Heart of the Highland Wolf (9 page)

Heart pounding, she didn't move an inch in his direction. But she didn't back away, either.

“What did you do?” Maria whispered, sounding as though she thought Julia was guilty of some crime.

“Nothing,” Julia said back, her skin chilled, her spine stiff, her legs wobbly. “I didn't get anywhere earlier in my little jaunt through the woods.”
They want to interrogate me about running through the woods as a wolf.

The little party of film-crew staff had already made its way through the gatehouse and halfway across the moat. The two muscled men for whom Julia had jotted down descriptions in her notebook followed them outside as if to ensure no one was left behind and that Julia didn't leave. Both men were eyeing her and Maria with the hint of a smile. One said something to the other, which made the recipient of the dialogue grin and nod, but she assumed the first had spoken in Gaelic because she didn't understand a word of it.

“Laird MacNeill wants to see you,” Duncan said to Julia as he drew close.

Her lips parted in surprise. She was dying to get inside the castle, but not like this. Secretly, elusively, not under the watchful eye of Ian MacNeill. But then she reconsidered. He probably meant to speak to her in the inner bailey or some such place. Not inside the keep at all.

“Can Maria come with me?” To her ears, she sounded surprisingly cowardly, when she wasn't normally anything of the sort.

Duncan shook his head. “He asked for you alone.”

“Will you be all right?” Maria sounded worried but kind of thrilled for her, too.

“Yes. I'll be back in a little while.”

“I could just hang around here and wait for you.”

“It won't be necessary,” Duncan said gruffly. “We'll return her home.”

Maria waited for Julia to give her the go-ahead.

“I'll be back in a while.” Julia's stomach was flip-flopping all over the place, and she wanted to hold onto something, not the dark warrior beside her as he led her back through the gates and then into the outer bailey, but she really could have used some support.

“What did he want to see me about?” she asked Duncan, hoping to prepare herself for any eventuality. All kinds of different scenarios were going through her mind—he'd learned who she was as a writer; he'd learned she was related to the people who had once occupied his keep—none of which he could have known. Or Ian had assumed she was the wolf running through his woods, and he was ticked off about it.

Duncan grunted. That was his only response. No flowery speech, not that she expected it of him, and no hint of what this was about. And he didn't seem happy.

A couple more men stood on another wall walk watching them, but when she shifted her attention to the one where their fearless leader had been, she found him still observing her. More than observing her. He seemed fascinated, if she might be bold enough to think that of him. She figured the reason was more because when she looked up at him, it caught his attention.

But in her developing story, he was intrigued with the bonny lass who wasn't from this part of Scotland.
Now
he wasn't as interested in running her off as he had been before he'd laid eyes on her. Despite his initial objection to his da's bride choice, he was beginning to think the arrangement might have promise.

If she could just write the scene down before she forgot it. But where was Duncan taking her if Ian was on the wall walk behind her? She didn't have a good feeling about this.

“You have a nice place here,” she said, hoping to lure Duncan into any topic of conversation.

He remained silent.

“Ian's—” She meant to say Ian was on the wall walk behind them and ask then where Duncan was taking her, but the dark look Duncan gave her made her assume she'd breached some protocol. He was probably thinking she was a clueless American, which she wasn't.

But she'd been so wrapped up in fantasizing how Ian could be her hero in the story that she was practically betrothed to him already.
In the story
, that was. So not calling him “laird” was an oversight she hadn't meant as disrespect in the least.

“The laird,” she rephrased, hoping to rectify her awful mistake, “is on the wall walk behind us. So where is he meeting with me?” She envisioned being taken to the dungeon. Dark, dank, smelly. Sometimes all that had existed were deep pits, and the only access was a ladder, pulled up after the prisoner was put in the hole. No windows. No fresh air. She shuddered.

Duncan glanced back at the wall walk as if he was surprised to hear that Ian was still on the curtain wall behind them. When she looked back, she found that Ian… the laird, rather, was gone.

Secret passages came to mind. Secret passages she wanted to find. Intrigue, adventure, trouble. Like she assumed she was in. Why else would the laird want to speak personally with her?

But as soon as she stepped into the keep, she barely took notice of anything except one
very
important thing—the scent of the entryway. The scent was
unmistakable
.

She'd entered a gray werewolves' den.

To learn if the redhead was the red wolf who had trespassed in his woods, Ian had told Duncan to bring her to his solar. His people would be talking about this for eons, though—allowing a bonny lass into his solar, an outsider, someone with this film production. He had to learn whether she was the wolf or not and, in any event, to ensure she understood his rules. No trespassing in or around the castle and his lands. And no
shape-shifting,
either.

But in truth, the woman was already garnering his men's attention, and he wouldn't have it. They were welcome to trysts with human females anywhere in the world they wanted, but not here and certainly not with
any
of the members of the film crew. It would be too easy for a woman such as Julia, with her looks and her wiles, to wiggle her way into the castle by soliciting a secret tryst with one of his men.

Cearnach entered his solar, but Ian waved him away. “Not now. I've other business to attend to at the moment.”

“Would it have to do with the bonny redhead Duncan is escorting to the keep this very minute?”

“It does, and I don't need an audience.”

Cearnach raised a brow. “Are you certain? She looks to be a handful.”

“Cearnach.”

Cearnach folded his arms, leaned against the door frame, smiled, and watched down the hallway. “Flynn's floating around. He catches sight of her, and no telling what's going to happen. I can just imagine one bonny lass screaming her head off and running out of here like the devil is after her.”

“Maybe that would be the solution.”

Cearnach frowned. “What's the trouble with the lass?”

How could Ian explain what his gut instinct told him to be the truth? That he hadn't met a woman like her ever, one who turned his head and kept him riveted? One who intrigued him with a sultry smile and a challenge in her green eyes. That although she might even be from the enemy's camp, he wanted her.

But something more bothered him about her. He couldn't pinpoint just what. Maybe the secrets she wished to discuss with her friend, who didn't want her talking about them on the walk up to the castle. The smell of gunpowder near the road where their vehicle had catapulted off it. The way her friend seemed scared of him in the pub, but although Julia's eyes had widened and darkened at the sight of him, she still defied him with a confident glower. And the name of Jones. It wasn't hers. He knew it from the way Maria had looked at Julia with such a shocked expression before she'd quickly hidden her reaction.

Something made him want to get closer, to inspect Julia inside and out.

When Ian didn't answer Cearnach, he turned his attention from the hallway and looked at his older brother, one dark brow cocked. “Duncan said you were intrigued with one of the women you hunted in the woods. Now it seems what he said was true. I thought he was exaggerating a wee bit.”

“Cearnach.” Ian let his breath out, not about to bow to him over the issue of the woman.

A slow grin formed on Cearnach's face as he pulled away from the door frame and peered down the hallway. “From what I could see of the lass in the inner bailey, she's well worth a second look.”

“She's not for the taking.” Ian leaned back against his leather chair.

“If she's human…” Cearnach shrugged.

“You're not hearing what I have to say.”

“I'm hearing you, Ian.” But Cearnach's gaze remained focused on the hallway, and Ian didn't think his brother was taking him seriously.

But if he told his brother he
was
serious about this, it would indicate he'd already lost the battle.

Footfalls approached, a man's and a woman's.

Even though Ian had already dismissed his brother, Cearnach didn't make any move to leave until after he greeted the woman. So much for Ian being pack leader and laird over his clan. But he didn't want to make a bigger issue of it, not in front of the lassie.

Cearnach's face brightened, and he looked so damned wolfish that he was sure to send the woman running back down the hall. Forget Flynn and his ghostly appearances.

“Lass,” Cearnach said, bowing low in greeting as if she were a queen. “I'm Cearnach MacNeill, the laird's next eldest brother. And if you ever need my assistance, be sure to ask. Anything, anything at all.” He smiled again, the look dazzling, and Ian wanted to rid him of the grin.

Ian remained seated at his desk, waiting for Julia—if
that
was even her name—to enter the room, if Cearnach would but leave. Ian couldn't even see her since she couldn't approach the doorway yet—not with Cearnach blocking it. When his brother continued to be an obstacle, Ian cleared his throat, but about that time the woman said, “Pleased to meet you…” She paused. “Mister MacNeill.”

“Too many MacNeills around here. Call me Cearnach.”

“Thanks, Cearnach. I'm Julia.”

Ian realized he was hanging on her words, listening to her soft cadence and waiting for her surname to see if she said it was Jones again.

When she didn't say anything further, Cearnach's brows moved up almost imperceptibly, and Ian knew he was waiting for the same thing. Either the woman didn't know any better and wasn't all that familiar with proper greetings, or she did, and she didn't want to give the false name again.

“Cearnach,” Ian said, trying to hide the exasperation in his voice, but the amused look his brother gave him proved he hadn't succeeded.

Cearnach gave Ian a grand bow, which he never did to such a ridiculous extent, and said to the woman, “Laird MacNeill will see you now.” Then with an eloquent sweep of his hand, Cearnach ushered her in.

Ian had never seen such a performance.

“Close the door on your way out, Cearnach,” Ian said a little too harshly, as Duncan stood in the entryway, looking as though he also wanted to hear the proceedings. “Now.”

Duncan gave Ian a warning look and then shut the door on his and Cearnach's departure.

Beyond the door, his brothers commented to each other in Gaelic, figuring she didn't understand them, and Ian hoped the hell she didn't.

“She's one of us,” Cearnach said, his tone intrigued as he and Duncan headed down the hall. “You left out that wee detail, brother. No wonder Ian's fascinated with her.”

“He wants her to mate,” Duncan responded in their Highland tongue.

Even though that wasn't so, knowing what she was changed everything. Ian hadn't thought it would. She was still an American with the film crew. She was still up to something devious; he would stake his castle on that. Yet, just as Cearnach had said, she was one of them. And universally, that meant something, being a werewolf in a world where they were vastly outnumbered.

“Take a seat, if you would,” Ian said to Julia, motioning to one of the leather chairs seated in front of his desk. She stood just inside the closed door as if she was ready to make her escape.

She didn't look around at the room, no note taking now, although she still clutched her notebook and pen in her hands. She was focused on him, not moving, not speaking, looking a little pale.

“Julia?”

She quickly nodded, then unsteadily—it appeared to him—crossed the tapestry-covered floor and sat in the chair slightly farther away from the desk and closer to the door. Her back was rigid as she perched at the edge of the chair.

“I saw you in the woods… as a wolf,” he said, assuming she was the red wolf he'd seen. He leaned back against his chair, putting more distance between them and trying to make her more at ease. Yet that wasn't his purpose. He wanted to warn her away from his lands, encourage her not to shift and run through his woods. It was too dangerous, particularly with the film crew here.

Her subtle, female wolf fragrance drifted to him. The scent was an aphrodisiac for a male wolf anyway, but also he noted the fresh smell of the breeze and the scent of pine and juniper from when she'd run through them, collecting the fragrances on her skin, hair, and clothes. He didn't like the feeling he was getting whenever he caught sight of her, whenever he got close to her, and whenever he was alone with her. Tantalizing, appealing, desirable.

Her eyes had grown larger, the green swallowed up by the dilating pupils.

“Julia?”

She nodded.

He frowned. She had seemed much more of a challenge before.

“Did Duncan say anything to you? Something to upset you?”

She shook her head.

“When we were in the pub, you seemed much more…” He shrugged, not sure what word to use to describe her without her taking offense.

At that, he swore he saw her almost smile. “Why did you run as a wolf?”

“Long flights, long drive, the accident. I wanted to stretch my legs.”

“Yet you have no idea if hunters hunt in these woods.” When she didn't respond, he asked, “Are you newly turned? What about the rest of your film crew? Are they also
lupus garous
?”

“No.”

“But your friend Maria isn't a red wolf, is she? A Mexican gray wolf?”

“Iberian.”

“Hmm.” He studied her for a moment more, having the daft craving to ask her to stay for dinner. But he wouldn't ask it of her, not with his kin about anyway and all the speculation that would result. More than that, he'd forbidden his clan to have any dealings on a personal basis with the film staff. So how would it look if
he
did? He'd always tried to lead by example. “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes grew big again, and for a moment, he suspected she was here for some purpose other than being with the film crew. What was she up to?

He rose from his chair then, and she looked like she was about to rise from hers, but he held up his hand to motion for her to stay. She watched him like a wary wolf, an alpha, ready to fight, not flee, not looking toward the door, her escape route. “Julia?”

“I'm…” Her chin tilted up stubbornly. “I work for Maria. She works for the producer.”

“Ah. And your job is to take notes on the castle and my people?”

“For dress, um, I mean, yes, the castle and grounds, and all.”

“Dress?” he asked, drawing close, half sitting against the front edge of his desk now in front of her, forcing her to look up at him. He could be intimidating when he wanted. And she seemed to need him to be, if she was going to tell him some truth of the matter.

“Not dress. Of course not. Unless you were wearing… I mean, your men were wearing kilts and the like during the time period the story is set in, but for now, just some notes about the castle and grounds.”

He held out his hand. “May I see them?” He knew before he even asked that she would say no, first with her facial expression and then with her lips. Her lips fascinated him, the fullness, the way she licked them in nervousness, pursed them in annoyance, and smiled in a mischievous way.

Her eyes, green with golden flecks, although they were mostly black now, were still wide and expressive, focused on his gaze, unswerving, challenging. She didn't refuse to give him the notebook, but she didn't offer it, either.

Then he smiled, and he knew the look was pure evil. He crossed his arms, leaned forward a bit, looking down at her, and asked, “So what is your surname
really
, Julia?”

Her heart beat even harder, and he swore if she hadn't been sitting, she would have collapsed.

***

The name “MacPherson” screamed in her thoughts. Julia's heart had to have skipped a couple of beats.

She didn't want to lie a second time, because he had known it was a lie, but if she said Wildthorn, he could find her on so many different sites, guest blogs, and interviews, and he'd know so much more about her that she didn't want him to know. Specifically, that she wrote about werewolves, and she was sure he wouldn't like her here writing about him and his kin and his castle. If she said MacPherson, would he make a connection to her family and whatever had happened in the past?
She
didn't even know what had happened in the past.

She took too long to answer.
Way
too long to answer.

He was smiling now, not just a small amused smile, but one that said he'd caught her, trapped her, and she was in really big trouble.

“Come now, I'll learn the truth before long. What are you doing here, and what is your name?”

She took a chance. He'd know her as Wildthorn if he asked the director, who might not know offhand, but somewhere there'd be a listing of her name and then Ian would know it. The laird would never tie her into the MacPhersons then. She took a deep breath. “Julia Wildthorn, though what difference it makes to one as great as yourself, I have no idea.”

Impassively, he nodded. Whether he believed her about her name or thought he was too important to be bothered to know it, she couldn't be sure. Yet, she could swear a trace of a smile was begging to appear both in his eyes and on his lips.

He pulled a cell phone off his belt, and the idea that a Scottish laird would carry around a cell phone seemed out of odds with the notion of kilts and swords and castles.

“Guthrie, can you join me?”

Guthrie, the financial advisor she'd spoken to.

She put the notebook on her lap and tried to quit gripping the poor thing to death, to look less flustered and less anxious than she felt. “I need to return to the cottage. Maria will wonder what's taking me so long.” Doing her sleuthing in secret was the only way to go. Right now, she felt horribly exposed.

“Stay.”

Her lips parted in surprise.

He didn't say anything for what seemed the longest time. Then he added, “And dine with me.”

Dine with him.
A small part of her was thinking fantastic thoughts. Of staying at the castle for the night. For
research
, of course. To see if she could explore the place while everyone slept. To search for the secret passages, the hidden niche where her family's box was located. It could work.