Epilogue #3
“Thanks for the backup,” I said into my husband’s head.
“Always, mo banrigh. Always and forever.”
And to think I had been so afraid when I’d stepped onto that plane with him in Canada. Every day since then, Magnus had given me a new reason to thank my wolf for superseding my human and making the right choice.
The Faoiltiarn Grand March went beautifully.
Magnus and I paraded into the castle’s celebration hall to the sound of bagpipes.
Then we were joined by Milly and Iain. Then Lachlan and Valentina.
And, eventually, the rest of the guests with both the New St. Ailbe brides and the Faoiltiarn wolves coming together to perform a traditional reel that left them all breathing hard, laughing, and happy to be a part of this once dying kingdom village.
After that, nothing could kill my mood. Not even the reformation of the line of male wolves that had been cut short when Lachlan announced it was time for the traditional grand march.
However, I was surprised when Alban, who’d been missing during the big group dance, suddenly appeared and cut to the front of the line.
“Alban, you want to have a go at the St. Ailbe brides, too?” Magnus asked with a shocked look.
I’m sure I wore a similar expression on my face. Alban had just given me a gruff “Nae” when I stopped by his house to see if he wanted to put his name down on the letter exchange list.
He must have changed his mind after he actually saw them. Oh, crap …
I mentally scrambled to figure out which of the sweet and sheltered St. Ailbe she-wolves could possibly be a good match for the grizzled veteran.
But then Alban gave a jerk of his head. “Nae. It’s your sister. She’s here with a child asking for you.”
“Naomi’s here?!” I said, “Is Ellie okay?”
Magnus tensed. “You go to her. I’ll find Iain.”
“Nae! Nae! Not her,” Alban answered, grabbing both our arms before we could run off. “T’other one.”
The other one …? I struggled to grasp his meaning until I realized, “Wait, do you mean Leora? My older sister? She’s here? With her daughter?”
“Aye, she’s here. I should have told you earlier, but I—it doesnae matter. Just come. Come with me now!” Alban said with more urgency—or words, for that matter—than I’d ever seen him display.
But just as I started to follow him, a great shout went up.
In Gaelic, but not the happy kind I occasionally heard at the cafe when Magnus scored a “try” (which, like every other rugby term I had come across, was both confusing and misleading.
A try was what Canadians would have called a goal or touchdown or run—or anything but “try”—in, like, every other sport).
However, this Gaelic rose into the air as an angry shout—clipped and accompanied by Magnus suddenly shoving me behind him.
Alban shouted something to Magnus in their old language before running in one direction while Magnus pulled me in another.
“What is going on?” I demanded as I tripped over my white heels, trying to keep up.
“Alban’s going to find Naomi and provide her protection.”
“Protection? From what?!” I demanded.
“The Irish. This is 1503 all over again—thank feck we already have it open.”
My eyes widened when I saw what he meant—a great chunk of the hall’s back stone wall had been slid open to reveal a dark passageway. At least half of the St. Ailbe brides were being shoved inside along with the few unheated Faoiltiarn she-wolves.
“What is this? What’s going on?” I asked as Magnus attempted to do the same to me.
“I’m sorry, mo banrigh, but now more than ever you must be our queen.
Keep the lasses silent and guide them down the passageway.
It will bring you to a cave in the woods.
Walk, don’t run, since it’ll be dark and ye’ll have no light.
But if you hear the stone slide open behind you, tell the she-wolves to run and I’ll find ye afterwards. ”
“After what? Magnus, what is going on?”
Another shout went up before he could answer. And though only about ten of the St. Ailbe’s she-wolves were in the passageway with me, the stone door began to slide close.
“I’m sorry, mo banrigh, there’s no time. The Irish are here and we have no weapons to defend ye with.”
With that, the stone door slid closed and the next thing I heard was someone say on the other side of it, “Tell us, King, what is this news we’ve received about a house full of brides …?”
The voice had a heavy Irish accent, which I normally found pleasant and melodic. But this one sounded menacing and darker than the passageway I’d been shoved into.
“Take the brides away!” he yelled inside my head. “Take them now.”
And, so I did.
“Okay, ladies. Keep quiet, turn slowly, and start walking,” I said, my voice calm and steady though I could smell the fear coming off the she-wolves gathered together in the black passageway.
But they did as I said, shuffling carefully along in the dark for a full twenty minutes to the soundtrack of nothing more than our rapid heartbeats.
Eventually, though, I decided to disobey my mate’s orders and asked, “Can one of you please tell me what happened in 1503?”
“I’m not sure as I’ve only ever heard the tale from my gran,” a voice answered—one I recognized as the baker’s daughter who’d refused to charge me for the sausage roll I’d enjoyed that morning.
“But I think it has something to do with a wedding like this one. Knowing our males would be sottered with the celebration of their king’s wedding, the Irish wolves came and stole away nearly half the unheated maidens in our village.
It’s the reason why we built this secret passage into the castle’s main celebration hall.
It’s also the reason Irish and Scottish wolves still dinnae get along to this verrae day. ”
“Oh, my goodness!” one of the St. Ailbe exchange brides murmured, giving voice to the horror every she-wolf in the tunnel was probably feeling right now.
“It’s okay,” I assured all of them despite the fear pooling like a loch in my stomach. “I think we’re almost there.”
Indeed, the passage had grown colder, and I could smell the outdoors now—snow and trees and rabbits. We must be near the cave where the tunnel let out, and given the strong scent of rabbits, it seemed a warren of them had also decided to take refuge in the cave.
There was no scent of Magnus, however, and he’d promised to meet us here.
“Are you okay?” I pushed into his head.
“Aye, made our way out with our fists. We’re headed to you.”
Thank goodness … relief filled me just as we stepped into the cave. The smell of rabbits was even stronger here. But at least I could see the moonlit night beyond the cave’s entrance.
“So what happened after you got the maidens back?” I asked the baker’s daughter as we stepped from the passageway into the cave. “Was it all-out war?”
“That’s just it,” the baker’s daughter answered. “According to Gran, we never got them back. We sent our best hunters after them, and eventually the king himself. They either came back empty-handed or not at all.”
The chill that went through me had nothing to do with the dark cave. “But how is that possible?”
“Well, if you’re askin’ me, muirnin, it’s because the Irish wolves are a much cleverer lot than your males,” a voice answered. A male voice with a melodic-but-dark accent I recognized as not Scottish.
Several flashlights suddenly lit up the cave, revealing at least ten male wolves stepping out of the shadows.
They all wore coats fashioned out of strung-together rabbit furs.
Which explained the strong animal scent and why I couldn’t smell them before we entered the cave.
They were all huge, with dark paint streaked in lines, patterns, and symbols across their broad faces.
The she-wolves, including me, all stared at the males.
The males grinned down at us, their eyes glittering with evil intent.
And then … all hell broke loose.