by Terry Spear
Just as swiftly as Guthrie had done, Ethan unsheathed his sword.
These men were not as drunk as their fearless leader and lasted a good while longer before Guthrie sent his opponent’s sword skittering across the stones to join Ralph’s. Ethan quickly dispatched the other man’s sword in the same manner.
“Fight! Fight!” a few people shouted from the direction of the manor house.
Just great, Guthrie thought. Calla would learn of this.
Sure enough, just as the first man threw a punch at Guthrie, he realized that Calla was already there.
Guthrie avoided the punch and brought his free hand up, jabbing the man in the nose hard. A sickening crunch sounded, and Ralph cried out and held his hand protectively over his nose.
A wee bit too late.
***
“I can’t believe you got into a fight with Ralph Rankin,” Calla said, furious with Guthrie as he drove her back to Argent Castle.
Ethan and Jasper sat quietly in the backseat, but Guthrie could smell the way they were bristling at Calla’s words and knew—because they were there to protect their “guest”—that they were biting their tongues.
“They started it,” Guthrie said, not the least bit remorseful. Well, maybe a little because he really hadn’t wanted to ruin her party.
“You could have avoided it!” she growled.
“He drew a sword on Guthrie. The sot was drunk and dangerous, lass,” Ethan said, angry.
Guthrie hadn’t intended to explain why he had fought the man. She had to know he had better sense than to pick a fight.
Calla turned her glower from Ethan back to Guthrie. “You broke Ralph’s nose!”
“Aye. He had it coming, lass. He said someone was lying in wait to bed you,” Guthrie finally said. He hadn’t planned to mention that, but it just slipped out, as angry as he still was over the insult.
She closed her gaping mouth. Then she said, “And you believed him?”
“I ignored him for a good long while, Calla.”
“He did,” Ethan said.
Guthrie had lost his father so many years ago that he had never expected his mother to take another mate, but he couldn’t have been gladder that the Texas Scot served as his stepfather now.
“I’m sorry, lass. Had there been some other way, I would never have resorted to it,” Guthrie said.
“They were drunk,” she said, as if that made any difference.
“Which made them all the more dangerous,” Guthrie told her. “Particularly when they were armed with swords.”
“I doubt they had the skill with a sword that you and your kin do.”
“True,” Guthrie said, “but if a man draws a sword, it’s like pulling a gun on another man. You don’t threaten someone with it unless you plan to use it.”
“He didn’t just unsheathe his sword,” Ethan said. “He swung it at Guthrie. Now, lass, a man can’t just let that pass.”
“You broke Ralph’s nose!”
Ethan and Jasper chuckled in the backseat.
“Aye. He threw the first punch,” Guthrie said, now wondering if she’d missed that part of the equation.
She let her breath out harshly. “You’re lucky he’s not pressing charges. And that they’re not asking for a refund for my services. Or you’d be paying for them.”
Guthrie tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel, then said, “Other than that, did the party go as well as you had expected?”
She glowered at him.
He shrugged. “All that’s important is that you remain safe.”
“Aye, but who’s going to keep me—and my business—safe from you?”
***
As soon as they returned to Argent Castle, Calla stormed toward the stairs of the keep. Guthrie figured he should be glad if Ian told her he would assign someone else to watch over her. He knew he needed to get his mind back on financial reports. So why the hell was he following Calla’s sweet, red sweater-covered arse all the way up the stairs?
Calla glanced back at Guthrie. “Where are you going?”
“If you intend to speak to Ian about the affair, I’ll explain what happened since I have firsthand knowledge. You were inside the Rankin manor house and didn’t see most of it.”
“You’ll give your sweet version of it,” Calla said.
“The truth.” He motioned to Ian’s door, and she knocked at the doorjamb. “May I have a word with you?” she asked Ian, who was sitting at his desk.
Ian hung up his phone and set it down.
“Guthrie broke Ralph Rankin’s nose,” Ian said, motioning for them to come in and take seats.
Word always spread fast in a wolf pack.
“How did you learn of it?” Calla asked, sounding astounded.
“Ethan called and informed me of what happened. Anytime one of my pack members is involved in a skirmish, it’s my business to know.”
“Then you know why I don’t want Guthrie to accompany me any longer,” Calla said, casting him an annoyed look.
“They’re not pressing charges, are they?” Ian said, knowing very well they weren’t. Ralph Rankin’s father was furious with Ralph for getting drunk and then, armed with swords, attacking Guthrie and his men. The old man was just glad no one had been wounded at the point of a sword.
Calla looked more than exasperated. “That isn’t the point!”
“Calla, in matters like this, I stand by my men, who are there to protect you—” Before she could counter with the notion that they weren’t protecting her, Ian quickly added, “and themselves. But someone else is going with you to the party you’re in charge of tomorrow.”
“Good,” Calla said, then with a scathing glance in Guthrie’s direction, she brushed past him and out of the room.
“Guthrie, want to close the door?” Ian asked.
Guthrie did, figuring he was going to get a lecture. “What Ethan told you was correct,” Guthrie said, taking his seat. He didn’t know what Ethan said exactly, but he knew the Texan would have told the truth.
“That Calla’s got the hots for you like you have for her?”
Guthrie closed his gaping mouth. Then finding his tongue, he said, “What?”
Ian grinned at him.
Chapter 6
After handling the Rankin family reunion, particularly following the fight that had ensued during it, Calla was drained when she retired to her guest bedchamber that night. Thankfully, Ralph Rankin’s father, John, had been incensed with his son’s and nephews’ drunken actions. Although more than half of the guests loved the short display of unscheduled swordsmanship, Calla didn’t believe that was a good ending to her otherwise successful party.
She did wonder if she could have a clan perform a sword fight, just for entertainment, during a future Scottish family reunion. The problem was that the only ones she knew who could do a superb job at it without injuring their opponents were the MacNeills.
Well, not the only problem. She shook her head at the notion. She could just envision the MacNeills having a fight with the ones she’d arranged the party for—again.
After taking a long, hot shower, she slipped into bed and tried to read a book on setting up parties on a budget. She stared at the pages, not reading or seeing anything, until she finally gave up, turned out the lamplight, and closed her eyes. Which conjured up images of Guthrie in his medieval shirt with his tartan sash crossing his muscled torso, his kilt blowing in the chilly breeze.
She’d admired his footwork in his brown leather boots as he had quickly outmaneuvered Ralph, and she’d watched the way the men’s swords clashed and how Guthrie had disarmed Ralph in a flash. Guthrie had looked so confident, warrior-like, and…hell, sexy that she wished he’d been battling with his kin in a friendly practice—not at the Rankin’s reunion—so she could have enjoyed it.
Even the women who had raced out to see him fight had been “oohing” and “ahhing” over his physique. Which had made Calla grind her teeth and fold her arms. Aye, she knew better than to
actually attempt to stop a sword fight in the middle of it. But she hadn’t liked that the women—other than her—were just as fascinated with the Highland hunk.
When one of the women had asked if Guthrie was wearing anything under his kilt, obviously not interested if any of the other kilt-dressed men were, Calla had bit her tongue. She’d wanted to retort that he was wearing briefs—as if she knew—but she’d had her eyes glued to him every bit as much as the rest of the women had, trying to get a peek.
Opening her eyes, Calla gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. Maybe a glass of milk would help her to quit thinking of what went on at the party.
She threw on a tank top and shorts, a pair of slippers, and a robe, and headed down the hallway to the stairs. Even in the darkened hallway, she could see with her wolf’s vision and used the stair railing as she hurried down the curved stone steps.
When she arrived in the kitchen, she found the light switch and flipped it on. The entire keep was quiet, the kitchen spotless. She reached into one of the three stainless-steel fridges and pulled out a carton of milk, then poured herself a glass. After putting the milk away, she took a deep breath and stared out at the frosty garden through the windows behind the kitchen table. Small brass lanterns illuminated the shrubs a short distance from the castle, but the rest of the gardens were dark.
She was about to take a sip of milk when a deep male voice said, “Couldn’t sleep?”
Calla squeaked and dropped the glass of milk on the slate floor, splattering milk everywhere. Used to slipping around her house in the middle of the night, she hadn’t been prepared for anyone’s sudden appearance here.
She wheeled around to see Guthrie grinning at her. “Sorry, lass,” he said, not sounding sorry at all but rather highly amused. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ll clean it up.”
She glanced at his body. He wore only a pair of black boxers—his bare chest and legs taking more of her attention than necessary. “You’re not wearing any shoes. I’ll get it.”
“It was my fault,” Guthrie said.
“I know. It was. But you can’t get any closer or you’ll cut your feet.” She sighed, grabbed some paper towels and wetted them, then began to clean up the mess—milk and milk-covered glass everywhere. Glass hitting a stone floor didn’t have a chance.
“You aren’t still angry about what happened at the manor house, are you?” Guthrie asked. Seizing some paper towels and ignoring her look of disbelief, he began to help her clean up the mess.
“Guthrie, you’re going to get cut.” She looked up from his big feet and saw him staring at her robe gaping open. She was wearing a tank top and shorts, for heaven sakes. He was nearly naked! She sighed. “I…I think, besides worrying you were going to be charged with assault, I was concerned that the men might have cut you or Ethan.”
“You said yourself you didn’t think fighting with swords was their strong suit,” Guthrie said, drawing closer as he moved in her direction to capture more of the splintered glass.
“Aye, but they weren’t just practicing with you, either.”
“They didn’t stand a chance.” Guthrie smiled at her. “You needn’t have worried.”
She caught his gaze, his green eyes darkened. “Did Ian scold you too much after I left?” She’d been concerned about that too. Afterward, she thought she probably shouldn’t have made such a fuss about it.
“He’s the pack leader,” Guthrie said.
Which most likely meant Ian had chewed him out. “I’m sorry. But it will probably be best if you don’t have to safeguard me.”
“You think one of the toga wearers would try to fight me?”
She smiled at that. “The Greeks thought of swords as an auxiliary weapon. They were mostly spear bearers. So if you were armed with only your sword and any of them were carrying spears, you’d be in real trouble.”
Guthrie chuckled. “Not if they have been drinking, which I’m sure they will be, aye?” He threw out his glass- and milk-covered paper towels and washed his hands.
“What did you ever see in Baird anyway?” Guthrie asked, meaning to sound casual, but his words came out a lot gruffer than he intended.
She paused and frowned a little at him. “Haven’t you ever made a mistake in liking someone? Not really knowing the person as you thought you did? That they’re showing you only their good side?”
Instantly, he thought of Margaret Finnegan—the redheaded human who was all sweetness and delight until he told her in no uncertain terms that he couldn’t marry her. He’d been clear about it from the start, but she’d had some notion she’d wear him down. She’d called him a stubborn old goat. She had part of it right. The goat part? Not even close.
Still, he’d made a mistake in seeing her for too long, and he paid for it when she’d convinced her father that Guthrie had gotten her pregnant and had to marry her. The problem with that tale was that rarely did a lupus garou impregnate a human. So he was all for the paternity test, until she finally told the truth—another guy was the father and he wasn’t marrying her, either. At least Guthrie was out of the picture on that one.
Calla cleared her throat and cast him a devious smile. “From your nonresponse, I take it you have made a mistake in liking someone. Or more than one person—as the case may be.”
She waited for him to share. He wasn’t about to.
“That wasn’t anything recent,” he said, wanting to talk about Calla’s situation with Baird. Guthrie’s former misgivings concerning disastrous female relationships weren’t important, as far as he was concerned.
“You know my story,” Calla finally said, as if that meant she should be privy to his.
“Nay, I don’t, lass. All I know is that you agreed to marry the guy and you finally came to your senses.”
“So who was she?” Calla asked, one brow raised. “How long ago was this? It sounds recent to me.”
He let out his breath in exasperation. Maybe, he thought, if he explained about Margaret, Calla would open up with him about Baird. He finally said, “Two years ago. She was human and returned to Ireland. I haven’t heard from her since.”
“That’s why our families tell us to limit our contact with humans,” Calla said, as if to remind him why he had gotten into the mess he did. As if she needed to.
“They also tell us to watch out for wolves who are not to be trusted,” he said.
Her gaze was steady on Guthrie. “Last year, when I returned to the Highlands, to this area, I was again without friends. Sure, I saw Cearnach. But I wanted to date and eventually find someone who would be my lifelong mate.” She threw out her paper towel, got a new one, and wetted it. “You really don’t like Baird, do you?”
“He’s a self-centered bastard, Calla. Didn’t Cearnach warn you that Baird would never have allowed you to have any friends if you had married him?” Guthrie didn’t know why it perturbed him so much that she would stick up for Baird, not after what he had done to Cearnach and Elaine. “Did Baird know you were Cearnach’s friend when you met him?”
Calla’s mouth tightened. She looked like she wanted to slug him. “You think the only reason Baird had any interest in me was because he wanted to keep me away from Cearnach?”
“Other than that you have an income, your family has money, and you are a single she-wolf…”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
Retreating a wee bit, Guthrie cleared his throat. “I’m just trying to consider all possibilities as to why he is so interested in you. What if it went deeper than just a chance meeting? Like he’d learned you were the same lass who had saved Cearnach in the river so many years ago and that you were friends.”
“He was infatuated with me, and it had nothing to do with my friendship with Cearnach,” she said so vehemently that Guthrie wondered if she thought otherwise but didn’t want to admit it.
“But he knew you were friends with my brother when you met Baird, aye?”
“I might have mentioned I knew him and your family.”
She glowered at Guthrie. “He said he remembered me. All right?”
“From when you had lived in the area before, when you were a child?”
“Aye, aye.”
“But you had never met him and didn’t remember him.”
“Nay. I was young back then. He was probably into doing guy things and really hadn’t noticed me all that much. I hadn’t noticed him.”
“Except that he had seen you and knew you were friends with Cearnach.”
“I didn’t know he and Cearnach hated each other. Baird acted like he knew him only because he was a wolf with a wolf pack living in the same area. We notice things like that, you know. Cearnach met me trying to fish at the river and then proceeded to teach me how to do it right. Then later, I met you and your brothers. I remember all of you smiling at us, but it was more of a case of the three of you being amused at Cearnach for visiting with a girl.”
“Cearnach always liked the girls,” Guthrie said.
“You didn’t?”
He let out his breath. “We thought he was interested in you as more than just a friend,” he said, avoiding her question.
“Seriously?”
“Aye.”
“Here I thought you were interested in me.”
Guthrie felt his face heat a bit. When she smiled, he didn’t know what to say. Oh, aye, he’d been interested in the lassie. All his brothers had. She was a bonny lass even back then. But neither he nor his brothers would have interfered when they thought Cearnach was hung up on her. Their cousin, Flynn, long since deceased, was another story. He didn’t care about such matters. So even though Guthrie and his brothers teased Cearnach about catching the lass’s eye, Guthrie had wished he had seen her first, talked to her first, shown her how to fish first. He was never the glib-tongued romantic that Cearnach was with the lassies. Guthrie still didn’t believe he would have captured her attention even back then.
When he didn’t comment, Calla sighed. “When I saw Cearnach again, I mentioned to him that I was dating Baird, and that’s when your brother went all Highland warrior on me and tried to convince me Baird was a bad person. But Baird had been sweet—”
