Howl for a Highlander

by Terry Spear

  Fingers clicking over the keyboard of her laptop, she did an Internet search for Argent Castle. All she found was a small note concerning a castle that was not open to the public and a brief news message that it had been the site of a recent movie project. But there was no picture—it could be small and of little or no consequence, really—and no website, address, or any other information on how to get hold of anyone there. And the castle was not included among any of the important sites of ancient heritage.

  Ian MacNeill was laird, and no one else was mentioned. Which confirmed what she’d suspected. His people didn’t regularly open the castle to visitors. So why did they agree to do a filming? Even more surprising, why was Duncan in the movie? He didn’t seem to have been thrilled with the prospect. She imagined once he had to fight, he’d gotten into the battle scenes with warrior-like enthusiasm. Had Ian also been in the film? She doubted it. He was the laird and would have been above such a thing.

  But she’d sure love to see Duncan fighting.

  Maybe if she played her cards right, she could plan a tour of gardens in Scotland and stay at a real castle—Argent Castle—compliments of Duncan, and then use what she learned about the botanical displays to show off in her college curriculum. And see if the plant she was looking for might exist in Scotland.

  She shook her head at herself. He’d think she was interested in him just because his clan had a castle. Right. Her mother had always warned her about wolves like him. Shelley sensed he had a darker purpose here, and if he could, he’d be wielding a sword, ready to strike down his enemy. He was someone to stay far away from.

  So why was she looking again at the clock on her computer? And hoping that seven would come in record time.

  Chapter 3

  When Duncan arrived at the hotel on the leeward side of the island, he was instantly annoyed to see ten people waiting in line at the check-in counter to register for rooms. Probably all those waiting were from the airport, and if he hadn’t taken the older couple to their hotel first, he would have been way ahead of most of these people. Shelley was a different story. Taking her to her villa had been necessary, to his way of thinking.

  He attempted not to tap his foot too much and noticed a man standing nearby who was wearing a dark gray suit and had a briefcase chained to his wrist. Duncan wondered if the man was a minion carrying illegal money or documents to one of the island’s banks, which again made him think of Silverman. Duncan gave the man a steely-eyed glower. What if he worked for Silverman? The man with the briefcase held Duncan’s glower for a moment, as if to say he wouldn’t be intimidated. Then, unable to hold the stare, the man shifted his gaze to the lobby.

  Beta.

  Duncan finally reached the clerk, who was trying to look upbeat although his rumpled floral shirt and frazzled expression told another story. “You have a room for me, Duncan MacNeill. My brother, Guthrie MacNeill, booked the room.” He sounded a wee bit harsher than he’d planned, but he needed to get on with business, and waiting in line to get his room hadn’t figured into his schedule. Not that a drink with Shelley Campbell did, either.

  The man typed away at a computer, then typed some more, then some more. Duncan was getting a bad feeling about this. The clerk finally shook his head and motioned to the units. “No. No room for you. We’re booked solid for two months. We don’t overbook. Your brother must have made a mistake.”

  Duncan wondered if in Guthrie’s attempt to get the cheapest place available, he’d erred in making reservations for this hotel. Did they often double-book in case tourists didn’t show? Or was the hotel’s online registration just not adequate in handling reservations? Even so, Duncan didn’t trust that the man was right.

  “Look. Again.” Duncan’s voice was so dangerously ominous that the man quickly looked back at his computer screen.

  But no matter how ferociously Duncan scowled at the clerk, and no matter how much the man tapped away at the keyboard, he wouldn’t budge about the reservations.

  “No, sir, nothing for any MacNeill. I’m sorry. If I had a room, I’d give it to you.”

  The clerk kept his shoulders and posture straight, stared Duncan in the eye, and attempted to look as though he was in charge. But his eyes flicked to the others waiting in line, his jaw clenched and unclenched, and a tiny bead of sweat and then two more appeared on his forehead. Duncan was certain that if the clerk could have found a room, any room, he would have offered it to him.

  Scowling, Duncan said in a deep, gruff voice, “My brother would not have made the mistake.” He hefted his bag over his shoulder and turned. Everyone immediately moved out of his path as if he were a typhoon intent on their destruction as he made his way outside.

  Trying to rein in his irritation but not succeeding, Duncan threw his bag into the rental car and drove to where hotels lined the beach. Tons of places were situated on the beaches—large hotels, family-type dwellings, small hotels. Surely one of them would have a vacancy.

  He queried each of them systematically, hearing the same thing over and over: the rooms are all rented. It’s the beginning of the tourist season, don’t you know? He tried really hard not to look intimidating, but by the last few, he imagined he looked damned dangerous. He finally gave up and went into a bar to get a whiskey. That would likely cost him a fortune, and he had nowhere to sleep the night. Except for the backseat of the compact rental car.

  He wondered if Shelley had a roommate. If not, was there any room for him? Even if it was just one night of sleeping on a sofa in the living room. It had to be less cramped than the backseat of the rental car. If she had a roommate that was another she-wolf, she might be agreeable to letting Duncan stay, if he approached them with enough finesse. Having finesse was not one of his strong suits, though.

  Seemed the tables were turned. Now Shelley was the crofter descendant with the castle, and he was a member of a noble family without a home.

  The bar was dark and small, a total of ten tables surrounded by four chairs apiece, the walls of the place decorated in seafaring stuff—a swordfish, fishnets, a harpoon, colorful glass balls, conch shells, and a mural of the sea, which caught his eye with its voluptuous mermaids lounging on mossy rocks. Their silvery-green tails shimmered in the sunlight, waves breaking across the weather-beaten stones. One mermaid reminded him of Shelley, her richly auburn hair curled over her shoulders, her eyes green and staring straight at him, luring him, and with a mouth that was just as appealing as Shelley’s. He could envision Shelley lying on a rock, her breasts bare, her lips damned kissable, her eyes enticing him to join her.

  Dragging his gaze from the wall, he noticed a young, dark-haired woman in a sexy red dress seated alone at a table. She looked even glummer than he felt, if that was possible. She was staring at a blue drink with a little umbrella in it, her fingers stroking up and down the slender stem. Misery likes company, aye?

  He paid the bartender the exorbitant price, grabbed his whiskey, and sauntered over to the table. “Want some company, lass?”

  She glanced up at him and stared with wide, dark-brown eyes. Just stared. As if she knew he was a wolf under the guise of being human. That he had easily had dispatched many men in his youth. He wasn’t planning on picking her up, but he might look a little menacing, he belatedly thought.

  She gave a soft little snort, looked around the joint, saw all the empty tables, looked back at him, still without smiling, and motioned to the seat opposite. “Feel free to have a seat.”

  Another American, he thought, only she was human.

  She looked back down at the table, and he realized she was reading a text message on a cell phone. She took a deep breath and tucked the phone away in her purse.

  He sat, accidentally bumped his knees against hers because the table was so small, and quickly apologized. He definitely wasn’t planning to bed the appealing wench. When he looked at her, he thought of Shelley, the way she’d eyed him with surprise, smiled at him, laughed—and yet measured him also—for his family’s role in the
crofters’ fates.

  But Shelley was a wolf. So they already had a connection of sorts. That’s who he craved bedding, damn it.

  “No need to apologize about bumping into me,” the woman said, sounding resigned. “You’re big and the table’s small.”

  Big. Maybe that was what had bothered her about him as he’d towered over her at first.

  “Trouble?” he asked, not intending to burden her with his own problems.

  He figured he’d sleep in the car and try to get a plane back to Scotland early the next night, assuming they had a flight leaving then, if he couldn’t find a place to stay. He could at least spend the day searching for a way to get to Silverman before then. With any luck, more than he was already having, he’d arrange a meeting and make him pay. Then what Duncan wanted to do was drop Silverman in the middle of the ocean to swim with the real sharks and see how much fun that was. But he didn’t figure he’d get that lucky.

  If he could have the week to wring the money out of Silverman, Duncan figured he’d have a chance. He just had to find some accommodations.

  “You might say that I’m having a time of it,” she said. “But…” She shrugged. “You know the old saying—when it seems too good to be true, it probably is?”

  “Aye, I can relate to that.” He leaned back in his seat and figured he’d tell her some of his own troubles. Maybe she knew of a place he could stay off the beaten path. “My brother rented a room for me, and when I arrived, I found the place booked. Solid. For two months.”

  Her dark brown eyes widened a bit. “How awful.”

  “Aye. I’ve checked at the different hotels, but I keep getting the same response. ’Tis the season, you know.”

  “Oh. What will you do?”

  “Get a return flight tomorrow if I can’t find a place to stay.”

  “Oh.” She took a sip of her drink. “What are you doing here? Just here for a vacation?”

  “Aye, a vacation. And you?”

  “I was meeting my boyfriend. Now he’s not able to come. At least he’s got a rich boss, and my boyfriend can afford to pay for my trips here from Miami and the hotel where I’m staying. Three times I’ve made this trip to the islands and every time he can’t make it.”

  Sounded like a brush-off to Duncan.

  “It’s that bigwig Silverman he works for that’s all the trouble,” she added, her eyes narrowed and lips pursed in irritation. “He had another job for him in the States, and so Kenneth is delayed again.”

  “Silverman?” Duncan tried to keep his tone of voice light, but she looked harder at him when she heard the telltale sound of anger.

  “You’re not a cop, are you? Feds or something?” But then she quickly amended what she’d said as if she’d spoken about something she shouldn’t have. “Not that Silverton’s done anything wrong. You just… well…” She didn’t say anything more, looked a little red in the face, and began studying her drink as if she wished she could crawl into it.

  Duncan made a disgruntled sound. “Hardly.” He took a swig of his whiskey, cursing himself for his reaction to the name “Silverman” and tried his damnedest to sound unconcerned. “I just wondered what your boyfriend did for his boss that he couldn’t make it here to see you. Seems to me that he’s a fool to stand up a bonny lass like you. Especially since he’s done it more than once.”

  He knew he was reaching, but he’d hoped she’d buy his line. He noticed she’d changed Salisbury Silverman’s name quickly to Silverton, trying to cover up that mistake also. Was that the name he was using on the island, or some other, and “Silverton” had been the quickest one she could pull out of the air? He assumed Silverman wouldn’t use a name that similar to his real name.

  Continuing to look wary, she stood. “Have a nice flight back.”

  The one lead he might have had to learn more about Silverman, and Duncan had already blown it. Yeah, “subtle” was not his middle name.

  He waited until she left the dark bar. The windows were amber glass, so he couldn’t see her through them to observe where she was going. When he thought she’d had sufficient time to get into a car, he headed outside, hoping to follow her and find where she ended up for the night. If she did make contact with the boyfriend, Duncan could then follow him and see if this Kenneth might be a way to learn anything more about Silverman himself.

  But as soon as Duncan walked outside, he found the woman standing under the red-and-white striped awning, taking a smoke.

  He did not want to appear to be interested in her, but he needed to learn more about her boyfriend and Silverman. He nodded to her and walked down the street. He didn’t want her to know about his rental car, in case she intended to tell her boyfriend that Duncan might be looking for Silverman and to keep an eye out for his vehicle.

  Seeing a gift shop full of swimwear, sunglasses, floral dresses, shirts, and island-crafted jewelry, Duncan pushed aside the door and entered. He felt like a warrior in a floral shop. Then he noticed a rack of men’s swimsuits that weren’t covered in gaudy tropical flowers, making him feel not quite so out of place.

  Nearly blending in with the merchandise, a college-age clerk was wearing a flowery blouse and seated behind a white laminate counter. She gave him an appreciative smile.

  “Anything in particular you’re looking for?” she asked, her voice hopeful, and he figured she assumed he was searching for something for his ladylove. Certainly, she couldn’t believe he was shopping for anything for himself in here.

  He shook his head and looked over the jewelry. Or at least pretended to. He suspected the woman smoking at the bar would be watching to see him exit the shop and where he went next.

  He really didn’t have time for this. Then he had an idea. “I had reservations at a hotel, but when I arrived, they weren’t any good. Do you have any idea about someplace I might be able to stay that isn’t as well advertised? I don’t need to stay on the beach.”

  She looked him over as if she thought she might ask him to stay with her, then sighed and shook her head, most likely coming to her senses. “Sorry. All I can say is just keep checking the resorts.”

  “Thanks.” But no thanks. Maybe if he bought a bunch of merchandise, she might change her tune.

  He could see trying to explain to Ian why he had spent a fortune on jewelry, floral garments, and perfumes just so he could get a free place to stay. It would be cheaper than paying for a week of lodging. On the other hand, he could see himself buying all that junk and the clerk not offering to take him in.

  He stalked back out of the store and saw the woman from the bar still smoking her cigarette, watching the shop just like he thought she might. He wasn’t waiting all night to see where she might go or to conceal that the rental car sitting in the lot was his. He headed for the car, got in, and tried again to locate a place to stay. After a good long while, he glanced at his watch, swore when he saw it was 8:30—an hour and a half past when he was supposed to pick up Shelley and have a drink—and headed back to her villa.

  He was already in a foul mood over the reservation mix-up, losing the only lead he had for Silverman that might have given him some inside knowledge, finding no other place to stay, and now standing up Shelley. He hoped she wouldn’t be too sore, and he hoped he could curb the annoyance he was feeling enough to enjoy a drink with her.

  When he finally arrived at Shelley’s villa, he found the place dark—not a good sign. Knocking at the door and ringing the bell didn’t get any response.

  He cursed aloud this time. He still had it in mind to ask if he might stay the night, just the night, on the couch if she would allow it. She couldn’t have gone to bed this early. At least, he didn’t think she would have. She didn’t have a car, so he didn’t think she’d gone out.

  He didn’t smell any sign of any other wolves or strictly humans having arrived, so he was sure she hadn’t had any recent company.

  He called out, “Shelley, it’s me. Duncan MacNeill. Are you all right?”

  He didn’t be
lieve for one moment that she intended to ignore his arrival just because he was an hour and a half late. Not after he’d gone out of his way to be chivalrous to her earlier, and not without learning why he was so late in arriving.

  Able to see with his wolf’s night vision, he sniffed the air for anything that would warn him she’d been in trouble, trying to sense another wolf, female or male, or another male visitor. Nothing. But she wouldn’t, couldn’t be ignoring him.

  He paced across the front porch, went around the back, and looked at the white sandy beach. It was void of people, with no one swimming in the dark water, either. Unless she went for a walk along the beach and was way out of sight.

  He peered at all the windows, seeing no movement or lights in any of the rooms. To his way of thinking, she was alone, defenseless, and vulnerable, and he had to ensure she was either not at home or was all right. If nothing else, he had to explain why he was so late in arriving.

  He knocked again. “Shelley, if you’re in there, let me know. Otherwise I’m going to assume the worst.”

  When she didn’t come to the door and let him in or acknowledge she was there, he pulled out his handy lock picks—standard lupus garou issue, unlocked the door, and peered into the dark villa.

  He took a couple of steps into the room, looking for signs of a struggle, but saw nothing out of place and shut the door. “Shelley? It’s me, Duncan. We had a date to have a drink, but I had trouble—”

  He stopped speaking abruptly as he caught a flash of fur. Then turning, he saw a wolf racing toward his left flank, eyes glowing green in the reflection of the front porch light, which was shining in through the living room window where the curtain was slightly parted. Her teeth weren’t bared as she leapt at him. Which meant she wasn’t truly angry with him or wanting to fight. It was more a territorial show, he thought. This was her place and he had intruded, despite warning her that he would to ensure she was all right.

  He understood and welcomed her display of defending her territorial rights.