Heart of the Highland Wolf (10 page)

Part of her was trying to be sensible. To say no and return to the cottage. To search for the secret passages on the outside of the building and slip into the castle during the day when the filming was in progress and everything chaotic. To remind herself that these were not humans but werewolves who could hear and see her movements when others couldn't.

The more adventurous and more reckless side of her nature won out. “I'd love to.”

He bowed his head a little to her, but before she could rise from her chair, someone knocked on the door. Guthrie, she suspected.

“Come,” Ian said.

The door opened, and a man entered who looked similar to Ian, except that he was a redhead and wore a trim beard. He was tall like Ian, his hair shorter, his green eyes contemplative, and he wore navy trousers and a white button-down collar, businesslike. Just as she would envision an accountant. He gave her an elusive smile and then tilted his head to Ian.

“Aye, you wished to speak with me?” He was soft-spoken and seemed amused. She imagined that Cearnach and Duncan had already filled him in about her, telling him as much as they knew.

“Miss Julia Wildthorn is dining with us. Could you tell Cook?”

Guthrie's eyes widened a bit and his lips parted, and then he looked back at Julia. Unmistakably, she felt a secret communication was being imparted between the two men. “Are you a brother also?” she asked.

“Aye, Guthrie MacNeill, third eldest brother.” He was a pleasant enough fellow, but he seemed a little concerned.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. When did you want to eat?” Guthrie asked Ian.

“Can you have the dinner prepared in an hour?”

“An hour. I'll see what I can do.” Guthrie gave Julia one last look, then bowed to Ian and hurried out of the room, shutting the door with a click.

“Is he often responsible for having dinner on the table?” she asked, suspecting from Guthrie's surprise, although he'd quickly recovered, that it was news to him. Unless… unless he suspected she was the Iris North who had talked to him about using Argent Castle for the film production. She hadn't tried to disguise her voice when she'd contacted him because she hadn't figured she'd speak to him in person, not while she was here under the guise of working with the film staff.

“Whatever I need him to be in charge of,” Ian said, but she thought the meal wasn't truly part of Guthrie's jobs.

She swore something else was going on between the brothers. “I need to call Maria and tell her I won't be back for dinner. Can I use your phone? Everything was lost in the car fire.”

“Not everything, thankfully,” he said solemnly. He motioned to a phone on his desk. “I'll return in a moment. Before dinner, if you'd like, we can walk in the gardens. And you can take some more notes.”

“The gardens.” Her heart lifted at the thought she could include them in her work, and she smiled. “I'd love to see them.”

His mood appeared to lift marginally. “Aye, well I'll be back in a wee bit.” Then Ian exited the room but left the door open to his office, his footfalls heading away down the hall.

As soon as he was gone, she punched in the number at the cottage. “Maria, I'm staying at the castle for dinner,” Julia said to Maria quickly when she answered, before her friend could give her the third degree.

“I've never known you to act so interested in a man you've never met before, Julia. But he's a wolf, remember. You aren't thinking of taking a tumble with him just so you can stay inside the castle and see all the forbidden sites, are you?”

“Taking a tumble with him? Hmm, forbidden sites.” Now that truly stirred Julia's imagination. One kilted Highlander minus his kilt, alone with her in his bedchamber. “I'm here just for dinner.”

“You know the fact they're
lupus garous
explains a lot. Why they didn't want to have any filming done at the castle. Why they haven't opened the place up to other kinds of business ventures. Why Ian could track us as easily as he did in the woods after the car accident.” A pause followed. “Why he's attracted to you.”

But he seemed to be fighting the attraction every bit as much as Julia was with him. “He saw me in the woods in my wolf form earlier.”

Maria grew silent.

“No big deal. He shouldn't have been able to see me. Wouldn't have been able to if he hadn't been one of our kind.”

“All right, so if he's one of the good guys and he's a
lupus garou
, did he see anything out there that might have indicated that someone hit us on purpose when we had our accident?”

Julia had been too busy worrying about her name and what that would entail to consider the accident and whether it had been an accident or not. But Maria was right. Since Ian was a
lupus garou
, he could have smelled gunfire, if there'd been any. “I'll ask Ian.”

“Ian?” Maria sounded curiously suspicious.

“Laird MacNeill.” Julia had done it again, only thankfully not in front of one of his kin this time. They'd for sure think he'd given her permission. And give him an even harder time than they were already, she surmised from the amused glances passed between them and the Gaelic conversation meant for their ears only.

But if he had smelled gunfire, was Maria right about her conspiracy theory? Did another
lupus garou
clan want to harm them? Or some of Ian's own people?

Not in his wildest dreams had Ian MacNeill ever considered having a tête-à-tête with a woman who was in the least bit involved with this movie-making venture. But she was considering a tumble with him? To see the forbidden sites? Hell, his people would never let him live it down.

If he was right in his assumptions, the dark-haired one wasn't a problem. She was here to do her business, and that was it. Julia was a different story. If he read her actions correctly, she was in love with the castle and his men, romanticizing what it would be like to live here. It shouldn't have mattered, but still, he'd lived long enough to recognize trouble when he saw it. Maybe he was being a little too cynical. Maybe she was just excited, and she'd do what was expected in her job and nothing more.

But something about her actions made him suspect she was one to be watched. Withholding her surname until the last, sneaking around his woods after the film crew had been told he had forbidden them to do so, and who knew what else.

Olive-green jeans that would blend well in the forest had hugged her bottom as it had swayed a little with her walk, her black boots silent on the cobblestone path as she had entered the inner bailey earlier while he'd watched from the wall walk. A slinky, form-fitting sweater of the same color had highlighted nice firm breasts, garnering more than just his notice, if he was any judge of his men's attention toward her. As wet as it was, why wasn't the lassie wearing a jacket? To show off her considerable assets, he gathered. Or was it because by wearing fewer clothes, she could shape-shift more quickly?

Silky red hair the color of burnished copper had bounced over her shoulders with every step as she'd walked farther away from his perch on the wall walk.

Once everyone had seen enough of the woman to recognize her when the film crew returned in the morning to begin setting up, Duncan could make their people aware that she needed to be watched, just in case she attempted to take an unscheduled tour of the castle on her own. He'd warned his people not to shape-shift while the film crew was on the premises, but sometimes the wolf part of the equation didn't cooperate. Not when a werewolf had too many human roots and the full moon was nearly upon them. He couldn't risk any of the humans seeing what his people could become. But she wasn't exactly human. She was one of them.

On the other hand, what if he offered for her to stay at the castle? What might he discover about the little red wolf then?

Unable to locate Duncan in the inner bailey or his usual haunts in the castle, Ian checked on Guthrie in his office to see if he'd learned anything about Miss Julia Wildthorn. He wasn't there.

The castle was too big at times. Ian had returned to the great hall when Duncan hurried to meet him.

Despite Duncan's usually dark composure, this time there was almost a spring in his step and almost an upward curve to his lips. Had Duncan scared the director and his minions to such a degree that he had a wee bit to smile about?

Ian sat down in his favorite high-backed chair in front of the fire. “What amuses you, Duncan? I don't believe I've seen you this cheery in eons. Not unless you've been successful in a sword fight, and even then your delight in your win is shown in the most reserved manner.”

Duncan sank into a chair next to Ian's. “We have a situation. Guthrie says you've put him in charge of dinner.”

Ian raised his brows. “Ah, and this is what amuses you?” He wasn't worried about a
situation
, not if Duncan was pleased about it.

“Aye.” Duncan's faint smile grew, only it was hard to tell what he was thinking. Not a happy smile, but more of a hunter's smile, as if he'd just found prey to make sport of.

“And?”

Duncan turned from the fire, the flames glinting off his dark eyes. “Cook took the night off. To be with MacNamara, rumor has it.”

“MacNamara? Who swore off women after his wife divorced him five years ago?” Ian frowned. “She doesn't intend to turn him, does she?”

“He is just a diversion. So she says.”

“Ah.” Ian watched Duncan stretch out his legs.

“The truth of the matter is that Guthrie realized you needed information about the lass, and yet you've ordered him to do the cooking.”

“Cooking?” Guthrie never cooked. Well, at least not since he'd ruined a few meals in the process. Ian swore his brother did it on purpose so he'd never be asked to cook.

“Aye. You put him in charge of having the dinner ready. But Cook is with MacNamara.”

Realization dawning, Ian folded his arms and smiled slightly. “I wanted him to tell Cook to have dinner ready in an hour, but that he was to research who Miss Julia Wildthorn is in the meantime. Since he cannot be doing two jobs at once, and the other is of more importance, you will have Cook's job.”

Duncan's smile vanished. “Me? I cook worse than Guthrie.”

“Aye.”

“If you're thinking to win your ladylove with a meal fit for an earl, you can forget it. We'll have whatever I can throw together that won't need any cooking.” Duncan looked glum. “As to another matter, Cearnach said if you don't want the red, he's interested.”

Ian shook his head. “Don't tell Cearnach the other one's a wolf, too, or he'll be giving the two of them a guided tour of the whole castle, his bedchamber first.”

“Don't tell Cearnach what?” their brother asked, strolling into the great hall with two of their devoted Irish wolfhounds at his side. The brindled offspring were descendants from the earlier breed of hounds the MacNeill werewolf clan had trained to take down English armored knights in Ireland when their ancestors had first lived there.

The MacNeills were descendants of the ancient high king of Ireland, Niall of the Nine Hostages. Unlike others on the island in ancient times, the MacNeills had not used the hounds to take down wolves until they were eradicated. Instead, the hounds had done an excellent job of separating the English knights from their warhorses.

Now, the hounds served as companions. Although huge and ferocious-looking with their shaggy, wiry coats, bristly hair over their eyes, and chin whiskers, the dogs were gentle and friendly and not much good at guarding. Unless an outsider attacked one of the MacNeills or their friends.

Cearnach sat on his own chair, stretched his legs out toward the fire, and steepled his hands under his chin. “Don't tell me what?” he repeated, sounding intrigued.

“The Spanish-looking lass is one of us also. Guthrie is researching Miss Julia Wildthorn,” Duncan said. He cast a look Cearnach's way. “But maybe Cearnach would get more out of her with his charming ways.” He made the comment facetiously.

Cearnach smiled. “With lassies? Aye.” His smile turned into a grin. “You never cease to amaze me, Ian. Here we are nearly in financial ruin, with a film crew about to breach the walls of our castle, a battle soon to ensue as to what conditions you wish met while the filming begins, and you are concerned about a couple of lassies?” He nodded sagely. “You fear one of us will forget our loyalties?”

Instead of the silly grin Cearnach often wore, his smile slipped, and he put on an air of being circumspect. In another man, Ian might have fallen for the ruse. But not with Cearnach. “The MacNeills never forget their loyalties to the clan.” Cearnach slapped his thighs and swore softly under his breath. He waggled his brows. “Just which of us will win the lasses over is yet to be seen.”

“They are not staying,” Ian warned. “I intend to ensure they are only with the film crew and have no other agenda.”

“What other agenda would that be?” Cearnach asked, still not sounding truly serious. “They are Yanks, not from our enemy's clan here, correct?”

“We have no idea why they are truly here. Why would
lupus garous
work for humans in such a capacity? Risky business to be sure. And that's what I'm bound to find out.”

Duncan said, “But Maria truly seemed to be with the film crew. The other? The redhead? She has the look of a Highland lass, no doubt about it. But if you wish for me to check into Maria's background, I will.”

“Do so,” Ian said, “since Guthrie is already checking into the other.”

Duncan motioned to Cearnach. “Since he has nothing better to do, shall he be Cook?”

Usually when Ian gave them a task, they were more than happy to carry it out. Even if they had to make a meal, it was no big deal. Was it that they didn't want to show how poorly they could cook in front of the female red?

Cearnach frowned at Duncan. “Where's Cook?”

“Cearnach, you have the job. Dinner in an hour.” Not wishing to discuss dinner with his brothers further, Ian changed the subject. “Earlier today, Guthrie was about to sign a deal to have a gift shop in the great hall after the film is released to sell Highland paraphernalia from the movie. I emphatically said no.”

Duncan snorted. “Like a
Jurassic Park
gift shop. Only this time selling action figures in the form of brawny Highlanders wearing kilts, replica swords, and all manner of Scots' relics, no doubt.”

“I have an old sword or two I wouldn't mind selling off if the price was right,” Cearnach offered.

Ignoring him, Ian asked, “Has Guthrie talked to either of you about serving as extras in the movie? To fight in some of the battle scenes?”

Duncan looked at Cearnach. Cearnach reached down to pet Anlan, but as soon as he did, Dillon raised his head to be petted also. Both his brothers were acting suspiciously enough that Ian assumed the worst. “You did.”

Duncan shrugged. “Most of the men of our staff have signed up. We mock fight all the time. Why not show off the skill of our swordsmanship, something we have done since we were mere lads, unlike the whelps in the film who have been given a few lessons to get by in the movie?”

Ian shook his head.

“We're getting paid for it, Ian,” Cearnach said. “You might want to join in on the fun also and earn a little pocket change on the side. Although as an earl, you should be the star of the film. I can see it now, though. They'd match you up with the hero of the film, and you'd give him a real fight, none of this fancy, choreographed showmanship like they do in the movies. The women would fall in love with the true Scotsman, and you would be an overnight success. If
lupus garou
females knew that's what you were, they'd be climbing our walls to get to you.”

Duncan smiled a little. Ian furrowed his brow, envisioning crazed women attempting to slip through the gatehouse to ravish him. Which again made him think of Julia. And with her, the thought appealed.

His brothers were observing him, smiling, as if they knew just what he'd been thinking.

“Extras,” Ian said, rising from his chair. Both hounds raised their heads and watched him. “At least Guthrie's got enough sense not to sign up to be one.” His brothers cast each other looks, and Ian frowned. “He said he's not going to be an extra.”

“He was the one who approached the film crew about us all serving as extras. Although they call us background performers,” Cearnach said proudly. “All we're going to do is fight our own people, like we would do normally, only we get paid for it this time. And we could use the money. The big-name actors will be fighting each other. But no, technically, Guthrie isn't performing. He's the one who got us all involved.”

“You won't be fighting your own battles like you normally would do, Cearnach. I'm sure they'll have you fight the way they want the scenes filmed. Hell, next you'll tell me that if they want a couple of wolves to attack the clansmen, you'll be volunteering to perform in that capacity.” Ian gave them both a disgruntled look.

Duncan cast him an elusive smile. Cearnach laughed. “If we could get away with it, and we earned good money…” He let his words trail off.

“I'll see you both later.” Ian patted his leg, and both hounds stood, stretched, and hurried to join him as he headed for his solar to see what Miss Julia Wildthorn was up to now.

“I imagine our laird would not mind if the redheaded
lass
wished to storm the castle walls to get to him,” Cearnach said, but fortunately Duncan kept his counsel.

Although when Ian cast a glance over his shoulder to give Cearnach a quelling look, his brothers were grinning their fool heads off.

“Which of us will get to keep the fair damsels, Duncan?” Cearnach asked.

Neither, Ian thought to himself. He already had enough trouble running the castle without having an American of the red wolf variety or an American Iberian gray stirring up new difficulties.

He'd hoped he could get close to his office and overhear more of Julia's conversation with Maria, as much as he was intrigued by her comments about having a tumble with him. But with the dogs tromping together behind him like a couple of horses and the floorboards creaking in one spot, there was no chance at that.

When he reached the solar, he thought her expression seemed animated and content. Julia looked like she belonged there. If he hadn't heard her strange expressions and American accent, she could have been Scottish. But that wasn't what was making him feel strangely at odds when he entered his solar.

She was sitting in his chair, which no one—not even his brothers—ever sat in, warming his seat and bringing to mind the thought of her sitting in his lap. His loins tightening, he decided then on taking a more secluded walk with her.

“Ready for our walk?” Ian asked Julia, startling her from speaking to her friend over the phone in his office. He was surprised that she hadn't anticipated his appearance, but she seemed to be listening intently to whatever her friend was saying and turned abruptly to see him.

The dogs came into the room with him and stood by his side. Her brows rose to see them, and he took a seat on one of the guest chairs, which oddly made him feel as though he'd given up the castle. He realized then just how important his chair was. The unofficial seat of power, the place where his da had sat and his da before him—not on that particular chair, but an earlier one—giving counsel, advising on war, settling disputes among his people. And now, an American, a female red wolf, was sitting in that seat.