The Mistress of the Werewolves sat alone in her chambers, brooding. Events had not turned out as she’d expected. She’d been prepared for Markus’s illness. Teinn’s illnesses were rarely fatal. It was the fairy’s additional mischief that was so damaging. The rumor that Verasa had secretly poisoned Wallace MacGregor had rapidly spread beyond the castle. The Mistress of the Werewolves had already found herself on the receiving end of an irate phone call from Baron MacGregor, demanding to know if it were true. Verasa denied it, as strongly and persuasively as she could, but she knew the Baron hadn’t believed her.
The Mistress of the Werewolves was privately unrepentant. If she hadn’t managed to slip a debilitating potion into Wallace’s drink before the fight, he’d have beaten Markus, and quite possibly killed him. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She never expected that anyone would learn of it.
Damn that Teinn! she thought. Markus would be beside himself with fury when he learned about it. At least he’s alive. Which he wouldn’t have been if he’d gone to London.
Verasa’s thoughts turned to Thrix. She hadn’t expected that the attack would continue once Markus had withdrawn. Unfortunately, Thrix would not be dissuaded. The Mistress of the Werewolves felt a mother’s terror that she might lose another child. And there was Kalix. She’d been forbidden to go, but Verasa feared she’d turn up anyway.
I tried to modernize the clan, she thought. I wanted us to manage without all this fighting. Now I’m losing my children in a war.
She sighed, very deeply, and drank more wine. She lit a cigarette, and sat alone in her chambers, very unhappy. Even though her thoughts were mainly for her children, she worried about the other MacRinnalchs who’d gone to London: Eskandor, Feargan and Barra. She hadn’t expected that either, but when Thrix and Dominil had carried on anyway, Eskandor and the others had followed. Wallace MacGregor too, apparently. No doubt he was trying to show Markus up by letting everyone know how brave he was.
“Markus has left his bed. He’s on his way here.”
Verasa nodded. The servant withdrew.
At least I have one healthy child left, thought Verasa. She was not looking forward to the encounter, but was comforted by the thought that no matter what anyone said, her favorite child was still alive, and not lying dead in London.