“What did he want to see me about?” she asked Duncan, hoping to prepare herself for any eventuality. All kinds of different scenarios were going through her mind—he’d learned who she was as a writer; he’d learned she was related to the people who had once occupied his keep—none of which he could have known. Or Ian had assumed she was the wolf running through his woods, and he was ticked off about it.

Duncan grunted. That was his only response. No flowery speech, not that she expected it of him, and no hint of what this was about. And he didn’t seem happy.

A couple more men stood on another wall walk watching them, but when she shifted her attention to the one where their fearless leader had been, she found him still observing her. More than observing her. He seemed fascinated, if she might be bold enough to think that of him. She figured the reason was more because when she looked up at him, it caught his attention.

But in her developing story, he was intrigued with the bonny lass who wasn’t from this part of Scotland. Now he wasn’t as interested in running her off as he had been before he’d laid eyes on her. Despite his initial objection to his da’s bride choice, he was beginning to think the arrangement might have promise.

If she could just write the scene down before she forgot it. But where was Duncan taking her if Ian was on the wall walk behind her? She didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“You have a nice place here,” she said, hoping to lure Duncan into any topic of conversation.

He remained silent.

“Ian’s—” She meant to say Ian was on the wall walk behind them and ask then where Duncan was taking her, but the dark look Duncan gave her made her assume she’d breached some protocol. He was probably thinking she was a clueless American, which she wasn’t.

But she’d been so wrapped up in fantasizing how Ian could be her hero in the story that she was practically betrothed to him already. In the story, that was. So not calling him “laird” was an oversight she hadn’t meant as disrespect in the least.

“The laird,” she rephrased, hoping to rectify her awful mistake, “is on the wall walk behind us. So where is he meeting with me?” She envisioned being taken to the dungeon. Dark, dank, smelly. Sometimes all that had existed were deep pits, and the only access was a ladder, pulled up after the prisoner was put in the hole. No windows. No fresh air. She shuddered.

Duncan glanced back at the wall walk as if he was surprised to hear that Ian was still on the curtain wall behind them. When she looked back, she found that Ian… the laird, rather, was gone.

Secret passages came to mind. Secret passages she wanted to find. Intrigue, adventure, trouble. Like she assumed she was in. Why else would the laird want to speak personally with her?

But as soon as she stepped into the keep, she barely took notice of anything except one very important thing—the scent of the entryway. The scent was unmistakable.

She’d entered a gray werewolves’ den.

Chapter 7

To learn if the redhead was the red wolf who had trespassed in his woods, Ian had told Duncan to bring her to his solar. His people would be talking about this for eons, though—allowing a bonny lass into his solar, an outsider, someone with this film production. He had to learn whether she was the wolf or not and, in any event, to ensure she understood his rules. No trespassing in or around the castle and his lands. And no shape-shifting, either.

But in truth, the woman was already garnering his men’s attention, and he wouldn’t have it. They were welcome to trysts with human females anywhere in the world they wanted, but not here and certainly not with any of the members of the film crew. It would be too easy for a woman such as Julia, with her looks and her wiles, to wiggle her way into the castle by soliciting a secret tryst with one of his men.

Cearnach entered his solar, but Ian waved him away. “Not now. I’ve other business to attend to at the moment.”

“Would it have to do with the bonny redhead Duncan is escorting to the keep this very minute?”

“It does, and I don’t need an audience.”

Cearnach raised a brow. “Are you certain? She looks to be a handful.”

“Cearnach.”

Cearnach folded his arms, leaned against the door frame, smiled, and watched down the hallway. “Flynn’s floating around. He catches sight of her, and no telling what’s going to happen. I can just imagine one bonny lass screaming her head off and running out of here like the devil is after her.”

“Maybe that would be the solution.”

Cearnach frowned. “What’s the trouble with the lass?”

How could Ian explain what his gut instinct told him to be the truth? That he hadn’t met a woman like her ever, one who turned his head and kept him riveted? One who intrigued him with a sultry smile and a challenge in her green eyes. That although she might even be from the enemy’s camp, he wanted her.

But something more bothered him about her. He couldn’t pinpoint just what. Maybe the secrets she wished to discuss with her friend, who didn’t want her talking about them on the walk up to the castle. The smell of gunpowder near the road where their vehicle had catapulted off it. The way her friend seemed scared of him in the pub, but although Julia’s eyes had widened and darkened at the sight of him, she still defied him with a confident glower. And the name of Jones. It wasn’t hers. He knew it from the way Maria had looked at Julia with such a shocked expression before she’d quickly hidden her reaction.

Something made him want to get closer, to inspect Julia inside and out.

When Ian didn’t answer Cearnach, he turned his attention from the hallway and looked at his older brother, one dark brow cocked. “Duncan said you were intrigued with one of the women you hunted in the woods. Now it seems what he said was true. I thought he was exaggerating a wee bit.”

“Cearnach.” Ian let his breath out, not about to bow to him over the issue of the woman.

A slow grin formed on Cearnach’s face as he pulled away from the door frame and peered down the hallway. “From what I could see of the lass in the inner bailey, she’s well worth a second look.”

“She’s not for the taking.” Ian leaned back against his leather chair.

“If she’s human…” Cearnach shrugged.

“You’re not hearing what I have to say.”

“I’m hearing you, Ian.” But Cearnach’s gaze remained focused on the hallway, and Ian didn’t think his brother was taking him seriously.

But if he told his brother he was serious about this, it would indicate he’d already lost the battle.

Footfalls approached, a man’s and a woman’s.

Even though Ian had already dismissed his brother, Cearnach didn’t make any move to leave until after he greeted the woman. So much for Ian being pack leader and laird over his clan. But he didn’t want to make a bigger issue of it, not in front of the lassie.

Cearnach’s face brightened, and he looked so damned wolfish that he was sure to send the woman running back down the hall. Forget Flynn and his ghostly appearances.

“Lass,” Cearnach said, bowing low in greeting as if she were a queen. “I’m Cearnach MacNeill, the laird’s next eldest brother. And if you ever need my assistance, be sure to ask. Anything, anything at all.” He smiled again, the look dazzling, and Ian wanted to rid him of the grin.

Ian remained seated at his desk, waiting for Julia—if that was even her name—to enter the room, if Cearnach would but leave. Ian couldn’t even see her since she couldn’t approach the doorway yet—not with Cearnach blocking it. When his brother continued to be an obstacle, Ian cleared his throat, but about that time the woman said, “Pleased to meet you…” She paused. “Mister MacNeill.”

“Too many MacNeills around here. Call me Cearnach.”

“Thanks, Cearnach. I’m Julia.”

Ian realized he was hanging on her words, listening to her soft cadence and waiting for her surname to see if she said it was Jones again.

When she didn’t say anything further, Cearnach’s brows moved up almost imperceptibly, and Ian knew he was waiting for the same thing. Either the woman didn’t know any better and wasn’t all that familiar with proper greetings, or she did, and she didn’t want to give the false name again.

“Cearnach,” Ian said, trying to hide the exasperation in his voice, but the amused look his brother gave him proved he hadn’t succeeded.

Cearnach gave Ian a grand bow, which he never did to such a ridiculous extent, and said to the woman, “Laird MacNeill will see you now.” Then with an eloquent sweep of his hand, Cearnach ushered her in.

Ian had never seen such a performance.

“Close the door on your way out, Cearnach,” Ian said a little too harshly, as Duncan stood in the entryway, looking as though he also wanted to hear the proceedings. “Now.”

Duncan gave Ian a warning look and then shut the door on his and Cearnach’s departure.

Beyond the door, his brothers commented to each other in Gaelic, figuring she didn’t understand them, and Ian hoped the hell she didn’t.

“She’s one of us,” Cearnach said, his tone intrigued as he and Duncan headed down the hall. “You left out that wee detail, brother. No wonder Ian’s fascinated with her.”

“He wants her to mate,” Duncan responded in their Highland tongue.

Even though that wasn’t so, knowing what she was changed everything. Ian hadn’t thought it would. She was still an American with the film crew. She was still up to something devious; he would stake his castle on that. Yet, just as Cearnach had said, she was one of them. And universally, that meant something, being a werewolf in a world where they were vastly outnumbered.

“Take a seat, if you would,” Ian said to Julia, motioning to one of the leather chairs seated in front of his desk. She stood just inside the closed door as if she was ready to make her escape.

She didn’t look around at the room, no note taking now, although she still clutched her notebook and pen in her hands. She was focused on him, not moving, not speaking, looking a little pale.