“Aye. No waterfalls near here. No pile of rocks.”

Two vanloads of warriors joined them as Elaine knocked on the door of the manor, the renters already informed of their visit. Wide-eyed, a matronly woman stared at all the men standing around.

“My husband’s kinsmen,” Elaine said, “wanting to see the property also. They’ll just look at the grounds. My husband will accompany me on a brief tour of the manor. The others will remain outside.”

“Of course, Mrs. MacNeill. Come in. I’m Tricia Haverstein.”

Calling Cearnach her husband when he wasn’t—and when her kind normally didn’t wed, nor had she ever planned such a thing—felt odd.

Inside, she toured the seven bedrooms, all with fireplaces and small glazed glass windows. Antiques filled each room, and all the walls were papered in floral designs. The older woman related details about the place as they moved through it. About all the people who had made changes to the building over the years. How at one time the manor was a monastery. She pointed to the window seats. “Prayer seats for the monks.”

Three spiral staircases led from one floor to another in the same manner as the stairs at Argent Castle, for protection in case of invasion. The kitchen looked old with its stone walls and fireplace, but was modernized with new appliances. A wine cellar where Elaine thought a treasure might have been hidden proved to hold nothing but racks of wine.

The woman motioned to one of the racks. “At one time a ship sank and casks of wine were brought here to be enjoyed by the vicar and the parson. It was called the ‘right of wreckage’ in the Middle Ages.”

“Finders, keepers,” Elaine mused.

“Aye.”

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Haverstein.”

They left the manor, and when Elaine climbed into the car with Cearnach, she said, “The other manor is only three hours from this one.”

Cearnach studied her for a moment, then nodded. He called Ian and okayed the trip to the next medieval manor.

They stopped for a meal at a quaint little eatery and then they were off again.

The next manor was similar to the first, with ancient, beautiful oak doors and floors, stone walls, and antique-filled rooms.

Like the other, the place was not near any water. “This couldn’t be where they hid the treasure,” she said. “No loch. No waterfalls.” She couldn’t help the disappointment in her voice.

“Aye, but remember the properties are worth far more than the merchandise your uncles stole. And they are yours.”

“Ours,” she reminded him.

“They are that.” He called Ian to let him know of their progress. “I’ll tell her. See you later.” He set the new phone down on the console. “They haven’t brought your car to the castle yet, Ian said.”

“Do you think they will?” Elaine asked.

“I don’t know, lass. Because you wouldn’t do as they asked, maybe not. It’s time to go home.”

She worried now what other measures Ian might take to get her property back and restitution paid for Cearnach’s vehicle. She hoped it didn’t mean a battle between wolf packs.

***

Duncan and Guthrie and the other men scouted the area surrounding the keep that Elaine owned. No one was at home, but they noted the smell of a gray wolf and suspected he might be Elaine’s kin and trouble. If they’d been human, they would have had to abide by human laws, such as those against illegal search and breaking and entering. But shape-shifting wolves had their own set of rules to live by. It was the only way their kind could live among humans without detection and survive as long as they had. Using a key, Duncan, Guthrie, and Oran entered first.

Even though his attention should have been on searching for hidden places within the keep, Duncan kept wanting to look through the drawers of the desk, learn the contents of the computer sitting atop it, and rifle through every cabinet, nook, and cranny in every room of the keep.

“He’s not any of the McKinleys or Kilpatricks we know,” Guthrie said, watching Duncan as he stared at another confounded bureau drawer.

Then he jerked it open and began searching through it. “He’s been here forever. Long enough to have known her uncles.”

Guthrie turned to the other men with them. “Search everything. All the drawers, cabinets, everything for any clue as to who he is. Or any connections he might have with the Kilpatricks, McKinleys, or Elaine.”

Either the guy was a neat freak or he had a maid who was one. Socks were rolled up in one drawer. Briefs in another. Sweaters were neatly folded in another.

Duncan made a mess of them, not bothering to neaten up after himself. Guthrie smiled at him, knowing that with the way a wolf could smell scents, the renter would realize another wolf had handled his property. No sense in trying to hide the fact.

They returned to the office, and while Guthrie worked on breaking through the wolf’s security code on his computer, Duncan searched through all the drawers in the room, then began to pull books off a shelf and flip through each and every one of them.

Duncan found nothing, which was more than odd. He turned to watch Guthrie.

No matter how good his skills were at hacking, Guthrie was unable to get into the man’s computer. He glanced at Duncan, then at the mass of books thrown on the floor in a heap. Guthrie knew Duncan wouldn’t intentionally make a mess of someone else’s place unless he had good reason. To make a statement. To make the wolf beware. Elaine now had family, a new family, to protect her. Duncan couldn’t help feeling antagonistic about the wolf who lived here.

“What do you suspect, Duncan?” Guthrie asked, standing.

Oran and his brothers came to the doorway of the office, shaking their heads as Duncan considered them. “We didn’t find any clues,” Oran said.

“There’s nothing personal here anywhere. How can anyone live so long in a place and have nothing that would clue others in about his habits, interests, lifestyle?” Duncan said. “I have a feeling he’s connected somehow to Elaine, her family, something. And it’s not in a good way.” That’s all Duncan had to say. A wolf’s instincts were often right.

“Okay.” Guthrie sat back down at Mr. Hazelton’s computer. “Let’s see what we can learn about old Samuel here.”

***

Much later that evening, Cearnach and Elaine returned to Argent Castle, where she almost felt at home. Calling a massive castle in a different country “home” seemed strange. Actually, being at the castle wasn’t what made her feel that way, but being with Cearnach. He was home for her.

Most everyone had retired for the night, although Ian told Cearnach that his brothers and cousins were still at the keep, trying to break into the renter’s computer. No sign of the man as yet. And no indication that he was related to Elaine or that any treasure was hidden within.

“I’m worried about them,” Elaine said to Cearnach.

“They’ll be fine.”

Dismissing her concern, he told her they were warriors, used to business like this. She still couldn’t help herself. She hadn’t thought they’d do anything more than she and Cearnach had done. Search the place. Not try to break into his computer. But Cearnach had warned her they would be thorough.

She could see that Cearnach had only one thing in mind as he hurried her up to their bedchamber. As soon as he shut the door, she yanked aside the curtain on her side of the bed. He turned to see her sitting on the mattress, yawning. She attempted to fight the tiredness that racked her body, but she couldn’t shake it off. After the ghostly problems last night and the jet lag from the day before, then washing all those huge pups earlier today and running all over Scotland searching for treasure, she was exhausted.

Cearnach stalked toward her, his gaze predatory, not in the least bit tired. He crouched before her and pulled off one of her boots, then the other. “It’s late and way past time for bed.”

She smiled at him and cupped his face, then lifted it to look up at her. “If anyone had told me I’d be sleeping with a Highland wolf in a castle in Scotland…”

“Mated to a wolf,” he corrected her. “There’s a vast difference. Last night, you slept with a wolf. Tonight, you’re with your mate.”

Mated to a wolf. She liked the way he said it. The connection that now stood between them for the rest of their days.

His warm fingers stroked up her belly underneath the sweater, higher until he ran his hands over her breasts and squeezed them. Already his erection was heavy against her thigh, his breathing rough, hers getting rougher. She’d never known being with a wolf could be this good.

He pushed the sweater up, exposing her breasts. Cool air from the room mixed with his heated breath to make her nipples stand at attention. Her breasts felt heavier, achy, needy. Just like the area between her legs was feeling needy. Then he licked her nipples, tasting, swirling his tongue around one and then the other.

He raised his mouth to hers, his soft sweater brushing her bare breasts as he rocked his erection against her leg, simulating being inside her. Her mouth caressed his, her tongue sweeping out to lick his, her teeth gently nipping his lips in a wolfish way.

He groaned with need, his fingers combing through her hair as she tugged at his sweater to pull it up. To feel his heated skin rubbing against hers. The pleasure of his mouth on hers, his tongue teasing her own, his body sliding against hers, all made her want to be naked, to have him deep inside her… now.

“I want you,” she whispered against his mouth. Her hands glided down his bare back and managed to slip into his jeans. He wasn’t wearing any boxers. Good. She cupped his ass. “Now.” Her hushed voice came out a low growl.

He smiled, then whispered in Gaelic, making an ancient connection with her—not just a wolfish one, but a Highland one as well.

She loved hearing the words that said he loved her, and she repeated them to him even though hers had an American accent. He seemed to love the way she said the words, no matter what her accent was. Then he stripped off her sweater and then his, tossing them to the floor.