A Highland Werewolf Wedding (2 page)

Present Day, Scotland

Pacing across his brother’s office in the solar of Argent Castle, Cearnach MacNeill
was determined not to back down on this issue with Ian, his older brother, clan chief,
and pack leader of their Highland gray werewolf pack. Cearnach had promised Calla
Stewart that he would show up at her wedding to lend moral support. Friends did that
for friends. He would attend because she had asked him to, even though he knew his
being there could stir up real trouble.

Why did she have to marry into the McKinley clan? Pirates, every last one of them,
even though the pirating stopped a century ago. As far as he was concerned, they were
still a bunch of ruthless brigands.

Determination was etched on Ian’s scowling face as he studied Cearnach while remaining
seated at his dark oak desk. He was struggling to allow Cearnach to attend his friend’s
wedding, worried about his safety, not happy about it, but reluctant to take a stand
and say no. That was one of the reasons Cearnach loved his older quadruplet brother.
He was a born leader of men with a heart of gold. Though no one would say the latter
to his face. Ian was certain that he hid that part of himself well enough so he could
take on the world and
them
when he needed to.

His people knew better.

The weather was dismal this fall day at Argent Castle, and the room itself was dark
and gloomy. The bookshelves were filled with leather-bound volumes of the history
of their clan. The rich, burgundy Turkish tapestries covering the floor, the brown
leather chairs, and Ian’s oak desk all took on an ominous cast, like a scene from
a gothic novel.

Ian’s jaw clenched like it did when he gave one of his brothers an order or at least
a strong suggestion, or when any of them disagreed with him on an issue. Since Cearnach
was the second eldest brother and next in command, Ian usually gave him more leeway,
knowing Cearnach’s heart and head were normally in the right place.

“I don’t understand,” Ian said finally, his dark brown eyes gauging Cearnach’s resolve
like a wolf attempting to see the inner workings of someone’s thoughts. “You’re not
looking for a fight, are you? Attending Calla’s wedding could stir up bad feelings
we don’t need with another Highland wolf clan. Especially that one.”

“You’re right. You don’t understand. You would do whatever it took to be there for
family or in choosing a mate. But you’ve never had a female friend who wasn’t family.
With me, Calla’s just a friend. Being there for her is important to me.”

“Aye, a friend. She tossed you a rope to keep you from drowning in the swollen river
when you were a wee lad, and now you feel you owe her the same. She’s made her choice,”
Ian reminded him, though Cearnach didn’t need the reminder. “She doesn’t believe she
needs rescuing.

“Alpha males don’t take kindly to other wolves crossing the line. You’ve tried to
talk her out of the mating, but she’s making the commitment to Baird McKinley anyway.
Neither her family nor the McKinleys will be happy to see you, Cearnach. You’ll be
the enemy in their midst. Some will know you tried to dissuade her from marrying the
brigand. We all know what he’s like. She’s too stubborn to see it.”

Aye, she was, but Cearnach didn’t want to hear Ian telling him so. “She asked me to
be there. I have to go, Ian. I’m already running late.”

Ian furrowed his brow at his brother. “You’re never late to anything. You’re always
early or on time. Doesn’t that say something to you about this whole ludicrous venture?
That you shouldn’t be going? That you don’t really want to go?”

Cearnach looked out the window at the Caledonian Forest beyond the castle walls, where
the hearty breeze stirred the branches of the Scots pines while smoky gray clouds
stretched across the sky. He didn’t answer.

“You’re not going to object to the marriage, are you?” Ian said as more of an observation
than a question.

Cearnach straightened. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he got there.

Sounding deeply exasperated, Ian let out his breath. “Couldn’t you have worn something
less… antagonistic?”

At that, Cearnach couldn’t help but smile… an evil smile. He turned to face his brother.
“What? My kilt? I’m proud of being a MacNeill.”

“Aye, and the sword?” Ian said, motioning to it.

“Part of the formal dress. All wolves wear them to Highland weddings. I wouldn’t be
caught dead without it.”

“Aye, but in this case they might consider you a threat, thinking possibly you have
plans to steal the bride away, a time-honored tradition in the Highlands and still
among wolves. Here’s hoping you won’t have to use your sword. Call me when you get
there and after it’s done. I want to know if I have to send the troops out to rescue
you.”

Cearnach bowed his head slightly in acceptance. “I’m off, Ian. Wish me luck.”

Ian shook his head. “You may need it, Brother.”

Feeling disconcerted about Calla and what she was about to do, but not worried about
his own safety as he could hold his own against any of the McKinley clan, Cearnach
stalked out of his brother’s solar. He walked down the corridor where paintings of
past clan chiefs and their mates hung on the walls, keeping watch as if to guide the
clan on its way.

Cearnach hurried through the great hall, shoved the massive oak door to the keep open,
and closed it behind him. His boots tromping on the ancient stone pavers, he crossed
the inner bailey to the garage near the stables where he and his brothers’ cars were
parked.

The gray clouds were darkening, the smell of a rainstorm gathering power and a cold
breeze whipping around him. He hoped the rain would hold off until
after
he reached the church. Two of his cousins were practicing fighting with swords, their
weapons singing as steel met steel.

Another couple of men were wearing their wolf coats, lying on their stomachs, heads
raised, ears perked, while they enjoyed observing the sword play, always looking for
tips and techniques they could use themselves. They turned to see him and bowed their
heads in greeting as the men who were sparring stopped briefly to acknowledge their
second-in-command.

He nodded and continued without stopping. If he was to make it to the wedding on time,
he would have to drive a wee bit faster than he’d intended. He didn’t want to think
too deeply about why he was going to arrive a little late. Ian was right. He never
was late to anything.

But he wanted to ensure that he wasn’t thrown out of the church before Calla knew
he had arrived, and he wanted Baird McKinley to know that Cearnach wouldn’t be stopped
from making an appearance.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anlan, one of their Irish wolfhounds, racing
to greet him. “Not now, Anlan,” Cearnach said as one of the men and the two wolves
headed the dog off. Thwarted, Anlan woofed, telling Cearnach that he wanted to go
for a ride.

“Fatherhood already getting you down?” Cearnach asked. Anlan’s pups were two months
old and ready for new homes as soon as Ian or his mate, who was the holdup really,
offered them for sale.

Anlan whimpered, standing still and looking so longingly in Cearnach’s direction that
Cearnach knew the hound wanted desperately to go for a ride with him. Cearnach could
just envision the sight, him in Highland dress with his long-legged, lanky, bristle-furred
hound at his side as he entered the church.

Cearnach climbed into the silver minivan, turned over the engine, and headed out of
the garage wishing he had something grander and faster to drive—like a Mercedes-Benz
roadster or a Ferrari. If it wasn’t about to rain, a Lamborghini convertible would
have been nice.

He drove through the open castle gates and then through the outer bailey. Out on the
main road, he tore off in the direction of the church and cursed the wind for impeding
his progress.

Trying to get his mind off the drive ahead and the dwindling time, he thought about
Calla and the regret he felt that he couldn’t have been the one for her. They just
didn’t have what it took to be a couple.

No matter how many times he told himself Calla understood what she was doing, he knew
Baird McKinley didn’t deserve her. She was making a big mistake.

An hour later, only halfway to the church and with the strong headwind thwarting his
progress, Cearnach came around a bend in the hilly road to see a black Mercedes hogging
the pavement in his lane. Since the other driver wasn’t budging, Cearnach jerked his
car off the road before they collided head-on.

Hell
and
damnation!

With the rate of speed he was going, the car sailed over the rocks littering the terrain,
ripping up the rear tires with a boom! And another boom! The tires exploded before
he could brake the car enough to stop it.

Cursing a blue streak, he cut the engine and climbed out of the car to see who the
idiot driver was. Probably someone who had been celebrating a wee bit too much. He
grabbed his sheathed sword and strapped it around his waist.

The black car had pulled to the side of the road, the driver hidden behind tinted
windows, the engine purring.

The chilly wind tugging at his hair and kilt, Cearnach stormed toward the vehicle.
He was ready to commandeer it to drive to the wedding, while letting the driver sleep
the liquor off in the backseat.

When the driver’s door opened, a long-legged brunette stepped out of the car. He had
a hell of a time shifting his gaze from those shapely legs and a pair of sexy high-heeled
pumps—her clingy red dress having risen to mid-thigh before it settled lower—to see
how good the rest of her looked. Especially since he’d expected some sloppy-drunk
male type.

Seeing a woman instead, one hell of a shapely woman, he hesitated, and the anger quelled
in an instant.

His gaze traveled upward to take in the rest of the package. The wind blowing in her
direction forced the dress’s red slinky fabric to cling to her shapely legs, hips,
and everything in between. The dress screamed hot and available. At least to him.

The neckline wasn’t all that low, just enough to show off the swell of her breasts,
but her reaction to his perusing her was what made him direct his attention upward
while he bit back a smile. She folded her arms beneath her breasts, lifting them a
little and making him wish he could do the honors, and then she let out an annoyed
huff of breath.

More than anything, he loved her reaction and wasn’t beyond pushing her a bit after
she’d forced him off the road and ruined two of his tires.

“Done looking?” she asked. The hint of sarcasm amused him when he should still have
been furious about what she’d done to his vehicle.

She was American, not a Scottish lass, which meant she was trouble if she was anything
like his brothers Ian and Duncan’s mates, except both of the women were wolves—Julia
of the red wolf variety, and Shelley, a gray.

“All right,” she said, now sounding
really
annoyed. “I get it. You’re a big, bad Highland warrior type of wolf, and you have
to present this image…”

She knew he was a
wolf
?

Only
one
way
she’d know that. She smelled his wolf scent. Only one way she could do that. She
was also a wolf. He didn’t hear the rest of her words as his gaze shot up to her face.

Her eyes widened, giving her a startled look as she met his gaze.

She was beautiful and elegant, not just the sweet and innocent bonny girl who lives
in the cottage next door, but vibrant and ultra-sexy with dark brown eyes—
granted
, narrowed at him—and lush black lashes, high cheekbones, and full lips that were
any man’s wet dream.

After getting over his initial shock, he crowded her as a wolf would, checking her
out, sensing her response to him, learning if she truly was a wolf. She nearly folded
into the car, trying to back away from him. He seized her arm to keep her close and
moved his face in to get a good whiff of her. The wind was blowing in her direction,
carrying his scent to her but hers away from him.

But being this close, he smelled her. She-wolf. Gray. A hint of a seductive floral
fragrance.

He took in another breath, attempting to learn how she felt about him, trying to see
if she was angered, intrigued, scared. Any strong emotions would be revealed in her
scent. He frowned. She smelled familiar somehow. From the scent he gathered from her,
she
was
angered, intrigued, and a wee bit scared. Just as she should be around an imposing
Highlander of the Old World like he was.

“Bloody hell,” he said, quickly releasing her, not wanting to feel any interest in
the lass. But he continued to remain in her space, continued to suck in the air around
her, continued to enjoy the essence of the wolf. He couldn’t help it. When a female
was
this
enticing, he was all male wolf.

Then again, something more about the woman intrigued him. She was not friendly, more
irritated than anything, and he figured if she had a
sgian
dubh,
the traditional knife worn with a kilt, hidden in that clingy creation, she would
force him to back off. She slipped her hands between them and touched his chest in
a way that said, “Back off,” as if she thought she could keep him at bay.

He swore the heat from her hands seared him right through his Prince Charlie jacket,
vest, and white shirt, all the way to his bare chest.

She was a wolf with attitude and a total turn-on.

Large brown eyes gazed at him like a wolf who could read his every thought, every
bit as welcoming and seductive as the rest of her. Dark brown hair tinted with natural
highlights of red and gold softly curled to her shoulders, the wind catching it and
tossing it to and fro in a playful way. Her mouth was still pursed, looking quite
kissable.