Footfalls approached, and they turned to see Duncan headed their way, his expression grim. “They are here. At least the advance party. Do you want me to take care of them? You said you didn’t want to be bothered.”

Duncan was right. Ian didn’t wish to speak with them. He’d already ironed out the details. Now, his men could enforce them.

Although… Ian considered the woman’s voice he’d heard, and he wanted to see if it was Julia’s. But the way the two women had spoken to one another about some problem at the airport made him sense that something else was wrong, something that was best kept secret, and he wanted to know what that was all about. And he damn well wanted to know Julia’s real name. He had half a notion to ask the director in front of her, if she was with the staff right now. Put her on the spot. See what she had to say this time.

Was everyone on the film crew a lupus garou? He should have thought to ask. In a way, it would make the clan’s lives easier.

“See to them, Duncan. No accommodations on the premises. I don’t wish to see them any more than I have to. And, Cearnach, make no concessions to any of them.” He paused to let that sink in, and then he wondered what his financial genius of a brother was doing. “Where’s Guthrie?”

“In his office, making calls as usual,” Cearnach said. “I really would watch what he’s up to now. These are desperate times. No telling what foolhardy scheme he might invest in next.” Cearnach winked, appearing more amused than worried, and strolled off toward the tower stairs.

That made Ian wonder if Cearnach knew of some new folly Guthrie was endorsing. “Make sure,” Ian said to Duncan, but loud enough for Cearnach to hear, “Cearnach does not speak to the Yanks in any kind of authoritative capacity.”

Cearnach chuckled, not in the least bit bothered by Ian’s concern or that he had said Duncan was to be responsible for Cearnach’s behavior, despite Duncan being the youngest of the quads. Cearnach knew Ian trusted Cearnach completely.

Duncan gave Ian a dark smile. “Aye, these men look suntanned and pampered. All I had to do was give them a hard look as I passed the gatehouse to make my way up here, and they were quivering in their sneakers.”

Ian tried not to show his amusement at the image that conjured up. “As much as I hate saying it, we need them. So just keep peace. Don’t give any more concessions than I’ve already agreed to, and don’t scare them off.”

“If Flynn comes calling on them, it’s not any of my doing. You know how he hates it when outlanders show up here.”

“They probably wouldn’t recognize a ghost if they saw one. Go, take care of them. I’ll be in Guthrie’s office.” And making sure Guthrie didn’t sign them up for any other ventures Ian didn’t completely approve of beforehand.

Duncan bowed his head, whipped around, and stalked off, looking ready to do battle. Ian was blessed with brothers who, for the most part, could be trusted. However, if these had been the good old days, Ian would have a sword in hand and led Duncan in the charge.

As Ian approached the gatehouse from the wall walk, he glanced down and scanned the party of six, four men and two women. And stopped in his tracks. The brunette was the one with the sexy Spanish voice, Maria. She was standing quietly by the man who appeared to be in charge, his arms folded and foot tapping on the cobblestone entryway, looking damned annoyed.

The other woman was Julia, the redhead, wearing a green outfit now that blended into the woods like a hunter would. But he noted the oddest thing. A leaf and a couple of pine needles clung to the back of her sweater. The only explanation he could come up with was that she’d removed her clothes, left them in the pine needles, and shape-shifted. Or was he wanting that to be the case? Wanting her to be the little red wolf who’d watched him from the woods, half challenging him, half afraid he’d seen her?

Despite telling himself he shouldn’t care, beyond not wanting anyone who was not one of their kind to learn what she was, he had to know the truth.

She was taking copious notes. No one was speaking, so what was she writing down?

He noted the way the redhead looked at two of his cousins, Oran and Ethan, and the return interest they showed her. Hell, he’d told his clan that everything between his people and the Americans would be strictly business. The business they looked to be interested in wasn’t what he had in mind.

And he wondered if the fact the women were lupus garous had anything to do with it. Which meant he had to have another word with his men as soon as possible.

And a word with Julia also, to learn exactly what she was up to.

Chapter 6

Mist not only coated the forest and area surrounding the MacNeill castle grounds in a supernatural, haunting, and breathtaking way, but also the keep itself and the outer bailey. Julia scribbled notes in her journal as she stood slightly behind Maria. She knew she’d have to come clean with Maria after they returned to the cottage concerning getting caught in her wolf form. But if she didn’t shape-shift again while she was in Scotland, no harm done. No one would ever learn that she was the one who had shape-shifted as long as she didn’t do it again and get caught.

No one had even raced out of the castle to hunt down the wolf. So maybe they didn’t care. Or maybe the film business took all their attention right now.

At the moment, the director was tapping his foot on the ground, scowling and waiting for someone of importance to speak to him, when he was rarely kept waiting for anything. Two braw Highlanders watched them, arms folded and eyes narrowed, guarding the outer bailey, although as soon as they saw Maria and Julia, their mouths twitched up a bit. Rogues. She was certain their laird would not like it that they were flirting with the women on the film crew. The men were probably interested in them even more because she and Maria were also lupus garous.

Julia quickly jotted down some more notes—this time about the men of the castle and not just about the sandstone towers or the wicked-looking iron gates designed to keep the enemy out. For the first of the men, she wrote: Redheaded male; muscular arms bulging beneath a lightweight shirt despite the chill in the air; eyes cool gray, warming a little when he spies a woman; mouth mannish, roguish, and kissable. Maybe of Norse descent. Could be a descendant of the first red werewolves. At least for her story.

Yes, that’s how she’d write the man in her historical romance.

She glanced at the other man and noted that he was now having a word in private with the redhead, whose eyes remained fixed on her. He was smiling a little more. He nodded at the other man’s comment.

She ignored the blush heating her whole body and tried to concentrate on the business of describing the second man for her novel. It definitely was a lot easier to observe subjects for her stories more covertly when the objects of her note taking were unaware of what she was doing.

She wrote for the second character: Pale yellow eyes, just as roguish; a hint of a beard; dark brown hair; tall like the redhead, just as muscled; interested, looked to be more Scottish in origin.

In the cool dampness, Julia shivered and heard male voices up on the allure, the wall walk on top of the curtain wall. She moved away from Maria and the others to get a better view of the wall walk and made out three brawny Highlanders conversing there.

Dark-haired Duncan was scowling and looked ready to start a war. He was dressed in black, paramilitary style, as if he was an FBI agent but without the white lettering across the shirt to identify what he was. All he needed was a sword. No need even for a shield because she assumed he’d never fall back to a defensive mode as he battled his way through a fight, staying on the offensive the whole time.

In the fading light, the other was smiling and looked of good humor. His hair was fairer, a tinge of red streaking it, and an emerald-green muscle shirt showing off the right kind of muscles—not bulky but hard enough that he looked as though he got a lot of exercise. Maybe wielding a sword, although more in fun rather than in combat. He appeared relaxed, like he was listening to a bard’s tale.

And the last, the one who garnered her attention the most, was Ian, the laird. He was all business and in charge, as far as she could tell from the way the others came to him to speak. He motioned for the one, then the other, to go about their business as if he was issuing orders. With a rugged face and a stern look, he was the one who caught her imagination.

The two men disappeared, while her hero remained on top of the curtain wall for a moment more and then stalked off in the opposite direction. Two more men approached him, both bowing their heads in greeting.

She sighed, pen in hand, clutching her notebook to her chest and trying to appear as though she was with those who were meeting with the MacNeills to iron out arrangements for the filming to begin.

Duncan exited the tower stairs and stalked toward them with two other muscular men flanking him as if they were medieval types ready to do battle, except that the other men were wearing black trousers and light sweaters rather than kilts and tunics. Fascinated, she watched Duncan address the director and production manager and set down the terms forcefully, while the manager nodded agreeably, if not a little shakily. The director remained stoic, as if he were a clan chief from another location and wouldn’t bend to any man’s rule.

“No one is allowed inside the castle before production begins. Except for the great hall, the tower prison or the dungeon, the outer bailey, the inner bailey, the stables, and the wall walk, most of the castle is off-limits to the film crew,” Duncan said.

Dark and Dangerous made it clear that the private quarters wouldn’t be accessible. And that’s where Julia needed to be. Every deviation from the plans had to be preapproved by Ian MacNeill himself. From what Duncan MacNeill said, there would be no deviation. She figured that meant her—also.

After laying down the law, Duncan cast a glance at the party of men and then at Maria and Julia, as if punctuating his rules to each and every one of them, and measuring them to see if any would cause the clan any difficulty. His gaze briefly stopped on Maria. He frowned. Straightening her petite stature, Maria stared right back at him, not one to be intimidated. But Julia wondered why he was considering her for longer than was necessary—maybe he was interested in her after all?