Highland Werewolf Wedding

by Terry Spear

  She didn’t want to leave Senton Castle, the place where she’d had all that belonged to her in Scotland. Then she reminded herself that those belongings were just stuff. The Kilpatricks and McKinleys could destroy them and she would have a hard time recouping her losses, but she was alive and well and so was Cearnach, and that was all that truly mattered. Though she couldn’t help biting back a bit of annoyance concerning him. If his car hadn’t nearly hit hers on the road, she wouldn’t be here now. She would have met with…

  Robert Kilpatrick. Well, if she’d been on time.

  She snorted. If she’d met him first, she probably would have thought he was one of the good guys. What a horrible thought.

  Trying to make the best of a bad situation, she ran through the tunnel alongside Cearnach and back down the steps. The wind was blowing hard, and fog cloaked everything in a misty gray curtain as she and Cearnach made their way to the beach. They loped through glens and woodlands, behind a hill hiding them from the view of a farmhouse, alongside a creek where the trees kept them well hidden, stopping only to drink at the water’s edge. Cearnach stayed glued to her side as if he was afraid for her safety and was protecting her at all costs.

  She and Cearnach had been running and alternately loping, a less tiring gait, for maybe an hour when she wondered just how far his castle was from the ruins. By car, maybe not so far. But he was probably taking her in a roundabout way, avoiding farms and houses and towns, and keeping to rivers and creeks and unsettled areas. The unrelenting rain had started up again.

  After the second hour on the run, she was getting tired. When he saw her falling back, he began to walk beside her. Both of their tongues were lolling out of their mouths as they tried to cool their bodies, which were overheated despite the cold weather.

  Elaine explored a little, figuring she’d never have the chance to run as a wolf in the wilderness of Scotland again and, in any other circumstance, would never do something so dangerous. She touched her nose to moss-covered stones, the feel soft and velvety, and listened to the wind rustling the leaves of nearby trees and the sound of water trickling in the creek just beyond them. Everything—the grass, the leaves, the moss covering ancient stone walls—was emerald green.

  She ran in the Ocala National Forest and elsewhere in Florida in the heat, so she enjoyed this—the cooler weather, the wetness, no worry about rattlesnakes or alligators or other animals. When she’d run in the Everglades, she’d come across a protective bear and her cubs, and smelled the scat from a black panther, although she hadn’t seen him.

  She felt relatively safe here—at least from other wild animal predators. Man was another story.

  Furry russet-colored cows grazing in a field caught her eye. Their short faces were bent and nibbling on rain-soaked grass until they sensed the wolves’ approach. They were funny-looking creatures compared to American cows. But she was certain the Scots would think the same of the long-faced cows in America.

  They mooed and moved together away from the perceived threat, as if Cearnach and she wanted to eat a cow on the hoof. She never hunted in wolf form, not unless she was in dire straits. If she was starving and lost in the wilderness, she’d make an exception, but she usually went after fish.

  No farmhouse was in sight, which was a good thing. That meant no one would be worried about what was upsetting the livestock and come out to shoot at them.

  A half mile farther, a gray stone farmhouse sat back off a road. The farmhouse wasn’t a problem. The dogs living at the stone building were.

  Two border collies suddenly appeared, running at a full gallop, headed straight for Cearnach and Elaine, and intent on chasing them away. They were ultra-fast, extremely clever, hardworking sheepherding dogs. Elaine knew their herding instinct was actually a wolf characteristic, but instead of taking an animal down as wolves would on a hunt, the border collies had been bred to eliminate the killing instinct and would circle and gather, rather than using brute force to guide the herd.

  One of the collies had a red face and white chest; the other was black and white. Both were equally aggressive. They were in full pursuit as they ran across the glen, barking at Cearnach and Elaine, alerting anyone in the house that someone or something had invaded their land and they needed backup pronto.

  Cearnach and Elaine turned to face them down, growling in their fiercest manners, staring them down like pissed-off, ready-to-pounce wolves. The dogs were tenacious. Their stares matched the wolves’—the instinct so bred into their breed that they wouldn’t back down.

  Cearnach nudged Elaine to run ahead while he continued to turn back and snap and snarl at the dogs. They knew better than to get too close to the much bigger Canis lupus with his much larger teeth and bite. But they were just as aggressive. With the two of them sticking together, they encouraged each other to keep pushing.

  Elaine stopped until he joined her, and she growled again along with Cearnach to show their own unified force. The dogs stopped and sniffed the air, testing to determine the wolves’ resolve, judging if they were angered or afraid. The collies stood their ground, not moving an inch forward as the wolves held their glare.

  As soon as she and Cearnach raced off again, the collies ran after them, but they weren’t getting as close this time. They were leaving their own territory, and they didn’t need to protect it as firmly. They still wanted to make an impression. This is ours! You stay out! But they were beginning to drop back.

  She and Cearnach were concentrating so much on the threat of the collies that they didn’t see the man riding shotgun in an old rusty pickup truck until it was almost too late. He waved at his companion to get closer and the window opened. A rifle poked out and pointed straight at them. Cearnach quickly steered Elaine toward the river. That meant they could hit her in the butt instead of the side. Pleasant thought.

  The powerful report of the weapon sounded like an explosion and echoed across the glen, making her heart hitch. She immediately jumped into the water, where she stumbled over the moss-covered rocks. Chest-deep in the water, she slipped on the stones and the current lifted her and swept her away.

  ***

  In the great hall of Argent Castle, Ian paced, agitated over Cearnach’s stubborn refusal to leave well enough alone instead of listening to his advice. He’d thought of sending someone to watch his brother’s back, but he hadn’t wanted to make Cearnach think that Ian had no faith in him. And he knew that if Cearnach had been able to stay at Calla’s wedding and reception without being asked to leave, he might not be home for hours. But Ian didn’t believe that his brother would hang around that long. And he had a nagging feeling that something had gone wrong.

  His ghostly cousin, Flynn, was hovering nearby as Ian tried to get his concern under control. Flynn was wearing the ancient MacNeill plaid pinned over his shoulder, his hair wild and unkempt. Cearnach had always stuck up for Flynn, despite his cousin’s rakish ways, which had gotten him banned from the clan and ultimately murdered by the angry husband of a lass Flynn had dallied with.

  Ian ran his hands through his hair and scowled at Flynn’s accusatory glare. “He knows what he’s doing. He’ll be all right.”

  Ian wasn’t as sure as he tried to sound. Hearing footfalls stalking in the direction of his solar, Ian knew his youngest brother, Duncan, was coming to talk to him about Cearnach.

  As soon as Duncan knocked on the door frame and Ian said, “Enter,” his brother stalked in, wearing all black and looking ready to do battle. Ian could smell the wind and pine and rain surrounding him. He knew his brother had been up on the ramparts waiting for Cearnach’s return. “He’s been gone too long,” Duncan said.

  Ian didn’t have to guess who Duncan was referring to. Duncan bowed his head slightly to Flynn in acknowledgment, then shifted his stormy gaze to Ian. “Do you want me to gather some men?”

  “Even if he just stayed for the wedding, he still
wouldn’t have had time to drive all that way home yet,” Ian cautioned.

  “Did he call you when he arrived?”

  That’s what had been bothering Ian. His brother hadn’t let him know he’d arrived, although he should have reached the church hours ago. He was good about keeping in touch. All his kin were. So why hadn’t Cearnach called? Trouble was all that came to mind. His brother was in trouble.

  “Send six men to the church and scout around.”

  Duncan arched an eyebrow. The order was clear. Ian didn’t want Duncan to lead them.

  Ian folded his arms. He’d already tried to convince Cearnach not to go to the wedding. He wasn’t about to explain himself to each of his other brothers concerning this matter. Then he shook his head. Hell. When had he become such a softy? When a little red she-wolf had turned his world upside down, that’s when.

  “I need you here. If the men report that nothing is the matter, then we have no cause for concern. If there’s trouble, I’ll need you to take care of the matter.”

  Armed with his sword sheathed at his back and a dirk in his boot, Duncan didn’t respond, his expression one of battle readiness. Ian didn’t want Duncan killing someone before he knew all the facts. That was one of the reasons Ian led the pack, not Duncan. That plus the fact that Ian was the eldest and Duncan the youngest by several minutes.

  “Duncan?”

  “Aye, Ian, but if anything’s happened to Cearnach…” He let his words trail away.

  Flynn withdrew his ghostly sword and sliced through the air as if he would take on the men who dared harm Cearnach himself.

  “Aye, Duncan. We will deal with it,” Ian said.

  “In the harshest manner possible,” Duncan said, as if seeking clarification.

  Duncan had to know that if any harm came to their brother, Ian would stop at nothing to pursue those responsible. “Aye.”

  Bowing his head in deference to his brother’s leadership and position, Duncan turned around to give the word.

  “Duncan, let your mate’s Uncle Ethan go with them.”

  Duncan stopped in the doorway and offered a small smile over his shoulder.

  The American had been giving Ian trouble ever since he’d arrived with Shelley’s family, but only because the Scots-born, transplanted Texan was a born leader of men. “He won’t be in charge.”

  “Aye, one of our cousins will be.”

  “Better make it Oran, then. He’s about the only one who can butt heads with Ethan and still remain on top.” Besides Ian and his brothers, that was, and Oran could barely keep the lead over Ethan.

  Oran had a ready sword hand and a temper to match his red hair. Muscular and ready for a fight, he would face any foe. He had a steady head also, and he was perfect for the job.

  “Shelley’s uncle will be grateful for the opportunity.” Then Duncan left the solar, and Flynn scowled at Ian and took off after Duncan.

  Julia, Ian’s lovely red-wolf mate, entered the solar, her expression shadowed with worry. “Are you going after Cearnach?”

  Ian gathered her up in his arms, kissed her lightly on the lips, then hugged her tight. “He’ll be all right. He’s a warrior at heart. He’ll be all right.” He repeated the words as if by doing so, he could make them true. But he wasn’t sure.

  Cearnach should have called him.

  Chapter 8

  Cearnach dove after Elaine into the icy water, his heart skipping beats as he saw her lose her footing and the force of the river carry her away. He followed after her, paddling as fast as his legs could go to catch up. She looked worn out, trying to keep her head above water, dipping her nose in, then lifting it and sneezing. She was unable to keep her footing on the slippery rocks and pull herself out of the river.

  In their favor, the sunlight was quickly fading. The farmers who had been shooting at them could no longer get close enough to the river while driving the truck, and Cearnach doubted they could see the wolves swimming in the dark water.

  The roar in the distance warned Cearnach that the waterfall was coming up. The currents quickened, pulling them faster toward the sound of the falls.

  All in a rush, the memories of the panic he’d felt when he’d been showing off to Calla as a young lad came back to him. He’d been teasing her, saying that he could hop from boulder to boulder without getting wet, while she’d played with an old rope, pretending to be fishing when no one in her clan would allow her to do such a thing.

  With a shout of terror, he’d lost his footing on the slippery rocks and fallen into the swiftly moving water. Numb with cold, he had tried to reach the shore but couldn’t. He wasn’t all that old then, not as muscled, not as strong. She’d raced along the bank, shouting his name and desperately throwing the rope out to him, hitting him twice—once on the shoulder, once on the head—before he finally was able to grab hold.

  She had quickly wrapped it around a pine tree and held on with all her might as he’d climbed onto the shore, choking on water that had gone down the wrong way.

  Then he had collapsed on the frost-covered ground like a fish out of water, gasping for air.

  Now it was his turn to rescue a she-wolf instead of a she-wolf rescuing him.

  He was so close to Elaine that he could almost touch her. He didn’t want to startle her, so he bumped her side to let her know he was there and would help her. She yipped in surprise.

  He woofed, letting her know it was just him. She cast him a quick look of relief over her shoulder.

  With his powerful legs, he swam beside her, steering her away from the falls and toward the boulders littering the sides of the river. She slid over them, still unable to gain her footing. He pushed her again, moving her toward the beach, his whole body pressing against hers, offering a wall of muscle that she could lean against, protecting her while he worked at keeping her from being carried over the falls.

  Almost there.

  She stumbled on the slippery stones, but he kept nudging her toward the shore, wishing he could put an arm around her as a human or lift her out of the water and carry her to safety. As soon as she reached the shore, she scrambled over the rocks and ran straight for the trees, a spurt of energy apparently charging through her.

  He shook the water from his fur, then hurried after her.

  She shook herself as soon as she was in the woods. Sheltered from prying eyes, she collapsed on her side in the creeping ladies’ tresses and twinflowers, panting with relief and exhaustion, her wet mink fur clinging to her, her eyes closed. Fatigued, soaked, and beautiful.

  He joined her, thanking God that she hadn’t gone over the falls. He was also glad that the farmer hadn’t managed to shoot either of them. He hoped the men would believe he and Elaine had been big dogs, not wolves. Strict rules governed the keeping of wolves in Scotland. If anyone truly thought that he and Elaine were wolves running loose, a bounty might be placed on their heads. Shoot to kill. All of his kind would be threatened then.

  He lay down next to her and rested his head over her neck as if they’d been friends forever. That she was his to protect from all dangers. She opened her eyes, gave him a tired wolf smile, licked his cheek, and closed her eyes again.

  He sighed and settled more comfortably against her, responding to the wolfish showing of trust on her part in allowing him to rest his head there. Trust on his part also that she wouldn’t snap at him to give her space. For the moment, he felt he had finally accomplished what he’d hoped to do the first time he met her. Help her. Take care of her.

  But this time he realized he wanted to get to know her better. Take her home to his family. Wine and dine her. Learn all he could about her. Keep her here. Permanently.

  He closed his eyes and breathed in the wet wolf smell of her, basked in the warmth of their bodies touching, and listened to her breathing growing steadier, sleepier, until he was sur
e she had fallen asleep.

  They weren’t too far from the castle now. Though he suspected that Ian would send out the troops, worried that Cearnach hadn’t called to say everything was all right, concerned that the McKinleys had harmed him. He was sure that Ian would have some heartburn over him bringing a cousin of the Kilpatricks home with him. Or not. Being mated to Julia Wildthorn, werewolf romance writer, had softened his brother up a bit. In a good way.

  Cearnach hadn’t meant to, but resting next to the enticing she-wolf, her blood pulsing through her veins, and listening to the steady thump of her heart led to him dozing off for a couple of hours. He woke to the smell of an elusive pine marten rummaging around nearby. The slim creature was mink brown in color with a yellow bib at its throat, around the size of a cat, and a member of the family that included mink, otters, and weasels. It was scrounging for something to eat.

  The animals were territorial, so Cearnach had smelled the scat left in the area by the marten. It was a predator, reducing the populations of gray squirrels, but when it came to wolves and martens, territorial lines went out the window. Since he was downwind of the mammal, Cearnach raised his head to let the marten know he had company.

  Because of the movement, the marten saw the two wolves, its eyes widening in horror, and quickly scampered away. Elaine stared in the direction the animal had gone, and then she sat up. Cearnach stood and nodded in the direction they needed to go. She got up, leaned her head down, and licked the cut on his foreleg that had occurred when he’d tried to reach his phone through the broken window in his demolished minivan. She whimpered.

  Touched by her concern, he nudged her face, telling her he was fine.