Heart of the Highland Wolf (13 page)

She closed her eyes. She'd had unconsummated sex with a Highland laird. His brothers probably all knew what Ian had on his mind. She'd been hopeful he wanted a little afternoon delight, even if it was early evening, but she hadn't really believed he'd go very far. Some wolves would not, not unless they planned on taking the other for their mate.

She let out her breath. After tonight, she could never go back to feeling the same way toward Ian or his kin. They were real people, not just names in an email or a disembodied voice on the phone or a lifeless representation of someone in a photo. How could she sneak around the castle trying to locate her family's box behind the MacNeills' backs?

She couldn't. She'd just have to call her grandfather and tell him she couldn't do it.

Ian's hand finally caressed her hair, and he leaned down and kissed her head. “You're shivering, lass. Are you ready for dinner?”

“Hmm. I imagine everyone's eaten already.” Then she groaned. “They wouldn't have waited for your return, would they have?”

“No. They know better.”

That made her again wonder if they knew what he'd planned with her. On the other hand, he
had
tried to resist—and probably would have, if she hadn't pushed the issue.

He rose from the ground, inspected her foot, frowned, and then pulled on her left sock and shoe on her foot, but not her right. She thought she'd be fine, but he shook his head and handed her the other shoe and sock. “Hold onto these.”

“What? You can't carry me all the way back to the castle.” She felt awful. Just to see the falls, she'd put him in this predicament.

“Here,” Ian said. “Climb onto my back.”

“Ride piggyback?” she asked, horrified. “Help me on with my sock and boot. I can manage.”

“You're not walking all the way to the castle, lass. Do you think I can't handle it?”

“No. It's just that I'm heavy and—”

“Heavy? As heavy as a pillow of goose down. Climb on.” He leaned over for her.

She hesitated. “It's a long way back. If I'd realized how far it was and that my ankle would be giving me fits, I would never have come here.” She slipped on her sock so her foot wouldn't be so cold.

He gave her a dark smile, lifted her boot from her hands, and tied the laces around his belt loop in front. “I wouldn't have missed it for the world. We have four choices. You can ride on my shoulders, on my back, in my arms, or be tossed over one shoulder. Any will work for me. Your choice. But walking isn't one of them.”

Her lips curved up a hint. He sounded like a Highland barbarian who was totally in charge. Not a laird, though. She would expect a laird to give the task to one of his clansmen. But then, they were quite alone. Would he have handed her over to one of his men if one had been available?

Exasperated with herself all over again for having to do this to him, she let out her breath. “All right. Which will be easiest for you?”

“Easiest?” His light growl sounded like she'd just stomped his manhood into the ground.

She backpedaled.
Alpha male
. “Which would be most comfortable for you?”

“Climb onto my back, lass.”

She harrumphed. “If you throw out your back, I warned you.”

He chuckled and hoisted her onto his back, grabbed her legs as she hung her arms loosely about his shoulders, and started walking. She really hated to do this to him, but with her legs wrapped around him, her head against his shoulder, his hands grasping the underside of her thighs, she was feeling sexy and interested all over again.

But it wouldn't be the same once they returned to the castle and Ian was back to being in charge and serious when it came to dealing with her. She was still with the film crew, as far as he knew, except instead of searching for the family treasure in secret, now all she had left to do was write her story.

She just hoped her grandfather wouldn't be too upset with her when she called to tell him that the mission he had sent her on was a washout. But the worry kept nagging at her that the matter was too serious not to make the effort.

***

No matter how late Ian and Julia arrived at Argent, he knew his brothers would be waiting up to see what had become of him. And of Julia. He could have driven her back to her cottage and saved her the embarrassment. But he'd promised her dinner, and in any event, he didn't want her to return to Baird Cottage.

Because Julia appeared to be Scottish, he imagined she had roots here. That made him wonder about her ancestors and the freedom her family must have enjoyed by leaving Scotland, traipsing through the wilderness, and settling the new lands on the North American continent. No call for titled nobility. No need to make appearances with strictly human types like they had to do in Scotland. Titles meant social obligations.

Although he and his
lupus garou
family had wanted to keep their land and titles so that they could continue to do what they needed for their pack, the social part of the deal had been hard to stomach at times. The social events were mostly attended by humans, and when he and his family went to such affairs, they always felt out of place and longed to return to the isolation of their woodland estate. Also, titled lords were expected to take wives of suitable breeding. But few Highland werewolf clans had existed, and fewer still that Ian and his family were not at odds with.

So he'd chosen a human, a viscount's daughter, not of werewolf lineage, and although they didn't suit, he'd hoped her social graces would help him to overcome his abhorrence of attending social functions while keeping his werewolf genes secret. But her constant sniping at his ineptness in the social graces had turned him cold even in the bedchamber. He shook his head at his negative thoughts and turned his attention to the woman clinging to his back, his current dilemma.

“I can walk now,” Julia said when they were still in the woods but nearing the castle. He knew she shouldn't walk, but she was afraid of being seen while he carried her on his back.

The playful intimacy between them appealed, especially since he couldn't remember a time when he'd felt this way with a woman.

The dogs explored a little distance from them but returned quickly as he'd taught them.

“Either I carry you in my arms or on my back, lass. Shoulders, if you prefer. But you're not walking a step in any direction on your own. By tomorrow, your ankle should be healed. But tonight, you've transportation.”

He loved the feel of her legs wrapped around his body, opening herself to him, her breasts pressed against his back, the feel of her soft thighs in his hands, and her arms around his shoulders, hugging him, the jostling as he walked making her rub against him. Already, he was hard and wanting her all over again.

“I can hold your arm and…” She let her words trail off as she tried to look around him.

He strode into view of the castle, the dogs raising their heads and sniffing the air. Julia wiggled to be free, but he tightened his hold on her. “If I drop you, you may sprain something else, lass.”

“All right, all right. Let me down, and I'll…” She didn't say anything further as two of his cousins, Oran and Ethan, waved a greeting, both grinning at them at the main gate.

As soon as Ian carried her inside, the men closed the gates, and he knew what the topic of conversation would be for weeks.

“Ian… I… oh, come on, let me down,” she said, sounding exasperated with him.

“I gave you the terms of the agreement.” He continued to stalk toward the keep as the dogs ran alongside them.

When they reached the inner bailey, Julia tried again. “We're almost there.”

He didn't reply. He was used to giving orders, used to his people obeying them. One little red wolf was not going to change his mind, no matter how much she cajoled.

When he reached the front door of the keep, she said, “All right, now you
have
to put me down so you can at least open—”

The door swung open, and Guthrie greeted Ian with a guarded smile. Ian knew Oran had to have called ahead to let his brothers know he was coming. “Your dinner is being warmed as we speak,” Guthrie said.

“Thank you, Guthrie.” Ian carried Julia into the keep.

“Ian,” she whispered.

“Aye, lass?”

“I will get you back for this.”

He chuckled and carried her through the great hall where Cearnach and Duncan were standing next to the fireplace, watching she and Ian and looking a wee bit surprised, their gazes shifting to her boot tied to his belt and then to her bootless foot.

He said in greeting, “Brothers.” Then he continued to the kitchen and deposited Julia on a chair. “Now, you were saying?”

Julia was worried now that Ian would talk to his brother Guthrie and learn just who she was, as she assumed that was the secret communiqué passed between Ian and him. Nonetheless, she observed that the kitchen was a state-of-the-art affair as Ian set her in a high-backed chair at a long table. It looked to seat servants, unlike the ones they'd passed in a dining hall.

Several long, dark tables were situated in the dining hall, and each had at least twenty chairs that looked fit for a king, all high backed with seats and backs wearing a rich forest-green brocade. The walls were covered with paintings of local scenery featuring picturesque mountains, tranquil lochs, fields of purple heather and yellow gorse, and the ancient forest. And the floor wore beautifully woven Turkish rugs.

But in the kitchen, the long, light-oak table seated twelve, and she now sat at the head of the table. In here, everything was practical—racks where stainless-steel serving ladles and the like hung, and pots, too, in a rack over a large, freestanding counter. All the counters were granite. And unbelievably, three fridges, two dishwashers, and three ovens filled the kitchen. Plus a microwave.

Thankfully, Ian didn't seem to be in a rush to learn who she was—as far as her being a werewolf romance author. She smelled something, she couldn't tell what, heating in the microwave, as well as the faint aroma of pizza. One of the ovens had been used, and the heat from it had warmed the kitchen to a degree. Fluorescent fixtures flooded the room with light, and leaves fluttered in the breeze on a tree outside a large kitchen window overlooking the garden. She really did want to see the garden and take notes for her story.

Ian pulled a serving dish out of the microwave and considered it for a few minutes, frowning at whatever it was. Then he crossed the floor to the stainless-steel sink and set the serving dish in it. Afterward, he went to the freezer portion of one of the fridges and pulled out a packaged pizza. “My brothers tried too hard. Is pepperoni pizza all right with you?”

“Won't they be disappointed we didn't eat what they made?”

He leaned down under the sink, pulled out a trash bin, and then plucked out a couple of discarded pizza boxes and showed them to her. “That's what
they
ate.” He shoved the trash back under the sink and then motioned to the serving dish. “I swear they try really hard to make something inedible so that when Cook is unavailable, I don't make them prepare the meal.”

She chuckled. At that moment, she wished she had brothers like that. Who were funny and sweet, but who would be protective, too.

After unwrapping the pizza, he shoved it in the oven and then went to the freezer and pulled out a bag of ice.

“I didn't think you drank anything with ice in it.”

“Only when we have American guests. But this,” he said, wrapping some of the cubes in a towel, “is for your ankle.”

“I wouldn't have thought you'd have American guests here very often.”

He raised his brows at her slightly. “I haven't met any that I would consider inviting over for tea.”

She assumed that being a
lupus garou
, he wouldn't invite
anyone
over, beyond his kin, who wasn't on his short list of friends. Unless he had to because he was a laird.

He scooted her chair around so that he could move another over and then elevated her foot on the seat. After wrapping her ankle with the makeshift ice compress, he glanced up. “Comfortable?”

“Yes, thanks.” As comfortable as she could be with the way the darned ankle was throbbing. But she wouldn't have missed the falls for anything, nor the wild intimacy she had shared with Ian.

“The pizza will be ready in a few minutes. Can I get you something to drink? A wee bit o' Scotch, lass? Or wine?”

“A cup of hot tea?”

“Aye.” He boiled some water and then made her a mug of tea and handed it to her. His fingers strayed to a red curl grazing her cheek. “I need to speak with my brothers and have them check into a matter.”

“The man who threatened Maria?”

His gaze was steady and concerned. “Aye. If you don't need anything further for the moment…”

“Do you have a spare cell phone? I'd like to call Maria and tell her that I'm still here and that after we finish dinner, I'll be back.”

“Call your friend,” Ian said, “but tell her you are staying the night.”

Just like that, he was giving her another order. She was amused, rather than annoyed, and actually, as long as she had a spare room to stay in, the whole scenario might work out well, she thought. She might be able to take a peek around while everyone was sleeping. But she was afraid he planned to keep her cloistered in his own chamber.

Maybe he didn't intend that, though. It might be too difficult to explain his actions to his kin. It was one thing to have a human female for companionship but entirely another considering that she was a wolf.

Or would he change his mind once he learned what she did for a living and what she was doing here now?

***

When Ian had told her to stay, Julia's eyes had widened. She didn't say anything for a moment, and he thought she was weighing the situation—his pack's reaction, her friend's response. Then Julia cleared her throat and ran her hand up and down her mug of tea, reminding him of how she'd brought him to release earlier. He felt his loins tighten.

“You're a wolf,” she finally said.

He smiled, unable to help himself. It amused him to hear her say so, although he thought she was more concerned about the fact he was a
lupus garou
and she was, too, and what that meant between them.

He shrugged as if her staying meant nothing to him one way or another. Just a friendly suggestion. She wouldn't have to return to the cottage. He wouldn't have to take her. Seemed the best thing to do under the circumstances.

Her hand kept sliding over that damn mug, and his groin tightened further.

“I don't have a change of clothes,” she finally said.

He glanced down at her soft wool sweater and green trousers, the smooth bra hidden under the sweater that he'd managed to pull away from a breast, the scrap of silk between her legs that had yielded to his touch, envisioning how much he wanted to see her out of all of it.

“Either Duncan can drop by your cottage and grab a bag for you, or we can find something here for you to wear. It's up to you.” He thought she was really considering staying with him. Or maybe he was just damned hopeful. But it was her choice.

He shouldn't have wanted it. Not when she was part of the film crew and he hadn't wanted any of them in the sleeping quarters. But she wasn't exactly one of them. And that was another reason he shouldn't have wanted her to stay, considering that she was a sexy, enticing female wolf.

Still, he hadn't learned what she was up to, another good point for having her stay.

He reached across the table and took hold of the hand that had been manhandling the mug, wanting to show her how much her actions had already affected him. Instead, he raised her fingers to his mouth and kissed them.

“Stay with me.” He meant it to be a command, but it sounded like he desperately wanted her to agree.

“Why?”

She couldn't have surprised him more. He quickly tried to come up with a good reason. The true reasons—he craved having her close; he wanted to know her secrets—weren't what he wished to reveal.

“I thought you might like to experience a night in a castle.”

“Ah.”

He thought from the impish expression on her face that she didn't believe him.

“All right. For the night then,” she agreed.

As much as he didn't want to let on how much this pleased him, he squeezed her hand in acknowledgment. Their gazes momentarily locked, and then he said, “I must speak with my brothers.”

“I'll watch the pizza.”

“You sit, stay. I'll be right back.” He didn't want her leaving the chair for anything.

When Ian left Julia, he assumed his brothers would still be gathered in the great room, seated about the fire in their usual chairs and doing what they normally did if they hadn't already retired for the night. But he knew they wouldn't be. As soon as they saw that he had returned, all attention would be upon him, and the questions about the woman would begin in earnest.

Green eyes narrowed in concentration, Guthrie was reading through a sheath of papers that looked to be something to do with their finances. He stroked his trim red beard for a second, the only one of the brothers who wore one, and then he flipped to another page. He was more studious than any of his brothers, serious and dedicated to the pack finances. And he'd taken this whole financial mess they were in to heart. Ian had been careful not to admonish Guthrie for it, after he had gotten over the initial shock. Instead, he insisted he was at fault for not overseeing matters more. When it came to numbers, though, Guthrie normally knew what he was doing.

Cearnach was whittling away at yet another traditional Scottish handle fashioned out of rosewood for a dirk, although he was now designing the Celtic knot with its interlacing strands over the entire surface. Ian wondered just how many his brother could sell before the market was saturated with his handmade daggers.

Duncan was sharpening his two-handed claymore, and Ian mused that at least two of his brothers looked to be preparing for battle. The wolfhounds trotted beside Ian, their nails clicking on the floor, and all eyes shifted to watch Ian cross the room to join them.

His brothers all raised brows and waited for him to speak. He sat down on his comfortable recliner and said, “Maria, Julia's companion, believed the accident was no accident.” He explained the gray wolf sighting and the phone call Maria had received. From their dark expressions, his brothers looked ready to do someone bodily injury.

“They could have been killed,” Duncan said.

“Aye, and that's why I want him or, if there are more of them in on this, all of them found.” Ian gave Guthrie his attention and waited for his news about Julia Wildthorn.

“She's a romance writer.” Guthrie's eyes sparkled with mirth. “She's all over the Web. Author photos, interviews, blogs, you name it.” Before Ian could wrap his mind around that, Guthrie added, “A werewolf romance writer, as in she writes about werewolves.”

“Hell,” Ian said. Of a million different scenarios he could have come up with, that was not even close to being one of them.

No one said anything for a moment, and then Cearnach smiled. “I'd say we have a houseguest.” He shrugged. “Someone has to change her mind about what she writes. Might as well be you, since you're the most persuasive of any of us, Ian. At least, I'm sure, in regard to the lassie.”

And then it dawned on Ian. That was probably why the little red wolf had been taking such copious notes concerning the castle and the surrounding lands. Hell, would she write about him? His people? Not in his lifetime.

More than ever, he wanted to see that notebook of hers. A werewolf romance author?

“Because of our money difficulties, I was thinking… since she is everywhere on the Internet, why not exploit the fact we have a famous author staying with us?” Guthrie said.

“Is she famous?” Ian asked, surprised as hell. Werewolves didn't need the attention.

“Well, no, but she is all over the Internet.”

“And that helps us how? We're not advertising our castle so that tons of guests can stay here. We've already had the discussion about opening the place up as a bed-and-breakfast. No museum tours. No gift shops. No wedding showers or baby showers or any other kind of parties.”

“Flynn would be upset,” Duncan agreed. “He'd throw a fit and do his ghostly bit and have visitors running for the exits.”

Ian saw the expression on Guthrie's face, deep in calculated thought. “No ghost shows,” Ian further clarified.

But he was considering another possibility. Was the woman as intrigued with him as he was with her, or was it all a ploy? The enthusiastic trip to the falls. All that had happened between them once she'd arrived. He kept telling himself that what they'd shared meant nothing but a much needed release to quell the growing intrigue they had for each other. But even so, the notion she would use him for her book-writing venture soured his stomach.

“All of this is on the Internet, you say?” Ian asked Guthrie.

“Aye. Just put in her name on any of the more popular search engines, and there it is, page after page. A couple of her books were even made into films,” Guthrie said.

“Films.” Ian eyed Guthrie with suspicion. “The movie Sunset Productions is filming here isn't about Highland
werewolves
, is it?”

“No, it's strictly a fictional historical piece.”

“You're sure?”

“Aye. I've seen the script. The Highlanders are precisely that. No wolves among them.”

But that didn't mean the red wolf sitting in the kitchen wasn't writing her own version, featuring Ian and his kin, that
would
be made into a film.

“One other thing, Ian. I recognized her voice when she spoke in your solar. She's the woman who first conferred with me about using the castle for the film production. She used a different name. Iris North.”

Ian ground his teeth. “Is Julia Wildthorn her pen name then?”

“I couldn't find anything about an Iris North. That may have been an assumed name as well.”

Hell.
“All right. Learn everything you can about the man who called Maria and threatened her, the truck that hit their car, and the gray wolf that's roaming our lands.” Ian rose and headed for the stairs.

“You've left Julia alone in the kitchen?” Cearnach asked. The unspoken question was: shouldn't one of them see to her? Maybe watch her?

But she wouldn't be going anywhere. Not with her ankle bothering her so.