Howl for a Highlander

by Terry Spear

  Shelley looked over to see what had caught his rabid attention. “Who is she?” She sounded as though she was ready to do whatever it took to keep the new woman at bay.

  Duncan hadn’t expected to see Shelley acting jealous over another woman so soon. He liked the way Shelley was ready to exhibit her wolf teeth when she thought a woman wanted him.

  “She’s the woman I met in the bar that first night whose boyfriend works for the guy who wants to take you out.”

  “Sal… oh.”

  The woman glanced at the men’s room, and Shelley said to Duncan, “Do you think the boyfriend made it to the island and he’s in there?”

  “I believe so.” Duncan leaned over and kissed Shelley on the cheek. “Trying to get anything out of a human who works for Sal—if this guy is human—won’t do any good. Not unless he handles Sal’s money. I doubt Silverman allows anyone to handle that but himself.”

  She sighed. “I’m still the best bet for getting to Sal, don’t you think?”

  “No,” he said flatly, not about to let Shelley be his pawn, no matter how much it might help his cause.

  She shook her head. “You are one stubborn Scot. Okay, after we sail on the pirate cruise and swim, we can go home and shower. Then I’ve got to go back to the reserve. With us spending this morning shopping, eating lunch, and next the pirate cruise, I haven’t had a chance to get back to the forest. I have to do research every day.”

  “All right. I’ll take you over, right after we shower.”

  She sighed. “I know you don’t want to spend all that time in the forest. You don’t have to, you know.”

  He grunted.

  “I’m serious. No one will bother me. I doubt Sal would force me to go anywhere with him. He’s not into kidnapping, just money theft. However, if I could have a dog with me…”

  Duncan raised a brow.

  “Because of the birds nesting on the ground and other wildlife in the forest, the reserve doesn’t allow anyone to walk their dogs. But if I could, you could have joined me and been my guard dog.”

  He leaned close and whispered, “Only a wolf could adequately protect that hot body of yours.”

  She grinned. “Now that would be some sight, truly. Brown eyes narrowed, fur all fluffed up in big, bad wolf mode—even if I had you on a leash—”

  He tilted his chin down.

  “If I had you on a leash, even then I’m certain no one would want to cross your path. Not unless it was a kid who might want to pet the big doggy and not know any better.”

  He grinned darkly at that.

  Movement near the woman he’d seen in the bar caught both his and Shelley’s attention. They both glanced over as a short, wiry man wearing jeans and a floral shirt headed for the woman. The boyfriend, Duncan suspected. The woman mentioned Duncan and tossed her head in his direction, and the man looked over at him. Duncan met the man’s gaze squarely. He wouldn’t pretend not to have noticed that the conversation was about him. He also didn’t plan to have anything to do with the man. As far as Duncan was concerned, he was a no-account.

  He knew the man wasn’t a wolf because he was not smart enough to stay put. Instead, he must have thought he’d try intimidation. Maybe tell Silverman how he told off the Scot. Maybe show off for his girlfriend.

  Whatever his reasons, the man was way out of his element.

  Unlike an aging soldier who had been waging war for years and knew his craft well, Duncan had soldiered for many years but was still in his prime. Not that an encounter couldn’t be lethal for a wolf, but this man just didn’t know what he was facing. Not knowing the enemy’s strengths was the worst mistake any man or wolf could make.

  If the man had been a wolf, Duncan would have made the effort to straighten his back and show off his broad shoulders and chest, to display how tall he was even when seated, and to intimidate without even rising from his chair. He didn’t bother, which in effect told the man that Duncan didn’t feel the need to posture.

  Shelley was staring at the man, as if she couldn’t believe he’d confront Duncan in the restaurant.

  Silverman’s man crossed the floor and stood across the table from Duncan. He wasn’t getting any closer, Duncan noticed from the corner of his vision. At that point he wasn’t making the effort to look in the man’s direction, which was another ploy to show that this Kenneth meant nothing to him. It also could show weakness, if the man thought Duncan was afraid of him and seeking a way out of the place in a hurry. Or that Duncan was hoping Kenneth would disappear if he didn’t look at him.

  But Duncan hadn’t seen a waitress yet, and he wanted to at least order Shelley’s and his drinks.

  “Who the hell are you?” Kenneth asked so loudly that couples at other tables nearby looked over.

  Duncan glanced casually at the man, acting almost surprised that he would address him. He was sure that Sal’s minion took that for a sign of weakness, too. A wolf would know better.

  “Are you speaking to me?” Duncan asked, rising to stand at his full height. His voice was deep and gruff, and he stood at least four inches taller than this man.

  Kenneth looked up at Duncan’s height and took two steps back from the table. That was the first halfway smart thing that he’d done. The waitress who had started over to the table stopped abruptly, order pad and pen in hand.

  Everyone else nearby sat quietly watching the confrontation. Duncan was clearly in charge.

  Shelley tried not to drop her jaw at the way Duncan commanded everyone’s attention with his very presence and the darkness in his voice. He looked like a Scottish laird, even if his oldest brother was actually the laird. He looked like he could have commandeered battlefields or led one wolf pack against another. He was intimidating, despite the fact that the other man was the one who had cursed at Duncan.

  Now the man looked like he was about to pee his pants. His girlfriend looked like she was, too.

  Shelley wondered if he’d tell Silverman how badly he’d botched confronting Duncan in a restaurant. She wondered if word of Duncan’s behavior would scare Silverman into running, if Kenneth did tell him what had happened.

  The waitress broke the impenetrable silence with a half-squeaked question, “Is there anything wrong?” She was young. Shelley doubted the girl had ever had to deal with a situation like this. The best thing she could do was butt out.

  Duncan cocked a brow at the man, putting the question to him.

  Shelley suspected that he tried to get the words out so that he sounded more gruff and scary like Duncan, but he didn’t have the ability. Under his breath, the man said, “Just watch yourself.”

  “Are you threatening me, laddie?”

  Oh. My. God.

  If looks could kill, the man would have struck Duncan dead. It wasn’t the threatening tone to Duncan’s voice, despite how cold and utterly dangerous he sounded, but the way he called the man “laddie” that irked the guy. Shelley felt like she was watching a reenactment of a Western gunfight in Texas, except that neither of the men had a gun, thank heavens. Or at least Duncan didn’t. She glanced back at the man. Maybe he did. That wouldn’t be good.

  The guy wasn’t a lad; yet in werewolf years, he was definitely a green lad. But he wouldn’t understand the reference.

  At two of the nearby tables, a couple of men chuckled. No one else said a word.

  Maybe the guy didn’t back down because he was dumber than dirt. Or maybe he was packing. He finally said, “You stay away from my boss.”

  “Who is your boss?” Duncan’s eyes sparkled like fire as he put the man on the spot.

  The man looked around, finally aware that all eyes were upon him and he wasn’t getting anywhere with his paltry attempt at intimidation. “Hell,” he muttered under his breath, his face scarlet. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the place, leaving his girlfriend behind.

  “Kenneth!” She started to leave when a waiter hurried over and stopped her.

  “You haven’t paid your bill, m
iss.”

  She looked like she could kill. But Shelley wasn’t sure who—Duncan? The waiter? Or Kenneth, her long-gone boyfriend, who had stuck her with the bill?

  ***

  Duncan was quiet through the meal, while other customers talked among themselves, wondering what that had been about, with all kinds of scenarios popping up and their voices low as if they didn’t want to stir up the Highlander. But if they had been betting during the showdown, all of their bets would have been on Duncan.

  Shelley had been equally quiet, eating her mushroom burger, watching the time on a big clock on one wall to make sure they set sail on the pirate ship, and listening to the conversations around them. She didn’t like Duncan being so quiet, though. She knew he was making plans and doing a lot of soul searching. All of a sudden, she felt that after the brief time she’d been part of his life—almost the center, in fact—she was once again no one to him.

  She couldn’t believe how much she enjoyed being with him, taking part in his life, and sharing time with him. Even though she could see his dark, protective warrior side, he always let her choose how far she wanted to take their relationship.

  “Duncan,” she said, trying to get his attention without garnering everyone else’s. She felt as though they were still the center of the world as far as the other diners were concerned. The scene in the restaurant was probably the most exciting thing that had happened to these tourists while visiting the island.

  They wanted to know more. Wanted to know what had brought the man to Shelley and Duncan’s table and why he had said the things he had. Why the Scot had stood towering over the man in battle mode. Why the man had threatened him, then left his girlfriend behind with the bill.

  Duncan finally looked up at Shelley. His brown eyes were nearly black. He was not happy. “You’re going home,” he said firmly, allowing no argument.

  Several looked in their direction, waiting to see what she had to say about it.

  She was certain she looked like a fish, her mouth opening, then closing, then opening again. She frowned at him and took a drink of her water, trying to get her annoyance under control. He might be worried about her, but she was on a business trip, not a vacation, and she had work to do. She was not going home until she was scheduled to. He had no say in what she was going to do.

  Even though she did not want to see him go while she was on the island, he could do whatever he wanted. She wasn’t leaving. That wasn’t his decision to make. She’d paid for the villa, and she was seeing this trip through to the end.

  He watched her, his eyes holding her gaze, his posture saying she would not disobey him in this. He was a man descended from Scottish nobles, and he would tell her where to go. Just like in the old country from which her family had been sent packing.

  She shook her head and felt hot tears sting the backs of her eyes as she held them in check, gritting her teeth so she wouldn’t say anything to upset herself further.

  “Shelley…”

  “No, Duncan,” she whispered hotly, afraid that if she spoke any louder, everyone would hear. Already the place was damned quiet again. This was surely more interesting than any soap opera could have been.

  “I want you someplace safe.”

  She sat up taller, chin up, eyes narrowed. “I’m fine here. I’ve got a job to do. Which I should be doing.” She rose, but he reached across the table, seized her wrist, and shook his head.

  “We leave together. I’m not done eating.”

  She scowled at him and sat back down. This was the warrior side of him that she hadn’t seen yet. The macho, controlling part. He let go of her, and finished his hamburger and the rest of his milk.

  Women narrowed their eyes at Duncan, probably not liking that he was controlling her. Men looked a little like they wanted to speak to him on her behalf, but no one was alpha enough to make the effort. Even if they were alphas, she was sure they weren’t certain they’d win in a confrontation with him. He was intimidating when he had the notion to be.

  She was glad that he had stopped her, though. She hadn’t wanted to create any more of a scene or depart the premises without him. But she wanted to get this issue of her leaving settled between them. She was not leaving the island. Period.

  Duncan motioned to the waitress. She hurried over, not because she expected a big tip but because she didn’t dare dawdle, Shelley thought.

  Shelley folded her arms and glowered at Duncan.

  The waitress looked from Duncan to Shelley, who was so intent on scowling at Duncan that she didn’t spare the waitress a glance. But Shelley did see out of her peripheral vision that the waitress’s head turned so that she looked at Duncan again.

  “Do you want your bill now, or would you like some dessert?” the waitress asked Duncan.

  She must have asked because she had been so indoctrinated about having to mention dessert to restaurant patrons. Couldn’t she see that they were leaving? Like now?

  Duncan finally shifted his hard gaze from Shelley, softening it when he spoke to the waitress and saying, “What do you have for dessert?”

  Shelley couldn’t have looked more surprised as her eyes widened and her lips parted again. He couldn’t be serious.

  To her shock, Duncan ordered an old-fashioned bowl of ice cream buried in hot fudge and whipped cream, with a sprinkle of pecans and a cherry on top. Shelley didn’t want anything further. Just to leave and do her work. She’d known that getting tangled up with him would be a mistake.

  The dark green bowl of hot fudge sundae and another glass of milk arrived. He told Shelley that the milk was what did wonders for his skin, muscles, and bones. Two women at another table ordered glasses of milk after that.

  Shelley eyed the damned sundae.

  “Want some?” he asked, poking his spoon into the whipped cream and hot fudge and vanilla ice cream.

  He offered her the spoonful but she snatched the cherry off the top, licked off the hot fudge topping, and popped the cherry into her mouth.

  His mouth curved up. “I love your cherries more.”

  His comment caused a couple of men nearby to chuckle under their breaths. Her face heated as though she’d just been exposed to several hours of hot sunlight.

  “I liked the way you licked that cherry and took a bite,” he added, grinning.

  Not that she wasn’t still upset with him, but she had no reason to let her irritation get the best of her.

  “Fine, Duncan. Get your own bowl of ice cream.” She took his spoon and bowl to her side of the table and began eating every delicious bite. Chocolate had a way of dissolving grudges.

  Duncan waved to the waitress, pointed to Shelley’s commandeered bowl of ice cream, and motioned for the waitress to bring him another.

  But Shelley still wasn’t going home, damn it, no matter what he wanted.

  Chapter 10

  Shelley called him a stubborn Scot, but she was damned stubborn herself. Duncan was only thinking of her protection, but she wasn’t going along with it. In no uncertain terms, he would make sure she wasn’t staying here.

  She was even talking about canceling their pirate cruise, but he wasn’t going along with that. He was going to make her walk the plank. He’d never known anyone who didn’t feel intimidated when he was on a rampage. Yet, he saw the sorrow in her eyes, the tears ready to spill when he said she had to leave. He didn’t want her to leave, damn it. But he worried about her safety.

  Hotheads like Kenneth could easily turn on Shelley as a way to get to Duncan. He didn’t fear for his own safety, but Shelley was a different story.

  When they finished their ice cream, he escorted her to the harbor, which was within walking distance, his hand around her arm, his body close. He’d changed into the swim trunks in the restroom, and Shelley was already wearing her bathing suit underneath her jeans and T-shirt. He was curious about how sexy it might be. She insisted it was family fare, repeating that it had a billowing skirt, pants down to her knees, and a high neckline.

&nbs
p; Thankfully, the dessert seemed to soothe her anger. But he knew that if he brought up the subject of her leaving the island, she’d be angry with him again.

  As soon as they got on the pirate ship—with the crew taunting the passengers and teasing with their made-up scripts—the boat was on its way. The cannon fired, the mainsail was hoisted, and a mixture of sweet rum and punch was served to everyone since there were no children on the cruise.

  Before long, the pirates were brandishing swords and presenting a mock fight among comrades. Duncan shook his head, thinking how much training the men needed if they were going to pull off a real sword fight. Unable to stand it any longer, he strode forth, seized one of the pirates by the shoulder, and said, “Here, lad, let me show you how it’s really done.”

  The Spanish-looking man was tough and big and mean looking, but he gave a pirate’s grin, one tooth appropriately painted gold, and handed Duncan his sword with a low bow.

  He had style, Duncan thought. He also didn’t figure Duncan knew as much as he did about sword fighting, but the pirate was willing to allow Duncan the opportunity to make a fool of himself.

  Duncan swung the pirate’s toy sword in the air at no one in particular, measuring its puny weight and reach before he showed the pirate crew a thing or two.

  All the pirates watched him with glittering eyes and smirks plastered on their smug faces. He knew they intended to get him back, if he allowed it. The passengers observed in fascination. He figured some wondered if he was part of the show.

  For now, everyone was waiting with bated breath to hear what the master swordsman had to say.

  “First…” he said, taking a stance, his feet apart for balance. He was used to fighting on ground that did not tilt and roll like the pirate’s ship did. “You do not wave your sword around in fancy maneuvers with unnecessary flourishes. You strike your opponent’s with balance and boldness.”