Her lips curved up a hint. He sounded like a Highland barbarian who was totally in charge. Not a laird, though. She would expect a laird to give the task to one of his clansmen. But then, they were quite alone. Would he have handed her over to one of his men if one had been available?
Exasperated with herself all over again for having to do this to him, she let out her breath. “All right. Which will be easiest for you?”
“Easiest?” His light growl sounded like she’d just stomped his manhood into the ground.
She backpedaled. Alpha male. “Which would be most comfortable for you?”
“Climb onto my back, lass.”
She harrumphed. “If you throw out your back, I warned you.”
He chuckled and hoisted her onto his back, grabbed her legs as she hung her arms loosely about his shoulders, and started walking. She really hated to do this to him, but with her legs wrapped around him, her head against his shoulder, his hands grasping the underside of her thighs, she was feeling sexy and interested all over again.
But it wouldn’t be the same once they returned to the castle and Ian was back to being in charge and serious when it came to dealing with her. She was still with the film crew, as far as he knew, except instead of searching for the family treasure in secret, now all she had left to do was write her story.
She just hoped her grandfather wouldn’t be too upset with her when she called to tell him that the mission he had sent her on was a washout. But the worry kept nagging at her that the matter was too serious not to make the effort.
***
No matter how late Ian and Julia arrived at Argent, he knew his brothers would be waiting up to see what had become of him. And of Julia. He could have driven her back to her cottage and saved her the embarrassment. But he’d promised her dinner, and in any event, he didn’t want her to return to Baird Cottage.
Because Julia appeared to be Scottish, he imagined she had roots here. That made him wonder about her ancestors and the freedom her family must have enjoyed by leaving Scotland, traipsing through the wilderness, and settling the new lands on the North American continent. No call for titled nobility. No need to make appearances with strictly human types like they had to do in Scotland. Titles meant social obligations.
Although he and his lupus garou family had wanted to keep their land and titles so that they could continue to do what they needed for their pack, the social part of the deal had been hard to stomach at times. The social events were mostly attended by humans, and when he and his family went to such affairs, they always felt out of place and longed to return to the isolation of their woodland estate. Also, titled lords were expected to take wives of suitable breeding. But few Highland werewolf clans had existed, and fewer still that Ian and his family were not at odds with.
So he’d chosen a human, a viscount’s daughter, not of werewolf lineage, and although they didn’t suit, he’d hoped her social graces would help him to overcome his abhorrence of attending social functions while keeping his werewolf genes secret. But her constant sniping at his ineptness in the social graces had turned him cold even in the bedchamber. He shook his head at his negative thoughts and turned his attention to the woman clinging to his back, his current dilemma.
“I can walk now,” Julia said when they were still in the woods but nearing the castle. He knew she shouldn’t walk, but she was afraid of being seen while he carried her on his back.
The playful intimacy between them appealed, especially since he couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt this way with a woman.
The dogs explored a little distance from them but returned quickly as he’d taught them.
“Either I carry you in my arms or on my back, lass. Shoulders, if you prefer. But you’re not walking a step in any direction on your own. By tomorrow, your ankle should be healed. But tonight, you’ve transportation.”
He loved the feel of her legs wrapped around his body, opening herself to him, her breasts pressed against his back, the feel of her soft thighs in his hands, and her arms around his shoulders, hugging him, the jostling as he walked making her rub against him. Already, he was hard and wanting her all over again.
“I can hold your arm and…” She let her words trail off as she tried to look around him.
He strode into view of the castle, the dogs raising their heads and sniffing the air. Julia wiggled to be free, but he tightened his hold on her. “If I drop you, you may sprain something else, lass.”
“All right, all right. Let me down, and I’ll…” She didn’t say anything further as two of his cousins, Oran and Ethan, waved a greeting, both grinning at them at the main gate.
As soon as Ian carried her inside, the men closed the gates, and he knew what the topic of conversation would be for weeks.
“Ian… I… oh, come on, let me down,” she said, sounding exasperated with him.
“I gave you the terms of the agreement.” He continued to stalk toward the keep as the dogs ran alongside them.
When they reached the inner bailey, Julia tried again. “We’re almost there.”
He didn’t reply. He was used to giving orders, used to his people obeying them. One little red wolf was not going to change his mind, no matter how much she cajoled.When he reached the front door of the keep, she said, “All right, now you have to put me down so you can at least open—”
The door swung open, and Guthrie greeted Ian with a guarded smile. Ian knew Oran had to have called ahead to let his brothers know he was coming. “Your dinner is being warmed as we speak,” Guthrie said.
“Thank you, Guthrie.” Ian carried Julia into the keep.
“Ian,” she whispered.
“Aye, lass?”
“I will get you back for this.”
He chuckled and carried her through the great hall where Cearnach and Duncan were standing next to the fireplace, watching she and Ian and looking a wee bit surprised, their gazes shifting to her boot tied to his belt and then to her bootless foot.
He said in greeting, “Brothers.” Then he continued to the kitchen and deposited Julia on a chair. “Now, you were saying?”
Chapter 11
Julia was worried now that Ian would talk to his brother Guthrie and learn just who she was, as she assumed that was the secret communiqué passed between Ian and him. Nonetheless, she observed that the kitchen was a state-of-the-art affair as Ian set her in a high-backed chair at a long table. It looked to seat servants, unlike the ones they’d passed in a dining hall.
Several long, dark tables were situated in the dining hall, and each had at least twenty chairs that looked fit for a king, all high backed with seats and backs wearing a rich forest-green brocade. The walls were covered with paintings of local scenery featuring picturesque mountains, tranquil lochs, fields of purple heather and yellow gorse, and the ancient forest. And the floor wore beautifully woven Turkish rugs.
But in the kitchen, the long, light-oak table seated twelve, and she now sat at the head of the table. In here, everything was practical—racks where stainless-steel serving ladles and the like hung, and pots, too, in a rack over a large, freestanding counter. All the counters were granite. And unbelievably, three fridges, two dishwashers, and three ovens filled the kitchen. Plus a microwave.
Thankfully, Ian didn’t seem to be in a rush to learn who she was—as far as her being a werewolf romance author. She smelled something, she couldn’t tell what, heating in the microwave, as well as the faint aroma of pizza. One of the ovens had been used, and the heat from it had warmed the kitchen to a degree. Fluorescent fixtures flooded the room with light, and leaves fluttered in the breeze on a tree outside a large kitchen window overlooking the garden. She really did want to see the garden and take notes for her story.
Ian pulled a serving dish out of the microwave and considered it for a few minutes, frowning at whatever it was. Then he crossed the floor to the stainless-steel sink and set the serving dish in it. Afterward, he went to the freezer portion of one of the fridges and pulled out a packaged pizza. “My brothers tried too hard. Is pepperoni pizza all right with you?”
“Won’t they be disappointed we didn’t eat what they made?”
He leaned down under the sink, pulled out a trash bin, and then plucked out a couple of discarded pizza boxes and showed them to her. “That’s what they ate.” He shoved the trash back under the sink and then motioned to the serving dish. “I swear they try really hard to make something inedible so that when Cook is unavailable, I don’t make them prepare the meal.”
She chuckled. At that moment, she wished she had brothers like that. Who were funny and sweet, but who would be protective, too.
After unwrapping the pizza, he shoved it in the oven and then went to the freezer and pulled out a bag of ice.
“I didn’t think you drank anything with ice in it.”
“Only when we have American guests. But this,” he said, wrapping some of the cubes in a towel, “is for your ankle.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d have American guests here very often.”
He raised his brows at her slightly. “I haven’t met any that I would consider inviting over for tea.”
She assumed that being a lupus garou, he wouldn’t invite anyone over, beyond his kin, who wasn’t on his short list of friends. Unless he had to because he was a laird.
He scooted her chair around so that he could move another over and then elevated her foot on the seat. After wrapping her ankle with the makeshift ice compress, he glanced up. “Comfortable?”
“Yes, thanks.” As comfortable as she could be with the way the darned ankle was throbbing. But she wouldn’t have missed the falls for anything, nor the wild intimacy she had shared with Ian.
“The pizza will be ready in a few minutes. Can I get you something to drink? A wee bit o’ Scotch, lass? Or wine?”
“A cup of hot tea?”
“Aye.” He boiled some water and then made her a mug of tea and handed it to her. His fingers strayed to a red curl grazing her cheek. “I need to speak with my brothers and have them check into a matter.”