Heart of the Highland Wolf

Page 8

“Are you all right in there?” Maria asked, sounding more than curious.
“Just washing some of the mud off. Be out in a second so you can get cleaned up for your meeting.”
Maria didn’t budge from outside the door.
“Nothing happened,” Julia assured her. Then she frowned. “Nothing happened between you and Duncan, did it?”
***
“Did you think either of the women was the same as the wolf we smelled near the car accident?” Duncan asked Ian as he drove them the two kilometers to Argent Castle, although the trek through the woods was closer to a kilometer.
“You smelled a wolf,” Ian corrected. “I couldn’t catch the scent of a wolf at all, not with the smoke from the burning vehicle clouding my senses. After that, the rain washed away any scent of wolf.”
“You didn’t know that they were wolves when you saw them in the pub?”
Ian shook his head. “You know how pungent Scott’s onion-and-garlic burgers are. The women weren’t close enough for me to smell them.”
Duncan’s brows furrowed as he glanced at Ian. “You didn’t join the women at their table?”
“They appeared afraid of me.”
Duncan grunted. “Whatever for? We were trying to help them.”
“We were chasing them through the woods. They didn’t believe we were there to help them. Besides, they work for Sunset Productions. No matter whatever else they are, they’re bad news.” Although, Ian couldn’t quash the urge to get to know the redhead better. After kissing her and the way she’d responded, he had an even greater desire to do so.
“That’s why we took them to the cottage?” Duncan asked with a lifted brow. “Why we got them food and you drew a bath for Julia?”
“We were on our way back to Argent,” Ian reminded him. “Besides, MacNamara hadn’t finished his business at the pub. And the women needed food.”
Duncan gave Ian a critical look. “Admit it, Ian. You drank your whisky and mine so we could catch up to MacNamara and take the women off his hands because you’re intrigued with the redheaded lass.”
With no intention of responding to his youngest brother’s claim, Ian asked, “Did you think the wolf you smelled was one of these women?”
“I don’t believe so. And one of our own people wouldn’t have been running as a wolf, or I would have recognized the scent.”
Most likely it wouldn’t have been one of Ian’s own people anyway, not after he had warned them not to run as wolves until the film crew was gone. If it wasn’t the women and it wasn’t someone from his own pack, someone else had to be trespassing on his lands again.
Only one wolf or pack came to mind. “Basil Sutherland or one of his men.” The long-running feud between Sutherland’s clan and Ian’s had been going on for centuries, although the MacNeills hadn’t encountered any recent difficulty with the Sutherlands until the previous month at the Celtic festival.
“Aye, that mess with them over the sword-fighting demonstration could have caused real trouble. He’s asking for an all-out war, Ian. I keep telling you that.”
“If one of Sutherland’s men was trespassing, why now?”
“What if in an effort to get back at us, Sutherland or his men are targeting the women because he knew they were lupus garous and with the film crew and that you would take an interest in protecting them?”
Or what if Julia whatever-her-last-name-really-was served as one of Sutherland’s spies—a way for him to get one of his people into Ian’s castle on some devious mission?
So why did he want to take her back to the castle, lock her in his chambers, and kiss her again, only this time into telling him the truth?
Chapter 4
With the jet lag and the car accident, Julia was exhausted. But she also had a mission that wouldn’t wait. She washed, carefully climbed out of the bath, again testing her foot on the floor, and found her ankle only bothered her slightly. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, too revved up for what she had to do next to lie around the cottage.
“Well, Maria? Anything going on between you and Duncan?” Julia asked again.
Maria didn’t answer her, but Julia heard the kitchen sink running.
The running water set her thinking about Ian MacNeill, the bath he’d drawn, and the way he’d challenged her with his hot-blooded gaze, like the devil in a once-white, rain-soaked button-down shirt and muddy khaki trousers. That brought to mind how his wet clothes had stuck to his skin, outlining various muscle groups—legs, chest, arms—and even giving a hint of how well endowed he was. Which, of course she had noticed, taking mental notes for her new Highland story. Forget bare-assed in a kilt. The wet khakis were more than intriguing. Because of the way he’d stared at her clothes, just as revealing as his own, she hadn’t felt any guilt in checking out his wares.
And that kiss? She was ready to spill all her secrets and even make some up if he’d just keep kissing her. She was hopeless and would never make it as a secret agent. Unless kissing someone as hot as Ian was part of her cover. But she feared he’d learn the truth about her in short order then. How could she be so dumb? Lusting after the laird of the castle was definitely not in the plans.
Julia headed into the bedroom. Her tapestry floral suitcases sat on a full-sized bed clothed in a forest-green bedspread and next to a light-oak bachelor chest. A matching side table and a brass lamp sat on the other side. The walls were covered in floral flocked paper, and on one of them hung two pictures, one of a waterfall and the other, a tree-lined lake with mountains rising into the sky to meet fluffy, white clouds. Both of which she’d love to see in person.
She pushed aside the green velvetlike drapes on the room’s small window and peeked out to see the piney woods. She could almost smell them through the closed window.
Unzipping her suitcase, she thought about how she had nearly stumbled over Ian’s mud-caked suede boots when she and Maria had hastily left the pub. The boots had to have been his because they hadn’t been there when she and Maria had first entered the pub.
Which brought her back to the way his darkened eyes had admired her. God, he was gorgeous. Even more gorgeous up close, sitting a few tables away from her. Just the hint of a smile on his lips had turned her insides to jelly. She’d forgotten her ankle, the other men in the room, the American waitress, even that Maria was warily watching her and that Ian was not the kind of man who would be interested in her—mainly because she was with the odious film crew.
Yet Julia thought he might, in that moment, have forgotten that she was with the film crew.
Despite how good he looked in rain-soaked clothes, she thought about him wearing a kilt like in the photo. Since she had to transform him into a historical Highland hero, perfect for her book, modern-day trousers wouldn’t do.
He had the dark look and the aristocratic air of a titled laird—although the fact he’d left his muddy shoes outside countered his being totally arrogant—and he was in charge. She could see that in the way the other men had greeted him. Something unwritten was being observed. As if they had to watch themselves until he left. Or maybe just until she and Maria had left. She wished she could have been the proverbial fly on the wall and observed his interaction with the men after Maria and she had exited the pub.
She threw on her sleuthing clothes—a pair of olive-green jeans and a matching cashmere sweater—and then sat on her bed and braided her wet hair.
Most telling was the way MacNamara had reacted to Ian. At first, MacNamara had wanted to take her and Maria to their cottage without reservation, even saying no to the other men in a lighthearted way when they all offered with too much exuberance. But the towering Scot had seemed to need Laird Ian MacNeill’s permission once he arrived. If only she could watch the way Ian interacted further with others, she’d have half her story written.
But what she hadn’t counted on was for Ian to actually come up behind them, scaring the daylights out of her and sweeping her up in his arms to spirit her away to his car and take her and Maria to their cottage. That had her heart tripping.
He had known she was not who she said she was as soon as she’d given that damned fake name. She’d expected him to question her about it as soon as he sent his brother with Maria to get groceries. But he didn’t question her further about that, which hadn’t alleviated her concern one iota. He was like a wolf with its quarry.
She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep while Ian had been getting the ice pack for her, either. She figured she’d use it a little longer before Maria left for her meeting And then? Julia would be off looking for secret entrances to the castle.
“Julia Jones?” Maria said, standing in her open doorway and startling Julia from her thoughts. “Why in the world would you make up an alias?”
“You know what I write for a living.” Julia sighed, then rose from the bed, moved past Maria, and made her way to the couch.
“I couldn’t believe he’d ask if you were mated.”
“He asked about both of us,” Julia reminded her, as she sat down on the sofa, propped her foot on the pillow, and covered her ankle with the melting ice pack.
“Yeah, well he was only interested in whether you are mated or not. If you’re trying to keep a low profile, it’s not working. You’ve already got the attention of the laird and at least one of his brothers. Really not good. So what exactly happened between you and the laird?”
“Nothing.”
Maria gave a snort of laughter. “Right. You look guilty as hell. And here he goes and draws you a bath? It could work well if you play your cards right. But if you don’t…” She paused. “What are you going to do while I’m seeing Harold?” The slight censure in Maria’s voice warned Julia that her friend knew she would be up to something—probably something Maria wouldn’t approve of.
Before Julia could respond, Maria folded her arms. “You’re not going to stay at the cottage and unpack your bags, are you? Despite your ankle being sprained, I know you won’t wait for my return. Like you should.”