by Terry Spear
She sensed Cearnach’s indecision and tried to take a step forward, attempting to take charge of the situation. Cearnach wouldn’t let her drag him off. Not when he still wanted to destroy Vardon.
Vardon’s other brother, Hagan, waited to see what the eldest brother would do, standing beside him, looking unsure. In the past, what had happened wouldn’t have been a big deal for men like Vardon. If a woman got in the way of a man’s fist during a fight, the fault was her own. But Vardon had done so in a church at his own brother’s wedding, in front of onlookers who might not respect him for what he’d done.
Cearnach growled in Gaelic, “An honorable man doesn’t strike a woman. Be ready. This isn’t finished.”
Vardon sneered at him, speaking in Gaelic in return. “As you’ll soon learn. Take your whore with you and get out.”
Chapter 3
With the most valiant of efforts, Cearnach cooled his temper enough to get Elaine outside the church without coming to blows with Vardon. Four of the McKinley brothers gathered at his back, the tension and anger rolling off everyone in dangerous waves. To Cearnach’s further annoyance, rain was now coming down in gray sheets.
“I apologize for what happened in there.” Cearnach was still angered beyond reason, not finding the words to adequately describe how he really felt about what had occurred. He sheathed his sword. Then he unbuckled his sash and covered Elaine’s head with it as he hurried her to the vehicle sitting on the lower end of the car park. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
He let out a heavy sigh, hating himself for having put her in danger, though he hadn’t thought it would come to that.
“I shouldn’t have sat on the groom’s side of the church.” She sounded repentant herself. “I should have stayed with you instead. I shouldn’t have been talking so much during the ceremony. I suspect no one would have noticed us as much if we’d remained silent.”
“They would have noticed. They weren’t angry with you but with me. Where did Vardon hit you?” he growled, trying to protect her from the pelting water with the sash of his kilt.
The raindrops bounced off the waterproof wool, but water was running down his neck and soaking his shirt beneath the jacket. He couldn’t cover her completely with the fabric, not unless he removed his whole kilt and wrapped her up in it.
That image quickly brought unbidden desires to the forefront. A woman wrapped in a man’s plaid meant she was his. With any other woman, he would have considered such a move as protection, chivalry. With Elaine? Mine.
“He hit me in the cheek,” she finally said, drawing him back to the current crisis. “At least he missed my eye. The place where he punched me is sore and will probably be bruised and swollen, but you know how we are. It’ll fade in a couple of days.”
Aye, much sooner than a human’s bruises. Yet her injury wouldn’t fade soon enough for him. “For your information, I didn’t need protecting. Why did you get in the way? He could have killed you.”
She snorted and he got the impression she thought he’d needed her protection.
He almost gave her a dark laugh, but shook his head instead and unlocked the car doors. She jumped into the passenger’s side and slammed the door. As soon as he removed his sword and was sitting in the driver’s seat, she said, “I’m freezing. Are you sure you don’t have a cell phone on you?” She glanced at his sporran, the medieval-era pouch still worn with kilts today, necessary since kilts had no pockets. Because of the formal occasion, he’d worn the one with the silver cantle decorated in Celtic symbols and horsehair tassels.
After pulling his door shut, he wiped the water from his face with his hand and turned the heater on high, though the air was cold initially and she shivered at the new assault.
He frowned at her. “No. I left my cell in the car. It would have been easier to get to it if I had an emergency.” Then he raised his brows. “When a vehicle nearly hit mine, and I had to make a quick detour, and I was running so late to the wedding, I forgot it.”
Feeling the anger concerning Vardon return in full force, with the burning need to settle the score still plaguing him, Cearnach gripped the steering wheel in his fists. “Turn your head so I can get a good look at your face.”
Dismissing his concern, she shook her head slightly. “It’s okay. We heal fast. Think nothing of it.”
“You can’t tell me you would have turned the other cheek so he could strike you there also.” His words were as cross as he was feeling. Striking Elaine went beyond what any civilized wolf should have done. It wasn’t the Middle Ages any longer. Bastard.
“No,” she said, giving him an annoyed look. “Of course I wouldn’t have turned the other cheek. But I know he didn’t mean to hit me, and I’m certain he regretted it.”
She couldn’t know Gaelic or what Vardon had called her. Maybe that would have changed her mind. As stubborn as she was, she wouldn’t turn her head so he could see where Vardon had struck her. Yes, they healed quickly, but her face would be swollen and bruised for a couple of days before it got better.
Her gaze still connected with his, she sighed. “Okay, though I probably shouldn’t tell you this. I…” She took another deep breath and stiffened a bit, yet her gaze didn’t waver from his and she said all in a rush, “I would have seized his dagger and threatened him with it if you hadn’t grabbed me.”
He paused, not expecting her to say such a thing. Then he smiled. “You, lass, are a woman after my own heart.”
She relaxed again and he wondered if she thought he wouldn’t like a woman who was willing to fight to protect herself. She would be wrong. Yet given the situation, he wanted to be the one defending her when he was there, not her shielding him.
He reached over and touched her uninjured cold, wet cheek. “Let me see.” He gently cupped her chin and moved her head so he could observe the damage. The skin was red from the punch, swollen, and already beginning to discolor into sickly greens and purples and yellows. He growled low. “I should never have let this happen.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me.” Her mouth was curved in the most devilish of smiles and her eyes sparkled.
She seemed to be of sturdy stock, like a bonny lass born and bred in the Highlands, but with the additional heart of a warrior she-wolf, alpha to the max. But he still wanted to do something, anything, to make the insult and the hurt go away.
Meaning to kiss her somewhere that would not be too intimate, just a light kiss on the top of the head maybe, he found he couldn’t make himself do it. Not with his wolfish needs gaining momentum, the desire filling him to press his mouth against her sexy rain-moistened lips. To prove to himself that his feelings weren’t one-sided.
He leaned over and kissed her mouth, gently as if she would break, not wanting to force her into complying in the event she wasn’t ready for this. Her mouth softened under his touch, accepting him, allowing him this intimacy.
To his surprise and delight, she reached up and set her hands on his shoulders and pulled him closer. Already their hearts were beating at a frantic pace, their pheromones kicking up another notch.
She closed her eyes and gave in to the kiss, slowly at first, then more boldly. He groaned as she parted her lips, permitting him more familiarity. He took advantage of the moment, sliding his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, exploring her, wanting so much more.
Wolves didn’t share such intimacies lightly, not with each other, not without some kind of spark that initiated further interest. They didn’t make commitments with humans, so as long as the human was willing, they found mutual release with one another until the wolf discovered a mate. Then his wolf mate would be the only one for him.
So even taking it this far meant she was just as intrigued with him as he was with her. He should have backed off, kissed her on her uninjured cheek, just to say he was sorry. Yet, he couldn’t help the way he was feeling about her. Not when her mouth was so appealing, tasting sweet and wet and willing. Not when he had wanted to press his lips against hers
from the moment she’d gotten out of the car after the accident, and he’d finally allowed his gaze to roam to her face and see the way her lips had been pursed. At him. Turning him on.
As the pouring rain pelted the car in a steady rhythm, he deepened the kiss and heat consumed him. Steam covered the windows, and he felt as though they were in a time capsule far away from Calla’s wedding, the church, the car park, the Highlands—off in another world. Elaine was all soft curves and feminine fragrance: her she-wolf scent and the sweet-smelling soaps she’d washed in, a hint of perfume, but most of all, the undeniable smell of her sexual desire leading him on.
They couldn’t help that part of their wolf nature, the keen ability to smell subtle scents that a human couldn’t, the way in which they could sense the shift in emotions—fear, lust, excitement, aggression—just from breathing deeply of the air surrounding them.
He had to force himself not to move his hands from her face, not to explore her soft womanly curves, not to taste so much more of her as her tongue danced with his, not to want more. With the greatest regret, he pulled his mouth away from hers, away from the heated exchange that shouldn’t have occurred, away from the raging desire to take this further.
For a moment, he still cupped her face and looked into her dark eyes, reading the confusion there, not wishing to fully break contact with her. Their breathing rapid, their hearts were thumping wildly as if they’d just run a race, yet they were still running for the finish line.
Then he released her, and her cheeks blossomed in color as if she was suddenly aware of just how intimate the exchange had been between two unmated wolves.
Thank God he was wearing a kilt and no adjustments had to be made as he was ramrod stiff and ready to bury himself in her soft feminine folds. If he’d been wearing trousers and boxers, they would have strangled him.
She looked dazed as she gave him a tentative smile, then sighed. “Don’t be sorry,” she said, looking away and drawing closer to the heater to dry her dress. She was no longer shivering. Not after what had happened between them.
For that he was glad. He wanted to ask if she meant not to be sorry about the kiss, when he was not apologetic about that in the least.
When he didn’t move the car—he was still too caught up in the profound moment he’d shared with her—she turned to look at him again and raised her brows. “I meant about the cheek.”
He grunted. “That’s not going to happen, lassie,” he said, pausing and giving her a hint of a smile, “but about the kiss, I have no regrets.”
She gave a little wolfish grin, her cheeks blushing beautifully once more, and he was ready to kiss her again. Then she turned away to pull at her dress, trying to dry it further. Not entirely resigned to leave things between them like that, he finally drove the Mercedes out of the car park and eased onto the road.
She took a deep breath and exhaled. “The wedding was beautifully done. I loved the color scheme—purple is my favorite—the lavender flowers and bridesmaids’ gowns. I enjoyed seeing the men, and even the younger boys, wearing kilts. Despite what happened at the end, I did love everything about the wedding. I��ve never seen a more spectacular sight.”
Cearnach thought he heard regret in Elaine’s voice. Had she wished she had stayed in Scotland so many years ago? That she could have had such a wedding?
“Calla Stewart arranges parties, celebrations, weddings, and the like. She’s very good at it. She has a real eye for artistic design, and she’s great at details.”
“Wow. To do so for her own wedding must have been difficult. The bride’s a beautiful woman. She seemed delighted you were there.”
He nodded. “I was glad I’d made the effort after I saw how pleased she appeared.”
“The groom seemed just as handsome,” Elaine said, not hesitating to voice her opinion. “They looked like an attractive couple. Though some of the family have a violent nature, if that man who accosted us is any indication.”
“Aye, Vardon is the most aggressive of the pack.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, as if pondering something, then finally asked, “Did he have a personal grudge against you?”
He didn’t want to get into this. Not when he was afraid Elaine might misunderstand the situation, but he owed her an explanation after Vardon took his anger out on her. “He didn’t like that I had kissed his mate—the year before he even met her.”
When Elaine didn’t respond, he glanced at her. She was frowning. Probably thinking he kissed all the unmated she-wolves he met. “There was no spark between us,” he said, returning his attention to the rain-slicked road. “Apparently she felt differently.”
Elaine said, “She told the brute who hit me? That she preferred your kissing her to his? Or something like that? Why did they end up mating if she felt that way?”
“She must have said something to him about it. They probably were having an argument about something, and she let it slip. I didn’t tell him. As to why she mated with him, I haven’t a clue.”
He wanted to explain to Elaine that he’d never experienced such a kiss with another woman, although he had the mechanics down pat. With Elaine, all his senses were heightened, clamoring for more of her—to taste and feel every inch of her, to smell her unique scent, to hear her whispered words against his ear.
“Cearnach?” Even the way she said his name with the sweetest American accent sounded seductive and sexy and like she was thinking along the same lines as he was. “So what do you think is wrong with the relationship between Calla and Baird?”
He cleared his throat, trying to get his mind off what Elaine was doing to his libido. “He’s the kind of man who would dictate everything in her life. How and when she slept, what and when she ate. He’s very controlling.”
“Not like you,” Elaine said with a definite sarcastic edge to her voice.
He glanced at her. “Where did you ever get that idea?”
She gave a harsh laugh.
He smiled.
He’d been unable to keep the front of her dress dry with his woolen sash, and now he noted that her dress was plastered to her skin, even more revealing now than when the wind had blown so hard against her dress earlier. Trying to act more noble than he was feeling, he looked away, hoping that the heater would dry her dress so that he wouldn’t have to see so much of her.
“So if you didn’t want him to marry her, why didn’t you object?” she asked.
“I did object. A number of times. Just not at the wedding. If I had wished to mate with her, I would have. Actually, if I had wanted to mate with her, the wedding would never have happened. Not between her and Baird.”
“Why even get married in a church? Is that something all wolves in Scotland do?”
“If we have a title, aye. We need to pass the title down to successive generations. Society expects a public wedding. Though the good citizens don’t know we’re wolves. Invitations are presented only to wolf kind, generally speaking.”
Elaine seemed to mull that over for a few minutes, then she said, “So why did you go to the wedding? Did you think she would change her mind if she saw you there?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” He kept telling himself it was because Calla had asked him to come to the wedding. Maybe secretly he’d thought she might change her mind if she saw him there and remembered all that he’d said to her. She hadn’t heeded his words.
Now it was too late.
Chapter 4
Elaine Hawthorn genuinely liked Cearnach MacNeill and the way the braw Highland warrior wore his kilt, sporran, sword, and a dirk tucked in his stocking. Hot and sexy and dangerous came to mind. Not cute, like she’d said.
But rather than focus on that, she should be thinking about how she needed to contact the cousin she was supposed to meet. She’d use Cearnach’s phone back at his car. Yet, she wished she could delay the inevitable and spend more time in Cearnach’s company. Like that was a good idea. Not after the way they’d kissed and not when she still di
dn’t know why he’d wanted to protect her in St. Andrews so long ago.
He had to know how appealing he looked to her, so she’d tested him to see how he would respond to being called “cute.” She had been amused by his look of surprise, thinking that he’d be so conceited that he wouldn’t care what she said about his appearance. Then he’d regained his cocky arrogance, probably figuring she had been teasing him. Most likely no one had ever called him cute.
She noticed the sidelong glances Cearnach continued to give her, wolf that he was. Her dress was way too revealing, plastered to her body as if it were a redder version of her skin. The heater was going full blast, but the air still felt cold as it hit her wet dress.
He reached down and took her cold hand in his and squeezed. “Why did you really come between Vardon and me? Did you think you could stop that Neanderthal?”
“I suppose I did. Just like you might have believed you could change Calla’s mind about marrying Baird McKinley if you showed up for the wedding. I didn’t give it much thought. I just instinctively stepped into his path.”
“Do you often risk your neck for someone you barely know?”
She shrugged, not willing to tell him she’d always been that way—protective. She was used to being an alpha, not someone who melted into the background. Not like when her uncles had been hanged for pirating, making her fear for her life, and she had had to find her way back to America alone. That had been the hardest for her—tucking tail and running away.
“Have you ever risked getting hurt for someone who was well equipped to handle the likes of Vardon McKinley?” Cearnach asked, still trying to get her to reveal the truth.
“No,” she finally said. Then she gave him an impish smile. “Not usually.”
“Which means it wasn’t just instinct that propelled you into action,” he said, sounding smugly satisfied, as though he knew she had feelings for him and hadn’t wanted to see him hurt.
