A Highland Werewolf Wedding (8 page)

Her car was gone. The car park was empty.

Damn
it
to
hell.

Despite the rain, he could smell that two of the McKinley brothers had been here on
this path. Why would they have been
here
?

He glanced back to see if Elaine was following him. She was nowhere in sight. His
heart plummeted. He dove back the way he’d come. He was fairly certain that none of
the McKinleys would harm them. The brothers were just annoyed enough about Cearnach
crashing the wedding—to their way of thinking—and stirring up trouble that they wanted
to pay him back. He hadn’t thought they’d go to these lengths.

He ran as if his life depended on it, frantic that Elaine might have come to harm,
or that they might have somehow gotten hold of her. But he was certain she would be
growling, baring her teeth, charging, and snapping her jaws if anyone had tried to
approach her, and he would hear her feral outrage.

When he reached the bottom of the long, narrow steps, where they had headed for the
beach, he didn’t see Elaine. His heart slamming into his ribs, he looked up at the
steps leading into the tunnel that took them into the inner bailey. She wasn’t anywhere
that he could see. Not on the stairs, the path, or the beach.

He smelled the air. She’d been here recently. He ran for the steps leading to the
castle tunnel, and by the time he’d come to the entrance, she was entering it.

He’d never seen a more beautiful sight. He wanted to hug the life out of her now that
he knew she was all right. She paused, looking upset, but with her tail held out straight
behind her.

Even before he joined her to nuzzle her, to greet her and tell her how relieved he
was to see her safe, he knew that she’d learned their clothes were gone, stolen from
the cannon.

Elaine had feared the worst once she realized Robert Kilpatrick and his kin—her kin
also, as much as she hated to admit it—had planned to steal her car. Had they found
the clothes in the cannon?

She smelled the men’s scent on the stairs and where they had moved all over the place
looking for where she and Cearnach had been. They would have smelled their scents
and discovered their clothes in the centuries-old weapon.

Before she even poked her nose inside, she knew her clothes were gone, and she felt
her whole body tense in anger. At first, she had stared dumbly at the ancient weapon
as if by looking at it hard enough and peeking in again, she could make their belongings
reappear.

She smelled the scent of the two men who had brushed up against the cannon and recognized
them as the same two who had approached them, one being Vardon, who had hit her.

Seeing Robert Kilpatrick gloating over what they’d done to Cearnach’s car infuriated
her.
The
bastards.
She should be on her cousin’s side, but not when she didn’t know him and he’d done
this mischief. And not when she had seen the way Cearnach had acted in the church.
He hadn’t protested Calla’s wedding or disturbed the ceremony in the least. Well,
maybe a little. Angered that the men would steal her belongings and Cearnach’s and
destroy his car, she growled softly.

She felt utterly defeated. Everything she’d brought with her on the trip was in the
car. Passport, driver’s license, money, clothes, credit card—everything was in there.
The vehicle was insured under her name. Which meant she was liable for the car, too.

Because they were werewolves, they couldn’t go to the police about matters like this.
Not with the concern that someone might end up in police custody. A confined wolf
who couldn’t control his shifting could spell danger for all their kind.

Cearnach licked her face and urged her to come with him.

She hesitated, though she really didn’t have any alternative. Most likely he intended
to take her to his castle, and his pack would help her out. What made her hesitate
was the knowledge that running through the countryside as wolves could be a dangerous
business. Even in Florida, where wolves no longer roamed free, she had to be careful.
She’d been mistaken for a German shepherd once, or at least a mixed breed of some
sort.

A
dog.
She humphed to herself. Worse? A dogcatcher had actually caught her and taken her
to the pound. Nothing worse than being caged up with a bunch of noisy dogs when she
was a wolf! Since they’d caught her early in the morning, she’d had to stay there
until everyone left for the night. Thankfully, the workers had left a couple of windbreakers
hanging on a coatrack, so when she left, she hadn’t been completely naked.

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.