Howl for a Highlander

by Terry Spear

  The older man looked at the female wolf as if trying to read her concern. She shrugged. “That’ll be fine with me.”

  Yet Duncan swore she didn’t mean it at all.

  After dropping the couple off at their hotel with everyone wishing everyone else a fun time on the island, and another look from the older man that said he wished he could go with them to ensure the lady’s safety, Duncan left the couple behind.

  Driving north, he said to his very quiet wolf passenger, whose hint of a floral and female wolf fragrance drifted about him, “I’m Duncan MacNeill, and you are?”

  “Shelley Campbell.”

  “Of Scottish descent,” he remarked, glancing at the Scottish lion on her shirt, getting another eyeful of the shape of her beautiful breasts, and wondering what they would look like without the Scottish lion guarding them.

  “Yes, I am. And you’re from there still?”

  As if all Highlanders had left the country for some other place. For some reason the notion irked him. “Some of us stayed in Scotland, aye, lass.”

  A hint of annoyance flashed across her pretty features. “Hmm,” she said softly, but he heard the irritation in her voice. “Well, my family members were crofters, replaced by sheep in the old days. Fuadach nan Gàidheal, the expulsion of the Gael in the 1700s.”

  Well, he’d walked right into that one. He cleared his throat. He knew that his ancestors had displaced families in the same way during the Highland Clearances. She wouldn’t like that he was from one of the ruling families that had done so. She definitely wouldn’t be sympathetic to the fact he and his family were in financial trouble and could once again be on the verge of losing their castle if he didn’t get the money back from Silverman.

  When he had cleared his throat but didn’t say anything, she gave a tiny disgruntled laugh under her breath. “So, does that mean your family was just more fortunate than mine? Followed a clan who took care of them and didn’t toss them out on their ears when it looked more profitable to raise sheep instead?” She paused as if anticipating that he would assure her that was all that had happened. When he instead waited for her to ask the question that he dreaded hearing, she forged on. “Or forced their people to work for free to harvest and process kelp along the seacoast?”

  He’d thought she was going to ask if he was one of the ruling class. Instead, she seemed to think he was from one of the crofter families either kept on or put to work at some other job.

  He took a deep breath, trying not to let her see how much he didn’t want to tell her the truth. He’d thought she liked that he was Scottish, maybe because of the Rampant Lion T-shirt she wore. But now she appeared more likely to see him as the enemy.

  He’d never thought he’d have to face someone descended from a line of Highlanders who had been ousted from the old country and resented the treatment. It was in the past, after all. He had a hard time seeing how her family could hold a grudge for so many years, particularly once they’d found living wherever they were now more agreeable than where they had lived in Scotland. At least that would be his assumption. He had to remind himself that, as werewolves, they also lived long lives, so she and her family would be less removed from the experience than a human would have been.

  Although battle hardened from years of experience, he felt unwilling for the first time to parry with his perceived foe. Mostly because he had nothing to fall back on to make his stance sound heroic.

  “Or worse?” she said, her tone growing more wolfishly dark.

  He could feel her eyes steady on him, watching for any expression or body language he might reveal. Wolves were good at reading others’ reactions. Even though it was an instinctive ability, he didn’t like that she was doing it to him. His family had done what they had for the sake of necessity, and he really didn’t feel he owed her any explanation.

  So why he responded in the way he did was beyond his comprehension. “Depends on what you might think of as worse. But, aye, we managed the lands, and where we could, we kept our crofters on the land. In some cases, we just couldn’t.”

  “Managed the lands,” she said, her voice now full of contempt.

  So much for wanting to protect the wolf from anyone who might wish her harm. If he’d tried to clear her off the lands in the old days, he suspected he would have had a real battle on his hands. Wrestling with that body of hers did appeal, though. In truth, if her family had worked for his, he would have kept her on the land, very close at hand, rather than sending her away.

  “Well?” she challenged, sounding like she was not about to let up on the discussion until she knew just where his family had stood on the issue.

  He glanced at her, arched a brow, and said, “Noble class.”

  Her luscious lips parted, her green eyes wide. Then she quickly looked away and out the passenger window.

  “I’m not the laird of the castle. My older brother, Ian, is.”

  That made her head whip around. “A castle?” Her words were threaded with a mixture of disbelief and interest. “Your brother is a laird?”

  “Aye.” He shrugged as if it didn’t mean anything. He was hoping that it did. That she would not have as much animosity for them now. “An American movie crew filmed at Argent recently.” He hadn’t a clue why he’d even mentioned that. He had never planned on telling a living soul that a movie had been filmed at their home. That they’d had to stoop so low that they permitted a crowd of humans to take over a wolves’ den without a battle—or much of one, at least.

  “Movie.” She really didn’t ask it as a question, more of a statement showing incredulity once again.

  He wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

  When she just stared at him, her brows arched in astonishment, he added, “I was in it.”

  He also didn’t know why he had told her that. Maybe because he thought Americans were so enamored with movie stars—not that he had been anything more than an extra—that she wouldn’t still hold a grudge about his family kicking crofters off the land. For whatever reason, it bothered him that she was troubled by what had happened. He wished her family had never experienced the trauma of the move.

  Had they not been with a wolf clan? He suspected not or they most likely wouldn’t have been made to move. Her family had to have hidden what they were from the clan chief. That couldn’t have been easy for them.

  “Not a movie star,” she said, sounding as though she was waiting for him to reassure her that he wasn’t someone important.

  He stifled a snort. If she was only interested in him now because he was a star… hell, Sean Connery and Gerard Butler? Neither could wield a sword like he could.

  He sat a little taller. “No, I’m not a movie star, although I got to do what I love best.” He glanced at her, smiling a little, expecting her to figure he was wielding a sword in battle and to ask him something about his prowess with a claymore.

  “Seducing lasses?” Her brows were arched in question.

  For a second, he was so taken aback by her line of reasoning that he didn’t say anything. Then he burst out laughing.

  She smiled and he felt the tension in the air dissolve. When he could get his fit of laughter under control, he clarified, “Swordplay.”

  “Oh. Then you seduced the lasses,” she teased.

  He chuckled. “No, only Ian was able to have that kind of a role in the film.”

  “Ian, the laird. So he has the castle and the lady, and rules the pack.”

  “Aye.”

  She settled back against the seat, looked at the directions she had in her lap, and then glanced up and pointed to a white villa topped with a Spanish tile roof, the area surrounded by palm trees. “That’s where I’m staying. Paradise Villa.” She faced Duncan. “So when does the movie come out?”

  “Next year.”

  “I’ll be sure to watch it.”

  “Any parts I was in may have been taken out if they weren’t important enough.” He truly hoped they would end up on the cutting-ro
om floor.

  “Ahh,” she said with a placating tone. “With the way you wickedly wielded your claymore, I’m sure they won’t cut any of your scenes.”

  “It truly would be my profoundest wish that they cut them, not keep them,” he clarified. He parked the car in front of the villa and turned to face her. “Otherwise women might recognize me and—”

  She cast him a small smile. “Chase after you?”

  “Och, lass, not likely. But I could see being recognized and hounded. Not chased.”

  “Sounds very nearly the same to me.” She frowned at him. “I wouldn’t think a wolf pack would want a movie filmed within its castle walls.”

  Not wanting to discuss their financial difficulties, he finally kept his mouth shut—she hadn’t asked him a question, after all—and took in the serene surroundings, which would be perfect for a wolf on vacation. The place sat on a private oceanfront with pure white sand leading down a gentle incline to the pristine aqua waters. He wished his clan had the money to put him up at a place like this. Then he wondered where that notion had come from. Being a warrior type, he would have been happy to sleep on the ground surrounded by heather in his native Scotland if it meant he’d get the job done quickly.

  “You’re only a couple of miles from restaurants and shopping, but won’t you need a rental car?” he asked, not meaning to sound like he would be at her beck and call for a ride. He really had to keep his mind on his task. On the other hand, he couldn’t help asking. Even hoping she might say she needed his further assistance.

  “I’ll get a taxi if I feel the need.”

  Disappointed but irritated at himself for feeling that way, he grabbed her bags and helped her to the front door. “You’re staying here alone?”

  She turned her head just a little, tilting it, the inference from her posture saying it was none of his business.

  He hesitated, waiting for her to say who she was staying with because he couldn’t believe she’d be here all alone. He knew it wasn’t any of his business, but helping her out made him feel she owed it to him to a small degree. If she was a she-wolf all by herself, she had to know he only had her safety in mind.

  She finally sighed and opened her door, but she stood in the entryway, silently stating she would take it from here, and he wasn’t coming in. “Thank you for the ride.”

  He didn’t budge, still wanting to know if she was staying with someone.

  Her stance firm, she smiled just a little, knowing damn well he wanted to learn whether she had a roommate who was a male wolf. “I’ll get my bags. Thanks so much for helping us out at the airport.”

  He set the bags down at her feet and inclined his head slightly. “My pleasure, lass. Enjoy your vacation.” Then without further adieu, and not intending to prolong this, he turned and meant to return to his rental car, even though it was killing him to end it like this.

  He had it in mind that he’d have to run into her from time to time, given how small the island was, and then he’d learn the truth. Just casually, no pressure, maybe catch her walking along the beach or basking in the sun. The picture that drummed up in his mind, seeing an inordinate amount of bare flesh, made his groin tighten with need. He’d do well to stay far away from the siren.

  “I can buy you a drink later, if you’d like,” Shelley belatedly offered.

  He stopped, turned, and studied the slight smile in her expression. He knew he should decline, but damn if he could. He tried to contain his own smile; once it appeared, he was certain it looked wolfish as hell. “I’ll pick you up at…?”

  “Seven?”

  “Seven.”

  She glanced around the area. “So… you said your place was near mine. Where is it exactly?”

  He grinned. “I’ll know as soon as I find it.”

  Her smile matched his—well, maybe not exactly, as he was sure his was much more wolfish and hers was more amused.

  With that, he was off, looking for what he suspected would have been the cheapest place to rent on short notice. Once he was settled in, he intended to find out all he could about Silverman and pay the financier a visit as soon as possible so that he could end this charade and return at once to Scotland, money in hand—so to speak.

  But what harm would one drink with an American female wolf do?

  ***

  Her stomach fluttering with excitement and apprehension, Shelley wondered if she’d lost her mind. No, offering to buy the male wolf a drink was the right thing to do after he’d given her a ride to her villa. He’d been kind and considerate to take the older couple to their hotel also, when he obviously wasn’t overly enthusiastic about it. A castle. Sure. Probably the clan was also a wolf pack. The notion was fascinating.

  So then, why had his pack opened the castle to an American film crew? She imagined it wasn’t something they regularly did.

  What was he doing here alone? So far away from his native soil? He didn’t look like the type who would travel on vacation for no good reason. Not alone. He had the look of a warrior about him, all dressed in black—the boots, the shirt, the pants—and his arms were well muscled. She could tell from the way his pants fit that his thighs were, too. He appeared to be a fighter who probably wielded an ancient claymore and would feel best in a battle where he showed off his fighting skills. An excursion to an island paradise seemed out of character for him.

  Putting aside thoughts of the sexy wolf, Shelley took her laptop into the dining nook—a small bamboo table with four chairs situated in front of large windows overlooking the crystal-white sand and clear blue waters.

  She felt uneasy. The college grant money was supposed to have already been deposited to her account for this trip. She’d already paid for the trip here and used her credit card to cover expenses for the villa that wouldn’t be charged to her until the day she checked out, but she could only afford half the cost on her own. Which was a bad sign. What was the delay?

  She’d never had this problem before with the funding for research trips. The cost of airfare hadn’t been much. But the villa and groceries—food…

  Shelley had nothing to eat for dinner and no way to get to the store to buy groceries unless she got a taxi. Given how out of the way the villa was, she figured it would be a while before she could even get one.

  She twisted her mouth in thought. Maybe when Duncan returned for her, she could suggest going to a restaurant where they could have the drinks, and she’d order a dinner for herself, too.

  When the Internet access popped up on her laptop, she searched her email messages for anything from the college explaining the money delay. Nothing.

  Just an email from her best friend, Wendy.

  Hey, let me know when you arrive in paradise! I’ll be going out with that guy I was telling you about. I’m not about to stew over Roland. TTYL Wendy

  She sent an email off to her best friend.

  I arrived, but the grant money hasn’t been deposited into my bank account yet. I’ll let you know when I hear something. Have fun on your date, but don’t fall for the guy! Shel

  They always told each other the same thing. They could date a human, but not for the long run. Changing a human into one of their kind could create a mountain of trouble. If he had a family, the problems increased exponentially. So a brief acquaintance was fine. Anything longer, and it could become a real mess.

  She just hoped that Wendy wasn’t going to do anything foolish. The last time she’d broken up with a wolf that she’d really cared about, she’d gotten a little wild. A werewolf out of control was dangerous, both to him or herself and to others.

  Not wanting to borrow trouble, Shelley intended to unpack her bags and put her clothes away. She was excited about studying the plant life here and taking her research back to the university in west Texas for the classes she’d be teaching later next year. She could hardly wait to get started in the morning. What if she could learn of a plant in the ancient forest that could stabilize a newly turned wolf’s urge to shift during the full moon?
Anytime she could visit new locations and search for such a remedy, she made the best of the opportunity. Of course, the college would never know the true interest behind all her research or why she’d become a botanist in the first place.

  In some folklore, wolfsbane could be used to stop the shift. She knew this wasn’t true because she’d tested it on a friend of Wendy’s who was a newly turned wolf. But only under very controlled circumstances because the plant could kill a wolf or a person or a werewolf. Shelley had always wondered if a lupus garou could ingest a different plant that could actually stop the shift or bring it on if the person needed to turn into the wolf and couldn’t otherwise.

  Wouldn’t that benefit all of her kind?

  A car drove by the villa and she thought again of Duncan and his cocky alpha maleness—the way he had held his head high, challenged her with his gaze, and showed how he was intrigued with her. She envisioned what he’d look like fighting in the movie’s mock battles—bare chested, wearing a kilt, wielding a claymore, and vanquishing an enemy fighter with lesser skills or endurance. How would he act in his native Scotland? Superior because he was a laird’s brother? Because he lived in a grand castle?

  She envisioned Scottish lasses hanging on his every word, hoping for him to act chivalrous with them like he’d done with her. She suspected that if any of the women recognized him in the movie, he’d have his hands full of female admirers chasing and hounding him for more than just his autograph.

  He was cute in a dark, sexy way. She loved that he’d driven the older couple to their hotel; anything to get the chance to take her to her villa. She’d been tickled by his insistence that he was staying at a place near hers, so it would be more convenient for him to drop her off last, and then his admission that he didn’t even know where his hotel was located. Men rarely did that. Often they were either boorishly brazen and turned her off, or they were too beta to make the effort to get to know her.