight. And every full moon to follow. You did not take things up incorrectly last night. He did, indeed, intend to turn the woman. Thanks to you, he did not manage to do so. So you will go out with him again, and again, and again, no matter how he complains about you. He needs someone to keep him in his place.'

Shocked, I gazed at Cormac. 'You confuse me. Sometimes you...'

'Say it. I know you have been thinking it.'

'You do not like Malcolm. Nobody does. So why does he have so much power?'

Cormac laughed. 'You are brave in more ways than one. Why does he have so much power? Well, some might say he is the best choice. Kings, lords... have you not noticed they rarely do their dirty work for themselves. People seem to toe the line when Malcolm wants them to.'

I shook my head. 'What does that matter if he will not follow the rules himself? He tried to turn a woman, and you told us that was against the rules. You said that they had to request it themselves. That woman last night... I might not remember things fully, but some things are clear in my memory. And she did not seem like she wanted it to me. And I cannot buy into the idea of you using him as your attack dog. Or attack wolf, as it may be. If you are using him that way, then I was wrong about you all along.'

He laughed again. 'Every day, another proof that she was right to choose you! Oh, never doubt the wisdom of women, my lad. Especially the witches. Malcolm... yes, he orders people around. Yes, he makes rash decisions. But I have to put all of that aside. There are certain powers in this world. Saving a man's life is one that creates a bond. Saving the life of a fellow werewolf, that creates a bond which is stronger still.'

I looked out at the village. Malcolm was kicking at a bucket of water, complaining that it was not fresh enough.

'He saved your life. How?'

Cormac blinked. 'Honestly, I cannot bear to think of it, just now. But save my life he did. And so he became my lieutenant. This was not simply because I was grateful to him – though I suppose I should have been. No, this was because Wolf Wood, and we wolves who dwell within, are bound by certain laws. They are somewhat... magical laws. To try to go against them... it would be more than foolish. So. Malcolm is my second-in-command. And that is the end of that. But. I do understand what you feel about him. I worry about him constantly. He is desperate to turn more women. Well. Perhaps he is lonely. There is one in the village – the human village, I mean. She is one of those poor ladies who hang about the tavern. Malcolm has been... seeing her. He visits her when he is a man.'

My head began to hurt as I thought of the tavern women. I hated to see them. Everything about them was depressing to me.

'Their eyes seem dead,' I said, my own voice sounding almost dead as I spoke. 'And those who have any life left about them, those ones' eyes look even worse. Desperate. I suppose I can believe that, if any woman wants to be one of us, it would be one of them.'

He patted my hand. 'You see things through fresh eyes. Old men like me, so used to seeing those women, we can fall into lazy ways of thinking. We can get so used to a thing that we convince ourselves it is the way of the world, and nothing can change it. But you, Rory... you will keep me on my toes. Your young eyes will help me see things as I should.

'So... you will go out earlier tonight. You need to familiarise yourself with the place where the deed is to be done, and with the smell of the woman, while you are still men. I will be available, if things turn bad. One howl from you, Rory, and I will be there in an instant. I feel, though, that you can do this on your own. Even tonight.'

'What do you mean, even tonight?'

'Last night was the first night of the cycle. Tonight is the real full moon. The wolf will be stronger. Especially from midnight to three in the morning – the Witching Hour. Couple the Witching Hour with the full moon, and you have the answer to why werewolves are a creature feared by so many.

'The girl will not turn until tomorrow night, as it was with you. And, though Malcolm's first instinct after turning someone should be to keep that person safe... I will feel better knowing you are there. What I need you to drum in, for tonight, is my cottage. Bring her there, well before midnight. If not, I will come to find your pack.'

'Do you really think I am able for this?'

'Yes. But only if you feel ready. I will understand if you are not ready to return to your village.'

'The village?' My head sprung up. 'But... if I am to go to the village as a man, I will be recognised.'

'You will enter through the woods, and have the cover of that little area of wilderness around the village green, close to the tavern. That delightful place where so many romantic encounters take place.'

I winced. The village green. It would be the most painful place I could be.

'Ah. I have stirred a memory, I see. Of your own romantic encounter, maybe? If this is uncomfortable for you, we can rearrange things.'

'No. No, I want to go,' I said, surprising myself with how much I really did want to go.

'Good. Because I need someone like you there to judge things. Someone who is unafraid to challenge Malcolm. I want you to make sure that this is the right thing for the woman. Do not let him turn her unless you hear her take the oath.'

*

The noise and the smell of the tavern was an assault to the senses. I stepped a little further back into the woodland, and breathed deeply. In only a month I had come to think of the woodland as home. The tavern stank of too many men and too many arguments. The woodland, on the other hand, smelled of peace, of space, of reality. Even with the bloodshed we took part in, even with the fighting of the soldiers and rebels, the woodland was calmer to me than any tavern could ever be. Possibly, I thought, it was because the battles that took place in the woodland took place for a purpose, and not merely because of drink.

'How long has he been in there?' asked John.

A tall, thin, dark-skinned man named Henry rolled his eyes. 'How long is 'e ever in there?'

Henry had been a wolf-hunter before he was turned, and he spoke with a thick London accent. Before the bounties on wolves had been declared, he had trained as a blacksmith. He had left his wife and children in London, hoping that wolf-hunting would earn him enough money to build a better life for his family. He was only in Wolf Wood three days when he was turned, and he had never seen his family again.

John shook his head. 'He better hurry up, anyhow. Not more'n half an hour left. Though he might well leave it right to the last minute, like last time.'

'Has he turned many women then?' I asked, joining the conversation for the first time that afternoon.

John grinned. 'Too many to count. Gets their hopes up, then gets bored of them in... oh, about a week or so. Still, no one is ever all that cut up about being turned, I reckon. Specially the women. It has to be a better life, being one of the pack rather than being a skivvy to some useless husband and a bunch of ungrateful brats.'

'Oh, really?' Henry raised an eyebrow. 'And you have never turned a woman because...? Pay him no heed, Rory. He has the same problem with it as the rest of us do. He merely tries to look on the bright side.'

'So, is there none, then?' I asked. 'A bright side?'

'To a woman being turned?' Henry shrugged. 'Well, it is true, once you are a wolf you cannot imagine being anything else. But... I suppose my problem with it is the same as Cormac's. It worries me that it is only the likes of the tavern girls who want turning. If they had a better life... if they had a good man, instead of being messed with by men like Tolbert... would they really want to be one of us? Leaving their families behind? Maybe even their children. Have you met Maria yet? You might have seen her around our village? Dark-haired, slim?'

I nodded. 'Her eyes are a bit... '

'Scary? I know. When she turns, she forgets it all, but when she is human, she is haunted. It breaks my heart to look at the woman. She came here from Venice three years ago. Already a werewolf. She had heard of us even in Venice, can you believe? The tales of Wolf Wood's notoriety reach far and wide. She came to our pack because she thought it was far enough to escape the memories of what she had done. But some things will always play on your mind no matter how far you try to run from them.'

'What did she do?' I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

Henry and John looked at each another, and John turned to me. 'She killed her whole family. Three little boys. One girl. One husband. Not turned them. Just... well. You know. Killed them for the other reason – to satisfy the hunger. And we all know how strong the hunger can be. She had just been turned herself. She had no idea what was happening. No one guided her. Whoever turned her just... left her to figure it out for herself. So one day she thinks all is normal, except for a bite she cannot remember getting. The next thing... well, fill in the gaps for yourself.'

I looked across to the village green. I could see the exact spot. In my mind's eye she was there, revisiting me again and again. The smell of her. The taste of her lips.

Soon it would be happening. I looked at the sky. A half hour, at most. I tried to bring all of Cormac's training to mind. I felt my stomach churn at the thought of her dead, lifeless body. I could make myself throw up my bodyweight in vomit, though, and it would not make a difference; I did not trust myself.

*

The back door of the tavern opened. Malcolm strode out, one arm thrown casually around a woman's shoulders. I recognised her, but did not know her name.

'If it is not the young blacksmith,' she said, slurring her words. 'And there is your poor mammy and wee Sorcha thinking you are gone to Dublin. Crying their eyes out over you, so they are. Should have known you would never leave a pretty young thing like Sorcha Moore without good reason.'

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at me. 'Sorcha?'

My nostrils flared. 'You have been too long. It is time to take the oath. Miss... I apologise, I cannot remember your name.'

'Bridget. Formerly of Tolbert's cottage. Recently of no abode. I was the predecessor to your sweetheart's sister. But I am not surprised you do not remember me. I have grown thinner, of late.' She continued to slur her words as she said these things, but she looked me full in the eyes.

Malcolm grinned. He was drunk, I realised. The idiot. Still, at least he was not arguing with me.

'Do you know the words, Bridget?' I asked her. 'Has Malcolm taught you?'

She smiled brightly at Malcolm. 'Many times. I do swear upon my heart – '

'Soul,' I interrupted. 'It is your soul that is at risk, if you go into this for the wrong reasons.'

'My soul!' she cried. 'Of course. I remember now. What will happen to me, then, if I... if I go into this for the...'

'The wrong reasons,' I said, through gritted teeth. 'As Malcolm should have explained, there are werewolves, and then there are werewolves. Some of us are turned without choosing it, and we will always retain our basic nature. But those who choose, they are different creatures. They are making a pact. And it is important that you make that pact for the right reasons, and that it is to the right powers.'

I looked to John and Henry, to see if I had got it right.

Henry nodded at me, and looked at Bridget. 'You are putting your fate – and your faith – in another's hands, Bridget. You are putting it out there, to be moulded by powers even we do not understand. So when you make that pact, we have to be sure of where your soul lies. We have to be sure of who – of what – is coming to join our pack.'

I blinked, confused by all that I was learning. I wondered if I would ever understand what it meant to be a werewolf. Feigning confidence, I turned again to Bridget. 'Do you need me to go over the words with you?'

She giggled. 'No, no, I know it. I know it all. I do swear upon my soul... '

She stopped, and gazed at me. 'You do not have to worry, Rory Farrell,' she said, no longer sounding drunk. 'You are a good lad, but you do not need to worry about me. I may have done bad things, but I am not a bad one. I have seen Hell, you know. I imagine every woman who has lain with Tolbert is well acquainted with the region. I may want to escape my life, I will not deny that. But it is not another version of Hell I am looking to go to. It is a better place I want.' She wriggled out from under Malcolm's arm and came closer to me. 'Is it a better place, Rory? I think that Malcolm tells me what he thinks I want to hear. But I know you shall tell me the truth.'

I thought of our village in the woods. I thought of Cormac.

'Yes, Bridget,' I told her. 'It is a better place.'

She took a deep breath. 'I do swear upon my soul that my intentions are good, and true. I do swear upon my soul that I wish no evil to dwell within, and I do ask of the Bright-Ones that they will make me good, bright, and worthy. I do swear upon my soul that it is my will to be a werewolf. I do swear to the Bright-Ones that I will strive for the good of Wolf Wood.'

She took another deep breath, and smiled. Her smile was so sweet, I thought. It made her look far younger than she had appeared just moments before. She was not much older than Peggy, I realised.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at me, in question. Again I could not help thinking how much easier he was to handle when he was drunk.

'You can do it,' I said, nodding at him. 'Will we go a little bit further in, though? We should get away from the village before we change.'

It was an uncomfortable time, while we waited for the change. Even as we went further from the village I could smell and hear it all too vividly and I worried: would I be able to stop myself from rushing back there? Would I be able to stop myself from turning Sorcha? I glanced at Bridget, every now and then. She was so happy at the thought of being one of us. Part of me could not blame her. It was a good life. But could I force that life upon Sorcha? My memories of the previous night were scant. Would I be lost, again, with the sunset?

I thought I could smell her, even now. What if I followed that scent, losing all control? Again and again I pictured her. Again and again I killed her. Again and again, I fought to stop myself vomiting. Good. The thought of hurting her still made me sick. I sighed. That was easy. Of course the thought of killing her made me sick. But turning her?

Henry stalled, putting a finger over his lips even though none of us were talking. He put a hand to his ear and nodded to his left, letting us know he heard something in that direction.

There was a female voice, coming from close-by. My eyes rounded as I listened to the voice and recognised the smells.

'It is my mother,' I whispered. 'We need to get out of here.'

Bridget squeezed my hand. 'Poor wee lad,' she whispered. 'It must be torture to be without your mammy.'

'Mm, it is,' I said, gritting my teeth, trying not to smell what I smelled, trying not to draw the attention of my pack. But it was her. Sorcha was with my mother. They were together in the woods. What on earth could they be doing?

'We are too close to them,' said John. 'We cannot run or they might hear us. I am sorry lad, but the only thing to do is to take cover until they move on.'

I knew he was right. I knew it, but I wished it was not true. We moved to a dense area, and we were only just out of sight as they came into view.

'Can you smell something?' Sorcha asked.

Malcolm nudged me with his elbow. 'I can smell something,' he said. 'And that smell is coming right off you.'

I shook my head. 'Keep your voice down.'

'I am right, am I not? She is your sweetheart? And she is right there, ripe for the taking. In a few minutes time – '

'Be quiet!' I said, my whisper a little too harsh.

'And why would I bother being quiet? Look, I know you look up to Cormac, so just think of it this way – you are young. This is only your second night out. If you were to lose your head a bit... and if she were to turn up as one of us in the morning... well, I think he might understand. Hell, after seeing her, any man would understand.'

My heart began to pulse. The change was coming. Heat coursed through me, and my limbs began to lengthen.

My mother shook her head and I tried to concentrate on what she was saying.

'I cannot smell much but the usual woodland musk,' she said to Sorcha. 'Oh, look – it is growing early this year, just as I hoped.'

Together they bent to the ground, where there were flowers growing with deep blue heads.

'Aconitum napellus,' said my mother. 'Also known as monkshood. And also known as wolfsbane.'

Sorcha bit her lip. 'I have heard of it. Do you really believe the stories?'

My mother looked seriously at Sorcha. 'Brian's stories of the unusual wolves of Wolf Wood? Well, whether I believe it or not is no matter. Many people do believe. And they use this in their ham-fisted attempts to try to cure the afflicted ones. Somehow I do not imagine you will ever feel the need to use it, but I do want you to recognise it. We will take some home with us. Have you remembered your gloves?'

Sorcha nodded.

'Good. You must not touch it with your bare hands. When we get back, we can compare it to the Swiss wolfsbane your mother planted in my garden.'

I looked at my body, unable to believe that I had fully changed. Something was not right. Something was different from the night before. But my body was fully changed. How then, did I still feel so human? I looked at the others. Apart from Bridget, they too were wolves. Saliva was dripping from Malcolm's jaw as he stared at Sorcha. I looked back at Sorcha, and felt only calm. Oh, I wanted to turn her. That did not go away. I wanted to have her with me every day for the rest of my life. But I knew, absolutely, that it was wrong. I had total control over my thoughts and senses. I felt I had more control, even, than I had before I changed.

Malcolm stood. I looked at the girth of him, at the strength of his legs, at the sharpness of his teeth. Why was it all so clear, tonight? I could still hear the conversation between my mother and Sorcha as they moved to another plant.

'Another nightshade, here,' said my mother.

'Foxglove... that is... digitalis?'

My mother smiled. 'Yes. You see, you know more than you think. Digitalis can stop a heart. We will take some of this, too. I will not have long to show you around the garden, I am afraid. Your father cannot be much longer at the barracks.'

Sorcha laughed wryly. 'Once he has received his money, he will be straight back home. Unless they offer him a drink, that is.'

Malcolm began to move out. He was intent on them. On her. Could he think? I tried to recall the night before.  I could not think last night, could I? Could I? Not to this extent, surely. Last night I was not nearly as clear-headed as I was now. Last night I knew the rules, but only because they were drummed in to us. For a whole month I had the rules drummed in to me, but at least the previous night had proved that Cormac's training worked.

He had been right about that, so when he said I would be different to the others, perhaps he was right about that, too. I certainly felt different tonight.

I snapped my jaws at Malcolm. When he did not stop, I put my teeth – just lightly – to his throat.

He rolled over.
Sorcha

On any other day, I knew, this would have amazed me. Even the novelty of a walk in the woods with Áine, had it happened a few weeks earlier, would have been adventure enough. I looked around the walled garden – a courtyard behind the forge, filled with the heady smell of herbs – and all I felt was... strange.

Something had been in the woods with us, I was sure of it. Even now, I did not tell Áine of my certainty. Whatever it had been, it had filled me with such a mixture of emotions, and I still could not sort one from the other. Had there been fear? Had there been warmth? Had there been even more? I shivered, though the evening was warm. The scent of flowers was so strong in the garden. I breathed deeply. Perhaps the scent could make me forget how I felt in the woods.

As we sat at Áine's outdoor workbench, I tried to sit still. I tried my utmost to focus on the flowers in front of me: both were wolfsbane, but different varieties.

'There is so much of use, in this garden,' I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. 'For medicine. For worse. I cannot fathom how Lord Tolbert just leaves you to it. He makes all of us hand over so much of what we grow, and what you are growing... well, I would have thought it would be of interest to him.'

Áine smiled. 'It is what your mother grew. All I do is look after what she planted. And as for being discovered growing all of these poisonous plants and producing tasty herbs and honey... somehow, no one ever seems to notice that this garden is here.'

I concentrated my ears, hearing the buzzing of the bees as they flew from flower to flower. It was all I could hear, I realised. Just the bees. If I concentrated a little harder, maybe I could hear the breeze blowing through the garden. But that was all.

When we entered the garden, there had been four people on the street outside, arguing over a capsized cart. But once inside I could no longer hear their voices.

I should be awed, I knew. There was something special here. Something magical. Something of my mother. But all that was really occupying my mind was what I sensed in the woodland.

With a frustrated sigh I returned my concentration to the work table. There was little time left of my first lesson, after all, and I needed to use it well. I looked down upon the yellow flowers of the Swiss wolfsbane.

'Why are they both known as wolfsbane, if they are not the same?' I asked. 'This is a different plant altogether than the aconitum from the woods.'

Áine nodded. 'It is. But both are poisonous. And both are used against wolves. It is our aconitum, the plant we picked today, which I believe the hunters are using at the moment. I believe they apply it to the tips of their weapons, so that what may otherwise have been a poor aim and have only caused minor injury will now, instead, be capable of killing. The poison will do the job that the marksman is not skilled enough to do. I have seen more than one wolf that seems to have been killed in such a way. But this wolfsbane, the Swiss wolfsbane, some say that this can be used to stop a werewolf from turning. Perhaps both varieties can be used in such a way. Both plants are poisonous enough to kill most things. Of that I am sure. But your mother, you see... she knew so much more about these things than I do. From the notes she left behind, I could mix a poison for you, one of belladonna and wolfsbane. But my potion would cause you to hallucinate, and, most likely, die. Your mother, on the other hand... she knew how to get these things precisely right. Where I would surely murder a person by following her notes, she, somehow, could use those same ingredients to create a flying potion.'

I laughed. 'Perhaps she created such a heady hallucinogen that she thought she could fly.'

Áine shook her head. 'No. No, I swear to you. Sorcha, you know what your mother was. Deirdre was a witch.'

I tried to keep my voice light. 'She made remedies. Poultices and potions. No one can fly.'

Áine looked squarely at me. 'That is what I used to believe, until I saw it. She added other things. She had some ways, some words that went along with the making. She could make a person fly. Not that she had much time for things like that herself. But you need to learn them. Because you need to recognise that there are others who can and do use such potions for the wrong reasons.'

The door to the forge opened and heat rushed out at me. Brian walked into the garden, wiping away the sweat that was running down his forehead.

I did not want to look at him. It was hard enough being with Rory's mother, but I had hoped I would not have to see his father, too. Brian looked happy to see me, so I tried to smile as he came to greet me. Looking at the small bench where we sat working, he said, 'Ah. The wolfsbane. And have you seen that Lady Tolbert has begun farming it on the estate?'

I shook my head. 'I rarely get to see much of anything. It is difficult to farm, or so I am told.'

'It is. The Lord says it is being farmed to produce an anodyne. A useful thing, I suppose. Lady Tolbert has a herb garden up there now, as well.'

He paused for a moment, looking at me with a sad smile before continuing.

'I can see you are as interested in small talk as I am,' he said. 'I find myself lacking interest in almost everything since he left. You have had no news of him?'

I shook my head as a lump formed in my throat.

'I thought he might... I was sure he would write to you, Sorcha, if not to his parents.'

Again, I shook my head. Looking at the sky, I said, 'I really must leave. My father will be long returned and wanting his supper.'

Brian reached a hand to my arm. 'Did he not seem strange to you?' he pressed. 'I mean, the very fact that he was going to leave without saying goodbye to you is the strangest thing of all. Sorcha, I know how he feels about you. If anyone knows what a lad thinks, it is his father. And he would not have left unless he had a damn good reason. Or a bad one. There is something at work here. Rory would never leave Wolf Wood if he had a say in the matter. And he certainly would not have gone to Dublin. Something is not right. I know it in my bones, Sorcha. I know he would never have left you if the choice was his.'

I heard my voice, rising almost to a shout as it came out. 'Well, he did leave me. And now I must take leave myself.'

'But is there nothing you can think of... '

Áine took a firm hold of her husband and, fixing her eyes on him, said, 'Sorcha needs to go home.'

She walked to the gate with me, while Brian sat at the workbench with his head in his hands.

'I am sorry for how he spoke. He misses Rory. We both do. But I think I need to have a word in his ear, tell him to be a bit more sensitive with you. I can see how his words have upset you.'

Not able to say any more, I simply nodded, and returned to the farm.
Rory

The sunshine warmed my eyelids, and I woke to the sight of Bridget. Her eyes flashed from blue to yellow as she smiled.

'No need to look so worried,' she said with a wink. 'I have only just arrived. I did knock, but as you gave no response and your door was wide open... '

I sat up. 'Oh, good,' I said with relief. 'I cannot remember a thing about last night. Not after... '

I thought carefully. I could remember everything up until the point when Sorcha walked away. Other than that, it was as the previous night. Scant images only. Sorcha was my clearest memory.

'The whole of the village is wide awake,' said Bridget. 'And yet here you are, snoring your life away. Still, if any man deserves his rest, it is you.'

She came closer to my bed, and I saw that she had a cup of hot milk and a plate of warm, buttered bread.

'I thought you could do with a nice breakfast. You almost got nothing, mind you. When I went to the kitchen, they said if any of us miss a meal it is our own hard luck. But then I told them it was for you and suddenly the women were all smiles. Seems all the girls like you, do they not, Rory Farrell?'

'I need to dress,' I said, my face hot.

'Ah. And it would embarrass you to do so while I watch?' She grinned wickedly, before adding, 'Oh, do not worry. I will look away.'

She stood with her back to me while I dressed and, when I was fully clothed, we moved to sit side by side on my only other furniture, a plain wooden bench. She looked different than she had the day before. Her hair seemed fairer. Her eyes seemed bluer.

'Thank you for leaving me with Cormac last night. He was good to me. I felt safe with him.'

'I left you at his cottage?'

She nodded. 'He was a wolf but, somehow, he seemed in control of himself.'

'I do not always have the best recollection. I am glad to have gotten you to his house. It would have been a danger for you to be with us when we were... well, when we were totally lost to the wolf.'

'Cormac says he smells it all,' she went on. 'He knew everything that happened last night, as though he was there himself. He said it was a dangerous night to be turned, and that were it not for you he would never have let Malcolm do it.'

'He has too much faith in me,' I said.

She shook her head. 'No. I was there. I saw Malcolm, and I saw you, and I know who I have faith in. It was not only coming up to the Witching Hour when you brought me to Cormac. It was also the precise moment, he said, when the moon was truly full. And I saw them, Rory – Malcolm and the other wolves. I saw how they changed at that time. I saw how truly lost they were. You kept me safe.'

'It was nothing,' I said. 'I only did as Cormac directed.'

'And what of earlier in the evening? Just after you turned? Do you remember that?'

'No,' I lied. 'I remember nothing.'

'Well, then you will not know that I am not the only one who should be grateful to you. Sorcha and your mother would be thanking you, if they knew.'

I turned my eyes to my cup, while she went on talking.

'Malcolm was feeling a bit emasculated, I imagine, after you made him roll over. How did you resist it? Your sweetheart, right there in front of you? How on earth did you control yourself?'

I shrugged and continued my meal.

'Well, there is no doubt in my mind that he would have turned her himself had you not stopped him. And your mother, too, might have been turned by him. Or worse.'

'So who will train you?' I asked.

She laughed lightly. 'Trying to change the subject? It will be a woman named Maria. I will be with her tonight, for my first change.' She turned to face me. 'I have told Malcolm to go and jump in the lake. He is a piece of work, to be certain. All I really wanted was to be a werewolf.'

'So you and he are not...?'

She shook her head, smiling. 'Why? Are you interested?'

I bit my lip.

'I was joking!' she cried, smacking me on the arm. 'You did not even know my name, Rory Farrell, so I hardly imagined you think of me in that way. But I knew you. I used to watch you. The way your eyes would follow Sorcha as she walked past the forge. The way she smiled shyly back at you. People think we tavern girls are interested in one thing, only. They think we are unfeeling sinners. And maybe some of us are unfeeling. But only so that we might protect ourselves from yet another horror. When I looked at you and Sorcha... Rory, that was when I knew I could not stand a moment more of my life. You and she... you were hope to me. You made me want what you had. And then I met Malcolm and... truly, I made a mistake in thinking he loved me. As a werewolf, everything seems so much clearer. I see him as he really is. Selfish. Cruel. But I also feel grateful to him. I may not have the kind of love you have for Sorcha. But I have a new life, at least.'

I was quiet, and perhaps she thought I was bored of her because she stood up, saying, 'Well, I shall leave you to get back to your bed, Rory Farrell. You look like you could do with an hour or two more. Sweet dreams.'
Sorcha

More hunters lodged at our house. Each night I heard the howls in the wood. They were different sounds, though, to what I'd heard on Bealtaine. Not so pained. Not so shocked. These howls, I was convinced, were victorious.

I felt like a drudge, at just fourteen. Without Peggy to help me there was so much to do. And all of the attention of the hunters had fallen onto me. Sometimes Sean, or even my father, would overhear their comments. But they never intervened. I could understand Sean's cowardice, a little. His parents had been killed by the English, after all. And as for my father... I could not remember a time when he had made me feel protected.

Each and every day I would remove the crucifixes. Sometimes I went to his room and nailed them up again. Sometimes I would simply take them down and cover them with cloth. No matter which method I chose, by the time I went to the bedroom at nightfall they would have been put back once again. I never saw him do it, even once. I imagined him waiting, each day, looking out for the brief moments I was away from the kitchen so that he could rush up the stairs to the bedrooms and continue our ridiculous game.

Peggy was living in a small cottage on the outskirts of Lord Tolbert's estate, and I went to see her whenever I could. I would wear the locket each time I went, just to please her. As always it was warm when I put it on but I noticed that, the closer I drew to where the Lord kept Peggy, the colder the metal would become. I tried to ignore it – it was, after all, not the worst thing to happen on my journeys to Peggy. Each day as I drew closer, my head would ache and the air would grow muggy. It was thicker, and heavier, with each step I took. Sometimes the heat was so strong that, were it not for the cold silver around my neck, I believe I might have fainted. I tried to dismiss the feeling, telling myself it was all in my mind, telling myself it was brought on by my worry for my sister.

The cottage, to the eye at least, was quite a pretty place. It was dry and warm, and even had curtains on the windows. The chairs and the bed were comfortable. There was always plenty of fuel for the fire, and fresh food, water and wine were brought to her every day. She was given expensive perfumes and powders, and her clothes were finer than anything I had seen before.

But there is more to sustenance than food and shelter, and so my sister grew thinner with each day that passed. Her skin was no longer milky and smooth. She had begun to develop worry lines and grey undertones. Her eyes were swollen and red rimmed. Sometimes when I went to hug her, she flinched as if in pain, and I did not dare ask her what had been the cause.

I tried to stay bright during our short visits. She would not leave the cottage, no matter how I begged, so all I could do was try to cheer her. Sometimes she asked me to sing for her again, wanting to hear the same lullaby, over and over, that I had sung the day she left the farm. She never tired of it, and it seemed the only thing I could do to make her smile. She looked like a peaceful child as she listened to the words. I felt as if she was a child during those moments.

Sometimes I saw the Major when I made deliveries to the barracks, or even on my way to the cottage. He would ask me to speak to Peggy, and I would tell him, 'I will try.' We both knew, I think, that I would get nowhere. Some days when I arrived he would be at Peggy's door, knocking and knocking, begging to be let inside.

You hear the term broken spirit, often. All through my childhood I heard stories of Lord Tolbert's many women. I saw the aged ones, sometimes, around the village, no longer suitable for his tastes. They would hang about the tavern, making money in any way they could. They seemed to feel no shame. They seemed to feel no pain. But Peggy would never be one of them. Time did nothing to ease her pain, or numb her spirit. She would not be subdued. Oh, she sometimes tried to act as if she was growing used to things, but I knew better. If anything, the air that I passed through on my journey to the cottage grew heavier. I felt as if it was laden with salt. I felt as if I could smell Peggy's tears and feel the searing heat of her pain, feel it grow stronger with each step I took.

On all of the days I visited my sister I did not, even once, let myself cry in her presence. When I left her each day, I would wait until I was at least a mile away before I allowed a single tear to fall.

*

There were two churches in Wolf Wood. One was a small, private church within the Tolbert estate. The other was the village church, formerly Catholic but recently seized and now used for Protestant services. Because my father had been one of the first in Wolf Wood to voluntarily change religion, we had for a long time been the only people at the service. Lately, though, the soldiers had been given orders to enforce fines for non-attendance, and the village church was becoming fuller as a result.

The rector would drone on, as if the church was his theatre and we his enraptured audience. But drowning him out of my thoughts was not impossible. I could always find a way to let my mind drift towards pleasanter subjects than the rector's warnings of fire and brimstone. I even found the time in church to be restful. His sermonising could last for such a time that, afterwards, I felt as if I had enjoyed a very long nap. It was only when the Tolberts decided to worship at our church that I began to truly hate mass.

They sat at the front, in a brand new pew, dressed in their finest clothing: Lord Tolbert, Lady Tolbert, and Peggy.

My eyes did not, at first, believe what I was seeing. I looked at my father to discern his reaction, but he was blandly reading his bible and, though he glanced at Peggy, he made no sign of surprise. Sean, on my other side, appeared as shocked as I.

Peggy's face, I could see, was burning. How could she be otherwise, when almost everyone was staring at her?

Throughout his sermon the rector made no mention of why the Tolberts had decided to attend our mass. I had my own ideas, though. Peggy's mouth was tight and clenched, while Lord Tolbert's face held a smile which, had you not known the man, you might have described as beatific. Every now and then, however, the saintliness of his smile would waver, becoming a nasty, smug, grin. Although I could not see Lady Tolbert's face beneath her veil, I was sure that she, too, was taking a cruel pleasure in the occasion. Sometimes during the service one or the other of them would whisper something to my sister, and Peggy's colour would deepen.

As the service ended, the congregation remained longer than usual. People waited for the Tolberts to leave the church before they would get out of their seats. My father went out with the others, and he and the villagers greeted the Tolberts and Peggy with false smiles. I felt a horrible dryness in my throat, while I watched my father. His eyes barely glanced over Peggy, while he shook the hand of Lord Tolbert as if they were old friends. They chatted of the weather and the crops for a minute or so before my father moved on to speak to another farmer. Sean and I followed slowly behind – in fact, we were the last to leave the church – but even we could not fail to hear the voices of Lady Tolbert and the rector.

'And I see you have made a noble project of young Peggy,' said the rector. 'What a gracious thing you do. Are her studies going well?'

I could see the doorway at that point, and I watched as Peggy held her head low. She might as well have not been there, I thought, as they continued to talk about instead of to her.

'Oh, far better than I ever could have expected. I have her come to me four evenings a week, where I teach her etiquette and so on. But already she could read! I was shocked, Rector. I thought none of these people could.'

'Well.' The rector licked his lips and looked at Peggy. 'Many of them cannot. Oh, it is a fine thing you do. A fine thing indeed.'

Lord Tolbert grinned. 'I live to give, Rector.' He took a hold of Peggy's arm – Lady Tolbert took a hold of the other – and together they walked her to their carriage.

As soon as they left the villagers began to talk, no longer bothering to whisper. I closed my ears to it and rushed back to the farm, while my father stayed to chat with the rector.

*

It is funny that, even with time, there are certain days you will remember in precise detail. Years may pass, but I will always remember what I served for breakfast that morning. I will remember the colour of the ribbon I wore in my hair. I sometimes think that, if I try hard enough, I will be able to recall each blade of grass I passed on my way to the cottage.

The air was different. I could feel it from a mile away. It was not filled with hot pain. It was not heavy with the weight of tears. It was... it was nothing. I felt nothing. I rushed, when I noticed the absence. I ran to the cottage, futilely pushing open the door, not wanting to believe what I already knew: that no one was there. I saw the evidence of the night before – rumpled bedclothes, a sharp smell in the air, an empty whisky bottle and spilled snuff on the bedside table. She cleaned these things, always, the moment he left.

I cried out, a pained howl, and ran around outside the house, sniffing for her scent, calling out her name. I touched the locket. It was still warm. Usually the metal was cool when I was this close to the cottage. Usually it did not heat up again until I was on my way home.

A voice came to me. I heard it, high on the air. It was a voice similar to mine, and it was singing Peggy's favourite lullaby. I did not consider the oddness of it all. I did not think of anything except the sound. I followed the lullaby, singing in tune with it, letting it lead me to the lake.

The song came to an end, and I felt a sorrow as sharp as my own in the air. Could it be my mother's? Could it have been her voice that led me here? It must have been my mother, because it could not, no matter how much I wished it, have been Peggy. I walked slowly to the edge of the lake. The closer I got, the more my footsteps dragged. Even when I stood at the edge, I took a moment before I would allow my eyes to look down through the clear water, and to my sister's body, lying at the bottom of the lake.

She wore a simple cream coloured dress, the one she sometimes put on for mass. The fabric of the skirt billowed up towards the water's surface, trying to escape the weight of the stones that held it down.
Seven Years Later
Cormac

I sniffed the air around the churchyard. It smelled of decay, but that was to be expected. Graveyards always smelled of dead things, to a wolf – no matter how long the bodies had been buried. But tonight... I sniffed again. I came here at least once a week, and never had it smelled so bad. Neatly jumping the low stone wall that separated the official graveyard from the small cillín, I began to rush to my destination. But what I saw ahead of me made me stop. In the tiny unconsecrated cemetery, things were not right. The grave of my witch was disturbed. Earth was thrown about in heaps, and the one who was doing the digging was bent over, next to the grave.

She was cloaked, as always. I wondered: did even her husband get to see her face?

She must have heard me as I began to run, but she did not turn. She expected me. Or, at least, she expected someone.

'You glorified dogs should consider perfume, you know,' she said, her voice irritable. 'Something to mask the filthy stench. And do not bother rushing, either. I have dug it up, all by myself. I wonder what I am even paying you for. At least it is found, though. I suppose I should thank you for that.'

As she turned to look at me something told me that, beneath her veil, the woman was surprised.

'Oh,' she said. 'I do not believe we have met. Hello, doggy.'

I growled, noticing what she held in her hands. 'Hello, Lady Tolbert. Give me the box.'

Her head twitched. 'Ah. This one talks.'

'Yes. This one does. And this one wants to know what the hell you are doing with his witch's property.'

'Your witch? It is like that, is it? Oh, it is nothing you need worry yourself about,' she said, putting the small wooden box into a purse and pulling something else out. 'As a matter of fact, I have a little something in here that will take your mind off things. Here you go. Fetch!'

I ran before she threw. Something sharp and metallic came hurtling at me. It seemed to turn with me, so that no matter which direction I turned, it would always follow. Probably mere seconds had passed before it hit me, right on the rump. I did not want to give her the satisfaction of hearing me howl as I fell. Silently I looked up, not sure what I could ask of her. But she was already gone. I shook my head, wondering if it was the poison of the weapon affecting my mind, or if she really had disappeared before my eyes.

I tried to stand. I did howl, then. The pain was too great to hide it any longer. I made my way – slowly – over to the grave. The earth was already back in place. It was as if it had never been disturbed.

'I am sorry I did not get here in time,' I said to the grave. 'I only hope I live long enough to get it back.'
Rory

We all heard Cormac's howl. What surprised me was how much I felt it. I felt it in deep parts, parts usually only occupied by Sorcha. Most of the pack was already running towards the cillín before Malcolm gave the order. When we arrived at the little graveyard, no one was there. But the smell. The death stench was stronger than usual. And this time it was not a smell that caused us hunger. The sun was fast rising, so discovering the source would have to wait.

We found Cormac's scent again, and followed it to his cottage. By the time we got there we were all human. Malcolm rushed through the door first, going to the wolf bed.

'Where is he?' he asked, while I walked past him and opened the door to the bedroom.

In all the years I visited him at his cottage, he slept in his straw-filled wolf bed. The other bed had always been unused but neatly made. I do not know why I was so sure he would now be in this bed. But there he lay, beneath the floral-patterned bedclothes. There he lay, unmistakably dying.

Maria ran forward, shielding a shard of metal which lay on the bedroom floor.

'Nobody touch this,' she cried. 'Cormac, who threw this at you?'

His voice was weak. 'It was Lady Tolbert.'

Maria's eyes narrowed. 'This is an elf-bolt. The witches in my homeland use these. We must be careful with the disposal. How are you feeling?'

He raised his eyebrows. 'Probably as well as I am looking. An elf-bolt? Why does that not surprise me?'

'Is there anything you can do to help him?' I asked Maria. 'You know about these elf-bolts. Can he be cured?'

She sniffed the metal and looked sadly at me. 'There is nothing to be done. This Lady Tolbert... she must be very powerful. The poison is deadly. Your sire is a powerful wolf, and he may die more slowly than a weaker creature, but... he will die.'

I moved closer to Cormac. 'Please, tell me there is something I can do.'

His eyes closed. 'Let me sleep. Just let me sleep.'

*

That night Malcolm took the pack out without me, and I knew that they would go after Lady Tolbert. I knew I should be with them – I was certainly angry enough to go after her – but I could not bear to be away from my sire. In any case, as the days passed, it became clear that Lady Tolbert's poison was not in short supply. By the time full moon had passed for the month, two more of our wolves had been killed by her elf-bolts. I wondered at it all, but could find no answers. Cormac was not yet fit to be questioned.

Weeks went by. I stayed close to his cottage, hoping to see some improvement. Most of the time he slept, and when he did wake he made little sense. I tried to ask him about what happened at the graveyard, but he gave me no answers.

What was he doing, anyway, in the cillín? I thought of all the bodies I knew were buried there: babies who died too soon, without married parents, without having been baptised; women, joining those babies in the cillín with the help of a potion, or a blade, or a rope. Sinners, in the eyes of the church. Loved ones, in the eyes of the people who laid flowers on their graves. Was his witch among them?

So much time passed with him in the same state. The moon was waxing again when he finally woke.

He offered his hand and I took it, wondering at how strange he was. He seemed neither one nor the other. My sire, my leader, was both a wolf and a man, changing from one to the other in flashes before my eyes. I watched the colour of his eyes change. I watched the ripples beneath his skin and the growing and receding of his hair. I observed the lengthening and retracting of his fingernails, sometimes feeling the sharp points as they pierced the skin on my hand.

'I need to choose the new colonel,' Cormac said, his voice weak.

The door to the bedroom was flung open and Malcolm strode in to stand beside me at the bed.

'You are a powerful man, Malcolm,' said Cormac. 'Headstrong. Taking charge when needs be. And, it seems, you have exceptionally good hearing. But young Rory.' He squeezed my hand, this time with strength. 'You have been with us for seven years. For six of those you have been our major. And no one could find fault with the work you have done. But I believe you are capable of more. From the very beginning, I have believed you would make a good leader.'

Malcolm growled at me.

Without meaning to, I laughed. 'Why do you always do that? Why do you growl at me, Malcolm, when we stand before each other as men?'

He growled again. 'We are always wolves. You never seem to understand that fact, Rory. And that,' he said, turning to Cormac, 'is why I should be chosen.'

I shrugged, and looked down at Cormac. 'Well, I think Malcolm is wrong about that. I do not think we should forget what we once were, what we sometimes still are. But... he is older than me. Much. He has had more time in battle. He has been your lieutenant for years. He is the obvious decision. Everyone expects Malcolm to be leader. Me? I may have been major for six years, but many still see me as a new-turn.'

Cormac shook his head. 'You are wrong about that, my lad. But leave me now. I have a day or two left to decide.'

'But Colonel!' cried Malcolm. 'We do not know that. Not for sure. We still know nothing about the poison Lady Tolbert is using. Others of our pack have died immediately after being hit. You could go any minute. We need to get this dealt with. Now.'

It was Cormac's turn to growl. I watched his teeth lengthen and retract, and Malcolm raised his head to show his throat. Cormac snapped. 'Go, Malcolm,' he said.

With a bang of the door, Malcolm left the room.

'The moon grows,' Cormac whispered. 'I feel a little more energetic, along with it.'

Hope filled me. 'Do you? Really?'

His eyes closed. 'A little. A little. We will talk soon. But go out, now, for the night. It is unhealthy to keep the wolf pent up. I will just sleep a short while more.'

As I left the room his body was already in a deep, deep sleep.
Sorcha

I watched the hunters leave for the night, full of bravado. I held my bemusement to myself. Did they really think that they would be the ones to succeed?

Over the last seven years our little village of Wolf Wood had become infamous. More hunters were killed. Most of the time their bodies were never found. Robin, my least favourite lodger, was one of the many who never came back. To begin with, the deaths made them step up their campaign. As the years passed I began to believe England might run out of hunters before we ran out of wolves. But still they came in droves, with more weapons, more determination. It became a challenge, and what man does not relish a challenge. Sometimes they died on their very first hunt.

In the rest of Ireland things had been changing rapidly. The Parliamentarians had succeeded in bringing Ireland under control, but it was at a high cost. Ireland had suffered through famine and plague.

The New Model Army was no more. Instead of wages, many of the men had received plots of confiscated land. Most of the soldiers sold the land to other settlers and went back to England. But some stayed. In Wolf Wood, three soldiers remained. Part of their pay-off meant that they must keep their weapons, in case of uprising, but mostly they went about their lives as if they had always lived here. Peggy's major was one such man. His pay-off had been a large parcel of land on the north side of the forest. As far as I knew, he kept to a small cottage on the grounds, and let the original owners remain in their family home. Officially they were employed by him, but it was widely known that the Major asked no work, and took no rent, from the family who had formerly owned his land.

Things were changing in England, too. Cromwell was dead. No one expected the republic to last much longer. It was thought that, some day soon, Charles II would arrive from exile and the monarchy would rule once again.

There was talk in the village that the return of a monarchy would put an end to Lord Tolbert. But I did not expect that it would. He was a man who flitted easily from one affiliation to another. If Charles II did take the throne, Tolbert would still be lord of Wolf Wood. To think otherwise would be to ignore everything I knew of the man. Little ever changed in Wolf Wood and I knew that none of this would affect us very much. It seemed somehow outside of our village, and it certainly seemed outside of my own concerns.

In three days' time, I was to marry Sean.

The service would be at the local church, and would be for immediate family only – which meant Sean, my father, and me. No one in the village was surprised to hear that there would be no celebration. They all knew, as I did, that my father would not have spent the money. People congratulated me, nevertheless, as though it was something I should be looking forward to. Rory's parents, thankfully, did not mention the wedding. Áine, I imagined, must have told Brian to be sensitive.

Whenever possible I continued my lessons with Áine. We spent time in the woods or at the garden behind the forge. I gathered and learned all that I could about fungi and herbs. My lessons took place at odd times – in the early hours of the morning, and sometimes in the dead of night. Áine never complained. She was glad, she said, that she could teach me what little she knew. As time went on I began to experiment, mixing potions of my own, finding new ways to heal sick animals on our farm, or to help myself with cramps or illnesses.

It became harder, as I grew older, to make time for these studies. Because of the increasing stream of lodgers, even more was expected of me in the house. Sometimes weeks would pass without being able to see Áine. In a way, those periods without lessons were a relief. There was never any news of Rory, and seeing his mother, who had such similar eyes to his, was a reminder of how much I missed him.

I was alone, mostly. I was working on the farm, or in the house, cleaning up after the hunters... and all of these tasks I performed by myself. But I had always been happy alone. I was like my mother in that way, according to Áine. Sometimes I wanted human company, but I never needed it. I did not feel my sanity failing for the lack of camaraderie. All that I missed, though seven years had passed, was Rory.

I told myself that, at twenty-one, I should have forgotten about him – it was, after all, only a childish crush. But every time I tried to make myself think that way, the pain became sharper.

As I grew older I felt him more acutely, though I did not understand why or how. Sometimes, walking in the forest, I would smell his scent. Sometimes, bathing in the lake, I would feel as if his eyes were on me, looking at me as he had when I arrived at the Bealtaine bonfires. Sometimes, when I slept, I would dream he lay beside me, cradling me, keeping me safe and warm.

The lake had become my favourite place to be, since the day I found Peggy. Maybe it was a perversity in my nature. My father knew I went there, and he would comment that I was ghoulish just like my mother had been. He never stopped me leaving, even in the dark of the night. With hunters and rebels at large, you would think he might have worried for my safety. He did not. Sometimes Sean would follow me, and try to get me to come home. It was one such night, while I waded in the water, that he followed me there.
Rory

Every blade of grass held a memory. Every patch of ground told a story. Years later, you could revisit any moment, if only you could find the right smell. As I walked through a clearing close to the Mass rock it played in my mind, as if it was happening again instead of seven years before: the worshippers scattering as the soldiers approached; the hunters calling after them, taunting and taking too much pleasure in the chase.

I walked further on, smelling him behind the oak as if he stood there still: the hunter, Robin, about to draw his knife. It was as if it was that same Bealtaine, that same full moon night, when you had the sense memory of a wolf.

*

It had been seven years, I reminded myself as I retraced my steps. Seven whole years, and still I could not say goodbye. Ahead of me I could see the path I took back to the village all those years ago... past the cottage where Tolbert kept Peggy, skirting the lake, following the path to the forge. But I did not go that way. Instead I stopped, as I had for years now, at the lake.

Tonight was the first night of this month's full moon, and I knew I should keep my distance. At other times, when I could change at will, it was safe for me to watch. I would tell myself that it was necessary for me to watch. There was danger all around, after all. It was only right that I should spend every night – every single minute that I could – watching over her.

There were little ways in which I could convince myself it was a good thing to be there. When torn between duty to my pack, or watching over Sorcha, I would remind myself that being near her was the only thing that could make me feel calm.

Right up until his poisoning Cormac had continued to think that I was similar to him, that I had my mind even as a wolf. But to me, it never felt so. I only felt like I had will, and mind, and heart again, for those moments I was close to Sorcha.

So I ignored the fact that it was a waste of the wolf. I ignored what I knew to be true – that on the potent nights I should be out, on the hunt with my pack. I could kill more hunters than ever on moon nights. I could turn the strongest of men. I ignored all that I knew, because none of it was as powerful as the draw I felt to her.

She was naked again. She was almost always naked as she bathed in the lake. I kept low in the grass, willing my body to stay crouched, when all it wanted to do was go to her. Watching would have to suffice. But for how long more, I wondered, would watching be enough?

She grew more beautiful with every night that passed. Her eyes seemed to shine a fiercer green. Her body was an hourglass. The lines of her face were more angular, her cheekbones higher. Her lips were fuller – they seemed almost swollen, on moonlit nights. That's how she looked to me: as if all of her was swelling towards the moon. And I hoped, I dreamed, I prayed that she was swelling towards me.

I shook my head. I had to stop this. Really, I had no control. It might feel as if I did, but it could be the wolf fooling me.

I thought of the men I had seen at the tavern the one and only time my father took me there. It was a few days before Bealtaine. We had closed the forge early, so I was there to see the village men arrive after their own jobs were finished for the day. Each man said he was there for 'Just the one.' Most men stayed until closing time.

Was I like them? Convincing myself I could just look at her, and then lope away. One night the wolf might take over, in the same way the drunks let their demons take over as they downed another, and another, and another...

I turned to leave but, as I did, my ears pricked. I turned back, sharply, and had to fight to stop myself growling. Sean. It was only Sean. Harmless, well-meaning Sean, here to drag her home once again.
Sorcha

It was an interruption I could do without. Between the moon, the warmth of the evening, and that lovely safe sense I sometimes felt at the lake, I had been almost happy. And now he was here, my betrothed, to bring my fun to an end.

'I am not in the mood for company,' I said with an irritable huff.

Sean's face reddened. Even at one in the morning I could clearly see the colour of his cheeks.

'You are naked!'

I shrugged. 'It is a warm night. Anyway, do you often bathe with your clothes on?'

'I do not often bathe in public.'

I laughed. 'It is hardly public, is it? We are miles from the village and – although I would much rather enjoy the night on my own – I think it might do you some good to join me.'

Somewhere close, I thought I heard a low growl. Sean picked up my clothes and walked towards the water. 'Get dressed, Sorcha. I am taking you home.'

I heard another sound – further away, but louder. The hairs on my arms stood on end. My ears began to ring, my head began to ache, and I knew that I had to leave. Quickly. I wondered if other creatures could hear what I could. Something was disturbing them, certainly, because birds cried out and flew up from the reeds. I reached for my clothes. Sean helped me to gather them, looking both surprised and relieved.

Coming up through the earth I could feel the vibration of hooves. People were riding, and riding quickly. Not the usual wolf-hunters then. The men who stayed at our farm always went out on foot. I had almost finished dressing and was pulling on my second boot when the riders came out of the forest. There were six of them, and they headed in our direction.

'Hurry,' said Sean, trying to usher me away.

'They have already seen us,' I hissed, but I went along with him, almost at a run.

'Hey there!' The cry came from one of the riders. My blood grew cold. I could feel it, struggling through my veins. I could not move. I tried to direct my mind to my feet, but I could not get even a toe to budge.

'It is the Lord,' said Sean.

'I know.'

Lord Tolbert's voice was the voice of my nightmares. I dreamt, again and again, of the first time his eyes fell on my sister. I dreamt of all the things I could have said or could have done to distract him from her. In my dreams I mixed potions to make her ugly, so that he would not notice her. I found spells to make him weak. I found spells to send him away. I stood in front of my sister, stubbornly, telling him to leave us be, and fought him with my fists and with my screams. But always, in these dreams, every cry I made, every spell I made, every fight I fought, was futile. Inevitably he would scoop her up and carry her away on a skeletal horse, riding downwards into caves and on to the underworld.

'They killed Liam O'Malley last week for poaching,' whispered Sean. 'Be careful what you say to him.'

'It is Sarah, is it not?' Lord Tolbert said in a jovial voice, riding his horse closer. 'My, but you grow more like your sister with every day. And this is how I find you? Fooling around in the dark of night, and not yet married? Still, I would expect no less of one of the Moore girls.'

I felt my teeth bite hard into my tongue. But it was not my response I should have worried about. Sean, for the first time ever, was opening his mouth and preparing to come to my defence. I pulled tightly at his hand, but he ignored me. His face was furious, his eyes clouding with the sort of anger I had never before seen him display. 'We are not all like you!' he spat. 'She is an honourable woman. An innocent woman.'

I felt the ringing in my ears grow louder as Lord Tolbert raised an eyebrow.

He looked at me as he drawled, 'Is she indeed?'

He walked his horse closer. I felt my gaze flit to the reeds, to where I sensed movement. My skin warmed. Stupid, given the situation, but suddenly I felt safe, like I could say anything, do anything, and it would be all right. A smell came to my nostrils, musky and warm, and I heard the same low growl I had heard moments before.

And then it came: the sound of a shot. Chill overtook warmth as I looked to where the shot had sounded, somewhere amongst the trees. The noise of the shot was followed almost immediately by a whimper. The air around me blurred, and I staggered, only managing to stay standing with the help of Sean. I tried to concentrate on where I was, on what was happening before me, but all I could see was a vision of the wolf – huge, writhing, as if he was on the ground right in front of me. All I could feel was his pain as he tore at his flesh with his teeth, trying to pull the shot from his rump.

'We have one!' came a cry from the woods. 'One of them big ones, Lord.'

The riders turned back to the woods. The Lord looked at me, slowly, up and down. 'Another time, fair maiden,' he said as he rode away.
Rory

I looked from Sorcha to the woods. That was Tom out there, dying. I had sired him myself only months before. And Malcolm was the one I heard howling. It was a locator call. He was looking for me, calling me back. Calling me to battle. But Tom was dead. He was gone from this world and I could do nothing to help him. Sorcha, on the other hand, was alive, and she was very much in danger.

As I began to follow her I sensed another wolf close-by but... surely my senses were wrong. How could it be him when he was so weak, when he was dying? But the wolf drew closer. I looked behind me, and there he was: my own sire, Cormac. He was glaring in Tolbert's direction, with his teeth bared.

I rushed towards him. He appeared to be weak and was limping along, so catching him took only seconds. As I drew next to him I grunted, nudging my head against his, trying to send him homewards – because surely he was here by mistake. Surely he was too sick to understand where he was going or what he was doing. He grunted back, shaking his head and brushing past me, walking in exactly the direction I had intended to take.

For a moment I hesitated. How could I follow Sorcha with him by my side? I glanced at him. He seemed intent on his direction, as if he did not care whether I was there or not. Why was he not reprimanding me for ignoring Malcolm's call? He should have been sending me to hunt down Tom's killers. On any other night, Cormac himself would have been hunting the men who killed Tom. His steps faltered, but he kept on walking, fixing his gaze dead ahead, on Sorcha.

I tried to think, but my mind was becoming foggy as she drew further from me. I increased my pace, to try and draw closer to her, to try and make things clearer again.

'We will stay as near as we can to her, until she is safely home,' he said.

I jumped, and stared at Cormac. 'You are speaking.  How are you doing that?' I asked, my voice making me jump for a second time.

Cormac laughed weakly. 'Should you not ask yourself the same question? And while you are at it, keep your voice down, in case you are heard. You have never tried it, have you, this close to the girl?'

I was still in shock. I opened and closed my mouth, wondering: how could my wolf throat be making such human sounds? I coughed quietly, trying to get used to the feeling. 'No. I still cannot quite believe it.'

He looked troubled. 'I suppose I should be happy, in a way. You have proved you are a special wolf time and time again. This was the natural progression. You are most clear, I suppose, when you are near her?'

I nodded.

'I never doubted that it would happen. My witch told me to turn you, and I could never doubt the motives of such a woman. And the way it is happening with you is the same as it was for me, in the beginning.'

'But you... you are always clear,' I said. 'You have your heart, even as you kill. You have told me as much. It is not like that for me. I can follow the rules you have laid down, yes. But when the time comes – whether it be the middle night, or the Witching Hour – I am as lost as any other wolf. It is Sorcha who makes my thoughts clearer. Only Sorcha.'

'And for me, it was my witch. Now, I have such powers without her, but it began as it is for you – I was calmer, more in control, when she was near. It was sometime, though – years, in fact – before I realised that I could speak around her, as a wolf.' Cormac smiled sadly, his thoughts far in the past. 'I mean, it came as some surprise to both of us. We had been... friends, shall we say, for some time. We would spend time together when I was human, but I could never quite manage to keep away from her, no matter what form I was in. Even with the moon at its fullest I was drawn to her. While I was a wolf, all I would do was watch – while she slept, while she... well, I shall leave what I watched to your imagination, if you do not mind. And then one day, as she climbed into bed I called, from the window, "My God, woman!" I said – shocking both of us. "You are driving me wild in that nightdress."

'And that was that. I realised that even whilst bound within my wolf body, I could speak, as long as I was close to her. And so it is, now, with you. My witch was right. You are like me. You are like me because you are in love, and love has a power that can override, it seems, even the strongest of curses.'

He stopped. 'I must rest, just for a moment. Do not worry. We will not let Sorcha too far from our sight.'

Side by side we rested, close to the edge of the path. With Sorcha gaining distance, I realised I could no longer talk, and Cormac used the time to catch his breath. It was not until we rose again that he said, 'Each and every day of the last twenty-one years has passed too slowly. Slow enough for regrets to fester. Slow enough to wish I could undo the decisions of the past. I hope, for your sake, that you are not faced with the same choice as my witch and me.'

Curiosity made me ask, 'What choice was that?'

'My witch... she was sent here to make sure that Wolf Wood would always be safe. I wonder, had she known at the beginning what such a task would involve... would she ever have come?

'There are... beings... who are above us all. Some say they are na daoine maithe, the good people – but I am doubtful of that. Some say they are angels. Here, in Wolf Wood, we know them as Bright-Ones.'

'Like in the oath,' I said.

'Yes, like in the oath. My witch... she is one of them now. How much they know once they are Bright-Ones... even where they are when they are Bright-Ones... I have no idea. I have asked the questions, but they have yet to be answered. The Bright-Ones are somewhere else, somewhere unknown to us, and the help they give us is not always easy to understand.

'My witch and I tried to keep my newfound gift to ourselves, but it did not go without notice. My witch's elder had passed on shortly before, and she had become a Bright-One. From her vantage she saw what our love had made possible – that it had somewhat alleviated the curse of the werewolf. And so this elder witch gave us two choices. The first was that I could be a man again, a man at all times, mortal and human and able to live a life with the woman I loved. The elder witch told us that our love created power enough to make such a spell possible.  Or the second choice was that I could be a different kind of werewolf. The clarity I had when I was with my witch could be mine, for always. I could speak, I could think, even when not near my witch. I could be the watchman, if you will, for these woods.'

His voice shuddered, and he scrunched his face as though he could barely manage to think of such memories, let alone speak of them. 'There was more involved, of course. More that I cannot bear to think of, even after all this time. But we chose, whatever our reasons may have been. For years I had all of that power, all of that intelligence at my disposal. And for years, I am ashamed to say, I wasted it.'

He growled a little, scrunching his face even further. 'Wasted!' he spat. 'Absolutely wasted!'

'Cormac... you cannot say such a thing. You built the pack. You built our home, our community. How can you think that your gift was wasted?'

He seemed about to growl again, but stopped himself and lowered his voice. 'I did not do anything like what I could have. I was lazy. I was reluctant. I was... I was heartsick. And now it is my time to pass away, with little to show for all of these years without her.'

We were close to the village, so we slowed. I opened my mouth to speak but only a grunt came out. Cormac appeared relieved to have some time without conversation. We settled down in a field behind the farmhouse, hoping we were far enough from the farm animals to avoid disturbance. Nothing stirred, apart from some small creatures, and so we waited peacefully, watching until Sorcha and Sean went in through the back door. Even that short wait was almost too long. The sun was beginning to rise, and we barely made it to the cover of the woods before we began to change.

*

As we drew closer to the cottage we could see that many of our villagers had gathered there. They seemed to be searching for Cormac. Malcolm's voice was the loudest among them all.

Cormac leant against me, catching his breath. 'I smell her on you all the time. Before we face the music, tell me. You do love her?'

'I have loved her for as long as I can remember,' I admitted. 'Malcolm thinks I spend far too much time watching over her.'

Cormac's eyes twinkled. 'As I said, my lad – love is a powerful thing. Malcolm cannot understand what he has never experienced, more is the pity. And in all these years, you have never thought of turning her?'

'I wish I could tell you that I never thought such a thing,' I said, meeting his eyes. 'But a thought is all it will ever be. I would never let anyone do that to Sorcha and I will not do it myself. Think of all I would be taking from her. I would be turning her into what I am now. Into a killer. I could not do that to her.'

Cormac patted my back. 'Right answer, Rory. Right answer. Now, shall we get me back to bed?'

As we approached the house, Malcolm rushed towards us.

'We thought the worst,' he said irritably. 'I should be thankful that you are safe, I suppose.'

'Of course I am safe, man,' said Cormac, putting a hand to his mouth to stifle a cough. 'Rory and I have been out for a stroll together. Enjoying the moonlight.'

Malcolm stood directly in front of me. 'Tom has been killed. An elf-bolt again. You are his sire. You should have been with him.'

'I heard him,' I said, looking steadily at Malcolm. 'I was too far away to be of any use.'

With a growl he moved between us, bundling Cormac away from me and into the cottage. I followed, but he slammed the door in my face. I stood outside for a moment – I almost turned and left – until I thought: what am I doing? Time and time again I had proved that I was stronger than Malcolm. Lieutenant or not, he could not keep me away from my sire.

I pushed my way in, and Malcolm growled. With a smile, I said, 'You are a man at present, Malcolm. Use your words.' Predictably, he growled again, but I ignored him and helped Cormac into bed.

'What the hell are you playing at?' said Malcolm. 'As if it is not bad enough that you abandoned your pack yet again, or that you think yourself far enough above your rank to be taking strolls with our leader... now you think you can force your way into his home and tire him even more. He is at death's door, and you are the last wolf I want bothering him.'

Cormac rolled his eyes. 'Not quite at the door, just yet. Perhaps approaching the garden gate. Although I suspect that in a moment or two I may walk up the path and find the door wide open and waiting. But as for what Rory was doing when he abandoned the pack,' he said, 'it is something that we need to discuss. The girl he watches – '

'One of the Moore girls.' Malcolm interrupted with a wrinkled nose. 'That family are Tolbert's playthings. They are as filthy as the lord they serve.'

For a moment the room went quiet. But it was far from peaceful. As I glared at Malcolm, ready to spring, Cormac shook his head at me. 'Not now,' he said. 'I have not time enough for fighting, though Malcolm may well deserve it.' He turned his gaze to Malcolm. 'You will never be leader,' he said, his eyes shining ferociously. 'You may think you deserve it, considering you have been my lieutenant for so many years. But you are only lieutenant because you saved my life. In all of these years of working with you, I have never once had faith that you would be a good successor. There are too many things you seem incapable of understanding. As I was saying, the girl he watches – the filthy Moore girl, as you so delightfully describe her. That girl is to be treated as if she were one of us. If anyone harms her, even from the grave I will kill that man. I swear it.'

Malcolm sat into a chair. 'I would never harm her. But I would take some action, rather than waste time mooning over her.' He glanced at me. 'Well? Will you do it? Will you turn her?'

I said nothing.

He laughed. 'So like your precious sire. All the things you could do, and yet you will do nothing but pine.'

'You will never learn, will you Malcolm?' said Cormac, icily. 'Rory, you will be the new colonel.'

Malcolm stood up and opened his mouth, but with an unwavering stare Cormac said, 'Leave the room.'

Malcolm scowled at me before rushing from the room, slamming the door as he went.

'Forget him, for now,' said Cormac. 'Come. Take my hand.'

I took his palm in mine.

'I should have told you so much,' he said with a shaky sigh. 'Last night I hoped to tell you all. My mind was all a muddle, you know. I should have been going after Lady Tolbert, but I was drawn to the girl. She needs a watcher now, more than ever.'

I did not know what to ask first. Or even if to ask. He seemed so frail; I was afraid to push him too hard. But what if there was not enough time? What if he died this very minute, leaving me knowing nothing?

I brought a cup of water to his lips and he shot me a grateful smile as he drank.

'When Lady Tolbert threw the elf-bolt at me,' he said, 'she was grave-robbing. She took something vital. A box, from its hiding place in the grave of my witch. For a long time I have wondered who to confide in. Now that I am sure of how you feel about Sorcha, I know you are the one I must tell.' His eyes blinked rapidly and his breathing laboured. 'Why did we think that would be the best place to hide it?  I should have kept it, as I wanted to.'

He struggled for a moment to get his breathing in check before continuing.

'It is more likely Lord Tolbert who wants it. This lady of his... who she is, what she is, I do not know.' He laughed harshly. 'Hah! I do not even know what is in the box. I do not know how to open it. All we knew for sure was that Lord Tolbert wanted to destroy it. I was told that if Sorcha ever displayed any special powers, that I must give her the box before my passing. It is possible that she might be able to do what neither me nor my witch could do. She might be able to open the box.'

'So that is why you were watching her?' I asked.

'Before Tolbert came, at the lake, Sorcha could feel him. Just as my witch could. She used to hold her head in just the same way whenever the man drew near. I never really doubted that Sorcha would be at least as powerful. I only hoped, for her sake, that she would not. But now I know. She must have the box.'

'Will she be in danger?' I asked.

He looked helplessly at me. 'I wish I could be sure. One thing I do know is that the Tolberts have not destroyed the box. We were told that if it was broken, all of Wolf Wood would know. I think she will be safer with it, than without. If they see the signs I did, if they realise she may be the one who can open it, who knows what they might do to stop her from retrieving it? With it, at least she might have some protection. Oh, Rory, I wish I could tell you more. I wish I knew more.'

I took a breath, trying to calm my frustration. 'I wish that this were not our last conversation, Cormac. But it may be just that. So, please, for Sorcha's sake, remember all you can. I must know what it is I am searching for. How will I recognise it?'

'It is small. Wooden. Slightly curved. It would fit in the palm of a hand. And... to look at it, you can see no way to open it.' His eyes widened, suddenly. 'She was expecting a wolf. Lady Tolbert. At the graveyard, she was expecting a wolf other than me.'

My throat grew dry. 'You do not mean to say that one of our own has been helping her. Who knew about the box?'

He shook his head. 'I cannot believe it of a wolf. To side with Lord Tolbert?'

'But who knew?' I pressed.

'Well, that is just the problem. Nobody knew. I was the only werewolf in these woods. It was I, alone, who went back after her burial. Alone, I disturbed her grave. Alone, I buried the box. That was how she wanted it.'

His breathing became more unsteady than ever, and his eyes began to glaze. 'My witch loved the flowers,' he said. 'You should have seen it, how they grew when we were together. I should not... I should never have let her go. I should have made her stay here with me. She was safe, here with me. You keep Sorcha safe. You promise me you will keep her safe.'

I gazed at him, thinking of all I still needed to ask him, thinking of the clues he had given me already. Was his witch Sorcha's mother? Was he Sorcha's father? But there was little time left. His body was convulsing. His death was coming closer. I could feel it, like a presence in the room.

'I will,' I told him. 'I will keep her safe.'

'Keep Tolbert away from her!' he cried, looking at me with wild eyes and clutching my hand tightly, his nails drawing blood from my palm. His irises were yellow. His teeth were long. 'The way Tolbert looked at her last night. I could not bear to think of her suffering such things. She must never suffer such things.'

Vehemently, I shook my head. 'That man will not harm her. I swear to you.'

'Good,' he said more calmly. 'Good. She was right. My witch was right.'

His hand slipped from mine, and he grew still. I felt alone, then. Totally alone. As if not only Cormac, but Death, too, had left the room.

For a moment I stood there, watching him. The wolf was gone from behind his eyes, from beneath his skin. What lay there was simply the body of a very old man.

After a few minutes I opened the door and walked to the outer room, where Malcolm was waiting. 'He will be buried in the garden,' I told him. 'We will have a headstone made. And this cottage will be cleaned each day and kept exactly as it is.'

Malcolm shook his head. 'Such a grave is human. It is not our way.'

Without thinking, I felt the snap of my jaw. Malcolm raised his head, showing me his throat. I sniffed him there, snapped again and stood away, waiting for him to bow.

'I shall organise it,' he said, lowering his head.
Sorcha

Sean thought we had been lucky. He thought we had escaped, and that now we could breathe easily and plan our wedding. I wanted to shake him, to make him understand. He had called me an innocent and honourable woman. He had described me as so to the Lord. Would an innocent woman be able to understand what Sean did not – that all his words had done was arouse Lord Tolbert's interest in me?

My sister never spoke of her times with him. Somehow that was worse. My imagination filled with horrors, and it was an everyday battle to push the images away. It was harder, now, after Sean's stupid words. Because now, I knew, Tolbert wanted me to experience those horrors for myself.

I waited for a chance to leave, to run. I felt strongly that I should run, now, before worse happened. But from the moment Sean and I left the lake, I had no time alone.

We were only back at the farm a few minutes when the hunters arrived. They were earlier than usual, and they were in poor spirits. A large man called William asked me to bring them some beer. Sean went upstairs, leaving me alone with the men.

'Might as well make merry on our night off, after all,' said William.

When I said nothing, only quietly brought a jug of beer to the table, William went on, clearly trying to draw me into conversation. 'What is he like, anyway, that Tolbert?'

I shrugged. 'I barely know him.'

William drank three huge gulps, and then said, 'Got a bee in his bonnet, all of a sudden, about these wolves. Out hunting tonight, he was. Well, his men were hunting. I suppose his lordship just went along for the ride.'

'Does he not normally go after wolves?' I asked, taking a seat.

Another hunter shook his head. His name was James, and he had arrived along with William less than a month before.

'Never, from what we have been told. Hates wolves. Will not go near them. Why do you think this place is surrounded by forest – and bloody vast forest at that – when the rest of the country is near enough cleared. I shall tell you the reason. It is because for years now Tolbert has been sitting on his laurels, hoping the wolf problem would just disappear.'

'But...' My mind was struggling. This was important, I knew, although I could not think why. 'But... Tolbert... Lord Tolbert... he is, basically, the be all and end all around here. What he says goes and – believe me – he has been trying to clear the woods of wolves.'

'That is true,' said James. 'But he has never done any of the clearing himself.'

'Well... perhaps not,' I consented. 'But then, men like him rarely do much for themselves. Why would they, when they can order others to do it? And there is nothing more you can tell me? Nothing that would explain why he is out tonight?'

James smirked. 'Actually, do you know Maggie Byrne, who works at the big house?'

I nodded. 'She used to be allowed play in front of her parents' cottage, the one across from the bakery. I remember how jealous I used to be of her as a girl. I would see her messing about, making mud pies, when I knew I was going to have to spend hours in the kitchen doing housework for real.  She is a lady's maid, now, I hear.'

'Oh, that she is. To Lady Tolbert, if you please. And she could not look finer in her uniform if she tried. I have taken a few walks with her, and I would not mind staying in this god-awful place a bit longer if it meant I could have a few more. But that is beside the point. Point is, Maggie overhears things. And a couple of mornings ago, she tells me the wife was at his lordship to get out into the woods. "Things are changing." That was what Lady Tolbert said. "I will give you what you need to get you through the worst of the pain, but you will go to the woods again." Maggie thought it was odd. Odd enough to tell me about it. But then, according to Maggie, they are an odd pair at most times.  Never share a bed. But spend a lot of time together during the day whispering and arguing, more like brother and sister than man and wife.'

I had a sudden thought. 'I wonder, do you know if Maggie has ever seen Lady Tolbert without her veil.'

James shook his head. 'Never,' he said. He lowered his voice. 'Maggie thinks she might have some illness or other. Very shy about it, is Lady Tolbert. Makes Maggie's job a sight easier, though. No fancy hairdos to get to grips with, like some of the other ladies expect of their maids. Her ladyship does not even want Maggie dressing her. Very little to do at all, Maggie says, except get her bed and bath ready. As cushy a job as I ever did hear of.'

William rolled his eyes. 'Sure, what does it matter? Like I said, let us make the most of our night off. Forget about Lady Tolbert's hairdos, and forget about his lordship an' all. If he thinks he can do a better job than us, then leave him to it.'

James shook his head with vehemence. 'We are here to make money, Will!' he cried. 'Every wolf he kills is less money in our pockets. This rate, we shall be here for another month before we even get a kill.'

William drained his beer, and then shook the empty jug. 'Could do with more o' this,' he said to me. When I stood up he turned to James. 'Look, I need no reminding of the lack of money we have made this night. But let us look on the bright side. There are one or two things that make this place a bit more bearable. Your Maggie Byrne, for one. And the drink is not too bad, either.'

I brought more beer, resigning myself to the fact that they had nothing more to tell me. I spent the next few hours waiting on them while they did little more than grumble and complain, until finally the beer made them drowsy enough for their beds.

It was almost ten when they left the kitchen, and after that there were more chores. Sean and my father were working just outside, and I could think of no excuse to go to the village. I had no time for sleep, and I was too tired to think clearly. My mind was a maze of bramble, and I could not find a way through. Tolbert was important. Lady Tolbert sending him out hunting was important. But why? Did he really never hunt himself, or were the wolf-hunters mistaken?

The rector visited at midday. Mostly he concentrated on the food I had prepared, but he did spend a short period of the visit discussing the wedding. In my bones I knew, absolutely, that even those few sentences were wasted.

Things were changing again. The last time I felt such a strong shift was at Bealtaine, just before Rory left Wolf Wood. And though I had little evidence for it, I knew that what I sensed then was a reality. After all, the howls of the wolves had changed. These days, the hunters came to Wolf Wood only to die.

For years I had known my own fate. I had seen it laid out – marry Sean, carry six children, give birth to only four of them, and die at sixty-three. That was it, honestly – I saw it right up to my own death. I had dreaded my marriage to Sean. But now I knew there was worse to happen, worse to fear.

Everything was suddenly in flux. Visions of my future became hazier. As soon as Lord Tolbert looked at me I knew, certainly, that another shift was coming. I would not be marrying Sean. I would be living a very different life. I knew that if I closed my eyes, if I concentrated, I might be able to pick out one of those hazy images. I might be able to see that life. But I did not want to. Again I did not think that it was shame, or fear of being like my mother, that held me back. Again it was only the horrible, cold resignation: knowing would not change a single thing.

*

It was late afternoon when I heard the hooves. I was cleaning Sean's bedroom at the time, and I looked out at the road. It was the Lord, riding alone without his carriage or any of his men. And he was riding towards our farm.

He left his horse tied to a fence at the front and walked around to the yard behind the house, where my father and Sean were working.

I went into my father's bedroom, knowing that the window was already open and that I would be able to hear all that passed between the men.

'You can run off now to see if that plough is near enough repaired,' my father instructed Sean. 'Go on, away with you.'

I heard no argument from Sean, only the sound of him walking across the yard and closing the gate behind him. Frustrated with trying to follow the action with my ears alone, I stood to the side of the window, hoping that I would stay out of sight while I peered down at the yard.

Lord Tolbert took a seat on the edge of an empty trough. 'Well,' he said. 'Long time since I have been here.'

My father said nothing, apparently concentrating on the chicken whose feathers he was plucking. I always marvelled at how quickly he could kill and prepare the birds. It had been one of my jobs for a long time, but my distaste for the task meant that I was slow in doing it, and time wasted, according to my father, was money wasted.

'And how are you finding it, then?' the Lord asked, appearing to be amused by my father's silence. 'Manageable?'

'I do not take your meaning,' my father said in an uninterested tone.

'Well. Awfully big place for one man, this,' the Lord went on.

My father shrugged. 'Smaller than it used to be, before most of it was confiscated. It is easily enough managed, the size it is now.'

'It is far bigger than most have in Wolf Wood.'

My father continued with his work. His expression fascinated me. How did he stay so calm? Was it that he did not know what was coming, or that he did not care?

'I have not been doing my job well enough,' said the Lord. 'I have been told I fail in two major areas, the first being that I have not secured enough land for the settlers. The wolf problem, of course, is making it difficult. Three more woodsmen were savaged just last week. But I am confident I will soon have the whole forest free of wolves. The second area I have been neglecting, now that is a different matter. I have been slapped on the wrist for my leniency with the locals.'

Tired, seemingly, of saying nothing, my father put in, 'Lenient, you call it? Well, I have more than paid for what is mine, and you shall have no more of it.'

I could only see Lord Tolbert from the back at this point, but I felt that I could hear his eyebrow arch as he said, 'Really? You have more than paid, you say. Funny, but we seem to calculate things quite differently, you and I. You see, I would not call one month with your daughter a debt paid in full. Would you?'

Blandly, my father replied, 'And what do you want me to do about it? Drag her from her grave?'

'Oh, she got a grave, did she? Oh, yes. In the place your family are becoming accustomed to. Another of those unmarked graves in your little cillín. What heart-warming beliefs some people have. But I have not come here to talk about religion, Mr Moore. I have come to talk about repayment. Repayment you can easily make, considering that the last time I counted, you had another daughter.'

Again it was with absolute blandness that my father spoke. 'That one is promised.'

The Lord laughed. 'Oh, yes, to the farmhand, I believe. Well, he can have her. As long as he knows that I will have her first and, after that, at my discretion.'

I watched my father throw the chicken into a pot before going into the house. When he walked out again he had poured himself some beer. He did not offer the same refreshment to Lord Tolbert.

'I cannot see why you bother with these deals of yours,' said my father, pausing to take a long drink. 'I just can not see. Why will you not just take her, have your way with her, and be done with it?'

Lord Tolbert sighed. 'It is my failing, I admit. As I said – leniency with the locals. I am trying to give you an option here, Peter. Call it... a gentlemen's agreement. But if you do not care to keep your farm, you have only to say. As I told you the last time we did business, I will not take your daughter without your blessing.'

After another long drink my father said, 'I want it in writing this time.'

'As you wish. I will have an agreement drafted, and will bring it with me tonight when I come to collect her. Oh, and tell her not to worry about packing anything. Your other girl brought such a lot of tat, I had to throw most of it away. Tell this one I shall supply every little thing she might need.'

I crept through the house, avoiding the kitchen and going out towards the front door. I had to test it. I had to test if I had been right all of these years or simply insane. I had to test whether it was him causing the ringing in my mind. The pain and noise increased the closer I drew. I opened the door, looking out at Lord Tolbert as he mounted his horse. I almost fell to the floor with the agony of the noise. I could not go with the man. I could not stand to be near the man.

I watched Sean return, nodding to the Lord as he kicked his horse and cantered away. Sean. If only I could ask him for help. If only I could believe that he would want to help me more than he would want to please my father.

A hand fell onto my shoulder and I turned, not relaxing even when I saw that it was one of the hunters.

'William!' I cried sharply. 'Why must you creep about the place?'

'It was not my intention to scare you witless,' he said, laughing. 'How about getting us some food together before we head off for the evening?'

I nodded, trudging to the kitchen. I could feed the men, walk a little way towards the woods with them, perhaps walk a little further, and just keep on walking...

I quietly groaned when I saw him: my father, sitting – for the first time in my memory – at the table next to the hunters.

A lump settled in my stomach.

'Go and pull up them weeds around the front door,' he said to Sean, who had been about to take a bite into a piece of cake. 'Unsightly looking out there, so it is. You can have a bit of food once it is done.'

Sean scuttled from the kitchen, looking sideways at me as he went. There was a guilty look in his eyes. I glared at my father. He must have guessed that I would overhear his conversation with the Lord. If he guessed that much well then, clearly, he also guessed that I would be looking for a way out. He looked from me, to the open back door, and smirked.

I served the meal and carried out the remainder of my chores in silence. It was only when I went up the stairs that my father called Sean from the front door. He said, 'You can come in now and have a bite, lad. I can keep an eye on the stairs and the back yard from where I sit.'

I hated Sean at that moment. For years I had pitied him. He was as trapped as I was. He had nowhere else to go, so of course he had to do as my father demanded. But this? Helping my father keep me prisoner? Helping my father secure me for Tolbert? He was as bad, I thought, as my father – worse, considering we were soon to be married.

I lay down, looking at the empty bed next to mine, thinking of the years I had shared the room with Peggy. I thought of her last hours in the house, and the lullaby she asked me to sing. I hummed quietly, but a lullaby is little comfort when you have to sing it for yourself.

Night was falling when a knock came to my door.

I eased it open expecting to find my father, but it was Sean who stood there.

'I did not only see about the plough,' he said.

'What are you talking about?'

'I saw Áine in the village, earlier today, when your father sent me on an errand. She still keeps some of your mother's... concoctions.'

I reddened, as much from anger with myself as anything else. So sure that my path was set, I had done nothing to help myself. Sean had thought what I should have been thinking. He had done what I so easily could have done.

'He will be knocked out for at least a few hours. Put a sleeping potion in his beer, so I did.'

I threw my arms around him. 'Thank you,' I said sincerely, looking at him for what felt like the first time. 'But how did you know?'

'Two and two makes four. Soon as I saw Tolbert I had a bad feeling. I told Áine about it and she suggested the potion. She said she sends it with her love, and that she will help you in any way she can. I hoped I would have no cause to use it but when I got back, and saw your father... Sorcha, he just came out and told me. He said this is the way it is going to be, like it or lump it. Can you imagine what that is to a man? To be told you have to give your wife-to-be to another man before you can marry her? So it is settled. We leave, now. Tolbert is due in half an hour, so pack what you need.'

I looked around the room, trying to decide what I should take. I knew it would be foolish to take too much. A bundle might weigh me down. My warmest cloak would have to do me for now. I could find some way of purchasing whatever else I might need when I was as far from the farm as possible. I put the cloak about my shoulders, and then remembered: there was one more thing I could not do without. I pulled up the bedding, and looked down at the locket. With a shiver of fear, I put it around my neck.

'You never wear that,' said Sean.

'There is a picture of my mother and Peggy inside,' I told him. 'I need them with me now.'

I held Sean's hand and we crept through the house. We passed my father's slumbering body, and I took a moment to look at him. It might be the last look, I thought. He was as he had always been – a scrawny man, thin and ragged from working long hours outside. I looked at his face, passive in his sleep, and tried to recall some good times. There were none in my memory. I felt Sean's hand tighten around mine as he whispered, 'I do not think we have time for goodbyes, do you?'

I took one last look at my father, and followed Sean from the house.

Once outside I looked up at the sky, trying to find the moon. I knew it was full tonight, but I could barely see it; there was only the faintest glow, hidden behind the clouds. Just last night it had shone fierce and proud while I bathed in the lake.

Sean stopped when we reached the forge.

'I have no sure plan, Sorcha. Áine said you could stay with her if you wanted, but she knows as well as I do that it would not be the safest place. It will not take much for Tolbert to discover you have a friend in Áine. I thought that instead we might hide for the night – maybe in someone's barn – and get the first coach to Dublin in the morning. There is one due first thing. We might at least get work in the city.'

I shook my head. 'That is what they will expect us to do. Tonight Tolbert will search the barns for me, and tomorrow he will have men watching all the nearby coach stops. I think we should go through the forest. If we move quickly, we might have a chance of finding some safety there. It will be hard going, but if the rebels manage it, then so can we. And then, maybe after some time has passed we can travel to a port.' I fingered the locket, hating what I was about to say. 'This might fetch enough for a passage.'

'I will go wherever you go,' he said, and we ran to the cover of the trees. 'A passage to where, though? To America? What would we do there?'

'Work. Be free. Have a life.'

'But you love it here. You love these woods.'

I touched the trees as we passed them, stroking their rough bark, breathing in the smell of their leaves. 'I do. But if I cannot be free... do you never feel that way, Sean? In all of these years, working for my father, have you not felt the oppression that dwells in this place? Have you never felt like just leaving the country altogether?'

He laughed quietly, almost to himself. 'I used to imagine all sorts when I was a boy. My father was a brave man. He fought alongside the O'Moores. He told me we would win the war, and that we would get back our land, and our house – oh, I wish you could have seen it, Sorcha, it was finer even than your father's – and he told me that I would grow up with everything that was rightfully mine. Then, one night, they were invited to a feast where a deal was supposed to be done. They went along, thinking they were about to get back what was taken from them. But instead all of the guests were slaughtered at that feast, my parents included. Locked in, and slaughtered like animals. Every dream I had left me that night. Until...until your father told me I could have you as my wife. That became my new dream. Better than a big house, better than land, better than a title. Better than anything. So this night, and this escape... I am taking what is rightfully mine, Sorcha. You and I, married, that is all I dream of.'

We stopped to rest, and I leant back against a tree. 'Why have you never spoken to me this way before? You scuttle around after my father, barely giving me the time of day. If I had known you this way then I might have...'

'You might have what? You might have loved me back? Sorcha, everything you think I did for your father... I was doing all of it for you, so that he might let me marry you, so that we might be together. I detest the man – now, more than ever – but while I thought he would be true to his promise, I would have done anything for him.'

I looked at his features – his strawberry blond hair, his pale skin and light blue eyes. He was nothing like Rory, and yet... Rory was gone. Rory had left me, and would not have even bothered with goodbye. Sean, on the other hand, was at my side. He had come to my rescue. Would it be so hard, after all, to love him?

'Kiss me,' I said.

He blushed. 'Really?'

I nodded. 'Really.'

I tried not to laugh at how stiffly he held himself, keeping his body as far away from mine as possible, leaning only his head forwards and puckering his lips. I closed my eyes as his lips met mine.

I opened my eyes, less than a second later, as he pulled away. 'Is that it?'

He blushed again. 'I do not... I do not understand what you mean. You asked me to kiss you. I kissed you.'

I sighed. What was wrong with me? I wanted more, but barely knew what it was that I wanted. Just... more.

'We are to be married. You can kiss me a little bit more... passionately. If you like.'

He stood away from me, looking at the ground. His face bore the signs of a struggle. I knew most things. It was all around us, every day, on the farm. And Peggy had tried to speak to me as a mother would, when I was first interested in Rory. She had explained 'men's urges,' with a giggle and a red face. And I was twenty-one, now. A woman. A woman who had only been kissed twice, barely pecked, both times. I touched my fingers to my lips, remembering Rory's kiss. Why had that tiny kiss, then, felt like so much more than what Sean and I had just shared?

I pulled at Sean's sleeve, leaving him no choice but to come closer to me. I would make a new memory. A better memory, with the man who was to be my husband. This time I kissed him long and hard, waiting for it to grow, waiting for it to become something more. Waiting to feel more than I had with Rory.

At last I pulled away and Sean looked at me, breathless.

Moments later he kissed me again, this time pressing his body to mine, letting his hands move to my hips.

'I am so sorry!' he said, springing away from me. 'We have to wait. You know that. I feel the same as you do, but... '

I looked at the ground, trying to calm myself. I could smell him – Rory – I knew I could. How could I, though? As Sean kissed me it was all that I could smell. Rory. Rory surrounded me now, still. I thought of my mother, how I felt she was still with me at times of need, as I believed she had been on the day I found Peggy's body. For all I knew, Rory could be dead and haunting me. It would explain why I felt him so often. I could not bear that thought. Even though Rory left me, even though Rory did not love me back, I still wanted him to be safe. I wanted him to be alive. Tears stung at my eyes, and I fought to keep them from falling.

Sean reached for my face, softly stroking my cheekbones, mistaking my mood. 'You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. You must not doubt that I want you.  Never doubt that, Sorcha. We will be married as soon as we can. Maybe when we are far enough away we can find a church.'

I nodded. 'We should keep going, so.'

Still breathing raggedly he took my hand, and we ran further into the forest.

Rory

I left them there. I had to leave them there. The wolf was too strong tonight. What did she feel, I wondered, when he held her like that? What would I feel, if I could hold her that way?

I worried as I moved away from her, knowing that with distance my thoughts would become less clear. But if I could get to the Lord... even if I was taken over, even if I was entirely wolf, it would not matter. It would be better. I could get the box from the castle, and then I could do what I should have done years before, and tear the man limb from limb.

I heard the pack in the distance. Malcolm was calling for me, but I did not call back. Cormac may have put up with Malcolm's many flaws, but even he would not have responded to Malcolm when he made a call like that. There was no distress in that call. There was only irritation and demand. Let him call all night. He should know, by now. The whole pack should know that, once I smelled her scent in the forest, I was no longer their leader. I almost laughed at my own stupidity. Most of them knew nothing, when the moon was at its fullest. They knew little but their desire to feed.

With each step away from her it happened, as I knew it would. My thoughts changed. My focus changed. But I would keep it. For her sake, I would keep my mind on the task. I ventured to the edge of the woods, looking at the horizon. I had made myself fix it in my mind earlier that evening, before the change. Drummed it in, the way Cormac had taught me to. The shape of the towers of the castle. Shapes I hoped I could remember, even in this state. I might not remember why but I... I needed to go towards those shapes, towards that stone building with its battlements jutting into the sky. But even the shapes were distorting, each time I tried to concentrate. The towers were elongating, becoming snake-like creatures in my mind. The merlons were jagged, sharp teeth atop a shifting, writhing castle.

The smell, though... his smell was fixed. Known. I pushed down the hunger in my belly, the need for food, for any food. Only him. Only the one with his smell. He was all I would eat tonight.

I sniffed the wind. His scent was not there, at the castle. Not as strongly as it was in other places, moving through the village. The one I wanted was moving through the village. I howled in frustration, knowing there was more, more I had to remember, more I needed to do this night. But him. Tolbert. He was all I could focus my thoughts on. He was the only object that I was moving towards.

There were so many smells in the village. There was a map for my nose to read. One horse had come first, followed by many, all with riders. But one rider... his scent was always different. I sniffed again. Not a man. Not quite a man. Tolbert.

I could even smell his anger. I could smell how it had risen as he rode away from the farm and back to the castle, returning with many men.

I sniffed the ground and the air, feeling a familiar excitement begin to build. Blood. At the farm there was blood. Oh, how I wanted that blood. I turned my nose away with difficulty, forcing it to concentrate on Tolbert's scent. But the stench of blood seemed to travel with him. The blood had been spilled by him. The blood was all over him as he rode away from the farm for what my nose told me was the second time that night. Tolbert, filled with anger and stinking of blood had ridden away with his men and into the forest.

I shook my head, trying to remember the conversation I heard before they kissed. They kissed. I shook my head again, growling. They kissed. But before that they spoke of running away, of the Lord wanting her, of the Lord coming for her.

I smelled the village dogs. I smelled the sheep that grazed on the green. My stomach cried out again, and again I made myself ignore it. I fixed my mind. I had to concentrate on that one smell, the Lord's smell. I sniffed the ground again, and followed his scent to the forest.
Sorcha

I held my head in my hands and covered my ears, but I could not stop the ringing. I shook my head, trying to make it go away. Distance. Distance was all that could ever make this sound leave my ears.

'Faster,' I said to Sean, as I hurried through the growth.

'We are too far off the path!' he cried.

'Ssh. Voice down. He is in the woods.'

'Who?' he whispered. 'Not Lord Tolbert already?'

I surveyed the area. 'That way,' I said, pulling at him, walking him through bramble and in the direction of the dense, dark centre of the forest. 'Yes, it is Lord Tolbert. And I doubt he is alone.'

'I cannot hear anything. But then, these woods must be full of hunters. It could be them you hear. The Lord... he is probably not even at the farm yet.'

I kept running, even though my clothes were tearing, even though I could feel the bramble nicking my skin. 'We spent too long... chatting and... you know,' I said. 'He is not a stupid man, Sean. Evil, maybe. Arrogant, definitely. But he is far from stupid. He will be looking for me right now, so we have to hurry up!'

How could I explain? How could I tell him that it was not only the presence of the Lord in the woods – and I could feel him, I really could feel him drawing closer – but how could I explain that it was also the absence of Rory's smell that frightened me so?

It was the centre that I was determined to travel towards, but the woods were vast, almost impenetrable in parts, and it could be days before we ever made it to the heart of the forest. We had long ago passed the Mass rock where my sister and so many of the villagers prayed in secret. We were already in the parts where few ever came. I looked at the ground and knew that not many hunters had recently ventured this way. For all their bravado, I knew that they must feel it from this point onwards, as I felt it now. They must feel that they were heading to the home of the wolves. They must feel it, otherwise why did they stay away?

I could feel Sean's fear, emanating strongly. It was sensible to fear this place. It had grown more dangerous in recent years. Countless men died in Wolf Wood. But until this night, until I lost the scent of Rory, I had always felt safe. I shivered, slightly, but tried to ignore my nerves. In the direction from which we had come I could feel the ground humming with hoof-fall. The only option was to take a step into wolf territory. No matter what the wolves might do to us, it could not be as bad as being caught by the Lord.

I felt them before I saw them – yellow eyes, peering from the distance.

'Do you see that?' whispered Sean. 'We have to go the other way. Run.'

I gripped his arm. 'No,' I said calmly. 'Walk. Slowly.'

He shook his arm loose and stood in front of me. 'Sorcha, you are not walking in that direction. We are turning, and we are getting as far away from that thing as we possibly can.' With each word, his voice rose. With each word the wolf drew, slowly, casually, closer, until it stood to the right of Sean. Sean's eyes widened. He grabbed my wrist, and pulled me away at a run. Twigs broke. Bats and birds scattered. We made enough noise to rouse the spirits. We made enough noise to attract the Lord. The hum in the ground changed. It was heavy, now. It was becoming a quake, as the Lord and a dozen of his men drew closer.

The wolf's gait changed. It no longer loped casually. We ran faster and faster, but I think even Sean knew that the wolf would easily catch us. And then I heard it – a swift sound, the draw and thrust of a sword, piercing the wolf just as it had begun to soar.

'And what are you doing in the middle of the woods at this time of night?' said William with a wink, stepping out from behind a tree. 'As if I cannot tell. Impatient for the wedding night? It is lucky for you, is it not, that I was here?'

On the ground, the wolf writhed.

Sean looked gratefully at William. 'It had just lunged!' he cried, panting. 'Another second and it would have been on top of us. You are a godsend, William.'

I gazed at the wolf. I could feel it, somehow, as if it was connected to me, as if the sting of the sword was in my own body. A sting that felt little worse than the sting of a bee. Instead of pain, frustration and anger were the predominant feelings of the creature on the ground.

'He is not dead,' I said to William.

William reached into his bag and drew out a club. 'You are right. He is not dead. But he soon will be. Wait for me and I shall walk you back to the farm when I have done with this creature. Not safe for you two, not without weapons. Though I imagine that a bit of fear and uncertainty adds somewhat to the excitement.' He winked again as he approached the wolf.

I turned away, covering my ears to drown out the horrible sound of William's club meeting the wolf's head. Again. Kathunk. And again. I smelled blood in the air, and heard a cry. I took my hands from my ears and spun on my heels. The cry had not come from the wolf. The cry had come from William. I watched with a horrible fascination as the wolf stood strongly on all fours and clamped his teeth around William's neck. I could not look away, even to glance at Sean.

'That is no wolf,' he whispered, his voice sounding awed. 'It is too... it is too...'

I swallowed. 'Big. He is too big.'

Together we stared at the creature; William was hanging by the neck from the wolf's mouth, whilst the wolf shook him like a dog might shake a bird.

I heard the slowing of the horses' hooves. I heard the talk of the men who were now upon us, but still I could not move. Even if I could have stirred my limbs, there would be nowhere safe to go.

The heat of the ringing in my ears and head was tempered, somewhat, by the fact that the locket began to cool.

Lord Tolbert and his men did not come any closer. For almost a minute they remained still, looking at the wolf. Once or twice the wolf glanced their way, but he continued with his meal. I think his coolness frightened me more than anything. I could feel the confidence, the certainty of the animal. I knew what he knew. He was a match for any of these men. He was a match for all of these men.

It was Sean, to my surprise, who was the first to move.

'We are leaving,' he said, glaring at Tolbert. 'Me and Sorcha are going to be on our way, and you will leave us be. Whatever deal you have with her father is a matter for the two of you to sort between yourselves. Now let us on our way.'

The Lord laughed. He turned to his men. 'The wolf first. Then the farmhand.'

I could see the fear in their eyes, but they drew, nonetheless – some of them drew muskets, some of them pistols. One drew a bow.

'Run, Sean,' I said. 'Just leave me, and run.'

'Never,' he said, pulling me, walking stubbornly at the men, shouldering them aside. Behind us I heard a thud as the wolf dropped William from his mouth.

The animal sprang. The men forgot all about Sean. Even the Lord concentrated only on the wolf. The creature soared through the air, dragging the first horse down, lunging for the throat of the man. One arrow hit the wolf in the hind. He howled as musket fire stung against his neck. Still he tore through the men, as Sean dragged me away.

As the wolf worked his way through the fourth man, the Lord turned his horse, aimed a pistol, and shot. The shot hit a tree, and Lord Tolbert cursed. I heard him kick his horse and urge it faster towards us, unsheathing a knife as he rode. I felt him close upon us. I felt my heartbeat, matching the beat of the horse's hooves. Lord Tolbert jumped from his horse, knife in his hand, knocking us to the ground. We lay struggling – Sean on top of me, the Lord on top of Sean, as the Lord plunged his knife into Sean's back. I whined. I whined like an animal as I heard the sound of metal going through flesh. I whined again and again as I smelled the blood, and felt the life leave Sean with a final rattle.

Instinct overtook sorrow, and I tried to get out, to get away, to move out from underneath the weight of the two men. From the smell of Tolbert. But Tolbert's hand was already on my upper arm, pulling me. I could not move away from him. Disbelief washed over me – that this man, this corpulent, lazy, drink-addled man could be so strong. Flesh from his supper still sat in his teeth as he grinned at me. His bloodshot eyes were narrowed as he said, 'If I had known, all those years ago, that you would make such a merry chase, I might have turned my attention in your direction to begin with. Still. All is well that ends well.'

For a moment I thought he would take me there and then. I could see the desire in his eyes – shocking to me, given the time and place. But he looked back, at his fallen men, at the wolf who shook the fifth man, now, in his great mouth. Lord Tolbert pushed me up onto his mount, climbed up behind me, and kicked the horse.
Rory

The man. Men. Sorcha. Sean. Malcolm. All of it surrounded me, intoxicating. Above, the clouds broke, and the moon shone through.

Time had meant little to me for years. The clock did not need to tell me when the moon was at its fullest. The clock did not need to tell me when the Witching Hour approached. I knew those times by feeling. I knew them by lack of thought. I knew them because I no longer knew anything. All was sensation, now, as I drew towards my own territory. All of me was lost, as I greeted Malcolm and took the best share of the meal.
Sorcha

I felt his arms grow tighter around me. I saw the shine of the moon on the lake, leaving me in no doubt that we were going somewhere I wished never to go again: the cottage.

I felt like a cold thing, a dead thing in his arms. His breathing was coming quicker and I thought: how long will he wait? Will it be immediate? Will I last weeks there? Will I be able to stand it even as long as Peggy?

And then there was noise. I did not dare to even hope. Anything. It could be anything. I focused my eyes and pricked my ears. There were a dozen men, riding towards us.

Our old major was at the lead.

'Lord Tolbert,' he said. 'Miss Moore. I have been looking for you, Lord Tolbert.'

Lord Tolbert raised an eyebrow. 'Can you not see I am busy, man?'

The Major flushed, but continued. 'As you know, I am still a soldier, at such times as it is necessary. Tonight, unfortunately, is one such time. I am returned to my role, and so you will consider me to be a major once more. These men and I have been looking for you, Lord Tolbert, so that we could inform you, as our magistrate, that there has been a murder in the locality. At Moore's farm.'

I wondered if I was imagining the hard quality of the Major's tone, or the way he seemed to almost sneer the Lord's name. Given what he felt for Peggy, his attitude towards Lord Tolbert was understandable. To display that attitude so obviously, however – to a man who had been known to hang people for the most minor of crimes – was a brave act. But then, Peggy's major was a brave man.

'It is your father, Sorcha.' The Major looked at me with absolute sympathy. 'It is he who has been murdered. Sorcha, do you know anything about what happened tonight?'

I tried to find some feeling, but my fear of Lord Tolbert overrode everything. In different circumstances, on hearing of my father's death, what would I feel? Little more, probably, than I did right now.

'I was in the woods,' I told the Major. 'With Sean. There have been killings there, too. A wolf killed a hunter and attacked the Lord and his men. And Sean was... '

The Lord's grip tightened on my waist. 'Her young betrothed was killed, unfortunately, in the scuffle with the wolf. This young lady was lucky I was there.'

I did not move, or speak. I just looked, directly, at the Major. My eyes screamed. I could feel them screaming to him, begging him to help me.

'Would you like to stay at my house, Sorcha?' he asked. 'There would be no impropriety. I have a housekeeper there, in quarters separate to my own. She would be happy to make up a bed for you. Until we can... find out more.'

The Lord shook his head. 'We know all there is to know, I am afraid. The young lad heard that his wife-to-be no longer wanted to marry him, and so he struck out at her father. He murdered the poor farmer before dragging this girl away into the woods. That is right, is not, Miss Moore?'

Again, I said nothing. Suddenly I did not care how much force the Lord used. Suddenly I did not care if he hurt me, or if he killed me. For years I had lived with the fear that I would someday be just like my sister. Now the Major was giving me a chance to escape such an outcome, and I could not afford to let my fear get in the way.

'All the same,' the Major went on, 'there are procedures to follow. Sorcha must come with us, and answer our questions.'

I felt the Lord draw breath. I felt his jaw tense.

'As you like it,' he said. 'You ride on ahead, Major. We shall follow.'

The Major murmured orders to his men, and silently some of them changed their positions. He jumped from his horse, and said, 'Dismount, Sorcha. You will ride my horse, and I will lead you.'

I wanted to smile at him, to thank him, but I felt that this was not over. I feared that there was more to come. With trepidation, I did as the Major ordered. I did not look back at Lord Tolbert, but I could feel his anger, actually feel it, heading straight towards the Major. The strength of it was shocking. I thought of so many things as we rode slowly towards the Major's house. I thought of the ringing that had always been in my ears when the Lord was close. I thought of his strength in the woods. And I thought of the anger I could feel, now, coming off him in colours. Colours. If only my mother was here, to tell me if this was real – the things I felt, the things I thought I knew. If only she was here to guide me. Even without having been taught much of her craft, though, I knew that if I looked back I would see waves of murky, rust-red anger emanating from the Lord. I shuddered, hoping that the Major would be a match.

'I must tell you some things, Sorcha,' he whispered.

Shocked from my thoughts, I stared down at him. 'What things? About... about you and my sister?'

He lowered his voice. 'Yes. And more. About Lord Tolbert. Sorcha, he is the magistrate. He is the lord. And I am really little better than a civilian, these days. I am blustering my way through this situation. I suspect it is only a matter of time before he realises I have little to back me up. I may not be able to keep control of this matter for much longer, and if I cannot, you must get away from him. You must not be alone with him. Ever.'

'I know,' I said. 'That much, I know. But what more can you tell me?'

He glanced behind. 'I will tell you all I know at my home. Where no one can hear.'

*

We had to go through the village to reach the Major's house. My father's farm, on the outskirts, was the first dwelling that we passed. Clearly, things were not right. A cart had been brought for my father's body, but it had been abandoned by the front gate and been tipped over. There was no body, but there was blood in the cart and in a trail leading all along the road. In the distance there were screams.

'You two.' The Major nodded to two former soldiers. 'Come with me. The rest of you, surround Sorcha. Keep her safe at all costs.'

Immediately the men clustered around me while the Major and the two soldiers walked ahead, examining the trail of blood. My voice came from me without warning, and I called to him, 'It is not safe, Major. Come back!'

He looked around at me, and smiled gently. 'I will be all right, Sorcha,' he said, in what he probably intended as an assuring tone. I was not assured. I watched, shaking, as he drew further away. I was so busy watching the Major that I did not notice the creature until it swooped. It was large, it was black and it moved with little grace. Aghast, I followed its descent towards the Major.

'Look out, Major!' I cried. But before I even finished, it seized him in its talons and ascended into the sky.

The thing flew directly over my head and looked down at me through bright blue eyes. Its beak parted, opening wide into what appeared to be a mocking grin. It seemed no mere bird, at that moment. It seemed human. The smell surrounded me – strongly perfumed, but not quite masking the smell of earth. Everyone, except Lord Tolbert, stared up at the bird as it flew higher again. The Lord was smiling, and he was focused only on me.

'Something else flies above us!' cried one of the men.

I looked up to where he pointed. A bright light was pulsing, far above the black bird. Was it a star? As I watched it my heart filled right to the brim with love. The light flew downwards through the sky, travelling faster than any shooting star I had ever seen, leaving a trail of gold behind it in the sky.

The bird cried out – the ugliest screech, one that made all of us cover our ears – as the golden light crashed against it. Afraid to hope too hard, I watched the bird release the Major from its talons. The light pulsed and pulsed, chasing the bird across the sky.

The Major's fall seemed to take forever, but finally he hit the ground. I was not near enough to see if he was alive, but I could not imagine anyone surviving a fall from such a height.

Soon the bird and the light were completely out of my sight, but somewhere in the distance I could still hear screeching.

One of the soldiers rushed towards the Major but stopped abruptly halfway there. I did not want to look. I could not bear to look. It was only when the soldier screamed, 'Watch out!' to the Major, that I finally turned my head to see what had stopped the soldier in his tracks. It was a wolf – a werewolf, to be accurate – loping out from behind the tavern. I was sure by now that tonight's wolves were werewolves. All of Brian's stories, all of Áine's teachings, rushed into my mind. Everything I did not want to believe, everything I had been too afraid to acknowledge, was real. I thought: what a pointless warning the soldier's had been. The Major could not watch out, as the soldier had directed him.  The Major could not move at all as the wolf quickened his gait, and lunged.

I did not flinch. I shed a silent tear as the Major was picked up, in the same way as the men in the woods. A piece of meat in the mouth of a hungry animal – except that, this time, the wolf seemed to feel no need to shake the life from his meal. That could only mean, I concluded, that the Major was already dead.

I watched the Major's body disappear along with the werewolf, while another werewolf arrived, and then another and another... so many of them were on the street.

One of the men shouted, 'Scatter!'

I kicked at the horse, not knowing how to ride, but hoping that I could learn quickly enough. What better excuse to learn than when werewolves were chasing close behind? My horse, though, was not willing to put up with a novice on its back. Not at a time like this. Rearing, it threw me to the ground and galloped away.

I did not feel the fall. All I felt was panic as I looked behind and saw Lord Tolbert's widening grin. Quickly and clumsily I stood and ran. Lord Tolbert's horse, unlike mine, was doing everything its master wanted. It thundered towards me with nostrils that appeared to be steaming – except that the air those nostrils emitted was a cold, thick mist that was rushing in my direction.

As I was enveloped I thought of the first day I had seen the Major, when I went with Peggy to the barracks. I thought of the look of hope on her face as she turned, finally ready to listen to what he had to say. This was one of the horses that had drawn Lady Tolbert's carriage on that day. What were they? Too much had passed tonight for me to continue to be sceptical. It had not been the work of my imagination on that day, and it was not imagination now. Lord Tolbert's horses were no earthly beasts.

Breath... mist... whatever it was, I was blinded by it. I ran this way and that, reaching out, finding myself stepping onto something that felt like flesh one minute, fur the next. At one point, I was sure, I touched a human body. I screamed. I screamed and screamed, but I could not drown out the thundering of the hooves. I could not drown out the ringing in my ears or in my brain. A hand reached out, and I screamed louder still. I bit and kicked blindly while Lord Tolbert pulled me up, but it was not long until he had me on the saddle. It was only when I was there, sitting in front of him, that the mist began to clear.

He kicked the horse and, in a voice oozing with the cruellest joy, he said, 'All hope is lost.'

Those words. They echoed in my ears, again and again. I tried to silence them. I tried to block them out.

The locket danced around my neck, flying up into the air. As it fell back down again and the metal met my lips, I thought that it would sting. It had been growing colder the longer I was with the Lord, and I thought it would sting like the coldest of ice. Instead it felt like a warm kiss. It felt like solace. I smiled. 'Hope is never lost,' I said, pressing the locket close to my lips, and then to my heart.

Lord Tolbert snorted, dug his fingers into my waist, and kicked his horse once more.
Rory

It was the odour of blood and death that led the remainder of my pack to the village. I walked along with them, but I was not frenzied, or hungry, at the sights and smells around us. The fog had long cleared from my mind. I watched my brothers and sisters eat the farmer's body. As always they left me the best parts, but I felt no hunger. It was not because it was her father – he was, after all, just meat now – it was only that there were far more urgent tasks than eating.

My thoughts were mine, again, and all they were focused on was Sorcha. Her smell was so strong that it made me think clearly. If only there was something nicer to scent, though, than her fear. She had been terrified, and every sniff I took told me why.

Tolbert.

I looked at the horizon, calculating how long I had until sunrise. Just enough time. Enough time to be potent. Enough time to stop at one man.
Sorcha

As he shoved me in through the door, I could not help looking around the room. Nothing had changed. Even the bedspread was the same. She was everywhere, in my mind's eye. I saw her sitting on the chair while I sang to her. I saw her at the fireplace, shivering as she threw extra logs onto the flames, never quite managing to warm the room enough. She was often cold, although it was springtime when she was here. I shivered, and her image faded.

'Sit in this chair,' he said, pushing me down so that I was seated directly opposite the bed.

He took a seat on the bed, emitting a little sigh of satisfaction as he did so.

My hand almost flitted to my locket, but I stopped myself. I had touched it too often in his presence, already. If he realised how I felt about it he might take it away. I tried, instead, to concentrate on how I had felt when the locket kissed me. Everything had been better, for that moment. Maybe that was the way to fight him: with hope. With anything but fear and dread.

'Can you picture it?' he asked. 'You can, can you not? You are trying to drive the images from your mind as we speak. Peggy. Beautiful Peggy, trapped in this place, suffering through my visits. Suffering through laying with me. Degrading herself. Night. After night. After night.'

I sat back in the chair, trying to muster a laugh, trying to smile at his words. I shrugged my shoulders. 'She was not really with you. She did not really suffer. The only degradation was your own.'

I felt his anger deepen. At the same time, the locket warmed against my breastbone, imparting a little comfort. I would not – I must not – give in to hopelessness.

'Your sister used to cry, you know,' he said in a low, horrible voice. 'The first time was the worst. I mean to say, it was the worst for her. For me her tears were a pleasure.'

Somehow, I managed to stifle a shudder. I drew myself as straight as I could and kept my gaze steady. 'You seem to be that sort of man, indeed,' I told him. 'One who thinks there is power in forcing a woman to beg for mercy. With me you will get no such thrill. There will be no pleading. There will be no tears. Take what you consider to be pleasure, by all means. You will never really be able to take me.'

For a moment his lip curled, and my locket grew even warmer. Too soon, though, he regained control.

'Oh, she thought the same, in the beginning,' he said. 'She would put on such a brave face of it, poor thing. Peggy's nostrils would flare. Her eyes would harden with determination – the sort you try to display to me as we speak. But then it would come. A little wince. The slightest quiver as she tried to contain her pain. And once I had drawn even that little bit from her... I assure you, the screams would soon follow. They all break, in the end. And oh, how I enjoyed breaking your sister.'

I blinked. I blinked again, and again. I would not give in. Immune. I would remain immune.

He licked his lips, and smiled at me. 'The sound of it, Sorcha. How I wish you could have heard it. But... maybe you can. In your mind, at least, you must have imagined the cries, the pain. The screams of your sister must have featured in many a nightmare.' He shuddered, but it was a shudder of pleasure. 'Your screams, Sorcha, are a sound I look forward to hearing.'

My body was threatening to let me down. It was on the verge of shaking uncontrollably. Of giving me away. I needed to stay in control. I needed him to think I was unperturbed. But how could I be anything other than deeply disturbed by every word he spoke? How could I convince him that I was strong enough to withstand him, when I could not convince myself?

And he was watching my eyes. He was reading every emotion that passed across my face. Was there any point in continuing my pretence?

'Oh, maybe I will scream,' I conceded. 'But physical pain... it means little, really, do you not think? A person can hide themselves far, far inside of their body, so that though it may scream, and mark, and tear, and bleed... all that is really them, all that is really human, is safe. The parts of them that matter, those parts remain untouched. Unblemished.'

He stood, his teeth clashing impatiently as he pulled me from my chair and pressed his body against mine. I felt his hands go to my bodice. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to make my body stiff. But his touch. His smell.

'Eventually you will lose hope,' he whispered. 'However long it takes, there will be a point – be it hours, days, or weeks – where you can take no more. And then, I will have my fill.'

I felt his hands moving down my body. Colder. Silver growing colder against my breastbone. How long? How long could I bear this? In this tiny space, the ringing in my ears was louder. Not ringing but... screeching, now. I felt sure that I heard screams. I felt sure that the sound I had been hearing for years was closer, more definite. What once had seemed, as if from far away, to be merely a ringing of the ears was now, at this close range, a collection of screams, louder and louder as his lips went to my neck, louder yet as he kissed my ear. People. Screaming. In my ears.

He chuckled softly. 'I can feel it. All hope is lost.'

Tears fell. My body crumpled. My heart tightened, closing up – I could feel it, in my chest, contracting – and something else, something in the pit of me, something I could not place, could not define... that part of me was growing fainter and further away as his kisses pulled, and sucked, and took.

And then the wolf crashed through the window.

I blinked. Somewhere in the distance, the sun was beginning to rise. It was the barest glint, behind the back of the growling animal. The Lord backed away from me, and I wondered where he was going to go. The cottage had only one door, and one window, and the wolf was large enough to block both.

The Lord's fear grew. Around him I saw the oddest colours. There was a sickly yellow surrounding a dingy, drab grey. All the while I felt nothing but warmth. The wolf lifted him, tossing him across the cottage before pouncing on his body and tearing into flesh.

It was a horrible thing to watch. It should have been a horrible thing to watch. And yet... my heart was no longer a small, contracting thing in my chest. That part of me I could not quite define... whatever it was, it felt restored. But there was more to fill me, to return me to myself than just the killing of Tolbert. There was the fact that I knew, now. This wolf. This smell. I knew now.

The Lord lay lifeless. The sun rose. The wolf began to change. He said in a voice that was entirely human, 'Get away from here. Now. I am not safe for you to be near.'

I reached out my hand as his shoulders and his arms became human. I opened my mouth to speak, but he was changing back, quickly – hair re-growing, body contorting. It looked to be a painful contortion. It seemed as if he was refusing to let himself become human. In seconds he was all wolf again, bounding out the door and towards the forest. I looked at my hand, the hand that had just barely grazed him.

'Rory,' I said, to the air. 'My Rory.'

*

When I set out it was dawn, and I was still walking by the time the sun was high in the sky. The path was easy to find, but difficult to follow. Rory, in wolf form, had crashed through the woods. Huge branches, even some trees, had been knocked to the ground as he ran. I had to step carefully in these areas, taking a long time to get around the debris. I was far from any path I had walked before, so far that I had no choice but to travel in his wake. The forest was so vast that, were it not for the clear signs of Rory's journey, I would consider myself completely lost.

I began to feel lost in other ways, too. Yes, Rory had saved me, but then he had left me again. Yes, I had begun to feel a little more like myself upon Rory's arrival. But I had almost succumbed to the power of Lord Tolbert. Had Rory not arrived, I would have lost all hope.

I touched my locket every now and then, trying to draw some feeling from it, something to cheer me, to warm me. The metal was not responding, any more; it was neither hot nor cold. I tried to imagine my mother was with me, teaching me, telling me to trust my feelings and to believe in my power. But in the cottage with the Lord, that power – if it had ever existed – had deserted me. What would I be now, without Rory's intervention? Would I be a shadow? A shell?

I thought of Peggy, and how she had kept her spirits up each time I visited. I knew, now, how much strength it must have taken. I would not have lasted as long as she had, in the cottage. I would not have waited nearly so long to escape the world.

I knew I was crying, but I was too tired to keep the tears inside. No one could see me. No one would know how much Lord Tolbert had weakened me, how low he had made me feel. No one could hear the screams, the pain, in my mind when he was near. No one but me.

It was growing dark but I stumbled on, too tired, too hungry, too lost in my feelings to notice that the scent was becoming confused. I did not know how long I had been zigzagging, changing directions and sniffing harder, before I paid attention to what I was doing. Probably it was only the fact that I crossed the same ditch twice that finally shook me. I stopped, and took in a deep, deep breath.

For years Rory had been close to me. I knew it now. For years I had sensed his closeness, without understanding that it was him making me feel safe. Because of him, I walked in the woods and felt no danger. Because of him I bathed in the lake. I blushed, remembering all the times he must have seen me naked.

And last night I had been close to more than one wolf. At the time, fear almost took over my senses. Almost, but not quite. Had I known what I had been scenting all these years, then last night I would have recognised wolf. Wolf, the smell. Wolf, the prickling of the hairs on my arms. Wolf, the basic but absolute knowledge that it is time to take care.

I smelled it now. And it was not Rory I smelled. There was another werewolf, somewhere behind me. How long had I been confused by this other scent? I took a few steps forward. The new smell followed. I took a few steps to the left, and the scent moved through the air as I walked. A wolf was stalking me, and had probably been doing so for quite some time. It could have been hanging back while I was close to Rory but now – I took in another deep breath – Rory was long gone. Silently I cursed myself for having let thoughts of Tolbert slow my steps. Unwittingly following the scents of two different wolves had sent my path awry.

I surveyed the woods around me. In gaps here and there, I could see that the moon was shining brightly above the treeline. But here on the woodland floor it seemed to be growing darker. Angrily, I tried to focus my eyes. I was used to the dark. I was especially used to darkness in the forest after so many nights spent here, walking to the lake. So why now, of all times, must my eyesight be so poor? But what good would clearer vision do me, anyway? Even if I could see the wolf – even if it was, as I feared, mere steps behind – it would do me no good. Because what choice would I have, then, other than to run? It would be faster than me. The wolves I had seen so far made me certain of that. If it wanted to catch me, it would.

A twig cracked.

And just then – just when I thought my heart could beat no faster, just when I thought my breath could come no quicker – the way ahead became brighter. I stared at it for a moment before I would believe it was really there: a cottage, shining like a beacon.

I looked around me with each step I took, but there was no wolf in sight. When I reached the oak front door I knocked gently. After a short wait I pushed the door, and found it unlocked. I rushed inside, quickly shutting the door behind me.

As I stood with my back against the door, thoughts of my pursuer evaporated. Calm settled upon me as I looked around. I was in a small room, with little furniture. Sunken into the floor, there was a bed of clean straw. Through an open door I could see another bed, and above it was a window. The moonlight streamed in through the glass, somehow shedding light on every corner of the cottage. But the bed, though – the bed shone brighter than anything else. Like the cottage, it seemed a vision, a beacon, and I felt drawn towards it.

The bed was different to the straw-filled pit in the outer room. This one was built of wood and covered with pretty blankets. A table sat to one side, and upon it was a small mirror and a comb. I walked over to them and picked them up, running my fingers across them, glancing at my face in the mirror and using the comb to smooth my hair. They were free of dust, but somehow seemed long unused. As I placed them back on the table I moved them about, carefully and precisely, until I was sure they were in exactly the same position as when I found them. It was important, I felt. They were a memory for someone. They were kept here for a reason.

I sat on the bed, feeling as if I was in a dream. This place, this room, felt like a dream. I smelled the air and its conflicting scents. A werewolf had been here. But the smell of humanity, too, was strong. I had no intention of lying down, but my body seemed to sink down into the blankets all by itself, and soon I drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Hours must have passed, because when I woke to the sound of something pushing at the door, it was almost light outside. There was another push, louder and more forceful than the first. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes, trying to wake my mind. I was not surprised that the wolf was trying to get in; I was only surprised that he had stayed away long enough to let me sleep. For a few short hours this place had been a refuge.

I looked again, at the window above the bed, and tried to focus my thoughts. It was dawn outside, most definitely. The light was a murky colour, but somewhere behind those clouds I knew the sun was rising.

There was another push at the door. This time I was sure that I heard the wood begin to splinter. Gritting my teeth, I stood on the bed, wishing I had time to straighten the bedclothes. I eased open the window, climbing through as quietly as I could.

I looked around the small, enclosed garden. Well, not so enclosed, considering the fence looked rotten. But some of the posts were not so far gone. Some of them were sharp, almost like stakes. One of them, I thought, might do for a weapon. I walked to the fence, passing a gravestone that looked quite new. I wanted to look at it, to kneel by it and read the inscription. It was such a strong desire, but there was no time. I took in deep breaths of heavy air, turning my eyes to the forest beyond. That place was dense with wolves. I could smell them so strongly. Even if I managed to save myself from this wolf, was there worse yet to come?

I shook my fears away and began to prise one of the posts from the ground. Just in time, it came free. I held it in my hand as I watched the wolf, appearing from the side of the cottage, bounding towards me. He was huge. I gripped the post more tightly, hoping I would have the strength to use it against him.

I stood, absolutely still, looking at the long nose, at the bared teeth. How many feet away, I wondered? Twenty?

Above me, a light was falling, spinning through the air, circular and bright. I thought of the light that had freed the Major the night before. A round, pulsing thing, dashing across the sky.

But the wolf was paying it no heed. I shook my head, trying to clear my eyes. It was there. No scepticism, I reminded myself. I must have faith in the things I saw. I must have hope.

He was closer now – fifteen feet, I estimated – and still he made no sign that he could see the orb.

The light stopped, right above my head, and I looked up to see it shining and pulsing all around me. Fear was gone. Love filled me as I watched the form that was bursting out of the light. My mother, shimmering in the air like a huge, silver dragonfly.

Tears filled my eyes. I reached out my free hand, touching only air. She shook her head, and pointed at the post in my other hand. She reached around her neck, nodding at the locket that lay around mine. I touched the locket, and she smiled. I moved the post towards the locket, touching metal against wood.

Ten feet.

As the post began to turn silver, the wolf picked up speed.

He lunged, just as the post was fully transformed. He let out a pained howl as the silver stake pierced his chest. I moved quickly to avoid being crushed by the falling, dead weight.

But where was my mother? I looked around. No doubts, I reminded myself again. She had been here. I had really seen my mother. I looked at my hand, the one with which I had tried to touch her – the one with which I had only touched air. Whatever the means she had used to appear to me, her time seemed to have come to an end. I was alone with the body.

It lay on the ground: fat, naked, dirty, and recognisable.

It was Robin, one of our many former lodgers I had long thought dead. I shivered as I glanced around, taking in the vastness of Wolf Wood. I thought of all of those men, whose bodies had never been found. Just how many werewolves were out there?

I slumped to the ground, exhausted, not caring that I was next to Robin's body. Disgusting as he was to me, at least he could do me no harm. I do not know how long I rested that way. It seemed that barely minutes had passed when I saw the silver light again, hovering a few feet to my left. Almost as soon as I noticed it, it was gone, and behind me I felt a hand stroking my hair.

'Mother?' I whispered hopefully, looking up.

She stood this time, her two feet firmly on the ground.

'Are you real?'

My mother smiled sadly. 'We must soon be on our way.'

For a moment I beamed, thinking that we meant I would be going with her. But another light flashed in the sky, travelling fast with a beautiful streak of gold as its tail. Suddenly Peggy was there, squeezing our mother's hand.

'It was you.' I gazed at Peggy. 'You tried to save the Major.'

'As if I would let Lady Tolbert hurt the man I love. The bird was she,' said my sister. 'Lady Tolbert. But you already knew that.'

'I suppose I did. Her smell was the same. But that does not mean I understand. Peggy, I do not understand any of this. And I am so tired. Are you here to...? Please tell me you are both here to take me with you.'

Peggy bent forward and I felt her kiss, light as air on my forehead. 'Rory is coming now. He heard Robin's cry.'

I reached out, desperate to touch them both, but they were light again. They were yet another thing I did not understand, looking like stars travelling upwards into the sky, quickly disappearing from my sight.

*

It was the trees I heard first. Just as when Rory left Tolbert's cottage and ran away from me, the trees suffered. Wood splintered as he ran. When I looked up, just above the treeline, I could see leaves swirling in the air. As he came closer, I could hear the sound of his footfalls, heavy and swift. But I would not have needed any of these sights, or sounds, to tell me he was approaching. All I needed was his smell.

He ran into the garden, stopping short as he noticed the body on the ground. He looked at me, then, yellow eyes darting up and down. I could read his eyes as easily as I could any human's. He was checking I was unharmed.

His hands were the first thing to become human, but just as in Tolbert's cottage he seemed to be trying to fight the transformation. I saw a bag slung around his neck, and I could see that it contained clothing. Understanding his hesitation, I turned my head away so that he could dress. Though I was not looking, I could hear every movement he made: the guttural grunts as his body changed; the slide of shirt over torso and trousers over legs; the final pull of boots onto feet.

'How did you kill him?'

I spun around and gaped at him. 'Really? That is the first thing you say to me? Not, I am happy you are safe, Sorcha. Not, I am sorry that I abandoned you once again, Sorcha. Just, how did you kill him?'

He crouched next to me, bending over Robin's body with a piece of charcoal in his hand. On Robin's forehead he began to draw a circle.

'This is a message to the wolves. Not the werewolves. The real wolves. This symbol will let them know he is theirs for the taking. That is how much I think of this man, Sorcha. I did not want him in the pack when he was alive, and now I am casting him out of the pack, out of our memories, as I would have done far sooner had I been able to find him. He will not have the honour of being consumed by us. He is nothing, now. He was always nothing.'

He finished his drawing, and pocketed the charcoal, but he would not look directly at me.

'I know there are better ways I could have greeted you. But I was surprised. When I heard Robin's death cry I did not imagine it was you doing the killing.' He glanced at the bloodied wooden stake on the ground. 'And you managed to kill him with a rotten old piece of wood. I did not think such a flimsy weapon would do you much good against Robin. He had a thick hide.'

I wrinkled my nose. 'Fat, I think you mean. I thought... in the tales your father tells, men only become wolves by moonlight. But now I have seen two of you in the light of day.'

'I did not know Robin could turn in the daytime. I did not know I could turn in the daytime until yesterday morning. I once heard a tale that, when the desire is strong enough, some of us can change ourselves from human to wolf at will.'

'Desire?' I laughed almost hysterically, for a moment. 'Well, we can be sure you feel none of that. At least not when it comes to me.'

'You are angry with me.'

'Angry. Confused. Take your pick.'

'You did not say frightened.'

'Frightened? Rory, Tolbert frightened me. Robin frightened me. You... the only fear I had concerning you was that you had abandoned me. Again. You did not frighten me when you were a wolf, and you do not frighten me now.'

He sat down on the grass and began to fidget with the sleeve of his shirt, rolling it up, rolling it back down again.

'You say you are not frightened of me, Sorcha, but I am terrified of you,' he said, still playing with his shirtsleeve. 'Or rather, of your reaction. And yesterday morning I gave in to that fear. I could not bear the thought of you being repulsed by what I am now. But believe me, Sorcha, that is the one time I have chosen to go far from you. In all these years that is the only time I have really left you. I have been... I have been close to you, all this time. Whenever I could be. On the full moon nights I tried to stay away. But I never quite managed it. I... I have watched you. When you went out walking alone, or to the lake, I was close to you, making sure you were safe.'

I did not tell him that I had already figured it out. I am not sure I could have said anything at that moment. Possibly it was because of how close he was sitting to me. Until that moment I did not know that you could smell longing. But there it was. The smell that had followed me through the woods all these years. Longing.

I tried not to stare at him. But all I wanted to do was look.  His chin was covered with soft stubble. His face was sharper, thinner. The muscles of his shoulders and arms were so exaggerated that I could see them clearly beneath the thin material of his shirt.

As I pulled my eyes away, his gaze caught mine. I blushed.

'Well, why should I not look?' I blurted. 'After all, you have been looking at me for all of these years. It is hardly fair, is it, the way you have been hiding yourself from me while you have had me in your full view.'

I dared another glance. I could see his heart was beating as fast as mine, as his chest moved quickly up and down beneath his shirt. I moved closer to him, and placed a hand on his. Instantly, he wrenched his hand away.

'Rory,' I said, hearing the beseeching note in my voice, but not caring. Some things were more important than pride. 'I thought... everything you have said... do not do this to me again, Rory. You want to be with me. I know you do.'

He took in a deep inhalation, and spoke. 'It does not matter whether I want to be with you or not. There are things I need to tell you. Things I need to do. After that... I will always look after you but... I am a wolf, now. We cannot be together.'

Up and down, up and down. Faster and faster. I watched it, his heart. Was it bigger than a human heart? Stronger? Fiercer? And his eyes. He was doing his best to control them but more often than not they were on me. On every inch of me.

'Rory... I thought I lost you, years ago. And you think that now I have you again, I will ever want to leave you? Never.' I shook my head. 'Never.  I love you. And I think you love me. And I do not care what you are. And anyway, you are not a wolf all of the time. You are a man at the moment, are you not?'

His heartbeats came louder still. Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom. And that thing in the pit of me, that indescribable thing that Tolbert had almost destroyed, it was growing and growing, struggling in my belly, struggling all through me. If it had a voice, it would have shouted, 'Mine!' when next to Rory.

Once again I moved closer to him, touching a hand to his face, hesitating a moment until I was sure he would not move away. I could feel his breath, warm and fast, on the palm of my hand. I wanted to touch my fingers to his lips. I wanted to move my body even closer, but I did not dare. I began to shake, uncontrollably, and he reached out a hand to me.

'You see?' He clasped my hand in his, trying to steady my shakes. 'You are nervous because of what I am.'

'No,' I said. 'Not because of that. I am nervous because any moment now, you might move away from me. Any moment now you might go, and leave me again. I am nervous, and I am shaking, because I have never felt anything like what I feel when I am close to you and I am so afraid that you will take it away from me again.'

His voice was hoarse as he said, 'I am nervous, too. But I... I have to believe that these nerves are here for a reason. As a warning. To tell me how stupid I would be, how selfish I would be, to think that this can ever end well.'

Risk it, said a voice inside of me.  Move closer.

I heeded.

'We belong together,' I said, with my face just inches from his.

He made a low, deep grunt. 'Together?' he said. 'Do you really know what you are saying? Do you have any idea what sort of a life it would be, to be with a wolf?'

'No,' I admitted. 'But give us a chance, at least, to find out.'

The warm air on my face was coming faster. I could see his pupils grow, and his jaw clenched as he tried to strengthen his resolve. I was dizzy, being so close to him. My knees were hollow, and I knew that if I was standing, I would have buckled to the ground. It was inebriating, even more than the poitín we once shared. I moved my face closer yet, letting my lips brush lightly against his.

'Oh,' he said, softly, more of an exhalation than a word. A strained look crossed his face. 'Sorcha, I... I cannot move away. Please, stand up. Or... push me away or...' He buried his face in my neck, inhaling deeply. 'Please,' he said. 'Push me away.'

'I could not if I tried,' I told him with a weak voice. 'But I would not, even if I could. We belong together.'

'Together,' he murmured, as he moved his hands to my jawline and pulled my face to his, pressing his mouth hard against mine.
Rory

I did not know, any more, why I feared this. How had I worried that I would hurt her? I could never hurt her. How had I worried that the wolf would take over when, all this time, being close to her had made me feel more a man than ever? Kissing her... it was better, even, than our first kiss. This kiss could grow, and grow. This kiss, I might never have to run from.

Sorcha drew away and I blinked, looking at her. Her eyes were cloudy, and her smell was heady. Hers was not the only smell, though. There was something floral. I looked down at the space between us. On the ground a single bluebell was pushing its way up. Had it not been for the closeness of Sorcha, or the way her breath was moving as she looked at me, I might have been amazed by the flower. But at that moment, nothing was more amazing than Sorcha. She stood up, pulling me with her. I wondered if her legs felt as hollow as mine while she led me to the house, and to the bedroom.

I hesitated. 'Cormac – the wolf who made me – this was his bed. He died here. We should go somewhere else.'

Even as I said it, my hands were stroking her hair, desperate to wander lower.

And then she said, 'There is such a wonderful feeling around this bed, do you not think? I felt safe, as I slept here last night. Did this wolf live here alone?'

I glanced at the comb and mirror on the bedside table. I thought of all Cormac had told me of the woman he loved. The witch. How little I knew. Could it have been Sorcha's mother? Was now the right time to tell her what I guessed?

'He loved a woman here,' I said. 'I think she was... not a wolf.'

Sorcha smiled. 'So. Perhaps he gives us his blessing, then? Seeing as he knew what it was like, to love a human.'

Her lips, parted by her smile, were too much to resist.

'My wolf,' she said, as she kicked off her boots and drew her dress over her head.

'My wolf,' she said again, pulling at my shirt.

My heart pulsed in wolf-beats, but she pressed her lips there, and the beats steadied. I threw off my boots, and my trousers, pulling at her underclothes. I gasped at the sight. I had looked at her many times, but on all those occasions I never imagined I would do anything but look.

My breath was panting, but she kissed my mouth, and my breath was mine again.

'My man,' she said, lying on the bed, and pulling me down on top of her.

I was me. I was the wolf. And not once was she afraid. I was in her and with her. I was everything, blurred and at once. And she was my match. For those moments it was as if she was as much of a wolf as I.

*

In her sleep Sorcha turned, letting out a tiny sigh. With her body no longer tight to mine, I stirred and sat up a little so that I could look at her. Not for years had I slept so well. And yet, as rested as I felt, I knew that I would find difficulty in getting out of this bed. I looked again at the mirror and the comb. A strand of Sorcha's hair was caught in the comb. It did not look out of place.

I needed to tell her everything. I knew I did. I needed to wake her now, and tell her everything. And yet... she looked so perfect. So much more at peace than I had ever seen her.

I shifted about, feeling agitated. What would Cormac think of me right now? What if he could see me? He could be a Bright-One, looking down on us from wherever Bright-Ones looked down. If he was looking down, then he was surely annoyed with me. Yes, I had killed Tolbert. Yes, Sorcha was safe. But there was more I needed to do. Cormac was probably shaking his fist at me and saying, 'Get on with it, lad. You have a job to do.'

Beside me, Sorcha opened her eyes.

'Oh. It was real, after all. Not just a beautiful dream I had in this bed.' A lazy smile spread across her face. 'Mmm, I am hungry. Are you hungry, Rory?'

'We will eat soon, I promise. But I think we should speak first. I did not tell you any of the things I meant to. About Cormac. My sire. And the things he told me before he passed.'

'I do not care when we eat. I did not mean I was hungry for food,' she said languidly. 'My only craving is for you. More of you.'

She raised her arms above her head and stretched, the rest of her body forming a deep arch. I could not look away from the sight. She arched her back even further, smiling as she watched the effect her movements had upon me. Every curve was exaggerated as she stretched further yet. My hand reached out to touch her, and she let out a happy sigh.

A scent came to me. I sniffed hard, reluctantly moving away from her body.

'They are on their way,' I said. 'Scouts. I suppose it is about time, seeing as I have been gone from them since the night before last. When I left you, I just ran. Right across the forest. And once I had calmed down, well, my pack was not my first priority.' I sniffed again. 'We have maybe ten minutes, until they arrive. Sorcha, do you know much about Lady Tolbert? I was told she has something that is really yours. A box? A wooden box?'

She yawned. 'A box? What are you talking about?'

'My sire told me that Lady Tolbert has a small wooden box. But he said that it is rightfully yours. He said... Lady Tolbert stole it, from a witch's grave, just before Cormac himself was about to retrieve it and give it to you.'

'No.' Her voice was far less sleepy. 'Are you sure that it was me he meant?'

'I am sure. Sorcha... your mother, is she buried in the cillín?'

She sat up and stared at me. 'You know she is. Everyone knows she is. Is she... the witch's grave... was it her grave? Rory, was it my mother's grave? Did Cormac say that this box was stolen from my mother's grave?'

I shook my head. 'He never told me the witch's name. I only... I only guessed. Because of the way he spoke about you, mostly. He seemed to care about you. Deeply. Have you any idea why that would be?'

She blinked wildly. 'I have never heard of the man. But... the grave in the garden of this house. Is it his?'

'Yes,' I replied, the words feeling heavy in my throat. 'It is Cormac's grave.'

'So then... did he do something wrong? When you drew the symbol on Robin's forehead, you said it was so that he would not have the honour of being consumed by your pack. Did Cormac do something wrong, too?'

'No.' I smiled a little. 'No, he was nothing like Robin. You would have liked him, I know you would.' I looked away from her, afraid of how she would react to what I was about to say. 'It would be much easier if I could avoid saying this to you altogether. But I cannot. This place, the woman he shared it with. I wondered if she was your mother. I wondered if he was your father.' I paused. 'If you want to hit me, go ahead.'

'I do not want to hit you,' she said slowly.

She did not sound offended. I glanced at her. She did not look offended, either. She looked as if things were finally making sense.

'I was drawn to that grave,' she continued. 'I feel safe in this house. And if he did, as you say, seem to care about me, then I would like to find out more. If it was my mother he loved, someone must know. You still have not told me why you buried him in the garden instead of... your usual way.'

I shrugged. 'Because of you. If there was even the smallest chance he was your father, then I could not imagine following the usual rites. But even if that were not the case, I know he would want to rest here. I just know it.'

She looked steadily at me. 'You trusted Cormac?'

I nodded. 'With my life.'

'Then we should do as he wished. But what is in the box? Why is it so important?'

'I wish I knew. He said that he and... his witch... that they could not open it. But he thought you might be able to. He also said that Lord Tolbert would want to destroy it, but he must not have done so before I killed him. If he had, we would all know. Somehow. It is all a tad... cryptic. But Cormac was completely clear on the fact that you were to have the box. I was to try and find it for you, to get it to you. Now that Lord Tolbert is dead, it should be easier. There is only Lady Tolbert for me to contend with.'

'For us to contend with,' she said. 'But not just now. In a little while.'

She stretched out again and, as I bent to kiss her, my hair bristled. I sniffed. 'They are here. Get dressed.'

I took her clothes and mine from the floor next to the bed. I dressed quickly, which was difficult, because she kept trying to take off the clothes that I was putting back on. As her hand reached out to pull at the waistband of my trousers, I groaned. 'No,' I said reluctantly. 'Not now. Get dressed. Do you want them to barge in and find you naked?'

She sat up and sniffed. I gazed at her, amazed at how feral she seemed as she became alert, jumping from the bed and dressing in a rush.

'It is night,' she said, looking out the window. 'And the moon is waning. Does that mean... will they be human? They certainly smell like wolves.'

'They are not wolves tonight. And you must not worry.' With a shy smile, I told her, 'I am the leader, now that Cormac has passed. So do not fear. They will not harm you.' I looked out at the darkness, before glancing back at Sorcha with a spontaneous grin on my face. 'It really is night. We have whiled away the day in this place. I can barely believe it.'

It took a moment for us to stop smiling at the thought. A whole day. And still it was not enough.

I felt them closing in: many of my pack, forming a circle around the cottage.

Sorcha said nothing more. She placed her hand in mine, and we walked outside.
Sorcha

There were about a dozen of them in sight. They were human, as he said they would be. But they did not seem quite human. There was something in their bearing, in their movement. I glanced at Rory. He was in shadows, now, and I could see it in him too. There was something not quite settled about his body. I wondered: were they always on the verge? Did they belong to neither form so that they could exist as both? I sniffed. They smelled more wolf than human. And my nose told me there were more of them surrounding the cottage than the ones I could see.

As if reading my mind, Rory whispered, 'There are more scouts than I would have expected, but then, I have been away longer than usual. Have you noticed anything else?'

I peered across the garden, finding it difficult to see much of anything. 'Is Robin's body gone?'

'Yes,' he said. 'The wolves have taken him. But not that. The flowers.'

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that Rory was right. The garden was full of bluebells. There had been none, I was certain, when I first arrived at the cottage. I had a sudden memory of my first kiss with Rory, all those years ago. The air had smelled just like this.

Rory breathed in deeply, smiling. In an undertone he said to me, 'If I did not live in Wolf Wood, I would find the sight more surprising still. In any case, I am glad to see the flowers. Their scent always makes me think of you.'

In the crowd someone shuffled. I squeezed Rory's hand. 'They are impatient,' I said.

He spoke loudly to the gathered.

'This is Sorcha. My mate. From now on, she is one of us. She is coming home with me, to our village.'

I felt them close upon me, and sniff.

All at once they raised their heads, baring their throats. Silently they drew away and fanned out, walking ahead, behind, and around us.

We walked for less than a mile, passing more cottages. Some had fires lit within, and I could smell food cooking. My stomach grumbled, and Rory laughed softly. 'Soon,' he said. 'We are almost at the heart of the wood.'

He approached a huge stone throne. The seat was wide enough for two, and he pulled me up with him. Surprisingly, the stone was warm.

He looked at me, raising his eyebrows to ask if I was all right. Later, when we were alone, I would tell him exactly how I felt on the chair. The heat was unexpected, but it was not only coming from the stone. My locket warmed more than ever before. It was not a burning heat. It was a perfect, delicious warmth that spread all through me.

Thankfully, he did not let go of my hand. As I felt hundreds of eyes looking at me, I wished that I could hide. Talk went back and forth, about what had happened over the previous nights. Because Rory had been absent so long, there was much the wolves did not know.

Little was said about me, other than mention of me in relation to those who had died. When Rory told them that Robin was dead, he did not mention he had been killed by me, but one or two people flared their nostrils at that point, and I knew their noses told them I was the killer. Those who guessed the truth, however, did not appear to be angry, or even concerned, that Robin was dead. One woman smiled at me approvingly and muttered, 'Not before time. He was a good for nothing, that one.'

It was half an hour or so into the conversation when I sensed a change in the mood. A man moved through the crowd. People moved to let him pass, but they emanated a strong smell at his approach, and it intensified the closer he was to them. As he passed one woman, I saw the woman's skin distort, rippling as her inner wolf tried to fight its way to the surface. The man looked back at her and she raised her head. He snapped. It was a strange thing to watch. His whole mouth seemed wolf-like with the movement, but it was a brief, barely discernible change. Had I not known what he really was, I would have thought I imagined the change. The woman was certainly aware of the action. She sat down on the ground, completely human again. The same thing happened with many people he passed. They disliked him, clearly. But they submitted once he snapped his teeth. He was average height, but broad, and I thought he looked about forty. The closer he drew to me, the more I recognised his smell. His head had a large lump, most likely from where William had clubbed him.

'He was in the woods,' I whispered to Rory. 'When Lord Tolbert killed Sean. He killed a hunter, and some of the Lord's men.'

Rory sighed. 'That is Malcolm. He is my lieutenant. And I already know. I know he was there.'

'Your lieutenant?'

'Yes. Second-in-command.'

Malcolm stood in front of us and, with great exaggeration, bowed as low as he could. When he stood up he stretched his hand out to me and, as I reached to shake it, he gripped my hand in his and drew it to his lips, pressing a cold kiss there. I felt unsteady, even when he released me. My stomach lurched and, though I was seated I felt that I might faint. I tried to appear impassive, but probably did not succeed.

'Quite a human gesture for you,' said Rory, in an icy tone.

Malcolm did not so much smile as display his teeth. 'Well, I thought we were embracing all things human tonight. And what of the Lord? I smell him on you.'

Malcolm's eyes skimmed over me as he said this.

Rory squeezed my hand. 'Gone. I killed him.'

There was another shift in the crowd. The feeling was not as tense as when Malcolm had moved forward. As people parted, I saw that a man was being led towards the throne.

Malcolm growled at the woman who led him.

'What do you think you are doing, Maria?' he barked. 'Do you really think that, in the midst of such an important meeting, our leader has the time to greet a new-turn? This man can wait until things have settled down.'

Malcolm almost spat the words new-turn. I still could not see the man he meant, because he was blocked from my sight behind Malcolm and the woman he called Maria. I could see the man's clothes, however. They were dirty. They were torn. But they were clothes I recognised.

Rory stood from his seat and moved Malcolm aside.

'How are you finding it?' he asked the man, walking forward to greet him. 'I know how you feel, believe me, but you will get used to it. Has Maria explained things to you?'

My eyes widened as the man straightened and I could finally see his face.

'Major!' I cried.

He rushed to me. 'Sorcha!' he said with relief. 'I have been anxious to get to the throne from the moment I saw you. But... are you too turned to a werewolf?'

I shook my head. 'I am not a wolf, Major.'

'Ah.' The Major bowed to Rory. 'Forgive me for rushing past you in such a way. I have been worried about Sorcha, and was much overtaken with joy to see her again, safe and well.' He turned back to me. 'I think, after all these years, you can call me Arthur.'

'Arthur.' I almost cried, thinking of Peggy, tracing the letter A in the flour. 'Of course.' I turned to Rory. 'Arthur is a dear friend,' I told him. 'He was trying to get me to safety, and away from Tolbert, the other night. Had he not been attacked – first by some... bird-like creature, and next by one of your wolves – then Tolbert would never have managed to get me to his cottage.'

Rory clasped Arthur's hand in his and shook it warmly. 'I cannot thank you enough,' he said as they parted palms. 'Those moments you did have her under your watch... however short or long the time, it may have been the very thing that spared her. Had I reached her even a few moments later... I dare not think. I recognise you, as it happens. I saw you on the village green, when I was a lad. I was impressed, I recall, by the way you reprimanded the wolf-hunters.'

'Ah. Bealtaine,' said Arthur. 'I have you placed now, too. The young blacksmith who left the village. Now I see why. Your wolves speak highly of you, so I am honoured to have impressed you. Though what I am about to say next may not go down quite so well.'

'Really?' said Rory, cautiously. 'Well, we will not know until you say it, now will we?'

'I only – ' Arthur bowed his head. 'It is only that I heard you speak of killing the Lord. I fear it may not be true.'

A low growl came from Malcolm.

'Arthur, it is true,' I said. 'I saw Rory kill him with my own eyes. I saw the whole thing happen.'

Malcolm grasped Arthur by the arm. 'And just who do you think you are? Bad enough you interrupting things like this, but now you imagine you can question the word of our leader?'

Arthur shook his head vehemently and looked at Rory. 'I do not doubt your word. If you say you killed him then you most likely did, indeed, do what it would take to kill a man. How can I best explain this? What I mean to say is that I doubt that this man – if he is even a man – can ever truly die.'

A silence fell over the woods. In the back of my mind, distant but unmistakable, I heard ringing. Had it ever really stopped? I glanced at Rory. His face told me that he was crestfallen but, like me, he clearly believed Arthur.

He glared at his lieutenant. 'Let him go, Malcolm. Now. I want him to tell us what he knows. Go on, Arthur. Tell us.'

Malcolm's nostrils flared, but he let go of Arthur. Somewhere at the back, a woman lit more torches. By the time Arthur began, hush had fallen, and most of the crowd sat on the ground, focused on his words.

'Many times before,' he said, 'I too tried to kill him.' He glanced at me, and we both looked away, pained at the thought of Peggy. 'I am not a boastful man,' he went on. 'With most weapons I am at best mediocre, but when it comes to a bow and arrow I tell you all, my aim is true. I never miss. I hid in the bushes and waited for him to approach the place I knew he would come to that night. His cursed cottage.

'Sure enough he arrived, big and broad, the perfect target. I drew. I aimed. I shot him straight through the heart. And then I remained there, in shock, barely able to fathom what I was seeing, as he pulled my arrow from his heart and kept on walking. I could not believe it. I would not believe it.

'So again I tried. Each day with a new plan, a new weapon. And each day I failed. Oh, once or twice I was fooled into thinking I had succeeded. When I shot him through the head, for example, he did fall. He did appear to be a dead man. But two days later I saw him with not so much as a bruise.

'So you see, Rory, although I wish as much as you do that Lord Tolbert is dead... I will have to see him buried before I believe he is truly gone.'

The talk went on long into the night. Because Lord Tolbert had only recently begun to venture into the woods during full moon, Rory was the only one to have attacked him. But not a single werewolf disbelieved Arthur's story.

Some had suspected that Lord Tolbert was not quite human. He did not smell right, they said. But the woods were their territory. They had been taught to target wolf-hunters, English soldiers, and workers trying to clear the forest. It was only since the arrival of the elf-bolts that the Tolberts themselves had become targets in the eyes of most wolves.

It was late when we were called to dinner. By that time, I had forgotten my hunger, but as soon as food was mentioned, my stomach rumbled.

A huge circular table was laid in the Great Hall. This was no decorated hall in a fine house. This was a wooden structure – simple, and all the more beautiful for it – with natural creepers and flowers of the woodland growing over the posts and the roof. Candles flickered, suspended on holders attached to the beams all around the hall. Every few minutes the candleholders would sway in the breeze and I would find myself watching them, eager to see what patterns the light and shadows would create.

On the table there was cooked meat, bread, fruit and vegetables, jugs of mead, cider and wine, and every bit of it looked inviting.

'We like to eat the way we did when we were human, as often as we can,' one of the women told me. 'When you spend three days a month eating anything on legs... well... let us just say there is nothing as welcome as the taste of something cooked.'

I ate more than I recall eating ever before, and each bite was as delicious as it looked. After the meal was eaten, most people remained in the Great Hall, talking quietly around the table or seated close to the fires. Many people wanted to speak with Rory, so I left him and went to find Arthur.

We left the hall, taking a torch and walking around outside for a while, finally coming to a stop next to a well. As we looked down into it, we could see our torchlight reflected below, flickering there and making the water seem as though it were dancing.

'The light is different here,' I said. 'More alive than elsewhere. You see it in the Great Hall. You see it in this well. Anything is possible in this place.'

Arthur snorted. 'Yes. A den of werewolves, and yet it is the brightest and friendliest place I have encountered for a long time.' He kept his eyes on the water. In a sad voice, he said, 'It does seem alive. The light in this village. I might even believe this well to be alive and ripe for wishing, if I did not know by now that wishes rarely come to pass. Do you believe in them? Wishing wells, I mean.'

'I believe in so much more than I did a few days ago,' I told him. 'For instance, I am sure that the light in the sky that collided with the monstrous bird and forced it to release you – I am sure that the light was Peggy.'

He did not look at me with incredulity. Instead, his eyes lit with hope and he asked me to elaborate.

By the time I finished, he was beaming.

'So many strange things abound here, in Wolf Wood,' he said. 'And now I, too, am one of those strange things. The bird spoke to me, Sorcha. So you are not alone in the surety that it was Lady Tolbert. She told me she would not hurt me, but somehow... I was not put at ease. I have never been at ease with Lady Tolbert. To know, though, that Peggy is looking down upon us, able to see us and help us... it makes me feel that I am not so mad for continuing to love her. I have always hoped that she was still with me, in some way. And now I know for sure. She is with us both.'

My eyes filled with tears. 'Yes. In some way. Rory thinks...' I lowered my voice, instinctively, even though we seemed to be alone. '... Rory thinks Lady Tolbert has something I need. The werewolf who sired Rory, he has recently died. On his deathbed, he told Rory that Lady Tolbert had stolen a wooden box from a witch's grave. He said that it really belongs to me. What the box does, even what is inside it, I do not know. But I believe that Rory's sire was telling the truth. I believe it is meant for me. And the first place I intend to search for it is at the castle. Have you ever been there?'

'I have been to one party there,' Arthur said. 'And I stayed for only a short while. The Lady Tolbert, as I said, has always made me ill at ease. Have you ever seen her without her veil?'

I shook my head.

'I am not surprised to hear it,' Arthur went on. 'I have yet to meet anyone who has seen her without the garment. But she offered to unveil for me. She was drunk at the time, and I made my excuses and left. As I left the castle, however, my discomfort grew. At the time I thought myself mad, because I felt as if her eyes remained upon me the whole night long. Mad, drunk... I made many an excuse for the ill feeling I experienced. But now... I will make no more excuses. She is stranger, and more dangerous, than I ever could have imagined. If she has something that is yours, then I will do all I can to help you find it.'

I squeezed his hand. 'Thank you. Thank you for everything, Arthur. I am so glad to have you here.'

We heard a sudden noise – as if something like a bucket had been knocked over. We looked in the direction of the sound, and saw a person move quickly towards the trees. It was too dark, and the figure was too distant, for us to identify who it may have been.

We moved away from the well and returned to the Great Hall.

I felt Arthur grow tense as we reached the threshold. 'So it was not Malcolm, after all,' he whispered. 'I assumed he was our spy, but it seems I was wrong. I am not wrong in thinking he dislikes me, however – of that I am certain.'

I looked across the hall, to where Malcolm sat at Rory's side. He was glaring in our direction. 'I am not sure if it is you he is shooting daggers at, or me.'

At that moment Rory left Malcolm and approached us.

'My lieutenant thinks I should keep a closer eye on my mate,' he said with a laugh. He looked kindly at Arthur, and the three of us settled into seats by a fire. 'He also gave me news of an unfortunate incident which occurred in my absence. One of your soldiers, it seems, got the best of my third-in-command. He killed him on the village green, slashing his head right off.'

Rory glanced sidelong at Malcolm. He was still at the table, drinking from a large cup.

'That, in any case,' he continued, 'is Malcolm's version of events. Whatever the truth of the matter, it leaves the role of major open. Normally a new-turn would never be considered for the job. But these are not normal times. Would you be interested in being a major once again?'

'Does Malcolm know you are asking me?'

Rory smiled wryly. 'Oh, he knows all right. He suggested you. There is no way of telling, just yet, what his reasons may be. But I suggest we play along, and try to find them out. Either way, you would have been my first choice. Sorcha trusts you. That is all I need to know about a man.'

'In that case,' said Arthur, 'I accept.'

I glanced once more at Malcolm. He was looking right back at me. He smiled brazenly and winked at me, before returning his attention to his drink.

I turned back to Arthur and Rory, intending to tell them to tread carefully. Instead, I yawned.

'Time for bed?' Rory asked.

I yawned again. 'Definitely time for bed.' I stood up and kissed Arthur gently on the forehead. 'Sweet dreams,' I said.

'I shall do my best,' he replied. 'In any event, they will be the sweetest I have had for a long while.'

*

I could tell that we were almost at the house by the way Rory squeezed my hand. It was a small round cottage nestled amongst dozens of similar dwellings.

'I hope you like it,' he said as we walked inside. 'If you do not, we can find something better.'

I looked around, smelling Rory's smell, feeling utter happiness to be in his home. The bed was not like the one we had recently shared. It was sunken into the floor like the bed in the outer room of Cormac's house. Unable to resist, I stepped down onto thick, clean straw.

'I shall have a real bed built,' he said. 'One just like Cormac's, if you like.'

I reached out a hand, and Rory stepped down next to me.

'I like this bed,' I told him. 'And do you know, all of a sudden I no longer feel tired.'

*

When I woke the next morning, Rory was still asleep.

I dressed as quietly as I could and crept to the door, my mind busy with thoughts of breakfast. Breakfast in bed, with Rory. Fruit. Ham. Bread spread with butter and honey. I pulled open the door and stopped on the threshold, blinking. I held on to the doorframe, forgetting what I had been about to do, forgetting almost everything except for the carpet of bluebells that stretched as far as my eyes could see.

'Morning,' came a man's voice.

I looked at him. He was walking around the edge of the village. I had been introduced to him the night before. He was a guard, I recalled. He was one of many who patrolled the village and the surrounding forest.

'Morning,' I said in return.

He smiled widely. 'Beautiful, are they not? Sprung up overnight. They are everywhere, circling the whole of the village, it seems. Did you ever see so many in your life?'

There was a stool just outside the door, and I sat down. 'No,' I said, shaking my head. 'I have never seen quite so many.'

He continued on his patrol, and I remained seated. I tried to think. This must mean something. This must mean something. But whatever the meaning, it would have to wait. Right now, all I wanted to do was gaze at the drifts of bluebells, and enjoy the morning air.

End of Book One

Wolf Land Book Two: Storyfalls is available to download from most major ebook retailers.

You'll find links to these stores, and information on further books available, by visiting my website:

https://fionamcshanewrites.com

And while you're there, you can read more about the facts that inspired the fantasy.

