“Lass,” the man said with a distinctive Highland burr, his voice low, “where are you going in such a hurry?”
His dark brown eyes were narrowed, focused on her, yet a small smile curved his lips, as if he was amused that she thought she could evade a wolf. Because that was just what he was.
A gray wolf, tall, muscularly built, but more wiry than bulky. His hand was holding her still, not bruising her but with enough pressure that she knew he was not about to let her go. He was handsome as the devil, the crinkle lines beneath his eyes telling her he was a man who liked to smile, his masculine lips likewise not thin and mean like Kelly Rafferty’s, but pleasingly full with a curve that made her think he enjoyed life in a jovial rather than a cruel way.
His wind-tussled hair was an earthy shade of dark brown with streaks of red, and he had no hint of facial hair as if he had just shaved. He was lean and hard, not an ounce of fat, and determined, his jaw set, his brows raised a little now as he examined her more closely. He was taking a good long look, not in a leering way but taking in her distinctive appearance.
The three men who had been trailing behind him were now immersed in a brawl outside the alley, fists swinging.
“Are you here alone, lass?” the man asked, his voice seductively low. He was an alpha, in charge, wanting answers.
“Let… me… go,” she growled. She was trying not to make a scene.
“Come with me and my brothers, and I will protect you,” he offered.
A shiver stole up her spine. He must know she was related to the hanged men. The fight was growing closer—she could hear men’s shouts and cries of pain, scuffling, and thuds as some went down.
She tried to wriggle loose of his strong grip, tried to peel his powerful fingers off her arm, but to no avail. He seemed mildly amused that she’d try.
“Let… me… go,” she repeated, scowling up at him.
“If Lord Whittington learns you were one of the Hawthorns’ kin, it willna go well for you,” the man said. “My name is Cearnach MacNeill, and those behind me…” He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to her, and amended, “Who were following me are my brothers. We will see you to safety.”
If he was not kin, why should he and his family wish to aid her? She didn’t trust his motives.
She shook her head. “You are mistaken about me, sir. Release me at once.”
He did not seem inclined to do so, but a beefy half-drunken man came up behind him, skirted around the Highlander, and slugged Cearnach in the jaw. He immediately released Elaine so that he was free to pelt the drunk.
She darted down the alleyway, glancing back to see Cearnach struggling to rid himself of the brigand. He took a swing at the drunk, and when he had knocked him back several steps, Cearnach looked for her and spied her getting away. Her heart did a flip. He appeared both troubled and exasperated.
She ran out of the alley, dashed down the street until she found another alley, and ducked down it. She would find a ship and return home on her own.
Somehow she had to figure out a way to deal with Kelly Rafferty next.
Cearnach MacNeill swore as another lout smashed him in the jaw with a mighty punch. By the time he’d laid the man out with a couple of smashes in the face, Cearnach had lost sight of the she-wolf in the crowd. He suspected she was related to the Hawthorn brothers, which was the only way they would have taken her aboard their ship. He was almost certain that the only reason they had docked in St. Andrews was to gather their stolen goods and squirrel them away in some other location.
Did the lass know where the brothers had hidden the goods?
All he should have cared about was retrieving his family’s stolen property from the now-dead brigands. When he’d looked into the girl’s stricken face, he’d felt a deep regret that she’d just lost her family and now he intended to use her to reclaim his clan’s goods. He was sincere about keeping her safe. At least until he could secure passage for her and send her home.
He’d seen the uncertainty in her dark brown eyes, the guarded hope he might rescue her from this nightmare. He’d felt a twinge of need—to protect her.
He picked up her wolf scent and headed for the wharves. Then he saw Robert Kilpatrick and the McKinley brothers and overheard Robert saying, “We have to get her before Whittington does.”
Were they kin to the Hawthorn brothers? Most likely they wanted the same information from her as Cearnach did: where was the stolen property the Hawthorn brothers had hidden in Scotland?
She didn’t stand a chance unless Cearnach could reach her first.
Chapter 1
Present Day, Scotland
Pacing across his brother’s office in the solar of Argent Castle, Cearnach MacNeill was determined not to back down on this issue with Ian, his older brother, clan chief, and pack leader of their Highland gray werewolf pack. Cearnach had promised Calla Stewart that he would show up at her wedding to lend moral support. Friends did that for friends. He would attend because she had asked him to, even though he knew his being there could stir up real trouble.
Why did she have to marry into the McKinley clan? Pirates, every last one of them, even though the pirating stopped a century ago. As far as he was concerned, they were still a bunch of ruthless brigands.
Determination was etched on Ian’s scowling face as he studied Cearnach while remaining seated at his dark oak desk. He was struggling to allow Cearnach to attend his friend’s wedding, worried about his safety, not happy about it, but reluctant to take a stand and say no. That was one of the reasons Cearnach loved his older quadruplet brother. He was a born leader of men with a heart of gold. Though no one would say the latter to his face. Ian was certain that he hid that part of himself well enough so he could take on the world and them when he needed to.
His people knew better.
The weather was dismal this fall day at Argent Castle, and the room itself was dark and gloomy. The bookshelves were filled with leather-bound volumes of the history of their clan. The rich, burgundy Turkish tapestries covering the floor, the brown leather chairs, and Ian’s oak desk all took on an ominous cast, like a scene from a gothic novel.
Ian’s jaw clenched like it did when he gave one of his brothers an order or at least a strong suggestion, or when any of them disagreed with him on an issue. Since Cearnach was the second eldest brother and next in command, Ian usually gave him more leeway, knowing Cearnach’s heart and head were normally in the right place.
“I don’t understand,” Ian said finally, his dark brown eyes gauging Cearnach’s resolve like a wolf attempting to see the inner workings of someone’s thoughts. “You’re not looking for a fight, are you? Attending Calla’s wedding could stir up bad feelings we don’t need with another Highland wolf clan. Especially that one.”
“You’re right. You don’t understand. You would do whatever it took to be there for family or in choosing a mate. But you’ve never had a female friend who wasn’t family. With me, Calla’s just a friend. Being there for her is important to me.”
“Aye, a friend. She tossed you a rope to keep you from drowning in the swollen river when you were a wee lad, and now you feel you owe her the same. She’s made her choice,” Ian reminded him, though Cearnach didn’t need the reminder. “She doesn’t believe she needs rescuing.
“Alpha males don’t take kindly to other wolves crossing the line. You’ve tried to talk her out of the mating, but she’s making the commitment to Baird McKinley anyway. Neither her family nor the McKinleys will be happy to see you, Cearnach. You’ll be the enemy in their midst. Some will know you tried to dissuade her from marrying the brigand. We all know what he’s like. She’s too stubborn to see it.”