Robert Kilpatrick. Well, if she’d been on time.

She snorted. If she’d met him first, she probably would have thought he was one of the good guys. What a horrible thought.

Trying to make the best of a bad situation, she ran through the tunnel alongside Cearnach and back down the steps. The wind was blowing hard, and fog cloaked everything in a misty gray curtain as she and Cearnach made their way to the beach. They loped through glens and woodlands, behind a hill hiding them from the view of a farmhouse, alongside a creek where the trees kept them well hidden, stopping only to drink at the water’s edge. Cearnach stayed glued to her side as if he was afraid for her safety and was protecting her at all costs.

She and Cearnach had been running and alternately loping, a less tiring gait, for maybe an hour when she wondered just how far his castle was from the ruins. By car, maybe not so far. But he was probably taking her in a roundabout way, avoiding farms and houses and towns, and keeping to rivers and creeks and unsettled areas. The unrelenting rain had started up again.

After the second hour on the run, she was getting tired. When he saw her falling back, he began to walk beside her. Both of their tongues were lolling out of their mouths as they tried to cool their bodies, which were overheated despite the cold weather.

Elaine explored a little, figuring she’d never have the chance to run as a wolf in the wilderness of Scotland again and, in any other circumstance, would never do something so dangerous. She touched her nose to moss-covered stones, the feel soft and velvety, and listened to the wind rustling the leaves of nearby trees and the sound of water trickling in the creek just beyond them. Everything—the grass, the leaves, the moss covering ancient stone walls—was emerald green.

She ran in the Ocala National Forest and elsewhere in Florida in the heat, so she enjoyed this—the cooler weather, the wetness, no worry about rattlesnakes or alligators or other animals. When she’d run in the Everglades, she’d come across a protective bear and her cubs, and smelled the scat from a black panther, although she hadn’t seen him.

She felt relatively safe here—at least from other wild animal predators. Man was another story.

Furry russet-colored cows grazing in a field caught her eye. Their short faces were bent and nibbling on rain-soaked grass until they sensed the wolves’ approach. They were funny-looking creatures compared to American cows. But she was certain the Scots would think the same of the long-faced cows in America.

They mooed and moved together away from the perceived threat, as if Cearnach and she wanted to eat a cow on the hoof. She never hunted in wolf form, not unless she was in dire straits. If she was starving and lost in the wilderness, she’d make an exception, but she usually went after fish.

No farmhouse was in sight, which was a good thing. That meant no one would be worried about what was upsetting the livestock and come out to shoot at them.

A half mile farther, a gray stone farmhouse sat back off a road. The farmhouse wasn’t a problem. The dogs living at the stone building were.

Two border collies suddenly appeared, running at a full gallop, headed straight for Cearnach and Elaine, and intent on chasing them away. They were ultra-fast, extremely clever, hardworking sheepherding dogs. Elaine knew their herding instinct was actually a wolf characteristic, but instead of taking an animal down as wolves would on a hunt, the border collies had been bred to eliminate the killing instinct and would circle and gather, rather than using brute force to guide the herd.

One of the collies had a red face and white chest; the other was black and white. Both were equally aggressive. They were in full pursuit as they ran across the glen, barking at Cearnach and Elaine, alerting anyone in the house that someone or something had invaded their land and they needed backup pronto.

Cearnach and Elaine turned to face them down, growling in their fiercest manners, staring them down like pissed-off, ready-to-pounce wolves. The dogs were tenacious. Their stares matched the wolves’—the instinct so bred into their breed that they wouldn’t back down.

Cearnach nudged Elaine to run ahead while he continued to turn back and snap and snarl at the dogs. They knew better than to get too close to the much bigger Canis lupus with his much larger teeth and bite. But they were just as aggressive. With the two of them sticking together, they encouraged each other to keep pushing.

Elaine stopped until he joined her, and she growled again along with Cearnach to show their own unified force. The dogs stopped and sniffed the air, testing to determine the wolves’ resolve, judging if they were angered or afraid. The collies stood their ground, not moving an inch forward as the wolves held their glare.

As soon as she and Cearnach raced off again, the collies ran after them, but they weren’t getting as close this time. They were leaving their own territory, and they didn’t need to protect it as firmly. They still wanted to make an impression. This is ours! You stay out! But they were beginning to drop back.

She and Cearnach were concentrating so much on the threat of the collies that they didn’t see the man riding shotgun in an old rusty pickup truck until it was almost too late. He waved at his companion to get closer and the window opened. A rifle poked out and pointed straight at them. Cearnach quickly steered Elaine toward the river. That meant they could hit her in the butt instead of the side. Pleasant thought.

The powerful report of the weapon sounded like an explosion and echoed across the glen, making her heart hitch. She immediately jumped into the water, where she stumbled over the moss-covered rocks. Chest-deep in the water, she slipped on the stones and the current lifted her and swept her away.

***

In the great hall of Argent Castle, Ian paced, agitated over Cearnach’s stubborn refusal to leave well enough alone instead of listening to his advice. He’d thought of sending someone to watch his brother’s back, but he hadn’t wanted to make Cearnach think that Ian had no faith in him. And he knew that if Cearnach had been able to stay at Calla’s wedding and reception without being asked to leave, he might not be home for hours. But Ian didn’t believe that his brother would hang around that long. And he had a nagging feeling that something had gone wrong.

His ghostly cousin, Flynn, was hovering nearby as Ian tried to get his concern under control. Flynn was wearing the ancient MacNeill plaid pinned over his shoulder, his hair wild and unkempt. Cearnach had always stuck up for Flynn, despite his cousin’s rakish ways, which had gotten him banned from the clan and ultimately murdered by the angry husband of a lass Flynn had dallied with.

Ian ran his hands through his hair and scowled at Flynn’s accusatory glare. “He knows what he’s doing. He’ll be all right.”

Ian wasn’t as sure as he tried to sound. Hearing footfalls stalking in the direction of his solar, Ian knew his youngest brother, Duncan, was coming to talk to him about Cearnach.

As soon as Duncan knocked on the door frame and Ian said, “Enter,” his brother stalked in, wearing all black and looking ready to do battle. Ian could smell the wind and pine and rain surrounding him. He knew his brother had been up on the ramparts waiting for Cearnach’s return. “He’s been gone too long,” Duncan said.

Ian didn’t have to guess who Duncan was referring to. Duncan bowed his head slightly to Flynn in acknowledgment, then shifted his stormy gaze to Ian. “Do you want me to gather some men?”

“Even if he just stayed for the wedding, he still wouldn’t have had time to drive all that way home yet,” Ian cautioned.

“Did he call you when he arrived?”

That’s what had been bothering Ian. His brother hadn’t let him know he’d arrived, although he should have reached the church hours ago. He was good about keeping in touch. All his kin were. So why hadn’t Cearnach called? Trouble was all that came to mind. His brother was in trouble.

“Send six men to the church and scout around.”

Duncan arched an eyebrow. The order was clear. Ian didn’t want Duncan to lead them.

Ian folded his arms. He’d already tried to convince Cearnach not to go to the wedding. He wasn’t about to explain himself to each of his other brothers concerning this matter. Then he shook his head. Hell. When had he become such a softy? When a little red she-wolf had turned his world upside down, that’s when.

“I need you here. If the men report that nothing is the matter, then we have no cause for concern. If there’s trouble, I’ll need you to take care of the matter.”

Armed with his sword sheathed at his back and a dirk in his boot, Duncan didn’t respond, his expression one of battle readiness. Ian didn’t want Duncan killing someone before he knew all the facts. That was one of the reasons Ian led the pack, not Duncan. That plus the fact that Ian was the eldest and Duncan the youngest by several minutes.

“Duncan?”

“Aye, Ian, but if anything’s happened to Cearnach…” He let his words trail away.

Flynn withdrew his ghostly sword and sliced through the air as if he would take on the men who dared harm Cearnach himself.

“Aye, Duncan. We will deal with it,” Ian said.

“In the harshest manner possible,” Duncan said, as if seeking clarification.

Duncan had to know that if any harm came to their brother, Ian would stop at nothing to pursue those responsible. “Aye.”

Bowing his head in deference to his brother’s leadership and position, Duncan turned around to give the word.

“Duncan, let your mate’s Uncle Ethan go with them.”

Duncan stopped in the doorway and offered a small smile over his shoulder.

The American had been giving Ian trouble ever since he’d arrived with Shelley’s family, but only because the Scots-born, transplanted Texan was a born leader of men. “He won’t be in charge.”

“Aye, one of our cousins will be.”

“Better make it Oran, then. He’s about the only one who can butt heads with Ethan and still remain on top.” Besides Ian and his brothers, that was, and Oran could barely keep the lead over Ethan.

Oran had a ready sword hand and a temper to match his red hair. Muscular and ready for a fight, he would face any foe. He had a steady head also, and he was perfect for the job.