“Before our people arrived at Argent, Sutherland had already taken the castle after weeks of laying siege to it. We, the MacNeill clan and the families who owed us allegiance, seized the castle from Sutherland. But the MacPhersons? They had completely vanished. Some said they had escaped through secret passageways. Others, that they had been murdered for attempting to align with the MacNeills. No one ever discovered their whereabouts. It was said Sutherland had forced the MacPherson to agree to give his lovely daughter in betrothal to the laird of Argent Castle instead of the MacNeill.”
“But there were no females born to the MacPhersons,” Julia inserted.
“Oh, aye, there was. The woman in the oil painting. Fiona MacPherson. She was to be Ian’s grandfather’s mate. If anything were to stop that mating, the contract would be valid for a subsequent mating between a MacNeill laird and a MacPherson lady. We wished the ties between the clans.”
Julia cleared her throat and all attention focused on her. “But my grandfather said the contract was between the laird of Argent Castle and a MacPherson lady.”
“Aye. That contract was drawn up by the Sutherlands. Being so arrogant that they could see no other clan ever taking hold of Argent, they believed stating that the mating would be between a laird of the castle and a female MacPherson offspring would be sufficient.”
Ian smiled, lifted Julia’s hand to his lips, and kissed it. “Except the MacNeills became the lairds and the contract would have been what the MacPhersons and MacNeills had intended in the first place. The old Sutherland outfoxed himself.”
Agnes gave a coy smile. “Seems you became the beneficiary of the contracted agreement instead of your grandfather.”
But his mother did not smile. “I wished to speak with you last night.”
“Aye.” Ian didn’t say anything more, and his mother’s face blushed with indignation.
“You shouldn’t be in this film. Your da would be turning in his grave. As for the Sutherlands, they should never have gained entry to the grounds. And…” His mother gave Julia a glower. “…you should have told me you planned to mate some Yank. And a werewolf romance writer?” She gave an annoyed tch under her breath.
Before Ian could respond, his redheaded cousin Oran hurried into the dining room from the great hall. “The director is threatening to fire the whole lot of us if we don’t take our places at once.”
“The nerve of the man,” Ian’s mother said. “I will give him a piece of my mind.” She rose from her chair but waited for Ian to agree with her.
He gave her a wave of his hand. “By all means.” Then he turned to Julia. “Ready to don your gown?” He gave her a lascivious wink.
His expression said that if they went up to the bedchamber together, they’d never make it to the inner bailey for the filming of the scene.
Come to think of it, that would have suited her fine, if she had not known that Ian had to make sure his people remained safe with the threat of Basil and his men on the premises.
Within the hour, everyone involved in the film had taken their places. But it took many hours to get the scene right, and then when the actual filming began for the final take, Basil Sutherland didn’t take long to move from where he was supposed to be fighting human actors to challenge Ian instead. Sutherland and he performed in the background while the camera’s focus was primarily on the stars, but whether in practice or fighting a real battle, Ian concentrated on the man and the sword before him. His brothers and Heather’s were watching the women while they battled nearby. But this was the fight Ian had darkly anticipated.
“You can’t have her. She was meant to be mine!” Sutherland’s whole body was filled with tension, tenser than was safe, as he swung his sword at Ian. Sutherland’s breathing was heavy and his dark eyes narrowed with hatred, his patience shredded by all the retakes while filming the scene that had taken until nearly evening.
Ian blocked the blow with a hefty clunk. “You’re a bloody fool, Sutherland. You tried to kill her on the road and—”
“Kill her? I disabled the car and meant to rescue her, but then I saw your bloody headlights approaching and drove off. They weren’t supposed to run into the dyke.”
Ian thrust his sword at Basil, but the man rallied with a hefty block. A deafening clang resounded.
“Julia’s mine,” Ian said, his voice low and controlled, his muscles loose, his breathing regulated. He thrust again at Sutherland’s breast, keeping his feet spread a shoulder width apart for better balance. He glided across the pavement, planting the soles of his feet on the ground as much as he could to maintain equilibrium, and kept up the frontal attack.
Sutherland fell back again, his face red, his hands clenched tightly on the hilt of his sword. “The contract states otherwise, and you know it.”
Ian faltered. The tip of Ian’s sword dipped just enough that Basil took advantage. With a wicked thrust, Basil stabbed at Ian’s chest, but Ian jumped back and swung his sword to counter the momentum of Basil’s weapon. Sweeping it aside, Ian felt the tip of Basil’s blade slashing across his shirt, cutting it, slicing his skin, and drawing blood. Hell.
Retaliating, Ian swung his sword so hard that when it hit Basil’s, the jolt went up Ian’s arm. Basil’s haughty grin slid from his face.
“What do you know of the contract?” Ian growled, thinking of how Sutherland’s people had invaded the MacPhersons’ holdings and taken them hostage before his grandfather could claim his mate. Although if he had, Ian wouldn’t be in the position he was now with Julia.
Both Ian and Basil kept their postures straight, their chests facing forward to maximize the ability to simply twist away from a dangerous strike.
“You can’t be daft as all that. You besieged her castle. Vanquished us. The contract drawn up between Sutherland and the MacPherson clans stated Fiona MacPherson would be my grandfather’s mate. That if the mating was not a success, another MacPherson lass was promised to the laird. Since that union never occurred, Julia is mine.” Basil’s face was twisted, red, his eyes narrowed in confrontation, and even his breathing was reedy.
“Yours?” Elbows close to his body, sword poised, Ian lunged at Basil, not about to be thrown off guard again. “If that were so, how come it’s taken you so long to realize this?”
“I only just discovered my great-grandfather’s journal.”
Basil blocked Ian’s blow with a frantic sweep of his sword. A clang of metal rang out across the inner bailey.
“The contract states the MacPhersons and MacNeills would be united through a mating before the Sutherlands seized Argent Castle,” Ian said. Although he didn’t need any contract to say Julia was his.
“Did your da or anyone else tell you that a MacPherson would be yours?”
No. And that had bothered Ian, although Oran’s arrival in the dining hall had made him forget to question Aunt Agnes about that. Why wouldn’t his family have made him aware of a contract such as this? At the very least, he would have searched for the lass and resolved the issue. If all parties had agreed, he would have destroyed the contract himself with her family and his as witnesses. Unless his family had believed the MacPhersons had all died.
“You know what I say is true,” Basil said, winded as he fell back from Ian’s thrust, the blade nicking Basil’s shoulder. Blood tinged his garment. He cursed in Gaelic.
“The contract would no longer have been enforceable,” Ian countered, although among the lupus garous it would have been. Their long-standing traditions made it so.
“Ah, MacNeill, you don’t believe that. You have taken my promised mate when she belongs to me. Your kin had taken my castle before this. How much more can a man endure?” Basil usually kept cool in a sword fight, but his stance was off, his forehead beaded with sweat.
“The lass’s family owned the castle before you,” Ian said.
“They were weak and needed a protector. We came to their aid,” Sutherland said, finally getting a second wind.
Ian gave a dark laugh. Basil responded with a thrust of his sword, but Ian quickly countered and knocked it aside.
“You’re a good storyteller, Sutherland. They may have needed a protector, but only from your kin.” Throwing his weight into the swing, Ian caught Basil’s sword so hard that the blow ripped the sword clean from his hands and sent it sailing through the air.
Ian noted then how quiet the bailey was. No shouts or clanging of swords from the other men. No sound other than Basil’s heavy breathing. The man dove for his sword.
Ian slammed into him, knocking him down, and Basil fell hard on his back against the pavement. His head hit with a dull thud. His eyes swimming with tears, he looked dazed.
Running footfalls caught Ian’s attention, and he turned to see a pale-faced Julia racing toward him. Before he could sheathe his sword, she wrapped her arms around his body and held on tight, her mouth kissing his chest, her hands gripping him for dear life.
“Ian,” Julia murmured against his chest and with his sword flat against her back, he kissed her lips and felt the heat of her pressed against his body, her soft breasts and her hair tickling his skin where his shirt hung open.
The world stood still in that instant, everything fading into the background. Vaguely, he was aware that Basil’s men cursed him in a steady stream of Gaelic, variations on the theme of whoreson, as they hauled the dazed Sutherland out of the inner bailey.
“Cut!” the director called, from what sounded like a million miles away.
“You won,” Julia whispered through her tears.
Ian hadn’t won. The conflict between Basil and him was like a pot of stew, simmering, heating, and bubbling into a rage, then cooling down and simmering again until the next time. In the past, that hadn’t mattered. Sutherland wanted the castle back, but he couldn’t lay siege to it in this day and age. Now he wanted Julia, too. But he damn well couldn’t have her, either.