Without commenting, he stalked off to the trailer, intending to change the lass’s mind. Now with Basil Sutherland and his men involved, Ian didn’t want any of them getting close to her. He yanked open a door and walked inside. Two women were pulling long dresses on, while Julia was standing in a pale blue thong and a matching bra, her back to him.

“Here,” a woman said, handing a predominantly red-and-green plaid tartan with a stripe of yellow to Julia. “Put this on.”

Hell, anyone could walk into the trailer and see her half naked like that. He stared at the colors of the plaid. Cameron. She wasn’t wearing that plaid, either. Not that he had anything against the Cameron clan, just that it was not his tartan.

The woman brushed past Julia and said, “Sir, you don’t belong in here. You need to leave this instant.”

Julia turned, the skirt pulled against her chest as she saw Ian. Her eyes widened, but then her lips curved up a little. Seductive minx.

His gaze switched to the scrawny blond guy who was putting up one of the women’s hair. So why was this man in the same room with the half-dressed women? At least with one half-dressed woman. His half-dressed woman.

“Out,” Ian growled. He pointed to the man. No human male was going to see his mate in such a state of undress.

The man gave Ian the once-over, smiled appreciatively, and said, “Nice bod.” Then he hurried outside with an exaggerated swing to his hips.

“The rest of you, out,” Ian commanded.

The woman who had initially told Ian to leave said, “Who do you think you are, ordering everyone about?”

But the two women wearing the long skirts grabbed their shoes, smiled at Ian, and hurried outside.

“He’s Laird Ian MacNeill who owns the castle and the lands we’re using for the picture,” Julia said, frowning at him. “I’m sure he just wants to wish me well in private.”

“Well, make it quick,” the woman snapped. “We have to get ready to film this scene soon. And the director won’t be pleased with the delay.” She stomped outside and slammed the door.

Ian closed the distance between them and pulled the plaid from her arms and tossed it on a table. “I don’t want you—”

Julia wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth, silencing his objection. “Ian, I have no money after losing my ID and purse and all in the car fire. And I want to do this.”

“To write your cowboy book?” he asked, his fingers caressing her naked arse.

She smiled. “I’ve changed my mind.” She slipped her hands down to his arse and squeezed. “You haven’t once worn your kilt. And if you’re in the movie, I could get to see you up close and personal.”

“I’ll be fighting a couple of battles to ensure the Sutherlands don’t hurt my men. No women are allowed in the scene. At best,” he said, wrapping his arms around her back and holding her tight against his body, “you’d only see me from a distance anyway.”

She smiled. “If you’re taking the job, one of the maids gets to kiss you before you go into battle in one of the scenes, the man who hired me said, and again after you finish with the scene. The director said that normally he’d reserve such a scene for the star of the film, but since you’re the laird, if you’re willing to take part, he thought it might help sales. Although if you don’t do a good job at it, the scene might be cut. And no way am I allowing any other woman to kiss you. Besides, we can make it look genuine.”

“Ah, Julia, we’re using real swords, and my staunchest enemy and his kin will be in the battle.”

She stiffened. “I know. Maria tried to stop them after Guthrie told her the situation, but the contract clearly states you don’t have a leg to stand on in this. As to another matter, please don’t tell Heather she can’t participate. She has her heart set on it. She says nothing ever happens here that’s fun and exciting any longer. That’s why she attended the university in Texas. She’ll remember this forever.”

“Like with you, I don’t want her to get into any confrontations with Basil or his men.”

“She only has a part screaming and running away from the battle. Nothing else. Your brothers can make sure none of Basil’s men get near her. Then she’s in the castle and safe.”

“And who’s going to protect you?”

“You, of course.”

Outside the trailer, he heard Guthrie speaking. “Hell, who’s going to tell Ian about the training?”

Duncan responded, “Cearnach, you’re the next eldest brother. It’s your job.”

Ian frowned and handed Julia her clothes. “Get dressed. We’ll find you something else to wear.”

Once Julia was wearing her jeans and a sweater, Ian opened the door and stepped outside to see his three brothers waiting for him, arms folded, brows raised.

“We have swordsmanship training scheduled for this afternoon,” Cearnach said. “Shall you lead us in practice?” He smiled.

Chapter 20

Later that afternoon, the outer bailey was quiet as a fight instructor prepared to teach the background performers some techniques of sword fighting. Arms crossed over his chest, Ian stood with his brothers and the rest of the males in his pack who planned to participate, while standing tall and proud, his hair nearly black, his countenance just as dark, Basil Sutherland stood across the way with his men. Everyone looked somewhat amused as they watched the instructor prepare to speak.

Although Ian hadn’t wanted Julia to be here when Basil was also here, she was watching from the wall walk, notepad in hand and pen poised, scribbling notes. Basil glanced up to see what had caught Ian’s interest, observed Julia for longer than necessary, and then he cast Ian a wry smile.

Damn the man.

The fight director showed them the stance to take and the thrusts they could make, and then had another man on the staff demonstrate with him. Slash, thrust, block, parry. Clang, clang, clang.

“No one will be an expert, of course. But you only need to know how to choreograph the fight scenes. No sword flourishes. They are a waste of energy and can get you killed in combat.” After showing several moves and ways to counter attacks, how to take a punch and fall properly, and how to roll and kick when the sword wasn’t enough, the instructor finally asked, “Who wishes to demonstrate with me next?”

Everyone, even Basil and his men, looked at Ian.

The instructor smiled, bowed his head a little, and invited Ian over with, “My laird?”

The director was watching him, judging him, Ian was sure, to see if he could play the part well enough.

Ian walked over, drew his sword from behind his back, and took a battle stance. The fight director looked at the sword. “It’s real.” He glanced at the weapons master. “Get him another sword.”

Ian shook his head. “I’ll fight with my own, if it’s all the same to you. As good as you are, you won’t have to worry.”

A few snickers erupted from his men.

The weapons master approached with a sword in hand, ignoring Ian’s comment, as the fight director tilted his head slightly to Ian. “You’re right.” He motioned to the weapons master that the sword prop would not be necessary. “Let us begin. You first.” There was a significant pause, and then he added, “My laird.”

Ian only wanted to show that he and his men did not need to learn any swordsmanship techniques and to eliminate any more training sessions they’d otherwise have to suffer. They trained all the time on their own and needed no supervision from a fight instructor who had never fought a real battle. Not like his own men and Basil’s had done.

Everyone was quiet as Ian bowed his head a little to the fight director and then moved forward with such ferocity that the instructor was taken aback. His eyes widening, he whipped his sword around to block Ian’s and fell back several steps as Ian continued to advance on him.

Did he think Ian soft because he was a laird? Or did he think Ian had too big a head because he was the laird, that his own people would kowtow to him, that he truly didn’t know how to fight, and the instructor would show him what a real fighter could do?

Ian’s mouth curved up a wee bit. He would not suffer the arrogance of the man, especially when the overconfident whelp thought Ian was the one being arrogant.

He heard Cearnach say quietly to his brothers, “He has the right of it, eh, brothers? The fight director can take some lessons from Ian. Let him learn from a master.”

Not that Ian was always on top of a situation. With Basil and some of his men, he truly had a fight on his hands. But with the fight instructor, aye, he was good, but he hadn’t the centuries of experience in real fighting. And from the looks of it, he’d never come up against a man who knew what he was doing when wielding a sword.

It didn’t take long for the instructor to hold up a hand in truce. His heart was pounding and his breathing was hard. The man was sorely rattled. “I see you know what you’re doing with a sword.” To the rest of the men gathered, he said, “Let’s pair up, and we’ll practice.”

Ian’s brothers slapped him on the back and then paired up with their own people as Basil’s men did likewise.

The director approached Ian as he stood aside, watching Basil’s men and not trusting them.

“Good showmanship,” Harold said. “I’ve never seen Barker caught off guard like that. The man was really sweating.” He watched the rest of the men and shook his head. “Hell, looks to me like Barker can go on home now. We’ve already got a cast of warriors. Good show.”

“No more practice then?” Ian asked, his gaze alighting on Julia as she feverishly took notes. With the wind tousling her fiery hair about her shoulders and the sun attempting to brush away the clouds, its golden rays streaming down upon the stone walls and Julia, she looked like a winsome fae creature standing on his wall walk—who needed a good tumble, and he was ready to return her to his chamber at once.