by Terry Spear
He had to know how appealing he looked to her, so she’d tested him to see how he would respond to being called “cute.” She had been amused by his look of surprise, thinking that he’d be so conceited that he wouldn’t care what she said about his appearance. Then he’d regained his cocky arrogance, probably figuring she had been teasing him. Most likely no one had ever called him cute.
She noticed the sidelong glances Cearnach continued to give her, wolf that he was. Her dress was way too revealing, plastered to her body as if it were a redder version of her skin. The heater was going full blast, but the air still felt cold as it hit her wet dress.
He reached down and took her cold hand in his and squeezed. “Why did you really come between Vardon and me? Did you think you could stop that Neanderthal?”
“I suppose I did. Just like you might have believed you could change Calla’s mind about marrying Baird McKinley if you showed up for the wedding. I didn’t give it much thought. I just instinctively stepped into his path.”
“Do you often risk your neck for someone you barely know?”
She shrugged, not willing to tell him she’d always been that way—protective. She was used to being an alpha, not someone who melted into the background. Not like when her uncles had been hanged for pirating, making her fear for her life, and she had had to find her way back to America alone. That had been the hardest for her—tucking tail and running away.
“Have you ever risked getting hurt for someone who was well equipped to handle the likes of Vardon McKinley?” Cearnach asked, still trying to get her to reveal the truth.
“No,” she finally said. Then she gave him an impish smile. “Not usually.”
“Which means it wasn’t just instinct that propelled you into action,” he said, sounding smugly satisfied, as though he knew she had feelings for him and hadn’t wanted to see him hurt.
She reached up to touch her throbbing face where the infuriated Highlander had struck her, her fingers shying away at the last minute. She hadn’t expected to get a fist in the face, having hoped to stop the man from throwing the punch in the first place.
“If I hadn’t confined you, and you had managed to grab Vardon’s dirk, would you have known how to use it?”
She envisioned Vardon’s dagger poking out of the top of his hose. If she’d been able to pull free, she would have grabbed that dagger and threatened Vardon with it—just to get him to back off.
She had been serious about that. “Or I might have gone for yours.”
Silence.
She smiled.
Cearnach cleared his throat. “My dagger…”
“Aye,” she said, borrowing his brogue. The way she said the word still sounded American to her ear.
He chuckled. “You would not have been successful.”
“We’ll never know, will we?” she asked in a tone meant to challenge. “But, yes, I know how to use a dirk. A lightweight sword also.” Being from a family of pirates ensured that.
Thankfully, Vardon had seemed to come to his senses somewhat once he’d struck her. She had ignored him calling her a whore in Gaelic, figuring he was trying to make himself feel that what he had done wasn’t wrong. Besides, he’d said it to infuriate Cearnach, not to slander her. At least that’s the way she was going to view it.
She sighed, touching her lips. They were deliciously swollen from Cearnach’s kisses. No wolf had ever taken charge of her to such an extent. She’d always remained detached, unaffected by men’s kisses, knowing getting stuck on a human could only mean disaster. And a wolf?
She barely refrained from snorting. A wolf was even worse. At least based on her experience.
Her whole body heated again as she recalled the force of his kiss, the passion behind it, the raw need they’d both exhibited while sharing it. She sensed something unspoken between them. That he had felt something more for her than he had felt for women in the past.
She smothered another snort at the notion before she caught Cearnach’s curiosity. The kiss had thoroughly shaken her, making her want much more than was safe. For Cearnach, such a kiss was probably nothing more than what he was used to. Practiced, eliciting the same kind of response in any woman.
Attempting to get her mind off the way he’d made her feel, Elaine continued to pull the fabric of her dress away from her skin, trying to dry it in front of the heater.
If she had been alone, she would have slipped into the backseat, rummaged around in her suitcase, and put something else on. Now she wished she hadn’t worn this particular dress. Robert Kilpatrick had told her to wear a red dress if she had one so he’d be able to pick her out of a crowd. Considering how rainy and cold it was, she would have had to wear her raincoat while she was at the castle ruins, and Robert wouldn’t have seen her red dress anyway.
“Have you been to Scotland before, lass? I was worried you might pull out a camera and begin photographing the church before I escorted you inside.”
She didn’t want to answer him about being in Scotland before. She skipped instead to the issue of the camera and pretended to be a nice little tourist. She patted her purse. “Camera charged, new disk ready to fill up with pictures,” she said proudly.
“Except now it’s raining so hard that it won’t make for very nice pictures,” he said, sounding regretful.
She took a deep breath, recalling the scent of the wolf she’d met so long ago, loving the scent of him now and glad Cearnach didn’t seem to remember her from the past. After receiving the note from her distant cousin, she’d felt that her family’s pirating life had come back to haunt her. She had a comfortable savings from her parents’ inheritance, yet, with cutbacks at the college and the lure of laying claim to the bounty her uncles had hidden somewhere in Scotland, she had been enticed to return.
Of course her cousin wanted a share of the booty. He didn’t know all the details of where the stash was hidden. Just as she didn’t have all the details, either—like two halves of a treasure map. She just had to ensure that her cousin didn’t get the alpha wolf’s share since her uncles had forfeited their lives for taking it from merchant vessels, and she’d been the one to suffer for it once they died.
“Elaine,” Cearnach said as he continued to watch the road, the rain pounding the windshield.
She glanced at him. He was frowning at her—a concerned frown, not an angry one.
“Did you hear me?” he asked.
“Sorry, no. I was concentrating on drying out my dress.” And thinking about lots of stuff she didn’t want him to know about.
“We’ve met before, lass,” Cearnach said softly, as if speaking in a strictly sweet way might make her come clean.
If she had realized who he was when she first met him after the car accident, she might have given him a different name. Still, she could tell he couldn’t recall who she was. Easy to see why. The clothes she’d worn had covered her from head to toe. Sure, he’d smelled her scent, touched her, looked deeply into her face, but that had been so long ago, in a different place and time, and she had only been sixteen.
“Where have we met?” Cearnach persisted.
She shrugged. “You must have met someone who looks similar to me at some time or another.” She thought of telling him she hadn’t been to Scotland before, but he would sense she wasn’t telling the truth.
“I… attempted… to… rescue you,” he said, slowly, deliberately, as if he was trying to recall the circumstances, or he already knew and was waiting for her to fess up.
His mouth curved up. He gave her another sly glance, a wolfish look that meant he wasn’t going to give up. “I will remember,” he promised, his voice dark and seductive and intrigued.
He was determined, if nothing else. The game would soon be up.
She thought back to the way he had reacted to her when he first saw her get out of the re
ntal car, as he strode up to meet her in his kilt and sword, armed and dangerous and hot and sexy. The way he’d perused her, moved into her space, indicating he was determining that she was a wolf like him and also attempting to learn what her response to his close proximity would be. Was she an alpha? Or beta? Was she skittish or had she been as fascinated with him as he had been with her? Oh, yes, she had been. Enthralled. Absolutely.
He’d seemed to like that she was an alpha. Not all wolves would.
She appreciated that he was a first-class alpha and unwilling to bend to pressure. They’d been in a church full of hostiles, and he had held his head high, not in the least bit intimidated. She had hoped to see someone wearing a kilt while she was here, but she’d never expected to see a Highland wedding or a church full of Highlanders in kilts.
Or all wearing dirks and swords. Or ready to do battle. Or stepping into the midst of it herself and getting a bruised face because of it.
“You’re so quiet, lass,” Cearnach said. “What are you thinking about?”
Cearnach had stood out among the rest of the Highlanders. She wasn’t sure if that was because of the way he took charge of her like a Highland warrior on the battlefield. Or maybe she appreciated him more because she sensed he really was concerned for her welfare, like he appeared to be about Calla. Why had he been that way the first time he’d met her?
This time he probably felt responsible because he’d taken her to the church. The first time they’d met, his protectiveness had been because of something else.
“Just tired,” she said. “From… the jet lag, you know.”
She hadn’t meant to look at him, because she knew if she did, he’d probably read the truth in her expression. She glanced at him anyway.
He gave her a small smile, one that said he believed she was thinking about quite a lot that she didn’t wish to share with him.
He would be right.
She raised her brows at him, smiled, and turned away.
He was tall and his hair was a little shaggy, dark brown with a reddish tint. His square jaw was clean-shaven. The ferocious, dark look that he had given her when he first approached her car had made her think of a thunderstorm approaching—like the one that had finally caught up to them. His eyes were dark brown, just a shade lighter than black.
“The way you are smiling, lass, has me believing that you’re thinking about something pleasant. Will you not share with me? I’d love to hear your thoughts.”
She blushed. She couldn’t help the way her skin flushed so easily.
“I was thinking about how you seem… so… casual at times, as if you are trying to set people at ease. That you would be kind of carefree, if it weren’t for the circumstances we met under.”
“Aye, that I am. So you were thinking of me and that’s why you were smiling?”
Another volley of heat shot through her, and she tried not to squirm.
“Just for a moment. Are you certain I was smiling? The weather is so bad that I’m sure I was frowning quite profoundly.”
“Nay, lass, you were smiling.”
About him, she was certain he wanted to tack on. She didn’t dare ask him what he had been thinking about, afraid he’d say he thought about her. She certainly didn’t want to know what he was thinking of her—like, where he’d met her before.
His casual demeanor was appealing, but she thought deep down he was passionate, powerful, and forceful when he needed to be. The kiss had showed just how powerful, passionate, and sexy he could be.
Even though he wore a jacket, vest, shirt, and a plaid pinned over his shoulder and wasn’t bare-chested, she could imagine him sword-fighting without the rest of his clothes. Just a kilt and boots. She liked the way she could tease the gruffness from him, and he’d parry with her in a lighthearted way. The way he was so protective of her in front of the other wolves was endearing, too.
She did feel awful that he’d ruined two tires. Not because it was her fault. He’d obviously been driving too fast, trying to make it to the church on time. Still, she did feel bad about it.
“I’ll wait with you until you get someone to help replace the tires on your car,” she offered, wiping rainwater from her face with some tissues from her purse.
“I can’t seem to place the time or circumstance, but I recall trying to help you and… somehow you got away,” he said, as if he couldn’t believe anyone could escape him if he didn’t wish it.
She shrugged, then drew closer to the heater again. She was trying to dry her dress, but her wet hair kept dripping water all over it. She was irritated with herself for being so off on her timing for her own appointment. Robert Kilpatrick would probably be upset that she hadn’t arrived at the agreed-upon time. She was certain he had tried to contact her and hoped he realized she had phone trouble.
“Where are you staying?” Cearnach asked.
The car slid on the wet pavement, and she grasped the leather seat to keep her balance. She glanced at him. “Flora’s Bed and Breakfast.”
Frowning, Cearnach gripped the steering wheel as he maneuvered through another puddle of water.
“What’s wrong?”
“How did you learn of that place? It’s not listed anywhere as a rental. The bed and breakfast is for family and friends who need to stay in the area for the night.”
“The man I’m meeting said it was close to the castle ruins.”
Cearnach wore that dark warrior expression again. “What is his name?”
“Kilpatrick.”
Cearnach stared at her, then shook his head.
“What?”
“Which Kilpatrick?”
She didn’t like the sound of this. “Robert.”
Cearnach snorted.
“I take it you don’t like him, either.”
“He’s a lecher.” Cearnach glanced at her. “He’s the man who was practically sitting in your lap at the church. You must have noticed.”
She gaped at Cearnach, then frowned as he continued to watch the road. “Which one was he?”
“Both are Kilpatricks. The one sitting on your right was Robert. What does he want with you?”
She hesitated to say. It really was none of his business. But what difference did it make at this point? The whole situation was odd. If Robert had the wedding to get to, he hadn’t allotted much time for their meeting. She wondered why not. What was Robert planning? Clearly he had chosen their meeting place to keep her far away from the rest of his family. The truth was bound to come out—to an extent. “He’s…” Then she saw the humor in the whole situation and started to laugh.
Cearnach’s fierce expression didn’t change.
“He’s a distant cousin.” She gave a little shrug, loving the irony. Robert would be horrified to realize he had tried to come on to her when she was distantly related to him. “Wouldn’t he be surprised to learn that if he’s thinking I’m available or something.”
“Distant cousin? How distant?” Cearnach asked, not sounding as though he saw the humor.
“By a couple of marriages. Maybe four times removed? I don’t know for sure.”
“Then he could still want you.”
She wrinkled her nose at Cearnach. “This is strictly a business deal.” If the man wanted her, it would only be to gain the rest of the loot through a mating.
Cearnach frowned back at her. “Doing business with the Kilpatricks can get you into a lot of hot water. In the old days, they were smugglers, pirates. They haven’t changed much since then.”
Her blood chilled. He was bound to make the connection between her and her uncles. She noted the irritated tone in his voice and suspected that Cearnach’s family members were probably the epitome of law-abiding citizens.
Since werewolves lived such long lives, her maternal grandfather had been a pirate a
nd had hidden treasure in the Everglades. She suspected her parents had laundered the money from the ill-gotten gains in the tavern and lodgings they rented out and maybe had been involved in their own illegal schemes. Then Kelly Rafferty had taken over.
“What exactly is the business arrangement with Kilpatrick?” Cearnach asked, the car’s tires slipping on the wet pavement. He took his foot off the gas. “He’s going to sell you part of the castle ruins and you can peddle tickets to tourists to see that half of the castle?”
“That’s our castle?”
“Aye. Been in the family for generations. Once you see how much they let the place go…” He shook his head.
Automatically she went on the defensive. “Yeah, like you would do any better if you had the chance to own a castle. Years of wars and the elements beating down on a building ten centuries old, the upkeep, the taxes. I can just imagine how much the place would cost to repair and maintain.”
“They sold off a lot of the ancient stone walls to keep themselves in whisky,” Cearnach said drily.
She stared at him, attempting to see if he was telling the truth. He appeared to be speaking honestly.
“My own castle is in great shape, if you want to talk about taking care of the ancestral home,” he continued.
“Your castle?” Now this was getting interesting. “Don’t tell me you’re the clan chief and a duke or something.”
“No, but I’m the pack’s sub-leader, and the clan chief is my older brother.” He sounded proud of the fact, as well he should, as he glanced at the area where his car should have been on the side of the road. “Son of a…”
Dumbfounded, she stared at the spot in the driving rain as if looking hard enough might make the car reappear.
“It’s gone. Your car. It’s… not… there,” she said, barely breathing.