Heart of the Highland Wolf (23 page)

She quickly checked the walls in the room, really not wanting to get caught in…

Footsteps headed her way. Her heart nearly beat out of her chest. Two doors, one to the hallway and one to who knew where. But then she wondered if he had a trapdoor like the one in Ian's lady's chamber. She quickly searched under the rugs and found one.

She reconsidered. She wasn't looking for anything but the secret niche. Who would blame her? It wasn't like she was trying to steal from Duncan or anything. The footfalls grew closer. But then again, she should have asked to search his room. She flipped up the carpet, pulled up the trapdoor, slipped inside, and realized she couldn't put the carpet back in place. Too late. She was down in the stairwell, and the footfalls were nearly here. She closed the trapdoor and hurried down the steps.
Dumb, dumb, dumb.
But then she had a thought. What if the secret niche was in the tunnels?

***

Ian hadn't found any sign of a John Smith, and Maria had already left with the rest of the film crew for the night, and the gates were locked. On his way back to the keep, he got a call from Duncan. “Yeah?”

“You haven't told us if the lassie is your mate yet, brother.”

“Aye, she is.”

“Weel, then, your mate is down in the tunnels again. This time, she slipped through the trapdoor in my chamber.”

“What—”

“I followed her scent. She'd been to every room until she came to mine, and then I discovered the carpet pulled aside. When I opened the trapdoor, I could smell her faint fragrance inside the stairwell. She's down there but not in sight. I didn't want to go after her until I warned you. No mobile phone reception down there, and I didn't want you to worry when you discovered she'd vanished.”

“She'll lose her way.”

“Aye.”

“Hell.” Ian was still sorely vexed about Heather, but he'd hoped to settle in with Julia after they shared a meal. “I'll be there in a few minutes.”

“She's looking for the box.”

“Aye. I gathered as much.”

“Do you want me to get hold of everyone?”

“Aye, our brothers and cousins. Was Heather with her?”

“No.”

“Did you see her?”

“No, Ian. She's not anywhere about.”

Ian swore. “All right. I'm almost to the keep.” How could he have only two women to keep track of, and he'd lost both of them? Once this business with the film production was over, he'd have his people focus on looking for the box. Was Julia worried about what was in the box? Afraid he'd see what it contained? Was she hiding something more? Hell.

He was stalking through the kitchen door when the mobile phone on the table began to ring. It was Heather's, and he wondered if the guy she was supposed to rendezvous with was trying to call her. He yanked up the phone and gruffly said, “Who is this?”

That's when he saw the caller ID.
Findlay MacPherson.
Julia's grandfather? Ian opened his mouth to identify himself when the caller hung up.

***

Ian would probably be annoyed with her anyway, so Julia put on her adventurer's hat—so to speak—and began to explore the walls, looking for any indication that there was a cutout in the stones anywhere down here. She figured that in due time she'd be able to locate the trapdoor to the lady's chamber that she had gone through before, although probably before long, Ian would come after her. But until then, she was looking for the secret hiding place.

Still, as she considered how rugged the walls were, she didn't think the niche would be down here. She should have asked her grandfather. She shook her head at herself. He had said it was on the third floor. She glanced back in the direction of the stairwell to Duncan's chamber. Where would the niche have been? The laird's chamber? The lady's? Someplace else that would not be as obvious? But she hadn't even checked the laird's or lady's chambers.

That decided, she was heading in what she thought was the direction of the lady's chamber's trapdoor when she heard what sounded like horses running through the tunnels. Ghosts?

She turned and saw the wolfhounds, Anlan and Dillon, stop suddenly, sniff the air, and study her. Then they both barked, letting everyone know where she was. Having done their duty, they ran the rest of the way to her and butted her with their heads, poking her with their noses in greeting. She smiled and petted their heads.

“Lead me to your master,” she said, figuring Ian or his brothers couldn't be far behind. And she might as well get this over with.

***

When Julia had joined Ian and his brothers in the tunnels, he had been dark and sullen. His attitude continued through dinner and even after they retired to bed, and she wasn't sure what was bothering him so. But he wasn't talking about it, and she gave up asking.

The next morning at the kitchen table during breakfast, his brothers watched her and Heather, their gazes returning to Ian and waiting for him to speak, but when Julia had had enough and rose to leave the table, Ian caught her wrist.

She raised her brows. “We have the filming in the woods today. I'm getting dressed.” She waited for him to release her, ready to twist away from him like she'd learned in a self-defense class she'd taken to get some of her scenes right for a story once, if he didn't let go soon. His gaze met hers, cool and concerned. Maybe it was just the fact that Basil would be with his men at the filming today, and Ian was worried about her and Heather.

She smiled and leaned down to kiss his cheek, and for a minute, she thought his black mood would disappear, that he would gather her up, return her to his chamber, and then ravish her before they took part in the film. Instead, he released her. “Everyone ready?” he asked.

A chorus of “ayes” filled the kitchen, and then everyone got up from the table and began clearing the food and empty plates away. All but Julia, who caught Heather's eye. She looked in awe of the American red wolf.

Julia sighed and headed out of the kitchen. If Ian didn't lighten up, it wasn't going to look very convincing that she was totally in love with him when she had to kiss him during the filming. Even though she was.

She'd even considered being a no-show, as annoyed as she was over Ian's mood, except she needed the money and she wasn't one to neglect her obligations. She thought of searching instead for the box while everyone else was preoccupied, and at this rate, wouldn't Ian be happier if she wasn't anywhere near where Basil or his men were? The truth of the matter was that she wanted to watch the action, not only for her book, but because she worried about Ian or his men fighting Basil and his. The thought anyone could get hurt while she was unaware of it as she did her sleuthing work in the castle bothered her too much.

She regarded the blue gown and MacNeill plaid
arisaid
she'd wear, and the chemise that was underneath the gown. All of the garments covered her up so much, that she wondered how Ian could even find her appealing. In research for another story, she'd learned that dampening petticoats and chemises had the effect of making them transparent while they clung to women's legs and other parts of their bodies. It was a way to give suitors a little bit of a risqué show, which was sure to garner their intrigue.

Although in the present day, women wore so much less that even that would probably not be noteworthy. Still, she wore no stays or panties, and the thought of getting Ian's attention while she wore the garments appealed. So she soaked the chemise. She was afraid that if she only dampened it, the garment would dry out before they finished filming the scene and he'd never notice.

But after she added the gown and the plaid
arisaid
over that, she felt buried in all the fabrics anyway. Oh well, she'd given it her best shot.

She slipped down the backstairs that led to the servants' quarters, wanting to avoid Ian and the rest of his family, just in case Ian decided she shouldn't be in the film today, and then she headed outside into the inner bailey. Maria waved at her, and Julia headed straight for her.

“Julia, Guthrie called me last night and was quite incensed that some guy named John Smith, who's supposed to be with the film crew, was trying to pick up Heather and meet with her in the dark of the night. There isn't any man named John Smith on the crew, nor in the film cast. I've checked the rosters. I told Guthrie this, but I'm not sure he believes me. The thing of it is, it sounds like an alias. Unless she can point out who he is, I haven't a clue. Can you let Ian know?” Maria's gaze lowered to Julia's bodice, and she smiled just a hint. “Trying to get Ian's attention?”

“I'll tell Ian.” Then Julia shrugged. “I feel buried in fabrics. I'm sure that I look frumpy and indistinguishable from anyone else out here.”

“Well, I'd say you'll get his notice all right.”

Heather joined them, smiling and dressed in her blue-and-green MacNeill plaid mantle and coffee-colored gown. “Are you ready?” she asked Julia. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, then her gaze shifted to Julia's bodice, and she grinned broadly. “Oh, Ian will have a hard time concentrating on fighting if he sees you've dampened your chemise.”

“It's not all that revealing,” Julia objected. At least she didn't think so.

“Oh, aye, it'll catch his attention.”

At least Heather was perfectly happy today, even if everyone else wore dark moods. “We've got to go.” Julia looped her arm around Heather's and headed for the bridge across the moat.

“Have a good time,” Maria called after them. “I'm working on another scene. Have fun!”

Julia waved back.

“I heard you were in the tunnels again last night. That you searched Ian's brothers' rooms, and even their mother's, looking for the secret box,” Heather said.

Julia sighed. “Yeah. I was alone and I thought maybe I'd get lucky. But it didn't work out that way, and now Ian's not very happy with me.”

“He's worried. About the filming today, about the guy I tried to see last night, and concerned you might have hurt yourself in the tunnels again. He has a lot on his shoulders. Even with the money problems we're having, he worries about all of the pack and keeping us together and not losing the castle.” Heather squeezed Julia's arm and smiled. “But he'll be fine once the filming is done.”

Great. That could take weeks. Then again, she figured this was like the way Maria acted when she didn't want anyone helping her through her concerns. And that Julia wasn't buying when it came to her mate.

But for now, she saw Basil Sutherland—and he was the same man she'd seen in the airport watching her, his gaze taking in the whole of her appearance, his men standing with him, their looks just as dark and leering. Maybe dampening her gown hadn't been such a good idea after all.

With good weather upon them and cameras in place, everyone began taking their positions for the filming of the battle scene in the woods.

Ian cast a wary glance around, identifying where Basil Sutherland and his men were situated. He saw Julia and Heather nearby with two of Heather's brothers watching her and Duncan sticking close to Julia. Four other maidens with smiles on their faces but wringing their hands were still huddled with his mate and his cousin.

Nearby, Basil stood tall and broad-shouldered with a fierce scowl to match his size. What Ian didn't like most about the bastard was the way he looked the “fair maidens” over with too much interest, his gaze quickly settling on Julia.

Someone directed the four other maidens to where they needed to be. Heather gave Julia a hug and then tore off to her own spot of woods with her brothers in tow before the filming of the scene began.

Only Julia remained within his visual range, which he'd made sure would be the situation and the only way he had agreed to allow her to remain in the film.

Julia smiled at Ian and looked to be in her element, the MacNeill plaid suiting her. Tendrils of red curls fluttered across her cheeks on the breezy day, a light mist draping the woods before the sun burned it away. He envisioned her wearing a slip of a lace bra and a skimpy thong or being naked, and the brief thought flitting across his mind of how much he'd like to lift her gown while he wore his kilt and show the lass a bit of Highland loving. But then he stared at her bodice, the way the fabric looked so sheer across her breasts, her blue gown just high enough to cover her nipples, and he frowned.

Hell.
He was ready to grab her up and carry her straight back to his bedchamber.

He knew she was disappointed in his brooding silence this morning. He couldn't help it. He couldn't stop worrying about what was in that damnable box and that she wanted to find it without his people knowing about it. And he didn't want her out here while Basil looked her over as if she was his next meal. Right now, she looked like a delectable offering.

Heather, too, had irked him, and he felt as though Julia was leading his cousin astray with her unconventional ways since she hadn't lived by pack rules in her own family.

Not hearing the director's call to begin the fight, Ian's brain was so muddled with the thought of Julia and what he wanted to do with that sweet body wrapped in the plaid of his clan that he realized, as a brawny American Scotsman attacked him, that the battle had begun.

The braw fictional Highland laird star of the film, John Duvall, clashed with his nemesis nearby as the cameras began rolling. But Ian feared it wouldn't take long for the real fight to begin with his own archenemy and the disaster that could follow.

Guthrie and Cearnach moved in with Duncan to stay near Julia now, making sure that not one of Basil's men could approach her. Heather's brothers were watching over her. The other four fair maidens were human women from the village, and Ian assumed neither Basil nor his men would bother them.

It didn't matter that Ian was to fight a towering Scotsman standing near the star of the film in an effort to protect “his laird.” Basil Sutherland remained Ian's focus, his true enemy currently battling with a human actor as if he were taking a stroll in Edinburgh, just like their handlers had taught them—thrust, parry, swing, make it look good and real, but don't hurt anyone. Choreographed nonsense. Ian and his people had all listened with feigned interest until he'd fought the instructor himself.

All agreed that when it came to fighting the battle, it would be accomplished in their own way.

With claymore swinging, Ian quickly attacked the towering human Scotsman, who in his panic to avoid the fury of Ian's sword, tripped over his own feet and fell on his back with a whomp!

That was not part of the planned scene, but the director didn't yell, “Cut!” And Ian did a mock final stab into the man's chest. The actor looked so surprised that Ian winked at him and said in Gaelic, “Die, mon, so I can fight the real threat.”

Not possibly understanding Gaelic, the man seemed to catch Ian's drift. He clutched his chest, shuddered, and died.

Ian looked around for Basil. Catching his eye, Basil smirked at Ian as he continued to leisurely battle another human actor.

The star of the picture glanced at the man Ian had just laid to rest, lifted his chin a bit as if in acknowledgment that Ian had done well, and then fought another human actor.

John Duvall didn't do a bad job with his choreographed skills, although the man was using a lightweight sword, as Ian engaged one of his own men, finding much more sport this way. At least his own man knew how to fight. Basil's men appeared to be doing the same, disengaging from the director's men and fighting their own instead, which was easy enough to do.

As in Ian's own camp, Basil's men consisted of families loyal to him who were not direct descendants of the Sutherland clan. Their plaids were different but muddied to appear as though the men had been living in other than ideal conditions for the past few weeks, and no one could tell they were fighting their own clansmen since they were just the background performers, a blur of swords and men.

Basil seemed to have the same thought in mind or was following Ian's lead, as if he realized a fight between Ian and his men and the Sutherlands would cause the director to stop the film. At least for now.

Without having to fight real actors, Ian threw his heart and soul into battling his distant cousin, but before long, the man had morphed into five, his men preferring better odds by ganging up on him. Five to one was a little much, but once Ian had whittled it down to three, he was more in his element.

At some point, he thought he heard the director yell, “Cut!” Ian couldn't be certain. Distractions on the battlefield had to be ignored. One last man to cut down, his redheaded cousin and one of Heather's brothers, Oran, who had been ogling Julia with too much interest when she'd first arrived at his castle gates. Sweat poured down Oran's brow.

“You were to be protecting your sister,” Ian said in Gaelic.

“Aye.” Oran swung his sword again at Ian's, the resounding metal clanking through the woods. Otherwise, a quiet stillness had settled everywhere.

“Then why are you fighting me?”

“Heather wished me to.”

Ian raised a brow and struck another metal-clanging blow.

Oran fell back but quickly regrouped. “She wanted you to show off your skills in front of your ladylove.” He grinned. “I told her there was no need. So she said I might catch one of the fair maidens' interest for the night instead.”

Ian shook his head. “Unless the fair maidens take pity on a man who's flat on his back…” With that, Ian swung his weapon so hard when it struck Oran's sword that his cousin's sailed through the air, hit a tree with a thwack, and landed on the ground with a thud. Using fancy footwork, Ian shifted his leg quickly behind Oran's, gave a shove against his cousin's shoulder with his free hand, and once the astounded Oran lay on his back, Ian thrust his sword at his cousin's belly in a mock kill.

Still speaking in their native tongue, Ian growled, “Die!”

On order, a faint smile appeared on Oran's lips, and he said in a hoarse whisper, “I shall win at least one lady's favor tonight, I'm thinking. I thank ye, my laird.” Then he closed his eyes, his hands falling away from his waist, and died.

“Cut!” the director seemed to yell again. Hadn't Ian already heard the director call that before?

Resounding clapping filled the woods.

“The guy's good,” someone said near the director.

“The
guy
is a
laird
,” Duncan said sharply.

John Duvall gave Ian a thumbs-up. “You ever want a job in the film business, you've got it.” He headed off for his trailer.

Julia dashed through the woods toward Ian, and he sheathed his sword and stalked in her direction. The plaid
arisaid
had been belted at her waist and wrapped loosely over her head like a hood to cover her beautiful red curls but then it fell away. With her racing footfalls, she was stunning, her breasts bouncing against the dark blue gown scooped low and the chemise covering the rest of her bodice, which upon careful inspection again, still looked awfully sheer.

Hell, woman.
Not only wasn't she wearing any bra, but it appeared as though she'd dampened her chemise, which made it as transparent as if she wore virtually nothing at all, showing off the bountiful swell of her breasts. The dark blue gown rose high enough to conceal the color of her nipples, but it didn't hide the way the crowning glory of those twin peaks pressed against the fabric.

No matter how much he wanted to see where that damnable Basil Sutherland was now and what he was doing, Ian couldn't pull his focus away from his mate. She reached Ian and grabbed him in a full body embrace, jumping his bones literally as she wrapped her legs around his hips. The heat of her supple body seared him as her maneuver pushed her skirts back, revealing her hose-covered calves now locked behind him as she crossed her ankles and straddled him in way too much of a sensuous manner.

His arms quickly encircled her, hugging her even tighter against his body and rousing him further. She tilted her face up to him, smiling luminously, and he lowered his head and kissed her. He only meant to give her a light brush on the mouth in greeting, to show his appreciation for Julia being Julia, but the kiss soon transformed into a passionate melding of lips and tongues. By their own volition, his hands cupped her arse and held her tighter against his groin.

At first, silence filled the air, and then several chuckles erupted, drawing his attention.

“Should have gotten
that
scene on tape,” someone said. “The audience would love it.”

“Yeah, but the focus is supposed to be on the stars of the film. Not two Scottish unknowns.”

Julia stiffened in Ian's arms and pulled away slightly, her mouth leaving his, and he assumed she was going to make a retort. He could just imagine her saying she was not Scottish born but American, and she wasn't unknown. She was a werewolf romance writer with fans all over the world.

But he didn't want anyone else to know about that. He covered her mouth with another kiss, while still holding the voluptuous woman, and carried her back to the walk across the moat.

“My hero,” Julia said, between tonguing his mouth with relish and tightening her legs around his waist.

“'Tis good then that we won this battle today and the castle is safe,” he said, smiling, feeling much lighter-hearted now that they'd gotten through one battle scene without any difficulty between his men and Sutherland's, and that Julia and Heather were both safe.

“Oh, aye, Ian,” she said, attempting to mimic his brogue, and he loved her effort. “'Tis time we are eating?”

“Afterward,” he promised, his hands squeezing her arse buried under the layers of cloth, which made him glad that women no longer wore so many articles of clothing. “You wear no stays, lady.” He said it in a teasing manner as if lightly scolding her for being so wanton.

She smiled brightly.

“Are you still wearing those skimpy scraps of lace I love so much?”

Her face flushed. “Are you wearing anything under your kilt?”

“You are without?” he asked, feeling higher to see if he could recognize a piece of fabric at her hips. He was already hard and wanting as her body rubbed against his while he walked.

“Only if you are without.”

“Traditional dress requires wearing the kilt and nothing underneath. While my brothers and cousins and I served in the Scottish Highland Regiments, we went commando. Although at Highland games and for dancers who perform high kicks and pipe bands who participate in high-stepping marches, participants often do wear undergarments as it's required, lass. Breezy weather can be a wee bit of a problem also.” He shrugged. “Our long tunics or shirts protect us from chafing wool so we need not wear anything else while we participate in sword-fighting demonstrations.”

“From what I've heard, it's a personal choice.”

“Aye. During all-male gatherings, we often don't bother. With women present? Depends on the women.” He smiled.

“You are
so
bad.”

He chuckled and pressed his head against her breast. “Your chemise is damp, lass.”

“In the old days, women did whatever they could to catch the men's eyes. To hell with restrictive fashions. About that betrothal contract, though…” Julia demurred as Ian tightened his hands on her arse.

“Hmm, lass?”

“Maybe we don't have to find it.”

“Oh, we have to find it all right.”

She sighed.

He kissed her lips. “Just for historical reference.” And for whatever else was hidden in the box.

Her gaze met his. He gave a dark smile. “Whether you were mine, lass, or no', once your da and mine contracted for us to be betrothed, it was taken out of our hands.”

“My father had nothing to do with this. Nor your father, either.”

He shook his head. “In
your story
where I'm your hero.”

She frowned. “How would you know—”

“Stands to reason you would view me in that way.” He reached the inner bailey, thinking his castle was too damned far from the woods.

She sighed. “Are you feeling better than you were this morning, Ian?”

He didn't want to tell her how worried he'd been that something could go wrong in the fight scene today. Or that he still had his doubts about the box's contents, or that he couldn't help being concerned that Heather would sneak off with the human and get herself into some real trouble. He didn't reply.

When he entered the keep, he quickened his pace as he made his way to the stairs and his chamber. After they reached it, he shut the door with his hip, stalked across the floor, and set her on his bed, with every intention of cleaning up before he ravished the delectable lass.