Heart of the Highland Wolf (26 page)

“You can't have her,” Ian warned in his native language. “She's already my mate.”

“When you're dead,” Basil threatened, “she will be free to be mine.”

Ian continued to advance on Basil in such an aggressive manner that the bastard had no recourse but to continue to retreat and defend himself with his sword.

Then Heather climbed onto a table behind Basil, a clay pitcher used to serve mead during the feast clutched in her hands, and she slammed the pitcher on top of his head. Amber liquid poured down his face as the once fierce warrior crumpled to the floor.

The filming only lasted a couple of minutes more as the hero laird and his archenemy fought each other, and then the laird, with a final killing blow, took the life of his enemy.

“Cut! That's a wrap!” the director called.

For the movie, it was over. But the trouble was far from over between Ian and Basil, as his men carried their dazed leader out of the hall, cursing under their breaths and swearing vengeance.

***

After celebrating a real feast with his clan and Julia's friend, Maria, Ian had put Cearnach and Duncan in charge of watching the film crew while they cleaned up the last of their mess.

Now, Ian cuddled with Julia, naked, in his bed—theirs, rather. In the past, as laird, this had been his bed. The one in the adjoining bedchamber was his lady's. But for Julia, this was
theirs
.

With pride in her voice, Julia said, “Your mother, she came to my rescue.”

His heart had nearly quit beating when he'd seen his mother come into the great hall carrying the
sgian dubh
, his father's gift to her in earlier times to use for protection. He stroked Julia's bare shoulder. “Aye, lass.”

“I think she might even kind of like me.”

He smiled and kissed Julia's cheek. “She does.”

“Maybe someday she will think of me like the daughter she's never had. I mean, if she doesn't think of me writing werewolf romances. Or that I'm American.”

“She was furious with me for agreeing to the scene in the great hall in the first place, worried about your safety. I never thought she'd come to defend you and risk her own well-being, though.”

“You didn't tell me she felt that way.”

“I didn't want her upsetting you.”

Julia kissed Ian's throat and shifted her leg over his, spreading herself to him, claiming him, and making him hard and horny. “Will Basil return, do you think?” she asked.

“He'll not get in again,” Ian assured her, his voice bordering on a growl.

Nothing else mattered after that. Just that Julia and his people were safe and that she was his to love and to hold.

As the faint glow of sunlight disappeared from the sky, he kissed her willing mouth, loving how restless she became as he moved her onto her back and pressed more kisses across her jaw and down her throat, his fingers kneading a handful of breast.

He loved how she urged him to take her, loved the feel of her hands sliding over his skin, the touch making him hot and needy—ravenous to take his fill. He ached for her, craving her and hating how possessive she made him feel, how out of control when he had rarely felt that way at any time in his life.

Her breathing quickened as she combed her fingers through his hair with a tender touch, her eyes like shimmering jade focused on his, her lips parted, full and luscious, and his for the taking. She licked them as if anticipating tasting a sweet treat, and he cradled her head in his hands and kissed her mouth deep and hard, the soft, wet touch and the spicy, sweet taste intoxicating to his senses.

Her hands shifted to his arse, squeezing his flesh, her touch sizzling, and making his breath raspy with need.

He moved over her, his hand on her breast, kneading the soft feminine globe. The rigid tip stretched out to him, so he kissed it and licked it, and then the other, too.

She murmured something under her breath. He thought she said, “Hurry,” but he couldn't be sure. Or maybe it was the little voice in his head pushing him to take her fast and furious.

His fingers stroked her soft belly, moving south, while he trailed kisses down her rib cage, and then he found the center of her sweetness in the bed of red curls. He touched the swollen nub, and she moaned and writhed under his strokes.

A soft gasp and ripples of climax met his questing fingers, and then he was inside her, buried to the hilt, thrusting and meeting her as she arched against him. Her eyes were clouded with desire, her lips full and swollen, her skin flushed with the friction as their bodies glided against each other. Her nipples were dark and rigid. And the sweet, sexy scent of her clung to her like a fragrant invisible veil.

“I love you, Ian,” she mouthed against his lips, her expression one of love and lust.

“Bonny lass…” was all Ian managed to get out as the tension of sweet anticipation built higher and higher until he was reaching for the peak and couldn't hold back any longer. Letting go, he released his seed deep inside her willing body, pumping until he was spent.

She murmured, “I love you,” again.

“Aye,” he said, lying on his back and pulling her against him, as she pillowed her head against his chest, feeling satiated and satisfied and on top of the world.

Only he knew the situation with Basil was bound to come back to haunt him.

***

“Ian,” Cearnach said low, trying to wake him, and in the recesses of his mind, Ian realized it wasn't a dream as his arms tightened around a naked Julia in his bed.

He opened his eyes and saw his brother frowning down at him, his looked worried. Ian slid out from under Julia's naked body, still covered in the blanket.

“What is wrong?” he asked, getting to his feet and quickly grabbing a pair of boxers from his chest and then pulling them on.

“Heather's been taken.”

Ian stared at him slack-jawed for a moment and then seized his trousers hanging off the back of a chair and swore under his breath. “Are you sure?”

“Aye.” Cearnach handed him a piece of paper.

Ian quickly scanned the typed note.

I want Julia. We'll make a trade. Your woman for your kin. For now, Heather's safe.

“How the hell did they get her?” Ian asked.

“That John Smith turned out to be a minor actor in the film. Basil paid the guy to send her a note. She believed she was seeing him, and when she left the holding, Basil and his men grabbed her.”

“John Smith?”

“Not his real name, but aye, the one she tried to see earlier and you put a stop to it. According to the note, he was not leaving Scotland until tomorrow and wanted to see her tonight if she could sneak away.”

“Get our men—”

Cearnach's look fierce, he nodded. “They're ready. We smelled their scents in the woods. They're wolves tonight.”

“Then we'll greet them in kind.”

***

The first thing Julia was aware of was that something cold pressed tightly against her arm. Her eyes shot open. The bedchamber was cloaked in darkness, but despite her night vision, she saw nothing. Her heartbeat picked up, and she quickly sat up in bed. Ian was gone, but something, someone was in the room with her.

A man, a specter of a man, loomed over her beside the bed.

“Flynn?” she whispered.

His wild red hair and closely trimmed beard made him appear like a warrior of old. He was tall like Ian and his brothers, and wore a kilt and a sword as if he were ready to do battle, but he held his finger to his lips, warning her to be silent.

That's when she heard movement in the lady's chamber adjoining Ian's. A rush of cold penetrated her bones as alarm spread through her.

Flynn tugged at her arm to get her to come with him, motioning to the door, but she wasn't dressed.

Everything happened so quickly after that. Two men, one of them Basil Sutherland, burst into the room from the lady's chamber adjoining Ian's. She opened her mouth to scream, but the black-hearted Basil silenced her with a blow to the head.

Stars sprinkled across her eyes briefly before darkness blotted out her night vision.

***

As wolves, Ian and his men searched for Heather after they'd discovered her missing. He felt as though he and his men had been chasing shadows all night long. As soon as he'd spied a wolf of the Sutherland ilk, Ian raced after him, but each gray beast melted into the fog like a demon phantom.

Duncan joined him, and with a shake of his head, told him he hadn't had any more luck chasing the bastards down than Ian had.

Then a yip of fear came from near the falls.
Heather
. Ian and Duncan raced toward the stream, as Ian's heart lodged in his throat. If any of Sutherland's kin had harmed his cousin, the whole lot of them would die.

Soon he was joined by five more of his men all running as wolves at top speed to reach Heather in time.

A Sutherland wolf dodged deeper into the woods off to Ian's right, but nothing would distract Ian from reaching Heather. Two of his men took off after the wolf, though.

The falls grew closer, and a chilly rain was spilling from the clouds when he spied her, trussed up like a lamb for the slaughter, only in wolf form, legs tied and her snout muzzled so she couldn't howl.

She was here alone.

First, relief flooded his veins to see her unharmed, although her eyes were wild with fear. Duncan quickly shifted and removed her restraints.

Something was wrong. The way Sutherland's wolves had drawn them out but hadn't engaged them in combat. The way they had taken Heather as a hostage and left her behind.

Ian looked back in the direction of the castle. Julia was who Basil had his sights set on. Not Heather.
Bloody hell
. It was a diversion. A means to get him away from the lass. Ensuring Heather was all right, Ian motioned with his head to the castle and gave a low growl.

“Julia,” Duncan said with full clarity.

Aye, Julia. Ian had made the gravest mistake. In rescuing his kin, he'd left his bonny mate unprotected.

“They can't successfully storm the castle, Ian,” Duncan called after him, as Ian bolted for home.

They might not be able to storm the castle, but he had no doubt that Basil had other plans in mind.

Hushed, angry voices echoed off walls in the distance as Julia tried to make sense of where she was and what had happened. Her head throbbed with a vengeance, and focusing took an inordinate amount of effort. She was rewarded with more mind-splintering pain and blurred vision. But in that fuzzy awareness, she thought she saw Flynn crouching beside her, his icy grip on her bare arm.

She realized then she was naked, wrapped in a sheet, lying on the rocky floor of the secret tunnels below the castle. She took a deep breath of the chilly, damp air and shivered.

“Shift, my lady,” Flynn whispered. His ghostly voice shimmered in her brain, the words unable to penetrate her fog-filled mind.

“Shift into the wolf, lass. Hurry.”

“Wolf,” she said, and closed her eyes.

A rough, icy yank on her arm pulled her out of the cocoon of darkness where she wished to remain until the pain in her head went away.

“You can fight them—as a wolf,” he urged, his voice dark and insistent.

“Wolf.” She closed her eyes, trying to recall what had happened. Where was Ian? Why was she in the tunnels?

“Julia,” Flynn said, shaking her roughly.

Her eyes fluttered open.

“My lady, you are in grave danger. Until Ian returns, only I can protect you.” He looked saddened at the thought.

“Protect me,” she whispered. He couldn't protect her. Not as a—ghost. “Ian,” she said, her voice hushed.

“Searching for Heather. They took her.”

She groaned, raising a hand to her head. “Heather.” But she couldn't summon the need to shift. She tried again and again. Each time, the pain ripped through her brain, short-circuiting what little thought she could dredge up, and the blackness crept over her.

Angry voices reached her again.

“How the hell do I know how the trapdoor got locked?” a man's voice said.

Her breathing suspended. She vaguely recognized his voice. Where had she heard that voice before? The dark, threatening tone.
Basil Sutherland
. And he was down here. With her. She was naked and unable to fight back. Unless she could shift.

She pressed her hands against her temple, trying to stem the pain. Flynn was right. She had to shift. As a wolf, she had wicked teeth, a growl, and a vicious bite. She could howl, letting anyone who was in the castle know where she was.

“We have to go up through the castle. Take our chances at leaving through the postern gate. We have no other choice,” the other man said.

Footfalls headed her way. Lengthy, hard strides echoing off the rock walls.

Shift, damn it
, Julia said to herself. She concentrated, commanded herself to shift. Pain streaked like needles through her brain, and the footfalls died.

Until that damnable icy cold hand shook her awake again. “Julia, they're coming.”

She meant to say, “I know.” But she couldn't get the words out. Knowing and doing were on opposite sides of the scale. Just keeping focused on the rapidly encroaching footfalls was effort enough.

“I will die fighting for you, my lady,” Flynn said. He gallantly saluted her with his sword flat against his chest and then strode forth.

At first, alarm filled her as she worried Basil would kill the lone Scotsman, her brain still barely able to hold on to any reasonable thought. Then she reminded herself that Flynn could no longer feel any pain. Not like she could.

“Damn it to hell,” Basil cried out.

“It's Flynn,” another man said. He gave a dark laugh. “He's protecting the castle while Laird MacNeill is searching the countryside for his cousin.”

The footfalls that had stopped so suddenly began again.

So close. Too close.

She tried to shift gain. Her head split in two.

“Julia?” Flynn yelled. The sound was hauntingly deep and cut through the darkness that swallowed her whole.

Her eyes opened to see Basil round the corner and stalk toward her, black eyes glittering with menace, face red with fury, stout, determined, and menacing. “You are awake, lass. This won't do.”

He meant to knock her out again.

“I may not ever get the castle back, although I have plans since Silverman didn't succeed in financially ruining the MacNeills, but I vow an oath to my ancestors, I
will
have the MacPherson lass promised to my kin to call my own. Besides, she's a direct descendant of the Duke of Argyll, Chief of the Clan Campbell.”

“Ah, that's why you want her. Think you can get special concessions from the Duke's family then?”

“No, you fool. I want her because it's my God-given right.” Basil didn't say anything for a minute and then added, “Although the fact she's a Duke's descendant sweetens the mead a wee bit.”

But her family, knowing the truth of the matter as the history was orally passed down from generation to generation, had no written proof of the connection to the Duke, also known as the Marquess of Kintyre and Lorne. Did Basil?

She summoned the urge to shift. It was like the electrical current to a light switch was turned off. She had her fingers on the switch, but when she pushed it up, nothing happened. Except for the damnable pain. She wished she could turn that off with a flick of a switch.

Basil was nearly on top of her now. Flynn moved to stop him, swinging his claymore and cutting Sutherland in half, but the ghostly sword had no effect.

Julia prayed that she would shift. And then without realizing she was changing, her blood and bones melted in a comfortable heat, wrapping her up, and instantaneously her bare skin was covered in fur, her teeth long and sharp, but her eyes blurry.

She was now a wolf tangled up in a sheet, and her head hurt just as much as before.

She made a panicky little woofing sound that couldn't have gone any further than a few inches from her nose.

“Hell,” Basil said, reaching her. “Shift back.”

She growled, but the sound seemed stuck in her throat. Still, Basil didn't strike her like she thought he would. He must not have realized how out of it she still was.

“I don't have another muzzle with me,” the other man said.

“Knock her out then,” Basil ordered.

So he didn't have the courage to do his dirty work this time. When she had been a helpless woman, that had not been a problem.

The man hesitated.

Basil shoved at him to do it. She bared her teeth. She didn't think she looked very scary. She didn't think she was wrinkling her nose as much as she would have because every hair on her head felt excruciating pain.

“Now.”

She snarled, a deeply threatening sound. At least it sounded scarier to her this time.

The man wouldn't draw any closer. “She'll bite.”

“Omega wolf,” Basil said with hate, then drew back his booted foot, and she feared he'd kick her in the head and knock her senseless.

She struggled violently to get loose of the sheet. Basil jumped back.

She freed herself and wanted to lunge at Basil's throat, but she swayed so unsteadily on her feet, she was sure she'd collapse instead. Just a feather of a touch against her shoulder and she'd topple right over.

Basil cast her a sickly evil grin that told her she'd had it. That even as a wolf—a half brain-dead wolf—she stood no chance against him.

“She's pretty out of it,” the other man said, yet he still didn't draw any closer.

Basil took a step toward her, hands clenched in meaty fists. “You're mine, lass, as it always should have been. Only I didn't learn of the contract until it was almost too late.”

She wanted to tell him it
was
too late. That she was mated to Ian. That he could do nothing about it. Unless he killed Ian. Her heart stuttered. Had he planned to ambush Ian in the woods?

“Strip off your shirt,” Basil ordered the other man.

So focused on Basil, she'd barely paid any attention to the other man. But now that she watched to see if he'd obey Basil's commands, she noticed he was just as tall and broad-shouldered, but his hair was several shades lighter brown, his nose more pronounced, and his chin less prominent.

“What?” he asked in surprise.

“Hurry, you fool. Give me your shirt.”

The man yanked off his plaid shirt and then handed it to Basil. He pulled out a dirk and sliced the shirt into strips, glancing with a sneer at her at one point. When he was through, Basil said to his cohort, “Grab her muzzle.”

The man didn't move toward her. Even though her head was clearing, she was still groggy and not in really great shape to fight them, but she would do her damnedest.

“If I have to tell you again…” Basil left the threat hanging between them.

Looking ill at ease, the man stalked toward her, and she snarled and snapped her teeth at him. His eyes huge, he jumped back and glanced at Basil.

“She's all growl.
Do
it!”

The man swallowed hard and inched his way toward her. She'd never bitten a man before, never even fought with a werewolf before. It seemed unfair that she had such big teeth and he was sorely disadvantaged, but the way her head was hurting meant she was just as disadvantaged, and whatever ill deeds Basil planned for her would make her even more so. She lowered her head, bared her teeth, and with every muscle filled with tension like a tightly wound spring, she readied herself to attack.

Basil moved around behind her so fast that she turned quickly to see what he was up to. Her vision blurred, and a wash of inky blackness filled her mind. With a piece of the torn shirt, he tried to encircle her snout, but she snapped at him and her teeth clicking hard echoed off the walls. He jumped back, cursing.

The other man grabbed her around the back, and she swung her head, biting at him and connecting with his shoulder.

He cried out. The iron taste of blood stained her mouth, and she quickly let go, knowing it would only take a little more pressure to crush the bones in his shoulder. But she couldn't do it.

His hand clasped over the injury, he collapsed on his butt, screaming in pain. With the distraction, Basil got the upper hand, looped a strip of cloth over her muzzle, and tied it tight.

She jerked her head, trying to free herself to no avail.

Basil struck her in the head with a powerful fist. With a jolt of thunderous pain, the darkness again claimed her.

***

Draped in the sheet and slung over Basil's shoulder, Julia woke to find she'd shifted and was human. A piece of fabric was tied around her mouth to keep her quiet, and two more strips bound her wrists and ankles. She tried to discern where she was and what was happening.

“The postern gate is closed, damn it,” Basil whispered to his henchman.

The man groaned in pain.

“Shut up or I'll kill you, you fool,” Basil warned him. Then he stalked off past the stables.

She couldn't keep a clear head, but she could smell the horses and the hay as Basil carried her near the stables. They were headed toward the main gate, she thought. How come they didn't take another way out? Surely, the main gate would be watched.

The trapdoor to the secret tunnel beyond the moat was blocked, the injured man had said. That's why they had to chance leaving through one or the other of the gates.

Then they walked into the stables. “Saddle a couple of horses…
forget it
. You watch her.” Basil laid her down on a stack of hay and then led a horse from one of the stalls and began saddling him.

“They're back,” the man warned.

Basil let go of the horse's reins and peeked out the stable door. “Hell. All right. We'll get the horses, and as soon as they've entered the keep, we'll ride out of here.”

Julia closed her eyes against the pain in her head. Then she tried to roll off the stack of hay, intending to make her way out of the stable any way that she could. She successfully rolled off the haystack but hit the ground hard, her head splintering again, and succeeded in knocking herself out.

Groaning with pain, she came to when Basil hoisted her onto the saddle on her stomach. To his credit, he helped the other man up into his saddle with a few muttered curses, and then he mounted the horse she was riding and nudged it toward the door.

“They're searching the inner bailey, and several are headed inside the keep,” Basil whispered, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. “Only two are at the gatehouse now. It's our only chance.”

They walked their horses out of the stable. Then as the two men at the gate glanced in their direction, Basil kneed his mount and raced for the open gate.

“It's him, the bastard!” redheaded Oran shouted. He looked big and angry, like he could take on a horse and rider both with his bare hands. “And he's got our lady! Close the portcullis!”

Julia envisioned being skewered as the metal grate dropped on their heads. She heard the metal grinding as it was lowered on the outer gate and felt Basil kicking the horse, attempting to get him to gallop faster. She could barely hold onto her wits, the jarring making everything in her brain hurt like the blazes.

The horse suddenly reared up, and Basil cursed aloud. She thought she was going to fall, but the horse settled back down and twisted around, the metal grate grinding as it closed behind her. What was happening?

Trapped! The men and horses and she were trapped between the first and second portcullis.

“Tell Ian that Basil's got her at the main gate! We've got them trapped,” Oran told someone on his cell phone.

It wasn't long before Julia saw them—wolves and Irish wolfhounds headed in her direction from the keep, running at a full gallop in hunting mode.

She worried the horses might shy and rear again. But they recognized these wolves. “Laird MacNeill,” Oran shouted.

As soon as the wolves and dogs stood in front of the portcullis, one of them looked her over. He had a dark brown stripe of fur between his eyes that lightened as it went down his nose, becoming crème-colored under his chin and on the sides of his face, which made him appear regal. His eyes were nearly black with anger, as he turned his head slightly to Oran and lifted it with a nod.