They walked their horses out of the stable. Then as the two men at the gate glanced in their direction, Basil kneed his mount and raced for the open gate.
“It’s him, the bastard!” redheaded Oran shouted. He looked big and angry, like he could take on a horse and rider both with his bare hands. “And he’s got our lady! Close the portcullis!”
Julia envisioned being skewered as the metal grate dropped on their heads. She heard the metal grinding as it was lowered on the outer gate and felt Basil kicking the horse, attempting to get him to gallop faster. She could barely hold onto her wits, the jarring making everything in her brain hurt like the blazes.
The horse suddenly reared up, and Basil cursed aloud. She thought she was going to fall, but the horse settled back down and twisted around, the metal grate grinding as it closed behind her. What was happening?
Trapped! The men and horses and she were trapped between the first and second portcullis.
“Tell Ian that Basil’s got her at the main gate! We’ve got them trapped,” Oran told someone on his cell phone.
It wasn’t long before Julia saw them—wolves and Irish wolfhounds headed in her direction from the keep, running at a full gallop in hunting mode.
She worried the horses might shy and rear again. But they recognized these wolves. “Laird MacNeill,” Oran shouted.
As soon as the wolves and dogs stood in front of the portcullis, one of them looked her over. He had a dark brown stripe of fur between his eyes that lightened as it went down his nose, becoming crème-colored under his chin and on the sides of his face, which made him appear regal. His eyes were nearly black with anger, as he turned his head slightly to Oran and lifted it with a nod.
The innermost portcullis made its way down behind the wolves and dogs. And now they were all trapped together.
Then the wolf raised his head to Oran again and this time, the middle portcullis was raised.
The wolf let out a dark “woof,” and the hounds raced in to unseat the riders. To Julia’s amazement, the horses didn’t rear, but the dogs snapped at the men’s legs, threatening to bite, and the men quickly dismounted. Basil attempted to grab Julia from the saddle, probably to use her as a shield again, but the wolves got between the horses and the men and waited.
Someone clucked behind Julia at the innermost portcullis, and the horse she was riding and the other turned and walked over to it.
“Hold on, my lady,” Oran said. He reached through the gate and grasped for her tied hands, but no matter how much he tried to unknot the shirt strip, he couldn’t.
Then the growling began in earnest. Low growls and barks and yips and snarls.
“Wait,” Oran said to Julia, who felt helpless and sick to her stomach and not at all like a heroine was supposed to feel in one of her stories. She was supposed to get free and help her mate. Damn it.
Oran pulled out a dirk and cut the ties on her hands, careful not to injure her. He reached up to remove the gag keeping her silent.
But her head pained her so much that she couldn’t manage to move in any direction. As much as she wanted to know what was happening, she couldn’t see Ian and his men and what was occurring behind her. Oran made the horse come around so that her feet were now facing him, and then he worked on the tie binding her ankles. She raised her head a little to see one wolf dead, now in the form of a naked man, and the other fighting for his life against Ian. Basil.
The bastard didn’t stand a chance against an infuriated Ian. He stalked him, and Basil backed himself into a corner against the outermost portcullis. He bared his teeth at Ian, his head slightly bowed, but that didn’t concern the pack leader. Ian lunged, and their teeth connected in a clatter of enamel. Ian backed off and again attacked, this time with the two riding high on their hind legs, teeth clashing and growls erupting, the sounds vicious as they spilled across the dark night and were amplified by the stone walls.
As in the previous sword fights with Basil, Ian had the upper hand. He was cool and made the moves that would benefit him most, proving to his men and to her that he was their leader and why. He was not only her Highland hero, but theirs.
Footfalls ran toward the portcullis from inside the holding, and it sounded like the whole of Ian’s clan had been alerted to the trouble.
“Can’t we open the gate to get to Julia?” Heather asked.
Julia moaned with relief. Heather was back and safe.
Oran said, “No, not without Ian’s permission. If we open the portcullis, Basil may try to escape into the courtyard and injure any number of people before Ian takes him down.”
Julia wanted to slip off the horse, but the way she was feeling, she figured she’d slide, fall a hundred feet from the tall horse, hit her head like she’d done when she’d rolled off the haystack, and then pass out.
She kept telling herself she had to do something that was more heroine-like than this. How could she write heroic scenes if in a crisis the heroine couldn’t do something for herself or for her mate? Not that her mate needed her help. In truth, she’d probably be a horrible hindrance.
But at least she could stand and cheer him on instead of lying on her belly on the back of a horse wearing only a damnable sheet.
“Julia, are you all right?” Ian’s mother asked, her voice laced with concern.
They couldn’t see her except for her backside hanging over the horse so they must have figured she’d passed out, which was another reason she needed to get off the horse. “Yes,” she said weakly, but with all the growling the two wolves were doing, she wasn’t certain anyone heard her.
“Someone help her down from the horse,” Aunt Agnes said.
One of the wolves looked in her direction but then continued to watch the fight between Ian and Basil. She was safe, they figured, out of harm’s way and not in need of anyone’s assistance at the moment. And the fight was much more intriguing than Julia.
Ian and Basil continued to bite at each other’s faces, each blocking the other from grabbing his throat and scoring a kill, but Basil was wearing down. Ian still had the fight in him, and he was relentless.
“He will never give up,” Oran said. “Ian will not let him live this time.”
“And he shouldn’t,” Ian’s mother said. “The bastard dug his own grave when he tried to take our Julia.”
Our Julia. Tears swam in Julia’s eyes. Ian’s mother had finally accepted her.
Basil attempted to go low and bite Ian’s leg, maybe intending to break it so he could go in for the kill. Julia wasn’t certain why, but Basil’s movement gave Ian an opportunity. He jumped on Basil’s back and bit into his neck, killing the wolf instantly.
Ian whipped around then and headed straight for his horse. She smiled weakly at him, feeling like a total idiot, perched atop Rogue on her belly wearing only the sheet.
But Ian’s eyes were still black as night as he motioned with his head to Oran to raise the portcullis. Ian shape-shifted, and then mounted the horse, totally naked, and lifted Julia into his arms. He was hot and hard and protective and comforting. And loved.
“Are you all right, lass?” he asked, tightening his hold on her.
“Now I am.” Her voice was shaky, and her eyes filled with tears. Her head throbbed with renewed pain.
He kicked the horse’s flanks and rode her to the keep as his people hurried after them. “Did I ever tell you how transparent you are?”
She gave him a small smile and let out her breath. “How would it sound if I told you my head hurts so bad that I feel I’m going to pass out any minute? How heroine-like is that?”
He raised his brows. “But it is the truth, lass. And that’s all I want to hear.”
She only heard a muffled curse as the jolting of the horse sent her head into a spin and blackness overtook her once again.
Chapter 25
For three days, Ian stayed with Julia in the bed- chamber until she was feeling well again, the shadow of a bruise still discoloring the side of her temple and cheek where Basil had struck her twice. But the headaches and the ringing in her ears and seeing double had all vanished. Yet, she had not wanted to leave the chamber. Not for any other reason than she wanted to stay with him, alone, as if they were on a honeymoon, away from everyone else. It was blissful just to be with him. It was a heady feeling to be desired that much by one so desirable.
“Will you make love to me again?” she asked, stretching her hand out to him as he stood in his boxers looking out the window, glad that the movie madness was done and Sutherland’s people hadn’t retaliated for the death of their pack leader and the other man who’d died.
He gave his bonny mate a smile. “You’re insatiable, wench.”
She smiled back, pulling the cover aside, baring her breasts, and encouraging him to join her.
“Whatever gives you pleasure, Julia.” He was stalking back toward the bed when a thump in the lady’s chamber adjoining his sounded and made him go for his sword instead. His first thought—some of Sutherland’s men had breached his underground tunnels again.
But when he entered the room with sword readied, he saw Flynn standing near the massive bed instead. Ian frowned at him. “I have already forgiven you, you ingrate. After you tried to save Julia in the tunnels from that bastard Basil, I told you that you had my undying gratitude. So what is it that you want now?”
If there was one thing he wouldn’t tolerate was Flynn’s interruption when Ian and Julia had more intimate plans.
Wearing only a T-shirt, Julia peeked into the room. “Did you want something, Flynn?”
He bowed to Julia, scowled at Ian, motioned to one wall, and then vanished.
“What now?” Ian asked, more to himself than to Julia.
“Don’t you think we ought to see what he wanted?”
The chest had been shoved aside and behind it, two stones caught his eye. The grouting around both was slightly shallower. He would never have noticed if Flynn hadn’t pointed out the area to him. Ian returned to his chamber, pulled a dirk out of his drawer, and crossed the lady’s chamber to where Julia was crouched, examining the stones. “They’re not loose,” she said.