Hero of a Highland Wolf (24 page)

Before she could grab a rain jacket, the bedchamber door opened. Thinking Grant had returned for something, she turned. And gasped.

To her horror, a soaking wet Archibald rushed into the room. Before she could scream, he struck her in the temple. A sharp pain registered, and a sprinkling of white stars against an inky black night followed. And then? Nothing.

The next thing Colleen was aware of, her head throbbed, her hands were tied together, and her mouth was gagged as she lay on the soft mattress. What had happened to her? Then she remembered in a flash of horror.
Archibald.
He was here, and she was in grave danger.

How had he gotten inside the keep?

She kept her eyes closed, listening to movement, trying to determine where he was in proximity to her. She was lying on her side of the bed, her feet unbound. That was good. She planned to kick him, though what good that would do, she didn't know.

Archibald moved toward her, away from the window. “Wake up or I'll kill you where you lay,” he said, his voice soft but filled with threat.

Her eyes popped open.

He offered her a cold, calculating smile. “You don't appear happy to see me,” Archibald said, sneering at her. “Here I thought we were getting along so famously. I imagine you wonder how I reached you so easily. Through the old sewer pipes, where we're going now. Do you mind?” He yanked her from the bed.

Her wrists burned from the rough hemp rope. She jerked away from him to free herself. She fought him, trying to kick him with her boots, but he growled low, “If you fight me, I'll knock you out. Your choice.”

She stilled her efforts, knowing she could do nothing if she was dead to the world, and he could easily kill her somewhere else. She was certain that was his intention. He dragged her down the hallway until they came to a door. He jerked it open and forced her inside, then shut the door. The room was a tiny water closet, never used, from the looks of it. Boards had been pulled free from a hole in an antique-looking toilet—nothing more than a box, with a couple of boards nailed to the top of it to form a toilet hole. Or that had been at one time. She smelled the faint odor of mold and mustiness.

“Hasn't anyone told you about the Welsh princess Nest, a former mistress of King Henry I? A prince from her homeland, a second cousin, Owain, learned how she'd been enslaved by the robber chief Gerald of Windsor. Owain sought to dine with her and was so struck by her beauty that he was determined to have her for his own and free her from her despicable husband.

“The story goes that he and fifteen of his men invaded the castle at Christmastime and she left willingly with him to protect her husband and children. They, her husband and children, meanwhile, had gone through a toilet hole very much like this one. Only theirs had been in use. This hasn't been used for several centuries. You can count yourself fortunate. Can you imagine being married to a man like that who would hide in the sewage pipes underneath the castle while his wife was taken away?

“Just a quick slide down the pipe and you will be where I want you to be,” he added.

Stuck beneath the bowels of the castle, she feared. But someone could still rescue her, she hoped.

He lifted her and dropped her through the toilet hole. Her heart skipped beats as she slid through the pipe, fearing she'd be deep in the bowels of the castle with no way to get out for hours. What she didn't expect was to feel the chilly outdoor sea air just before she landed on the rocks below the seawall, the gag muffling her frantic screams.

The Irish wolfhounds barked in the distance, excited, wanting to join the men in their search out front. But it sounded like they had been confined to the kennels. Which was understandable. Though wolfhounds were named such because they had killed wolves in the distant past, she doubted they would do well against a pack of wolves.

The chilling rain drenched her, soaking through her sweater and her jeans.

Oh…my…God, she was certain the pipe was dumping her into the frigid sea, and with her hands tied, she would drown right away. This was bad, but she thought she still had a fighting chance as she squirmed and wriggled, trying to loosen the rope that bound her.

Archibald landed beside her before she could scramble to her feet, her bound wrists making it difficult to maneuver, the rocks even slipperier than before with the rain and wind pelting them at a slant. The whitecapped waves stood out in contrast to the black water, forcefully crashing against the moss-covered boulders.

“That wasn't so bad, was it? Before the inhabitants cared anything about conservation or sanitation, they just let it all dump out to sea,” Archibald said, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. “But they removed the section of pipe that actually fed into the water, so these now end on the rocks. Your father showed them to me when I was a boy. We practiced entering the castle in that manner. Other cases exist where an enemy force breached a castle in such a way. Only who would ever do such a thing today? Eh?”

He yanked off her gag. “No one will hear you down here while everyone is beyond the castle walls looking for me—including your mate. Wouldn't he be surprised to learn you decided to take a swim in the cold, black sea at my urging? Only he'll never know I had anything to do with it.”

“You can't mean to kill me.” Yet she knew he intended just that.

“Centuries earlier, my grandfather should have owned this place.” Archibald pulled her down the path leading to the breakers.

She balked at being moved, but she knew he could just as well toss her over his shoulder and then take care of her before long anyway. The thought that both Grant's mother and father died in the same manner chilled her to the core. Somehow she had to prolong this so Grant or one of his men would realize she was gone. They could trace her scent and, hopefully, realize she'd ended up in the sewer pipe and then landed on the beach, and not that she'd walked into the room and then left. She belatedly realized Archibald had no scent. Why wouldn't he? They wouldn't know that he'd forced her to leave with him and that she was in trouble. She feared they'd never learn of it in time. She had to stall him.

“Your grandfather Uilleam killed mine on the battlefield, didn't he? He wasn't cut down by one of the enemy clan's swords, but by his own loyal man,” Colleen said, sure of it now as chilling raindrops ran down her face.

“Sometimes a fine line exists between your enemies and your friends. Gideon Playfair fought bravely in battle and died. That's all anyone needs to remember,” Archibald said.

“He died at your grandfather's hand,” she said, trying to yank her arm free of Archibald's fierce grip as he moved her closer to the breakers. The aspect of being in that icy water was all the more terrifying since she'd already felt its chilling pull when she and Ollie were swept away. She never wanted to experience that again. She kept telling herself she'd read about people winter-swimming in frigid water, believing it was healthy for the body. But doing it all tied up with the threat of being smashed against jagged cliffs? She didn't believe that would be good for anyone's health.

“Then John MacQuarrie had to learn of the theft in the accounts and tell Neda. Uilleam explained to her that John had lied about the figures, but she still believed John,” Archibald said.

“Because John hadn't lied, and Neda knew it. Uilleam must have broken her heart.”

Archibald shrugged. “All in doing business.”

“So he never really loved her. She was just a means to an end. What are you planning? Why kill me?”

Fury in his expression, he scowled down at her. “My father was a good friend of your father. If Theodore hadn't been such a bloody—”

She slipped and fell on the rocks, freeing herself from Archibald's steel grasp for an instant and landing on her butt.

Archibald immediately dove for her and jerked her to her feet, his breath unsteady. “Well, they got rid of Robert's mate, figuring as much as he loved her, he'd neglect the estates or kill himself. He did neither. The first opportunity Haldane and Theodore had, they helped him join his beloved mate. But Neda still wouldn't install Theodore as a manager of the estates. She knew him too well—his drinking problem, his lack of caring anything for the properties, his inability to handle money. He would have bled the estates dry. He hated Robert MacQuarrie, and he hated Grant and his brothers for the affection your grandmother doled out to them.”

“If Theodore had become manager, how would that have helped your father?”

“Haldane and Theodore were the best of friends. They would have found a way to rid themselves of Neda Playfair. That was the plan. But Theodore was too much of an arse and was so furious that his mother didn't let him run the properties that he left for America and abandoned my father. And after all they'd done together, too.”

“So when my father did inherit the castle, you thought you could convince him to let you take over management, but what happened? By that time he didn't care?”

“Aye. The bloody sot was too fond of his bottle. Then I had the idea that if he died, you would inherit. But damn if you didn't take up with Grant. I never expected that. He'd made it well known he wasn't happy that Theodore's daughter was coming here to tell him how to run things. I figured I'd step in and be your Highland hero. Take him to task. Protect you. It was working so well. But I never expected you to stoop so low as to give in and go with him. I still didn't believe you would fall for him. In the past, you'd always ended up mating betas.”

“You're not a beta,” she said.

He smiled, albeit the look was pure evil. “You're right. It was killing me not to be like Grant was toward you. I figured the time would come when I could be myself around you—after we were mated.”

“Only he's my hero,” she said, chin up, glowering at Archibald. “And my mate.”

“So where is your hero now, eh, lass? He will lose you, like he lost his mother and his father. Maybe he won't manage your loss as well and will join you in the deep, briny sea.”

Even if she didn't make it, she knew Archibald wouldn't, either—her only bright side to this deadly situation. “They'll kill you. You won't be able to escape.”

Archibald waved his hand at the darkness. “A raft. How do you think I got here in the first place? I have no plans to die today or any other. And I've left no hint of my scent anywhere.”

The notion that he could get away with murder made her sick to her stomach. She saw the black rubber raft tied up against the rocks, black as the water, and she could see how Archibald had managed to make his way here without anyone spotting him. Though in ye old times, men serving guard duty on top of the wall walk probably would have noticed if a wooden boat had ventured to the cliffs, but it surely would have been dashed against the sharp-edged crags.

She thought the raft looked half-waterlogged, between the rain and the waves, and drooped a little on one side. Losing air? A hole or two in the rubber sides?

He would drown, she hoped, if she had to.

This had to end now, Grant vowed. No more Borthwicks would harm his family. As soon as he realized Archibald wasn't with his other men out front, Grant returned to the bedchamber to check on Colleen. He didn't believe any harm could come to her there, but he still felt wary about leaving her alone. Partly because he was afraid she might have tried to follow him—as alpha as she was.

He stalked into the room and discovered she was gone right away. Her minikilt sat on the chair. She'd changed. Unless…she'd shifted. Her raincoat was on the floor. She had to have shifted into her wolf form.

Was she on the ramparts, watching for him? He pulled out his cell and called one of his men on watch as he headed out the door and realized the most recent scent she'd left was fearful. And not headed for the stairs to leave the keep.

Fearful for his safety, aye. But why would she be going this way? His heart thundering, he couldn't help the fear escalating in his blood. He kept telling himself she had to be fine.

He tracked her scent to the small water closet that contained the old sewage pipes. His heart nearly stopped beating. What the hell? He knew she wouldn't have just gone exploring the various castle rooms, considering what was happening outside the keep.

He yanked at the door. Bolted. Horror swamped him as he yelled, “Colleen!” and jerked again at the door. Then he began to kick the solid oak, determined to break it down.

Maynard came running. “I heard you yelling from down below. What's happened?”

“Colleen was here. The door is bolted.”

Maynard helped Grant kick it open and found no sign of the lass in the small water closet, long since shut up, the boards covering the toilet hole torn aside and thrown on the floor. Grant swore. “Alert the men Colleen may be down at the cliffs.”

“Aye…aye, my laird.” Maynard hurried out of the water closet and raced down the hallway.

Grant kicked the boards out of the way, careful not to step on the exposed rusty nails. He peered down into the pipe and smelled Colleen's sweet scent mixed with the mold and earthy smells of the pipe.
Bloody
hell!
He couldn't believe anyone could have forced her down them. Especially when he smelled no other wolf's scent in here. Had Archibald come for her?

He would kill him. Grant stripped and shifted into his wolf form. Without a moment's hesitation, he slid down the pipes, hoping he didn't break a leg when he landed on the rocks below.

He tumbled out of the pipe onto the rocks and saw Archibald dragging a hand-tied Colleen down below to the breakers. His heart hammering his ribs, Grant knew tackling the bastard that close to where the sea was coming in could mean his and Archibald's deaths. Maybe even the lass's if he couldn't stop them before she got just as close to the sea.

He would do anything to save his mate's life. He knew his brothers and his pack would take care of Colleen as soon as he could free her from Archibald's grasp.

Grant raced down the path in the driving rain, slipping a little, and lunged for the cur, praying he didn't slide with him and pull them off the edge of the cliffs. Using his wickedly sharp canines, he grabbed Archibald's arm and sank his teeth deep. The man cried out. With his free arm, Archibald reached for a knife in his boot. Before Grant could let go of him and jump back, a wave curled up over the rocks, threatening to take them both out.

Grant prayed Colleen had gotten back away from the breakers. The wave swept him and Archibald off their feet. His heart in his throat, Grant felt himself and Archibald being carried out to sea as he heard Colleen scream.

***

Colleen had heard the deep-throated growl that sent a shiver down her spine right before she saw the wolf dash for them. Grant. Even though she knew the threat was not directed at her, the sound was enough to curdle her blood.

A flash of gray fur lunged at Archibald. As a powerful, raging wolf, Grant grabbed Archibald's arm, chomping down, forcing him to cry out and release her.

Heart somersaulting, she fell against the slippery rocks. Archibald swore and fumbled to get to a knife sheathed in his boot, the wooden handle sticking out for her to see, but Grant yanked him back toward the breakers.

Chilled to the core of her being, she moved toward them, unable to do anything with her hands tied.

A wave rose behind them, large enough to knock them down, and she screamed, “No!”

She dove toward them, not that she could do anyone any good, but the wave swept wolf and man into the sea before she could reach them.

“No! Colleen!” Enrick shouted as he hurried to reach her.

She barely heard the men scrambling down the rocks. And then strong arms pulled her away from the threat of the sea.

“No!” she screamed. “Let me go! Grant!”

The seawater and rainwater drenching her, she struggled to return to where he had disappeared. She wanted to help him in any way that she could, wanted to see the men bring him out of the sea. But Enrick and Darby hauled her back to the seawall.

“Lass, we will do everything we can to rescue Grant,” Enrick assured her while he cut the ropes binding her wrists. Then he lifted her over the wall to Lachlan.

She knew they could do nothing. Not in the dark in the roiling sea. Not when Grant was a wolf.

Lachlan had hold of her arm with a titan grip and hurried her to the keep.

She shivered and shook and couldn't stop agonizing over wanting to return to find Grant. She didn't remember everything that happened after that. She thought she hit Lachlan in the eye. She might have cursed a few choice words. How could they give up on him now? How could they keep her from him?

“We don't want you to catch your death, lass,” Lachlan said, moving her against her will to the castle and trying to reason with her. “Grant would have our hides.”

He spoke as if Grant would survive, that he wouldn't see it any other way.

Men hollered for Grant from the top of the cliffs.

“Others will head down to the rocky beach beyond the cliffs. We'll find him,” Lachlan assured her again, sounding more this time like he was trying to convince himself it was true.

Had any of those living here over the centuries survived the sea, either in their wolf forms or human, other than she and Ollie who had been fortunate enough to have been seen and rescued in time? She didn't want to ask for fear she'd hear no one had.

She fought to control her emotions. They
would
find him alive. They had to. He had been a wolf when the sea had taken him. He would be warm enough, but had he been injured? Could he fight the tide's relentless pull? Could he keep from being dashed against the rocks?

When they reached the kitchen, Maynard prepared hot tea for her. “Here, drink this,” he coaxed. He was dripping wet like she and Lachlan were, and she assumed then he'd run back inside ahead of them to fix the hot tea for her. She wanted to cry.

Lachlan said with a stern word of warning, “Watch her. I'll get a blanket for her.”

She wanted to return to the seawall, but she didn't believe Maynard would let her take one step toward the door. She took a sip of the tea and choked on it. Whisky dosed the tea to a good degree, and she felt the liquid burn her throat and all the way down to the pit of her stomach.

“Drink up, lass. You'll feel better.”

Numbed, she thought. Alcohol wasn't good for making an ice-cold body warmer.

When she finished the tea, Lachlan returned with a white blanket covered with pink roses. She recognized it. The blanket had been on the little girl's bed in the room that her grandmother had set aside so lovingly for her, hoping she would someday visit. And now her grandmother was lost to her forever. A couple of tears rolled down Colleen's cheeks as she clutched the blanket tightly around her.

“We have to find him. We have to save him,” she gritted out between shivers.

Darby quickly joined her, and Lachlan slipped away while Maynard filled her teacup with more of that god-awful whisky laced with tea.

“We will,” Darby said. “I'm to see you to your room.”

Grant's room
. She burst into tears.

***

Grant struggled to swim against the swift tide, to free himself of the never-ending, swelling waves that threatened to bash him against the rocks.

Splashing wildly with his arms and legs, Archibald thrashed around, trying to keep afloat in human form. He would never last, not without someone's help. He would succumb to the cold before long.

Grant's fur coat kept the chill out, and he tried to swim away from the rocks, against the strong currents. But they pulled him in close to Archibald. Seizing the opportunity, Archibald grabbed hold of Grant and tried to use him as a flotation device. Grant swung his head around and bit into Archibald's arm—his good arm. If he hadn't, the bastard would drown them both. Archibald cried out, released him, and was swept away. That was the last Grant saw of him.

Grant continued to wolf paddle against the strong currents in the direction of the rocky beach well beyond the castle cliffs. The only way he'd manage was if he could swim away from the cliffs. Had either his mother or father been in wolf form when the sea had taken them, they might have survived. One thing he knew, he couldn't make it back up the cliffs on his own.

Colleen
. He couldn't quit worrying that she hadn't moved sufficiently away from the breakers after he knocked Archibald's grip loose of her. What if she'd ended up in the sea with them?

His kinsmen had to have rescued her.

He heard his brothers shouting for him. They weren't calling for Colleen. Which had to mean she was safe with them. Grant couldn't howl in the water to let them know he was still working his way past the rocks. Sheer cliffs prevented him from seeing the shore or the area on the rocks where the trail led to the breakers below the castle.

A hint of beach finally appeared. Relief swept through him. Lights wavered all along the water's edge. Barely keeping his head above water, he knew his kinsmen couldn't see him in the black sea with the rain still falling in torrents.

Yelling for him, nearly twenty of his men watched the sea. Others, running as wolves, looked for any sign of him along the rocky beach.

Desperately, he wanted to call out to learn about Colleen. Was she safe and warm? Was someone watching over her? He refused to consider that she had ended up in the frigid waters with him.

When he got closer to the shore, Lachlan shouted, “Thank God! Grant! He's there!”

Flashlights all angled in his direction as men ran to reach him.

One of the men in wolf coats howled. As soon as Grant reached the shore, bedraggled and worn out, he shook the cold water from his fur and howled, too. A chorus of howls chimed in. Some came from the cliffs on the other side of the keep. Others came from the beach as the wolves hurried to greet him.

Grant gave Lachlan a stern look, asking in a silent wolf way about Colleen.

“She's fine. Upset, of course. Fearing the worst. Maynard gave her hot tea, and Darby's escorting her to your chamber to get a hot shower.” Lachlan smiled. “She gave me a black eye and a few choice words when I wouldn't let her stay on the cliffs to watch for you.”

Grant gave him a wolf's smile. He loved her. Not that he had wished for his brother to have a black eye or that Colleen had given it to him, but he loved his feisty mate.

Then he barked with joy that she was fine and raced up the long climb to reach the closed portcullis, hoping he wouldn't encounter any of Archibald's men on the way there. He didn't want anyone to sidetrack him from seeing Colleen as soon as he could.

Wearing their wolf coats, ten of his pack members raced outside the gate as soon as it was lifted to greet him. No sign of Archibald's men or Baird and his kin. It appeared it had all been a ruse so Archibald could reach the keep. Grant suspected they'd all left, planning to meet up with Archibald later after he'd drowned Colleen.

Lachlan was still climbing the steep stone steps up the cliffs, the rest of the men in human form following him.

As soon as Grant entered the inner bailey, Enrick hurried to join him. “The lass is safe and sound, thanks to you, Grant. Darby's guarding the chamber to ensure she doesn't leave it. I was about to run up there to tell her you were on your way, but thought you might like to have the honor. We found the raft Archibald used to reach the cliffs. The rocks had torn holes in it. He would never have survived the return trip home if you hadn't taken him out already.”

Glad Colleen would be all right and that Archibald would have perished no matter what else had happened, Grant nodded and raced for the keep and entered it.

When he reached his chamber door, Darby grinned at him and opened it for him. “Let us know if you require something hot for the two of you to eat and drink. I know it's late, but if you need anything, Maynard and I will get it for you. Just let us know.” Then he closed the door for Grant.

Grant shifted and stalked across the floor to reach the bathroom. The shower was running and he heard Colleen crying. He hated to hear her so distressed.

“Lass, it's me, and you should know by now you can't get rid of me that—” he said, about to reach for the clear shower door, the steam misting the glass so that all he could see was her delectable outline.

He didn't finish speaking as Colleen jerked the door aside and threw herself into his arms, dripping wet, smelling of peaches and cream and…
whisky
. He smiled.

He swept her up and carried her back into the tiled shower and shut the door.

“I thought you never wanted to drink our whisky again,” he joked, trying to lighten the dark mood.

He thought she told him to shut up. He wasn't certain, as she ravished him with kisses, her hands grasping his wet hair, and her body pressed hotly against his.