by Terry Spear
From what Calla had gathered, Guthrie was always helping with one thing or another, and he didn’t seem to take a lot of time to just enjoy life’s little pleasures.
“You asked me here. If nothing else, I’m protecting you,” Guthrie said.
“Ah.” The bit about protecting her again. Not that he was just hot for her body like she was for his. Darn it. “The kiss was just…?”
He smiled.
“For show?” she offered, since he wouldn’t say.
“What do you think?”
“I think I’m getting in way over my head.”
He chuckled. “Probably.”
She was. She’d known it the moment he kissed her under the Christmas tree. She could fret about this, worry that he wasn’t the right one for all eternity, and still not get him out of her system, she thought.
“Did you want to cool down a bit and get a drink?”
“Why? Are you hot?” She meant because they had been dancing so close and the crush of people around them was making the room hotter. Not to mention that her gown was warm and his wool sweater had to be too.
He grinned at the question. “Am I?”
Smiling, she shook her head in amusement. “Yeah, but I’m not talking about that right now. Let’s get a drink and then we can dance some more afterward.”
They hadn’t even made it to the refreshment table when they heard the clanging of swords in the front foyer and a woman’s scream.
Chapter 14
Immediately, Guthrie’s blood surged with adrenaline, making him ready for battle. He recognized that Oran was engaging someone from the way his sword struck the aggressor’s weapon, and the speed and force with which he struck. Guthrie desperately wanted to see who was fighting Oran, but he kept Calla by his side and out of harm’s way in case it was a ploy to draw him away from her. He wasn’t about to leave her behind, and he wasn’t going to take her into the fray.
He glanced around to see if anyone else was carrying a sword. One man dressed as a World War I soldier in a khaki kilt, service dress jacket, and low boots. The man dressed as a Musketeer had one too, but he was gone.
Guthrie heard a sword hit a wall and drop to the wooden floor in the foyer. People who were watching the sword fight clapped. Cearnach came into the great hall and motioned to Guthrie that all was clear.
“I wonder what that was all about,” Calla said as the music started again.
“Not Baird or his men or he would have been…” Then Guthrie saw him, clear as day, dancing with a woman in a gold gown and mask.
“What?” Calla asked, turning to see what he was staring at.
“Baird’s here, dancing over there. Whoever was fighting with Oran must have been a diversion for Baird to get in.”
Calla’s breath hitched. The man wouldn’t leave her alone. But Guthrie knew they couldn’t fight him here. Baird had to know that too. Most likely, he was showing her that she couldn’t stop him from getting close and bothering her—not even with the MacNeills guarding her.
“And his two brothers and two of his cousins are here, dancing with other women,” she noticed.
“Aye.” Guthrie was about to tell her that they had to leave, as he’d first intended if Baird and his men showed up, but he really was trying to do this courtship business right. “Do you want to go?”
She frowned up at him. “Are you trying to get out of dancing with me all night? Besides, Ivy said he wasn’t welcome. She might ask him to leave herself.”
Guthrie smiled at her, got her a glass of mulled wine, and once he had his whisky, they stood watching the dancers for a moment. He conferred with his brothers and cousin about leaving, but aside from the initial sword fight, the McKinleys didn’t seem to be causing any more trouble or making any moves in Calla’s direction. Besides, to an extent, he agreed with her. He wouldn’t normally allow another wolf to run him off, not when they had every right to be here.
When they finished their drinks, he returned to the dance floor with her.
Baird and his kinsmen were dressed like pirates, with full-sleeved shirts, black masks, black trousers, and boots. Since the whole family had been a bunch of pirates, Guthrie didn’t think they were masquerading at all.
He soon closed his arms around Calla and held her soft, velvet-covered body against him, wishing they were at Argent, somewhere a lot more private.
“Calla,” he whispered against her ear as he moved slowly with her, all his senses taking her in—her delightful she-wolf aroma, the scent of strawberries and sweet wine; the feel of her, warm and soft and such a perfect fit against his aroused body; the beat of her heart; and the whisper of her warm breath on his neck as she glanced up at him.
“Hmm…”
“I’m really having a difficult time with…this relationship stuff.”
She rested her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his back. “Hmm.”
“What I mean is that I know you put on the brakes with Baird and dated him for a year before you agreed to mate him, but…”
Calla nodded.
“The thing of it is, I can’t wait that long.”
She looked up at him, her expression mildly amused. Vixen.
Didn’t she know how hard this was for him to talk about? “Every time you look at me—like that—every time we touch, every time we kiss…I want so much more. Don’t you?”
She grinned up at him. “Oh, aye, but it’s just a lustful need. If we see each other longer, we won’t feel the pull so strongly. Don’t you agree?”
“Nay.”
She smiled wickedly at him. “Okay, tell me you didn’t feel the same way about the girlfriends you seriously considered mating. In the beginning, you were dying to fulfill some sexual need. It’s only natural.”
He didn’t say anything, just tightened his hold on her as she swayed to the music with him. This—with Calla—felt different. He couldn’t explain why he felt so…tied to her, but he did. Didn’t she feel the same way about him? Or was he projecting how he felt about Calla onto her?
“Aye,” she finally said, her cheek snuggled against his chest again.
“What?”
She looked up at him and smiled. “That’s the way I feel about you—like I can’t get enough of you. Like I want to take this further. When I was with Baird, I always had a closed-in feeling, like he was in my space, smothering me. Pressuring me. Not giving me the freedom I needed.”
She sighed. “I never would have been able to work with him on a project like the one you and I are coordinating—together. I never was able to discuss my work with him. He wasn’t interested. He acted as though my job was a hobby. If he had some function to attend, he wanted me to go with him. He would become extremely annoyed if I had other plans.
“Oh, he tried to couch his irritation, which showed he did care for me to an extent. I worried that once we were mated and I was his pack mate, he might insist that we attend all social gatherings together—despite what I had planned and how important it was to me.”
Guthrie rubbed her back gently.
“Well,” Guthrie said, mulling it over, “if you really want to dance with someone else tonight, you are free to do so with my blessing,” he said.
She studied him for a moment and then smiled. “I don’t believe that. You’d be all growly and scare the potential dance partner away.”
He laughed.
“But thank you for saying so. I love how you’re trying to respect my boundaries, and I respect yours. We complement each other. So, as to that aspect, I think we’re more suited to each other than with anyone I’ve ever dated. That’s saying a lot. To me, a relationship isn’t based just on sexual compatibility. It has to be based on…well, just so much more.”
“I agree. And I want to share so much more with you.”
She smiled at him. “Oh?”
He smiled back.
“Hmm,” she said.
They ignored Baird and his men, though Guthrie assumed Baird would try to ge
t a dance with Calla. He was a pack leader who had planned to come to this masquerade with Calla, and he seemed to have something to prove to his kin and to himself.
When he did come to ask Calla to dance, Guthrie said, “Nay, Baird. Leave the lass alone. She’s already said she wants nothing more to do with you, and she’s already found a replacement.”
She looked up at Guthrie, but he wasn’t taking his words back.
Baird smiled a little at Guthrie, then said to Calla, “You thought I was controlling. He won’t even allow you to decline a dance on your own behalf, if you wish it.”
“He said exactly what I would have told you if I’d gotten to it first. So no, I won’t dance with you.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Baird said.
Guthrie made a move toward Baird but stopped short before he threw the man out of the ballroom, while Calla tightened her hand on Guthrie’s arm. She smiled sweetly at Baird, then pulled Guthrie away.
Guthrie ground his teeth. “You know how much it bothers me that I can’t do anything about him. If we were not here, among all these people…”
Calla sighed. “Forget him. I’m with you and I’m not interested in dancing with anyone else tonight.” She held him tight against her soft body.
In that instant, he felt the anger seep out and realized just how good she was for him.
Calla was certain that if she had been dancing with Baird and Guthrie had tried to butt in, Baird would have been furious. But instead of doing something about it himself, he would have had one of his brothers take Guthrie to task. She’d been worried that Guthrie would continue to be angry about it, but when he acted as though all he cared about was her and dancing with her the rest of the night, she loved him for it.
At one point, she saw Ivy watching Baird and wondered why the woman hadn’t had him thrown out. Maybe she was afraid to make a scene in her home. Her parents might have said to leave the situation alone unless Baird and his kin caused trouble.
She noticed that Oran disappeared for a time, and then so did Guthrie’s brothers. When the party was winding down and Calla’s feet were hurting enough that she was ready to call it a night, they said their good-byes to their host and hostesses, and then headed out to the car.
Duncan was standing next to it, arms folded and looking fierce.
Her feet hurt so much that she was walking slower than normal. Guthrie glanced down at her. “Are you all right, lass?”
“If I could, I’d take off my heels and…”
He didn’t hesitate to scoop her up in his arms and carry her the rest of the way to the car. She chuckled. “I should have said something before this.”
“Aye, you should have.”
“I didn’t want you to say anything about how I made you dance with me all night long and how it was my fault that I didn’t stop when my feet began to hurt.”
He kissed her cheek. “Lass, any way that I can hold you close is welcome.”
“You know,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, “you keep talking like that and—”
He grinned at her.
She let out her breath. “I just think we should be cautious about committing to anything too quickly.”
“Aye,” he said and held her tighter.
She really didn’t believe he agreed with her, but she adored the way he carried her out to the car, kept her tucked in his arms, which warmed her in the cold breeze, and agreed so sweetly.
“Were you guarding the vehicle?” she asked Duncan as Guthrie pushed all her skirts into the car and then got in next to her.
“Aye, lass. We took turns.”
“Because of Baird?” she asked.
In the backseat, Guthrie put his arm around her and pulled her close. She rested her head on his shoulder.
“Aye. We didn’t want to find that they had moved our car or slashed the tires or anything,” Duncan said. “Again.”
Calla was happily tired and glad to have been with Guthrie and his kin at the ball. They had so much to do tomorrow, and they’d been working such long hours, getting ready for the big weekend of festivities, that she fell asleep on the trip home. She woke the next morning, buried under the covers, sleeping in her underwear in the guest chambers with her beautiful gown spread out over a chair.
After she dressed in her long Stewart plaid skirt and sweater, she hurried to join the others who were preparing to open for the big day. Argent Castle was abuzz with excitement. The weather had warmed up to fifty degrees, and the weekend tour and gift-selling bazaar was open for business.
Heather and Julia were giving tours of the castle. Duncan and some of the teens were offering swordsmanship lessons for young and old alike, though the swords were only practice ones the kids used in training and play.
As much as Ian didn’t like opening the castle to strangers, Calla noticed him smiling and could tell he enjoyed seeing his people so happy, all dressed in their plaids, some of the ones tending craft and food booths sporting Santa hats. Calla’s red-and-green Stewart plaid stood out among all the blue-and-green MacNeill kilts, but she was having a ball.
Ethan and his brothers were providing hayrides in faux Santa’s sleighs—the red wagons decorated in battery-operated sparkling lights—to the pastureland to visit the Highland cattle.
Tables were set up for eating or for the kids to create paper crafts. Some were gluing paper clothes to a Scottish bagpiper boy, choosing from a kilt, jacket, tam-o’-shanter Scottish cap, boots, and bagpipe. Other kids could color their own tartans or create cotton-ball lambs on a paper plate. Some of the clanswomen helped children create reindeer like the ones that ranged freely in the Cairngorm Mountains, the children’s painted handprints used to print antlers atop brown paper cutouts.
A bagpiper was playing on the ramparts, surveying the archery competitions, sword-fighting demonstration, and face painting. Cook and some of her assistants were selling scones, fruit cakes, bannocks, Scottish black buns, and venison stew.
Over by the stables, Calla tried playing the game of quoits, in which iron rings are tossed at an upright pin, much like pitching horseshoes. But after her toss landed the ring impossibly far from the iron pin, she decided she was better at setting up the games than playing them. She saw Guthrie watching her, arms folded and smirking. She would have asked if he could do better, but she didn’t dare, certain he could.
Ian had nixed the notion of having a kissing-under-the-mistletoe booth. Even though the wolves had tougher immune systems than humans, he didn’t want any of the lupus garou females in his pack kissing a bunch of strangers—human or otherwise.
Guards were posted along the wall walk as a deterrent in case Baird and his kin attempted to sneak into the castle posing as guests. The guards were armed with swords and crossbows, not that they meant to use them. To the tourists, the weapons were just part of the show. They took pictures in the inner bailey with the guards, who looked fierce with their swords out and holding their Scottish targes, the shields scarred from sword fights, both in ancient times on the battlefield and modern times on the playing field.
Kids and adults alike visited the Irish wolfhounds in their enclosure where the dogs had room to run and play. Logan was happily in charge of that. Though since the wolfhounds were included in the cost of admission, Ian was paying for Logan’s time so he could earn enough to buy Christmas presents for his family, like the kids who were selling crafts.
The tour only included certain rooms in the castle, the kennels, the stables, and the gardens. The reenactment of the fight scene in the great hall had been a great success, and Calla was glad no one had gotten close to knocking over the Christmas tree.
Calla and Guthrie were in charge of all the events overall, and Calla thought everything was going splendidly. She couldn’t thank Ian enough for allowing the fair and Guthrie for making her an equal partner in the venture.
Calla noted that Guthrie was also taking part in some of the activities—and looking like he was having just as much fun.
She observed him giving lessons to a lad who was taking a shot at archery.
She smiled to see Guthrie offer encouragement to the boy, who looked to be about preteen, but when Guthrie caught her eye, she felt her cheeks flush. He motioned her over when the boy had finished his five chances at archery. Guthrie didn’t have any other takers at the moment, though Cearnach was helping a lad of about ten or so take aim at another target nearby.
Calla joined Guthrie but hesitated to take the bow. “I’ve never used a bow before.”
He raised his brows in challenge.
“Oh, all right,” she said under her breath. How bad could she be? No worse than at quoits, she suspected.
Guthrie moved in closer to her, not like the way he’d shown the lad how to shoot. First, he said, “We have to determine which of your eyes is dominant. Make a triangle with your thumbs and two index fingers. Hold your arms straight out and look at the target in the distance through the triangle. Then bring the triangle back to your face. Whichever eye your triangle frames is your dominant eye.”
He watched her as she brought the triangle partly over her nose and it veered off a little more to her left eye. He smiled.
“Did I do it wrong?”
“Nay, your left eye is more dominant.” He handed her a bow. Standing behind her, Guthrie placed her right hand on the bow, his touch warm, inviting, and not in the least bit teacher-like. His face was so close to hers that he looked like he wanted to give her a kiss along with the lesson on archery. His mouth curved up again, sexy, hot, and interested. “I told you it’s hard to see you as just another pretty lass.”
Smiling, she shook her head. “Keep saying such things and you might just change my mind.”
“You mean to mate with me, aye?”
She rewarded him with a smile, but nothing more.
“I won’t give up trying.” He kissed her ear, then slipped his leg between hers and guided her left foot over so that her feet were shoulder width apart. Somehow she didn’t think he would do that with anyone else he was instructing, either. He placed her right hand on the bowstring. “Now, pull back.” She did, and then he said, “You want to use your back muscles, not your shoulder muscles. Your shoulder should be low and relaxed.” He ran his hand over her shoulder and down her arm to her elbow. “Your elbow should bend a wee bit, so that it’s not locked in place.”