Heart of the Highland Wolf (Heart of the Wolf #7)

Heart of the Highland Wolf (Heart of the Wolf #7) Page 47

Ian cast a wary glance around, identifying where Basil Sutherland and his men were situated. He saw Julia and Heather nearby with two of Heather’s brothers watching her and Duncan sticking close to Julia. Four other maidens with smiles on their faces but wringing their hands were still huddled with his mate and his cousin.

Nearby, Basil stood tall and broad-shouldered with a fierce scowl to match his size. What Ian didn’t like most about the bastard was the way he looked the “fair maidens” over with too much interest, his gaze quickly settling on Julia.

Someone directed the four other maidens to where they needed to be. Heather gave Julia a hug and then tore off to her own spot of woods with her brothers in tow before the filming of the scene began.

Only Julia remained within his visual range, which he’d made sure would be the situation and the only way he had agreed to allow her to remain in the film.

Julia smiled at Ian and looked to be in her element, the MacNeill plaid suiting her. Tendrils of red curls fluttered across her cheeks on the breezy day, a light mist draping the woods before the sun burned it away. He envisioned her wearing a slip of a lace bra and a skimpy thong or being naked, and the brief thought flitting across his mind of how much he’d like to lift her gown while he wore his kilt and show the lass a bit of Highland loving. But then he stared at her bodice, the way the fabric looked so sheer across her breasts, her blue gown just high enough to cover her nipples, and he frowned.

Hell. He was ready to grab her up and carry her straight back to his bedchamber.

He knew she was disappointed in his brooding silence this morning. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop worrying about what was in that damnable box and that she wanted to find it without his people knowing about it. And he didn’t want her out here while Basil looked her over as if she was his next meal. Right now, she looked like a delectable offering.

Heather, too, had irked him, and he felt as though Julia was leading his cousin astray with her unconventional ways since she hadn’t lived by pack rules in her own family.

Not hearing the director’s call to begin the fight, Ian’s brain was so muddled with the thought of Julia and what he wanted to do with that sweet body wrapped in the plaid of his clan that he realized, as a brawny American Scotsman attacked him, that the battle had begun.

The braw fictional Highland laird star of the film, John Duvall, clashed with his nemesis nearby as the cameras began rolling. But Ian feared it wouldn’t take long for the real fight to begin with his own archenemy and the disaster that could follow.

Guthrie and Cearnach moved in with Duncan to stay near Julia now, making sure that not one of Basil’s men could approach her. Heather’s brothers were watching over her. The other four fair maidens were human women from the village, and Ian assumed neither Basil nor his men would bother them.

It didn’t matter that Ian was to fight a towering Scotsman standing near the star of the film in an effort to protect “his laird.” Basil Sutherland remained Ian’s focus, his true enemy currently battling with a human actor as if he were taking a stroll in Edinburgh, just like their handlers had taught them—thrust, parry, swing, make it look good and real, but don’t hurt anyone. Choreographed nonsense. Ian and his people had all listened with feigned interest until he’d fought the instructor himself.

All agreed that when it came to fighting the battle, it would be accomplished in their own way.

With claymore swinging, Ian quickly attacked the towering human Scotsman, who in his panic to avoid the fury of Ian’s sword, tripped over his own feet and fell on his back with a whomp!

That was not part of the planned scene, but the director didn’t yell, “Cut!” And Ian did a mock final stab into the man’s chest. The actor looked so surprised that Ian winked at him and said in Gaelic, “Die, mon, so I can fight the real threat.”

Not possibly understanding Gaelic, the man seemed to catch Ian’s drift. He clutched his chest, shuddered, and died.

Ian looked around for Basil. Catching his eye, Basil smirked at Ian as he continued to leisurely battle another human actor.

The star of the picture glanced at the man Ian had just laid to rest, lifted his chin a bit as if in acknowledgment that Ian had done well, and then fought another human actor.

John Duvall didn’t do a bad job with his choreographed skills, although the man was using a lightweight sword, as Ian engaged one of his own men, finding much more sport this way. At least his own man knew how to fight. Basil’s men appeared to be doing the same, disengaging from the director’s men and fighting their own instead, which was easy enough to do.

As in Ian’s own camp, Basil’s men consisted of families loyal to him who were not direct descendants of the Sutherland clan. Their plaids were different but muddied to appear as though the men had been living in other than ideal conditions for the past few weeks, and no one could tell they were fighting their own clansmen since they were just the background performers, a blur of swords and men.

Basil seemed to have the same thought in mind or was following Ian’s lead, as if he realized a fight between Ian and his men and the Sutherlands would cause the director to stop the film. At least for now.

Without having to fight real actors, Ian threw his heart and soul into battling his distant cousin, but before long, the man had morphed into five, his men preferring better odds by ganging up on him. Five to one was a little much, but once Ian had whittled it down to three, he was more in his element.

At some point, he thought he heard the director yell, “Cut!” Ian couldn’t be certain. Distractions on the battlefield had to be ignored. One last man to cut down, his redheaded cousin and one of Heather’s brothers, Oran, who had been ogling Julia with too much interest when she’d first arrived at his castle gates. Sweat poured down Oran’s brow.

“You were to be protecting your sister,” Ian said in Gaelic.

“Aye.” Oran swung his sword again at Ian’s, the resounding metal clanking through the woods. Otherwise, a quiet stillness had settled everywhere.

“Then why are you fighting me?”

“Heather wished me to.”

Ian raised a brow and struck another metal-clanging blow.

Oran fell back but quickly regrouped. “She wanted you to show off your skills in front of your ladylove.” He grinned. “I told her there was no need. So she said I might catch one of the fair maidens’ interest for the night instead.”

Ian shook his head. “Unless the fair maidens take pity on a man who’s flat on his back…” With that, Ian swung his weapon so hard when it struck Oran’s sword that his cousin’s sailed through the air, hit a tree with a thwack, and landed on the ground with a thud. Using fancy footwork, Ian shifted his leg quickly behind Oran’s, gave a shove against his cousin’s shoulder with his free hand, and once the astounded Oran lay on his back, Ian thrust his sword at his cousin’s belly in a mock kill.

Still speaking in their native tongue, Ian growled, “Die!”

On order, a faint smile appeared on Oran’s lips, and he said in a hoarse whisper, “I shall win at least one lady’s favor tonight, I’m thinking. I thank ye, my laird.” Then he closed his eyes, his hands falling away from his waist, and died.

“Cut!” the director seemed to yell again. Hadn’t Ian already heard the director call that before?

Resounding clapping filled the woods.

“The guy’s good,” someone said near the director.

“The guy is a laird,” Duncan said sharply.

John Duvall gave Ian a thumbs-up. “You ever want a job in the film business, you’ve got it.” He headed off for his trailer.

Julia dashed through the woods toward Ian, and he sheathed his sword and stalked in her direction. The plaid arisaid had been belted at her waist and wrapped loosely over her head like a hood to cover her beautiful red curls but then it fell away. With her racing footfalls, she was stunning, her breasts bouncing against the dark blue gown scooped low and the chemise covering the rest of her bodice, which upon careful inspection again, still looked awfully sheer.

Hell, woman. Not only wasn’t she wearing any bra, but it appeared as though she’d dampened her chemise, which made it as transparent as if she wore virtually nothing at all, showing off the bountiful swell of her breasts. The dark blue gown rose high enough to conceal the color of her nipples, but it didn’t hide the way the crowning glory of those twin peaks pressed against the fabric.

No matter how much he wanted to see where that damnable Basil Sutherland was now and what he was doing, Ian couldn’t pull his focus away from his mate. She reached Ian and grabbed him in a full body embrace, jumping his bones literally as she wrapped her legs around his hips. The heat of her supple body seared him as her maneuver pushed her skirts back, revealing her hose-covered calves now locked behind him as she crossed her ankles and straddled him in way too much of a sensuous manner.

His arms quickly encircled her, hugging her even tighter against his body and rousing him further. She tilted her face up to him, smiling luminously, and he lowered his head and kissed her. He only meant to give her a light brush on the mouth in greeting, to show his appreciation for Julia being Julia, but the kiss soon transformed into a passionate melding of lips and tongues. By their own volition, his hands cupped her arse and held her tighter against his groin.

At first, silence filled the air, and then several chuckles erupted, drawing his attention.

“Should have gotten that scene on tape,” someone said. “The audience would love it.”

“Yeah, but the focus is supposed to be on the stars of the film. Not two Scottish unknowns.”

Julia stiffened in Ian’s arms and pulled away slightly, her mouth leaving his, and he assumed she was going to make a retort. He could just imagine her saying she was not Scottish born but American, and she wasn’t unknown. She was a werewolf romance writer with fans all over the world.

But he didn’t want anyone else to know about that. He covered her mouth with another kiss, while still holding the voluptuous woman, and carried her back to the walk across the moat.