As soon as he was gone, she punched in the number at the cottage. “Maria, I’m staying at the castle for dinner,” Julia said to Maria quickly when she answered, before her friend could give her the third degree.
“I’ve never known you to act so interested in a man you’ve never met before, Julia. But he’s a wolf, remember. You aren’t thinking of taking a tumble with him just so you can stay inside the castle and see all the forbidden sites, are you?”
“Taking a tumble with him? Hmm, forbidden sites.” Now that truly stirred Julia’s imagination. One kilted Highlander minus his kilt, alone with her in his bedchamber. “I’m here just for dinner.”
“You know the fact they’re lupus garous explains a lot. Why they didn’t want to have any filming done at the castle. Why they haven’t opened the place up to other kinds of business ventures. Why Ian could track us as easily as he did in the woods after the car accident.” A pause followed. “Why he’s attracted to you.”
But he seemed to be fighting the attraction every bit as much as Julia was with him. “He saw me in the woods in my wolf form earlier.”
Maria grew silent.
“No big deal. He shouldn’t have been able to see me. Wouldn’t have been able to if he hadn’t been one of our kind.”
“All right, so if he’s one of the good guys and he’s a lupus garou, did he see anything out there that might have indicated that someone hit us on purpose when we had our accident?”
Julia had been too busy worrying about her name and what that would entail to consider the accident and whether it had been an accident or not. But Maria was right. Since Ian was a lupus garou, he could have smelled gunfire, if there’d been any. “I’ll ask Ian.”
“Ian?” Maria sounded curiously suspicious.
“Laird MacNeill.” Julia had done it again, only thankfully not in front of one of his kin this time. They’d for sure think he’d given her permission. And give him an even harder time than they were already, she surmised from the amused glances passed between them and the Gaelic conversation meant for their ears only.
But if he had smelled gunfire, was Maria right about her conspiracy theory? Did another lupus garou clan want to harm them? Or some of Ian’s own people?
Chapter 8
Not in his wildest dreams had Ian MacNeill ever considered having a tête-à-tête with a woman who was in the least bit involved with this movie-making venture. But she was considering a tumble with him? To see the forbidden sites? Hell, his people would never let him live it down.
If he was right in his assumptions, the dark-haired one wasn’t a problem. She was here to do her business, and that was it. Julia was a different story. If he read her actions correctly, she was in love with the castle and his men, romanticizing what it would be like to live here. It shouldn’t have mattered, but still, he’d lived long enough to recognize trouble when he saw it. Maybe he was being a little too cynical. Maybe she was just excited, and she’d do what was expected in her job and nothing more.
But something about her actions made him suspect she was one to be watched. Withholding her surname until the last, sneaking around his woods after the film crew had been told he had forbidden them to do so, and who knew what else.
Olive-green jeans that would blend well in the forest had hugged her bottom as it had swayed a little with her walk, her black boots silent on the cobblestone path as she had entered the inner bailey earlier while he’d watched from the wall walk. A slinky, form-fitting sweater of the same color had highlighted nice firm breasts, garnering more than just his notice, if he was any judge of his men’s attention toward her. As wet as it was, why wasn’t the lassie wearing a jacket? To show off her considerable assets, he gathered. Or was it because by wearing fewer clothes, she could shape-shift more quickly?
Silky red hair the color of burnished copper had bounced over her shoulders with every step as she’d walked farther away from his perch on the wall walk.
Once everyone had seen enough of the woman to recognize her when the film crew returned in the morning to begin setting up, Duncan could make their people aware that she needed to be watched, just in case she attempted to take an unscheduled tour of the castle on her own. He’d warned his people not to shape-shift while the film crew was on the premises, but sometimes the wolf part of the equation didn’t cooperate. Not when a werewolf had too many human roots and the full moon was nearly upon them. He couldn’t risk any of the humans seeing what his people could become. But she wasn’t exactly human. She was one of them.
On the other hand, what if he offered for her to stay at the castle? What might he discover about the little red wolf then?
Unable to locate Duncan in the inner bailey or his usual haunts in the castle, Ian checked on Guthrie in his office to see if he’d learned anything about Miss Julia Wildthorn. He wasn’t there.
The castle was too big at times. Ian had returned to the great hall when Duncan hurried to meet him.
Despite Duncan’s usually dark composure, this time there was almost a spring in his step and almost an upward curve to his lips. Had Duncan scared the director and his minions to such a degree that he had a wee bit to smile about?
Ian sat down in his favorite high-backed chair in front of the fire. “What amuses you, Duncan? I don’t believe I’ve seen you this cheery in eons. Not unless you’ve been successful in a sword fight, and even then your delight in your win is shown in the most reserved manner.”
Duncan sank into a chair next to Ian’s. “We have a situation. Guthrie says you’ve put him in charge of dinner.”
Ian raised his brows. “Ah, and this is what amuses you?” He wasn’t worried about a situation, not if Duncan was pleased about it.
“Aye.” Duncan’s faint smile grew, only it was hard to tell what he was thinking. Not a happy smile, but more of a hunter’s smile, as if he’d just found prey to make sport of.
“And?”
Duncan turned from the fire, the flames glinting off his dark eyes. “Cook took the night off. To be with MacNamara, rumor has it.”
“MacNamara? Who swore off women after his wife divorced him five years ago?” Ian frowned. “She doesn’t intend to turn him, does she?”
“He is just a diversion. So she says.”
“Ah.” Ian watched Duncan stretch out his legs.
“The truth of the matter is that Guthrie realized you needed information about the lass, and yet you’ve ordered him to do the cooking.”
“Cooking?” Guthrie never cooked. Well, at least not since he’d ruined a few meals in the process. Ian swore his brother did it on purpose so he’d never be asked to cook.
“Aye. You put him in charge of having the dinner ready. But Cook is with MacNamara.”
Realization dawning, Ian folded his arms and smiled slightly. “I wanted him to tell Cook to have dinner ready in an hour, but that he was to research who Miss Julia Wildthorn is in the meantime. Since he cannot be doing two jobs at once, and the other is of more importance, you will have Cook’s job.”
Duncan’s smile vanished. “Me? I cook worse than Guthrie.”
“Aye.”
“If you’re thinking to win your ladylove with a meal fit for an earl, you can forget it. We’ll have whatever I can throw together that won’t need any cooking.” Duncan looked glum. “As to another matter, Cearnach said if you don’t want the red, he’s interested.”
Ian shook his head. “Don’t tell Cearnach the other one’s a wolf, too, or he’ll be giving the two of them a guided tour of the whole castle, his bedchamber first.”
“Don’t tell Cearnach what?” their brother asked, strolling into the great hall with two of their devoted Irish wolfhounds at his side. The brindled offspring were descendants from the earlier breed of hounds the MacNeill werewolf clan had trained to take down English armored knights in Ireland when their ancestors had first lived there.
The MacNeills were descendants of the ancient high king of Ireland, Niall of the Nine Hostages. Unlike others on the island in ancient times, the MacNeills had not used the hounds to take down wolves until they were eradicated. Instead, the hounds had done an excellent job of separating the English knights from their warhorses.
Now, the hounds served as companions. Although huge and ferocious-looking with their shaggy, wiry coats, bristly hair over their eyes, and chin whiskers, the dogs were gentle and friendly and not much good at guarding. Unless an outsider attacked one of the MacNeills or their friends.
Cearnach sat on his own chair, stretched his legs out toward the fire, and steepled his hands under his chin. “Don’t tell me what?” he repeated, sounding intrigued.
“The Spanish-looking lass is one of us also. Guthrie is researching Miss Julia Wildthorn,” Duncan said. He cast a look Cearnach’s way. “But maybe Cearnach would get more out of her with his charming ways.” He made the comment facetiously.
Cearnach smiled. “With lassies? Aye.” His smile turned into a grin. “You never cease to amaze me, Ian. Here we are nearly in financial ruin, with a film crew about to breach the walls of our castle, a battle soon to ensue as to what conditions you wish met while the filming begins, and you are concerned about a couple of lassies?” He nodded sagely. “You fear one of us will forget our loyalties?”
Instead of the silly grin Cearnach often wore, his smile slipped, and he put on an air of being circumspect. In another man, Ian might have fallen for the ruse. But not with Cearnach. “The MacNeills never forget their loyalties to the clan.” Cearnach slapped his thighs and swore softly under his breath. He waggled his brows. “Just which of us will win the lasses over is yet to be seen.”
“They are not staying,” Ian warned. “I intend to ensure they are only with the film crew and have no other agenda.”
“What other agenda would that be?” Cearnach asked, still not sounding truly serious. “They are Yanks, not from our enemy’s clan here, correct?”