Hero of a Highland Wolf

by Terry Spear

  When she saw the great gray wall and the four corner towers, she held her breath in awe at the sight. Her castle. It was beautiful. Then she saw movement on top of the wall walk and heard a man shout down that a car was coming, warning of her impending arrival.

  She wanted to laugh.

  Even so, her heartbeat accelerated. She was certain they were getting ready for her. She had two male cousins who had always teased her growing up, and she was used to dealing with them. She would have no problem dishing it out where Grant and the others were concerned. Except her cousins were betas. Grant was human, but he was still all alpha, from what her father had said.

  She didn’t know all that they had planned and she didn’t know them, so she was somewhat apprehensive, though she hated to admit it.

  She drove into the inner bailey and saw the sight she had tried to envision on the way here. But nothing had prepared her for this. Hot, hot, hot men in kilts with oiled abs, pecs, and bare legs, and wearing leather boots—some ancient, others more modern. The men were absolutely drool worthy! The only thing she regretted was that she hadn’t been given the opportunity to oil them down.

  She even considered stopping some of the sparring men and offering to rub oil on any spots they had missed, just to show they didn’t intimidate her.

  She parked and just stared out the window, jaw dropping as she watched the men slashing at each other with humongous swords, the metal clanking and the sound reverberating off the castle walls. She was dumbfounded and enthralled. This was nothing like the movies, or even the Renaissance fairs or Celtic fests she’d attended. The battling men were so close up and real. And so many of them. Maybe thirty?

  She took in a deep breath and her heart began skipping beats. She smelled wolves! Not humans. Wolves. Oh…my…God. Her father had lied to her. Why? This changed everything. Butting heads with an alpha human was a lot different from taking on an alpha male wolf. He could smell everything about her that she could about him. She thought she’d have the advantage in dealing with him. Not now.

  The hot testosterone poured off the men in waves. And their wolfishly delicious scent was a real turn-on. She doubted anyone could smell her interested scent, considering how much the men exuded.

  Focus! She sat for a while just watching from the car as the men mostly ignored her, although a few glanced her way, checking her out. Probably trying to determine if she was quaking in her low heels yet, afraid to leave the car. That worked well for her. Let them believe what they would about her. She’d prove them wrong when she was good and ready.

  She wondered which one was Grant, or whether he was even out here fighting with the men. Taking in a deep, admiring breath of all that gorgeous Highland wolf flesh, she dug through her bag and pulled out her camcorder. Armed, she left her car and began videotaping the scene. Once she was back in the States, she’d view this whenever she wanted to enjoy some really hot Highlanders in action.

  A few stopped to watch her then, smiling, which surprised her because she assumed their fearless leader had ordered the men to put on the show of a lifetime to discourage her from staying. Smiling at her wouldn’t have the right effect, unless they thought she was a timid beta wolf and their interested smiles were meant to scare her off.

  Or maybe her skirt whipping around in the wind had caught their eyes. The gypsy-like floral, silky, partly sheer fabric was a tease, allowing the viewer a glimpse of legs, but the built-in very short underskirt stayed put, hiding all the important parts. Still, they seemed to be waiting to see her skirt fly above her ears. They would be disappointed. Or maybe they thought watching her would cow her. She concentrated on looking for Ian MacNeill, at his wife’s request.

  Most of the men were still fighting. From the pictures Julia had shared with her of Ian and Grant, Colleen recognized the MacNeills outfitted in their predominantly blue-and-green kilts. The MacQuarries wore red-and-green plaid.

  She continued to shoot the ones who battled it out, while scanning all of the men, looking for Ian. The men worked their gorgeous muscles as they swung their swords, tensing, parrying, and thrusting. Oh my heavens, the sight was dazzling.

  Then she caught sight of Ian fighting Grant MacQuarrie. Sure. The pack leader of the MacNeills squaring off with the pack leader of the MacQuarries. She couldn’t get over the notion that her father had lied to her about them being human. What did he think? That once she learned they were wolves, she would hot-trot across the ocean to meet them? And date them, or something? Though if she’d known they looked this hot, she might have.

  Colleen smiled slightly. Ian was angled more so that she could see his face, while now Grant’s back was to her. His shoulders were muscled and tanned, his legs the same—well-sculpted and sexy. The breeze ruffled his light brown hair, but she’d only managed to get a glimpse of his face and now she couldn’t see it.

  Julia would be thrilled to get this video of her husband helping Grant to play this trick on Colleen. She and Julia had lost contact with each other over the last couple of years, both of their lives having been so hectic. Colleen still couldn’t believe that Julia had mated a Highland wolf, and she intended to see as much of Julia as she could while she lived here.

  She noted that a few more men had stopped fighting and were watching her and grinning. She tried to concentrate on the men in combat and couldn’t help smiling herself. Impressive. Oiled to a fare-thee-well, they were trying to look like they’d been sweating for some time, which made their muscles all the more magnificent. She knew the shouted warning of her approach meant the men had just begun their fight when she arrived.

  As Ian and Grant lunged and parried, she observed their impressive footwork, too. Every slicing blow sent a hint of unease through her, though, as she worried that the men would accidentally injure each other. She loved the way the wind whipped their kilts about. She caught a gorgeous shot of Grant’s very toned, hot ass. That would teach him to go without any briefs on a windy day! Maybe he thought she would be so shocked to see him naked beneath the kilt that she’d run off.

  Not her.

  She just hoped she wouldn’t catch too much of Ian’s exposed body parts as she continued to film the men in action. With a smile, she focused on Grant’s kilt, just in case it lifted again. She’d snap a couple of still shots this time.

  A man approached her, but intent on her mission, she didn’t turn to face him. She took in a deep breath to smell his scent, like all wolves would do, sensing whether the other wolf was dangerous or interested. He was interested. He would check her out, too. Just a natural tendency among wolves.

  “You, lass, must be Lady Colleen Playfair.”

  Her skirt whipped around the Highlander’s bare legs, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  She was indeed titled. The barony had passed down from generation to generation, though in America she had never been referred to as a baroness, so she wasn’t used to hearing anyone call her by that title.

  “I am.” She wished he’d go away because now she had to divide her concentration between Grant and Ian and the man standing next to her. Even if the men had meant the training as a ruse, the two pack leaders seemed to have something to prove to their respective clans—if not to her.

  “That’s my brother, Grant MacQuarrie. And the one he’s fighting is Ian MacNeill,” the Highlander said.

  “Nice,” she said, not quite ready to reveal that she knew who the two men were.

  “I’m Lachlan, Grant’s younger triplet brother. Glad to make your acquaintance.” His voice hinted at kindliness.

  “Thanks. Nice to meet you.” She wondered then if Grant would be the only source of trouble here or if his brother sought to feign friendship, slip under her armor, and work on a way to get rid of her in a different manner. She didn’t trust him.

  Arms folded across his muscled chest, Lachlan stood way too close to her.

  “Did you get tired of fighting?�
�� she asked with a hint of a smile.

  “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  She wanted to groan out loud at the cliché, but she managed a small smile instead. She imagined he loved to fight as much as any of the other Highlanders in the bailey today.

  “You don’t want to film any others sparring?” Lachlan asked, sounding curious.

  “I promised Ian’s wife, Julia, that I would film Ian if I could and email the recording to her later.”

  Lachlan drew in an audible breath, and she couldn’t tell whether he was amused or worried. “You know Ian’s wife?”

  She loved his reaction but hesitated to tell him the truth, still not sure if she should let the proverbial cat out of the bag…yet. Then she decided she would so she could see what happened when he told his brother Grant. “Yep. Good friends for years. I never expected her to end up living in Scotland, mated to Ian like that. When she learned I was coming here, she immediately contacted me. We intend to get together as soon as we can.”

  “You know Julia MacNeill,” Lachlan said under his breath as if the truth was sinking in.

  Did she ever. Girls’ all-night slumber parties—and she was game to have one with Julia and her new sisters-in-law and mother-in-law as soon as she could—cooking parties where they baked only the most decadent chocolate concoctions, movie night… You name it, they had a night for it. She fought the urge to laugh evilly.

  “Did Julia happen to tell you her husband was coming here to spar with Grant and my kin today?”

  “Yep.”

  Lachlan burst out laughing. She smiled then. She couldn’t help herself. No way could Grant pull the black-faced Highland sheep’s wool over her wolf eyes.

  Another man lowered his sword and glanced at Colleen and Lachlan. He motioned to his opponent that he was done, bowing his head slightly, and moved in Colleen’s direction. “I’m Enrick MacQuarrie, Grant’s middle brother, and you must be…?”

  “Colleen,” she said, annoyed at the pretense, as if he wasn’t sure who she was. She was certain they didn’t let just anyone onto the castle grounds. “I’m enjoying the fighting. What a delightful…” She caught her breath as the wind swept Grant’s kilt upward again and she got another toned-butt view. Snap, snap. She took some hot shots that time. Omigod, if only she had such a gorgeous gluteus maximus. “Beautiful…show,” she finished. She was certain she wasn’t playing the game the way they had intended.

  “She’s good friends with Julia MacNeill, Ian’s wife,” Lachlan said, as if Enrick wouldn’t know who he was talking about.

  “Julia MacNeill,” Enrick said.

  She wanted to laugh, but she managed to keep her mirth under control. The brothers’ surprise at learning of her connection to Julia was just too rich.

  “Julia knew about the sparring,” Enrick continued, not asking a question.

  “Aye,” Lachlan said.

  “She told you?” Enrick asked Colleen, still sounding surprised that no one had fooled her. Maybe they even wondered what else she might be aware of.

  Like…they planned to put her in the White Room. She didn’t know what that was all about—nor did Julia, because even Ian didn’t know—but Colleen suspected some murderous ghost lived there. Julia had told her about Ian’s ghostly cousin, Flynn, and how he caused mischief for some of the lasses at Argent Castle.

  So what kind of a ghost lived in the White Room? A scary one to help change her mind about staying, she assumed. It wouldn’t work on her. She didn’t believe in ghosts.

  “Yes. We’re the best of friends,” Colleen said.

  If she demanded that Grant give her another room, she suspected he would tell her no others were available. If they thought she was a pushover, they had another think coming.

  Chapter 3

  Enrick didn’t laugh like Lachlan had done when Colleen mentioned she knew Julia. He seemed a lot more serious as he watched Grant and Ian slow down, looking as though they were beginning to grow weary. She wondered how long they’d continue with the ruse. She was tired of filming them, but she would keep shooting them as long as they continued to fight.

  Many of the men had quit sparring and now watched the two pack leaders in their bid for dominance.

  She loved it. In her world, men just didn’t do that. Maybe a couple of men battled it out in a show at clan gatherings or Renaissance fairs. But not gathered about in an ancient castle’s bailey, or with everyone wearing kilts, bare chested, and beautifully greased down—and with all of them also part of a wolf pack. She noticed then that no women were about. None watching. Not even from the ramparts and out of harm’s way. Was this usual? Or did Grant think having only braw males in attendance would intimidate her further?

  His plan wouldn’t succeed. She loved observing them in battle. She wished Julia could be here, too. She knew her friend would take copious notes to use in writing her Highland werewolf romances.

  Finally, Ian conceded. “We could fight all day, you and I, Grant MacQuarrie, my good friend. But I’m famished.”

  “Aye, to the feast.” Grant glanced in Colleen’s direction as if he finally had time to acknowledge her as she stood there with her camcorder in hand. He also noticed his brothers standing on either side of her. His brows rose marginally to see them there. Although he was in charge, his brothers seemed to have other notions.

  She finally turned off the camcorder, right after she got a nice smile from Ian and an equally captivating scowl from Grant, directed at his brothers. She was enjoying the brothers’ reactions.

  Grant’s gold-flecked brown eyes squarely held her gaze. His wolfish expression was stern, typical of a pack leader, his light brown hair caught by the breeze.

  Grant stalked toward her, joined by some other men who wore the same plaid, while Ian watched from a distance.

  All pack leaders inherently had the wolf’s stare down to perfection—judging a newcomer’s threat and whether the new arrival was a beta or, even worse, an omega. He wouldn’t intimidate her as much as he might like as she met his gaze with a smile. She didn’t have any delusions that a smile would win him over. But she hoped she might befriend some of the betas in his pack. She counted on it.

  “You must be Lady Colleen Playfair. We were in sparring practice—” Grant said, sounding very much in charge and as though he couldn’t be bothered rearranging his schedule to accommodate her arrival.

  “She knows Ian’s wife,” Enrick said, cutting his brother’s comment short.

  Grant looked from Enrick to Colleen, his expression surprised as his brows rose in questioning and his jaw dropped a little. She was having way too much fun, and it killed her to have to stifle a laugh.

  He glanced at the camcorder in her hands and said, “You don’t plan to share that with the world, do you?”

  She suspected his sudden change of subject had to do with being unsettled to learn that she’d known about all this beforehand. He sounded more like he was telling her than asking her. Of course, she wouldn’t share the video with the world. She’d need the men’s approval, and she was certain this wolf wouldn’t give it.

  “Oh, I’d love to. I’m sure it will remain mostly mine for private viewing. But Julia”—Colleen waved at Ian—“wanted me to send her a copy of it. She’s a romance writer, you know. The video will be great for visuals to use in writing scenes for her next story.” And Colleen would most likely send her girlfriends back home some of the special shots of Grant.

  Though she wouldn’t say whose hot buns they were, in case her girlfriends shared them with social media outlets. And she would only send shots of that special part of his anatomy so no one could actually identify him. What were girlfriends for, after all?

  Ian then joined them and Grant said, “Lady Colleen Playfair, meet Ian MacNeill.”

  Before he could finish formal introductions, she smiled brightly at Ian. “I’m one of Julia’s best
friends. She has told me so much about you. You’re the hero in nearly all her books.” She shook Ian’s hand.

  “Nearly all?” he asked, a glint of humor in his dark brown eyes, his mouth curving upward.

  “Sure. Before you came into her life, she had to make up fantasy heroes,” Colleen said very seriously. She’d read some of Julia’s recent releases, and she could see a real difference in the look of her heroes.

  “She…never mentioned you,” Ian said, sliding a half-guilty, half-amused look at Grant.

  “Ah, why would she talk about me? I’m sure that once she arrived here, you occupied all of her thoughts,” Colleen said breezily.

  “This way,” Grant said, motioning to her and Ian to join him in the keep. He did not look very happy.

  Ian smiled at her as he displaced Enrick, while Grant took his brother Lachlan’s place beside her. Ian shot Grant a look that said whatever Grant had planned wouldn’t work on Colleen. He nodded in sympathy, as though he had faced the same issue with his wife as Grant now had to deal with—a headstrong American she-wolf.

  Knowing Julia, Colleen could just imagine. She wondered what Grant had planned for her next. The feast, yes. Haggis? Blood pudding? She had acquired a taste for them already, preparing for her stay here. So he wouldn’t make any headway with getting rid of her in that way.

  She was famished.

  ***

  Grant couldn’t believe the she-wolf had known about the mock fight before she arrived. What else did she already know about? What else had Ian shared with his pretty wife that she, in turn, had shared with Colleen?

  The White Room. Grant had mentioned that to Ian earlier in the week. Though no one but Grant’s people knew the significance of the chamber. He was glad he had not revealed more to Ian. But before today, Grant hadn’t told Ian about the feast they had planned.

  Colleen’s dark brown hair curled over her shoulders, some of it whipping in his direction and tickling his shoulder, while her silky, sheer skirt slapped at his bare legs. He would have moved out of the fabric’s path, but he stayed in close proximity in an attempt to intimidate her. His skin was oily and sweaty, and he didn’t believe any prim and proper young woman would want to share the same space with him. She, on the other hand, smelled of a soft floral fragrance—jasmine, he thought—and all she-wolf. He had a devil of a time not breathing in her scent in a much-too-interested fashion. He just hoped she hadn’t noticed.