Vardon’s other brother, Hagan, waited to see what the eldest brother would do, standing beside him, looking unsure. In the past, what had happened wouldn’t have been a big deal for men like Vardon. If a woman got in the way of a man’s fist during a fight, the fault was her own. But Vardon had done so in a church at his own brother’s wedding, in front of onlookers who might not respect him for what he’d done.
Cearnach growled in Gaelic, “An honorable man doesn’t strike a woman. Be ready. This isn’t finished.”
Vardon sneered at him, speaking in Gaelic in return. “As you’ll soon learn. Take your whore with you and get out.”
Chapter 3
With the most valiant of efforts, Cearnach cooled his temper enough to get Elaine outside the church without coming to blows with Vardon. Four of the McKinley brothers gathered at his back, the tension and anger rolling off everyone in dangerous waves. To Cearnach’s further annoyance, rain was now coming down in gray sheets.
“I apologize for what happened in there.” Cearnach was still angered beyond reason, not finding the words to adequately describe how he really felt about what had occurred. He sheathed his sword. Then he unbuckled his sash and covered Elaine’s head with it as he hurried her to the vehicle sitting on the lower end of the car park. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
He let out a heavy sigh, hating himself for having put her in danger, though he hadn’t thought it would come to that.
“I shouldn’t have sat on the groom’s side of the church.” She sounded repentant herself. “I should have stayed with you instead. I shouldn’t have been talking so much during the ceremony. I suspect no one would have noticed us as much if we’d remained silent.”
“They would have noticed. They weren’t angry with you but with me. Where did Vardon hit you?” he growled, trying to protect her from the pelting water with the sash of his kilt.
The raindrops bounced off the waterproof wool, but water was running down his neck and soaking his shirt beneath the jacket. He couldn’t cover her completely with the fabric, not unless he removed his whole kilt and wrapped her up in it.
That image quickly brought unbidden desires to the forefront. A woman wrapped in a man’s plaid meant she was his. With any other woman, he would have considered such a move as protection, chivalry. With Elaine? Mine.
“He hit me in the cheek,” she finally said, drawing him back to the current crisis. “At least he missed my eye. The place where he punched me is sore and will probably be bruised and swollen, but you know how we are. It’ll fade in a couple of days.”
Aye, much sooner than a human’s bruises. Yet her injury wouldn’t fade soon enough for him. “For your information, I didn’t need protecting. Why did you get in the way? He could have killed you.”
She snorted and he got the impression she thought he’d needed her protection.
He almost gave her a dark laugh, but shook his head instead and unlocked the car doors. She jumped into the passenger’s side and slammed the door. As soon as he removed his sword and was sitting in the driver’s seat, she said, “I’m freezing. Are you sure you don’t have a cell phone on you?” She glanced at his sporran, the medieval-era pouch still worn with kilts today, necessary since kilts had no pockets. Because of the formal occasion, he’d worn the one with the silver cantle decorated in Celtic symbols and horsehair tassels.
After pulling his door shut, he wiped the water from his face with his hand and turned the heater on high, though the air was cold initially and she shivered at the new assault.
He frowned at her. “No. I left my cell in the car. It would have been easier to get to it if I had an emergency.” Then he raised his brows. “When a vehicle nearly hit mine, and I had to make a quick detour, and I was running so late to the wedding, I forgot it.”
Feeling the anger concerning Vardon return in full force, with the burning need to settle the score still plaguing him, Cearnach gripped the steering wheel in his fists. “Turn your head so I can get a good look at your face.”
Dismissing his concern, she shook her head slightly. “It’s okay. We heal fast. Think nothing of it.”
“You can’t tell me you would have turned the other cheek so he could strike you there also.” His words were as cross as he was feeling. Striking Elaine went beyond what any civilized wolf should have done. It wasn’t the Middle Ages any longer. Bastard.
“No,” she said, giving him an annoyed look. “Of course I wouldn’t have turned the other cheek. But I know he didn’t mean to hit me, and I’m certain he regretted it.”
She couldn’t know Gaelic or what Vardon had called her. Maybe that would have changed her mind. As stubborn as she was, she wouldn’t turn her head so he could see where Vardon had struck her. Yes, they healed quickly, but her face would be swollen and bruised for a couple of days before it got better.
Her gaze still connected with his, she sighed. “Okay, though I probably shouldn’t tell you this. I…” She took another deep breath and stiffened a bit, yet her gaze didn’t waver from his and she said all in a rush, “I would have seized his dagger and threatened him with it if you hadn’t grabbed me.”
He paused, not expecting her to say such a thing. Then he smiled. “You, lass, are a woman after my own heart.”
She relaxed again and he wondered if she thought he wouldn’t like a woman who was willing to fight to protect herself. She would be wrong. Yet given the situation, he wanted to be the one defending her when he was there, not her shielding him.
He reached over and touched her uninjured cold, wet cheek. “Let me see.” He gently cupped her chin and moved her head so he could observe the damage. The skin was red from the punch, swollen, and already beginning to discolor into sickly greens and purples and yellows. He growled low. “I should never have let this happen.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me.” Her mouth was curved in the most devilish of smiles and her eyes sparkled.
She seemed to be of sturdy stock, like a bonny lass born and bred in the Highlands, but with the additional heart of a warrior she-wolf, alpha to the max. But he still wanted to do something, anything, to make the insult and the hurt go away.
Meaning to kiss her somewhere that would not be too intimate, just a light kiss on the top of the head maybe, he found he couldn’t make himself do it. Not with his wolfish needs gaining momentum, the desire filling him to press his mouth against her sexy rain-moistened lips. To prove to himself that his feelings weren’t one-sided.
He leaned over and kissed her mouth, gently as if she would break, not wanting to force her into complying in the event she wasn’t ready for this. Her mouth softened under his touch, accepting him, allowing him this intimacy.
To his surprise and delight, she reached up and set her hands on his shoulders and pulled him closer. Already their hearts were beating at a frantic pace, their pheromones kicking up another notch.
She closed her eyes and gave in to the kiss, slowly at first, then more boldly. He groaned as she parted her lips, permitting him more familiarity. He took advantage of the moment, sliding his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, exploring her, wanting so much more.
Wolves didn’t share such intimacies lightly, not with each other, not without some kind of spark that initiated further interest. They didn’t make commitments with humans, so as long as the human was willing, they found mutual release with one another until the wolf discovered a mate. Then his wolf mate would be the only one for him.