Hero of a Highland Wolf (4 page)

Tankards of… She sniffed at her drink. Whisky.
Great.
She didn't drink anything harder than sweet, syrupy, fluffy drinks like margaritas, daiquiris, and on occasion, a minty green grasshopper. And no straight-up alcohol.

She'd never get through a meal if she had to drink from a huge tankard of whisky, especially with as many hours as had passed since she'd last eaten and the jet lag she was suddenly feeling. She'd be under the table in a flash.

***

Grant almost felt sorry for the lass when he saw her eyeing the pig. Colleen put on a face that said it didn't bother her, but her scent told him a different story. Yet he couldn't back down now. He hadn't expected her to be so…accepting of him and his attempts at unsettling her. She really was remarkable in the way she had handled the fighting, him, the dogs, and now the pig. He couldn't help but admire her for it.

His people watched him as much as they did her, judging for themselves if he could go through with this. As their leader, he had to lead by example. Yet, he was already feeling somewhat guilty. When did he get to be so indulgent?

To her credit, she'd eaten some of the blood pudding and haggis. Not even he could eat as much as was piled on her trencher. Had he told the staff to use trenchers of bread? He hadn't recalled going that far.

One of his clansmen, serving as bard, told bawdy jokes that would shock any woman to the core. Colleen smiled and laughed with the rest of them, not acting as though any of it disconcerted her.

She'd enjoyed the pork, pretending that the sight of the dwindling pig didn't bother her. But the whisky seemed to give her pause. If she thought she'd come to tell him how to do
his
job, then she should be able to hold her whisky, just like anyone who had been in charge in the past. Even her grandmother, Neda.

He motioned for the carcass to be taken away. Men carried it off, and the dogs ran after them, interested in the scraps they dropped on the stone floor as they headed for the kitchen.

“You don't like our whisky?” Grant asked, sounding as though she was insulting him by not drinking it.

She'd taken a small sip and then tried hard not to choke on it. Her eyes flushed with tears, and her cheeks grew red. He wanted to slap her on the back, treating her like one of the warriors, and say, “Well done.” But he kept his hands and his words to himself.

“It's good,” she said, her voice a little rough.

“Do you not drink it at home? Any Scotsman worth his salt drinks whisky. Or…” He gave a dramatic pause. “Do you drink it with water? No good Scotsman dilutes his whisky in such a manner.” He had figured she wouldn't be able to drink any of it.

It was the smoothest brand they had, so he would rather not waste it on the woman if she couldn't manage it. He just wanted her to admit that she was not a true Scotswoman and, though she owned the castle, she would never be one of them.

She kept sipping it, taking a lengthy break, then clearing her throat and trying again. He had to admire her for keeping up the pretense. Then he frowned at her. He didn't want her to feel bullied into drinking the whisky and become sick over it. She was supposed to acknowledge he was right and leave well enough alone. What if she never drank any liquor and had a fatal overdose? That wouldn't do.

“Bring the lass a tankard of water,” he ordered one of his men, not wanting to sound desperate, but he must have because all of a sudden every eye was on him and the lass.

“Are you all right?” Ian asked Colleen.

Grant noticed then that she was no longer sitting up tall and straight. In fact, she listed to the side.
His
side.

Without warning, she fell over and planted her head in his lap. No one said a word, wisely, as all eyes remained on him, waiting to see how he would handle the matter.

Bloody. Hell.

He hadn't expected her to pass out. Why couldn't she have just admitted she couldn't handle the liquor and given up the deception that she could?

He sat there for the longest time—at least it seemed that way to him—as he tried to decide what to do next. Her head was resting on his groin, which had a mind of its own as it began to react to the woman's touch.

Trying to get his mind on how to rectify the matter, he realized someone would have to stay with the lass to ensure she didn't become ill in the middle of the night. Yet, he'd sent all of the women away.

Bloody. Hell.

He should have had one of his men carry her to her room, but he couldn't. Not without worrying about her health. She was Grant's responsibility. As much as he hated to do so, he would have to make a minor change in chamber assignments. Just for tonight, though, and he wasn't about to share this with his people.

“Ian, thanks for coming and helping us out,” Grant said, not moving the lass from his lap, wishing to say his good nights before he left the great hall and unable to think of much else but her head resting against his groin.

Ian smiled at him knowingly. “We enjoyed the sparring immensely. But next time, Julia will insist on coming to take notes.”

“She will have a video of the action,” Grant said, not altogether pleased that Colleen had recorded them, or that the two women had known what the men were up to and kept them in the dark. “We will have to get together again soon.”

“Aye, I look forward to it.”

“Tell your brothers and your cousins we missed them, and that we enjoyed it immensely.”

“I will do that.”

Grant rose from his seat and lifted the lass in his arms. “Good night, men. Thanks for the grand sparring practice everyone participated in.”

Several raised their tankards to him, some saying, “Aye” or “Hear, hear.” Many looked like they were fighting laughter as they smiled at him. And the lass.

When Grant left the great hall, he heard Enrick's quick footfall approach.

“Is she going to be all right?”

“Just passed out. But I need to be sure she won't become sick later.” Grant bypassed the floor that led to the White Room.

“You're putting her in a different room?” Enrick asked, following Grant as he maneuvered up the narrow, winding stairs to the next floor and headed for the lady's chamber adjoining the laird's.

He had
not
needed his brother's assistance in this matter, nor his questioning of Grant's actions. “Enrick,” Grant said in an altogether irritated fashion, “why are you not below stairs visiting with our guests until they leave?”

“You need my aid.” Enrick opened the door to the lady's chamber for Grant.

“I could have managed.”

“You know what happened when Ian placed Julia in the chamber adjoining his?”

“They ended up mating.” That was
not
happening between Grant and the lass. “This is only for tonight. If she becomes ill, I want to know right away.”

“I don't think she is used to drinking whisky,” Enrick said, stating the obvious.

“Aye,” Grant said as Enrick pulled the covers aside so Grant could lay her on the lady's bed. He slipped off her shoes and laid them on the floor next to the bed. He pulled the covers over her, and for a moment, he and his brother watched Colleen as she slept, her dark brown curls covering the white pillow, her face angelic in sleep. “I had assumed she would tell me and not attempt to drink it.”

“She tried to prove that she could take anything you threw at her. Remarkable, really. I had not thought she would be that determined,” Enrick said.

Lachlan entered the room. “I thought she would sleep in the White Room.”

Grant wouldn't continue to explain his actions to the whole bloody pack. “Watch the lass for a moment, Lachlan.” He walked into his own chamber and sighed, wanting to take a shower and clean off the oil still covering his torso.

“Maybe we're going about this all wrong,” Enrick said, following Grant into his chambers.

Grant was reminded of one of their wolfhounds. He hadn't remembered his brother being such a shadow. “How so?”

“If she loses her inheritance, we could have more trouble if one of her male cousins inherits the castle instead. Wouldn't a male wolf be even more difficult, demanding, and insistent than a female? Like her father was?”

Grant gave Enrick a look that asked if he was serious.

Enrick shrugged. “If one of her cousins demands we make significant changes, we'll have to. But the lass is…well, a lass. And with all your charismatic ways with a woman, I would think you could, well…charm her into seeing your point of view on running the estates.”

“Nay,” Grant said. He would not pretend interest in the woman. He was never deceitful about a thing like that. “Besides, from what I gathered from speaking to her solicitor, she is very much an alpha. Her cousins are betas. If one were to inherit, he would be easy to manipulate.”

“I still don't understand why you chose to put her in a chamber adjoining yours and not the White Room,” Enrick said.

“This is the only chamber that has an attached room not currently being painted, and since we sent the women of our pack away for the next two weeks, I couldn't just have another female stay with her.”

Enrick smiled a little.

Grant shook his head. “I'm going to shower. Either you or Lachlan watch her for me in the meantime, will you?”

“As you wish.”

Enrick joined Lachlan in the lady's chamber, and Grant started a warm shower. Thinking of the way the lass's skirt caressed his bare legs and how her nipples pressed against her blouse, he instantly became aroused. He had just lathered up, glad to get the oil and sweat off his skin, when someone flushed the toilet.

Immediately, his warm water turned to hot and nearly scalded him. “What the devil…”

He pulled open the steamed-up glass door and looked from Enrick to Colleen.

“Closest bathroom,” Enrick said as Colleen tossed her dinner into the ceramic bowl.

“Bloody hell,” Grant said under his breath and yanked a towel off a rack, but he didn't cover himself in time before Colleen turned her pale face in his direction and got an eyeful of his aroused state.

“Are you ready to return to bed, lass?” Enrick asked Colleen, offering her a hand up from Grant's bathroom floor. Grant was still securing his towel around his waist or he would have aided her.

What else could go wrong tonight?

“I don't think your whisky agreed with me,” she said in barely a whisper. “And the room is spinning out of control.” She took another gander at Grant's towel, and he couldn't help but be a wee bit amused.

She took Enrick's hand and stood, then rinsed her face in the sink and dried it with a towel as he held on to her elbow to keep her from falling.

Grant let out his breath. “Go to the kitchen and get her something to settle her stomach, will you, Enrick? I'll take it from here.”

With his arm around her waist to keep her steady, Grant returned Colleen to the lady's room, which, by all rights, should be hers. Her husband—or for wolves, mate—should be in the room Grant now slept in. But she couldn't stay in the room adjoining his while she remained here, or it could signify that they were attached. Nor would he give up his bed to sleep elsewhere, which would also cause conjecture on his people's part—making them think he was no longer in charge. A night, no problem. But months, a year? He couldn't allow it.

Even if she felt that it was her right to stay in this room, he didn't believe she'd want to cause speculation any more than he would. He was glad that Lachlan, at least, had departed for the evening.

Enrick brought her something to settle her stomach, and after she drank half of it, she covered herself back up with the covers, not looking at Grant or his brother.

She closed her eyes and didn't say anything. Neither did Grant.

Enrick glanced at his brother's state of undress, and Grant took a deep breath. “I've got it. Go to bed. See you in the morning.”

Enrick looked back at Sleeping Beauty, smirked, then left the room and shut the chamber door.

Grant closed her bed curtains to keep the warmth in and returned to the shower to rinse the soap off hastily, in the event she returned to steal his cold water with another flush of the toilet. He toweled off, then finally climbed into bed. He'd barely shut the bed curtains when he heard a woman's footsteps as she ran past his bed to his bathroom.

He listened, heard her lose more of her supper, the toilet flush, and the water in the sink run. Then she hurried past his bed and into the lady's chamber. The mattress creaked a little in the next room, then blissful silence. He truly felt bad for how she was holding up. But he couldn't do much more for her now.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but he couldn't with worrying about the lass.

Then he heard something different—her soft footfalls headed toward her chamber door. What the devil?

Her door opened into the hallway, and he heard something else. Toenails clicking on the floor as they headed out of the lady's chamber. Wolf toenails. He groaned and threw his covers aside, naked, then headed into her room. Her skirt, blouse, peach panties, and matching lace bra lay scattered on the floor. She was gone.

He hurried out of her room and down the hallway to catch her. She was racing down the stairs to the first floor.

Hell and damnation. All he needed was a tipsy American she-wolf getting herself in trouble. He headed in the direction she'd gone, then heard the wolf door squeak open and shut in the kitchen. He called on the urge to shift in a hurry, not sure how he would convince her to return to the keep. His body welcomed the change, his muscles warming, stretching, his human form turning into the wolf.

He shoved through the wolf door and listened.

Despite being drunk, she moved fast, her nails clicking on the stone walkway leading through the gardens.

Tracking her scent, he sprinted through the cool, misty herb garden and then down the stone path to the sitting garden. She wasn't there. He circled around, sniffing for her scent. Then he stared at the gate that led to the rose garden and the seawall. Either she'd come and gone this way before he reached the outdoor sitting room, or she'd jumped over the wrought-iron gate that led to the rose garden. He didn't think she could have moved fast enough to get here and leave again, racing down the garden path before he arrived.

He leaped over the gate, clipping it with his back paws. He smelled her delightful she-wolf scent in the rose garden and followed it until he reached the four-foot-high seawall. He glanced to the left and then to the right of the moss-covered gray stones. He didn't see her. She wouldn't have risked her neck going over the seawall. Then again, she wasn't sober. The place was unfamiliar and the smells provocative enough to entice a visiting wolf to check them out.

He jumped on top of the slick wall and looked down. Below on the jagged, slippery wet rocks, he saw the she-wolf loping along the path he and his brothers used when they were old enough to risk it and young enough to chance it before they knew better.

He was angry at himself for giving her the whisky and putting her in harm's way. He howled for her to stop, hating that his clansmen would hear him and worry that there was trouble. There was—in the form of one sexy she-wolf.

She paused, turned, and slipped. His heart in his throat, he watched in horror as she fell. He raced after her. Though wolves' paw pads could keep better footing on ice than humans', he still slipped on the wet moss in his haste to reach her.

She stood scarce inches above the rocks where the waves were breaking when she managed to stop her fall. On her belly, she panted and didn't seem to notice when he came up behind her. They were much too close to the breakers. He had to get her back up to the path before a wave crashed farther up the rocks and swept her away. And him with her.

He nudged her to get to her feet. She snarled at him. He didn't back off. He needed to get her up to the seawall and over it. Then he had to return her to the lady's chamber, pronto.

“Grant, do you need our help?” Enrick called out, nearly out of breath and sounding more than concerned.

Grant looked up to see at least ten of his men peering over the wall. He shook his head. At least he didn't think he needed their aid.

He was glad they had come to help him, should he need it, though he wished no one had seen any of this. He nosed her side to get her to climb the rocks to the path. He couldn't carry her in his human form. Much too slippery. They'd manage the climb better in their wolf forms.

She suddenly leaped on top of the rock farther away from the breakers. Then her legs gave out, and she was sprawled on the mossy boulders. He clambered up the rocks and nudged her again. At first, he thought she was injured. Then he realized she was still very inebriated.

Being down here made it even more dangerous for her in her current condition. And he was afraid once she was on her feet, she'd turn and head into danger again, not realizing how treacherous it could be. He continued to nudge her, getting her to stand and then move back up the path. She couldn't seem to walk a straight line over the rough-edged rocks, and she swayed a bit on her feet.

“Is she still drunk?” Lachlan called out.

Obviously
, Grant wanted to say to his brother in a growly tone of voice.

Grant had wanted to keep her safe until she was over being sick, but he hadn't expected her to do anything dangerous like this. Which made him even gladder that he'd kept her in the adjoining room so he could watch over her.

When they finally reached the seawall, she just stared at it. Enrick and Lachlan climbed over it and hoisted her up to another couple of men who eased her down on the other side.

As soon as the she-wolf stood in the bailey, Grant joined her. By the time he reached her, she was sprawled out on the stone pavers, eyes closed, sleeping.

“I guess she's not going anywhere unless we take her there,” Enrick said, a smile in his words as he lifted her off the ground. “Lead the way.”

Grant grunted and loped back to his chamber. When he reached it, he shifted and heard his brother laying Colleen on the bed in the lady's chamber.

“Be sure to bolt the door in her room,” Grant said. He heard the bolt slide closed and then Enrick joined Grant in his bedchamber.

“She's more of a challenge than we thought she'd be. Thank God you caught her before she took a dangerous dunking in the sea,” Enrick said.

“Yeah, that's why I wanted her door bolted. If she opens it, I'll hear it. I'll do the same in here.”

“All right. See you in the morning,” Enrick said, and Grant noticed the small smirk his brother wore.

“Hopefully, she'll be feeling all right by then,” Grant said, then closed the door after his brother's departure and bolted it. At the very least, if she tried to leave the chamber, she'd have to shift first to unbar the door. He hoped she'd sleep the rest of the night instead.

Now that he wasn't leaping over seawalls and trying to secure her safety, he looked at her one last time. She was a pretty wolf with a reddish-brown mask. The lower half of her face was white all the way down her throat, and the white above her dark brown eyes emphasized them. With that and red fur in a strip down her nose, she looked just lovely. Her coloring reminded him of her grandmother's, except that Neda's had been grayer.

Satisfied Colleen wasn't going anywhere, he returned to bed. This time he succumbed to a deep, bone-settling sleep.

Until a hand fell against his bare chest, giving him a near heart attack. He jumped back on the mattress, about to grab his sword, when he saw that the intruder was Colleen, snuggled under his blankets and sleeping in
his
bed! And naked.

“What are you doing in my bed?” Grant roared.

“Closer…to the…bathroom,” she said, her voice hushed with sleep, and yet she seemed to have enough awareness to know her own mind and that she would have her way in this, or else.

He absolutely refused to move into the lady's chamber. He couldn't, not if he wished to keep face with his men. They wouldn't barge in on him, but the cleaning staff would smell his scent on the lady's sheets. Then again, now they would smell the lady's scent on
his
sheets.

He could not allow the woman to sleep in
his
bed! Yet what choice did he have? If she needed to reach the bathroom quickly, he had to admit that she should be closer to it.

Which meant
he
could not be here.

He quickly got out of bed as she turned to watch him, her eyes half-lidded. Aye, he was naked again. Despite her inebriated state, or maybe because of it, she seemed to enjoy looking him over. And that had the added disagreeable effect of arousing him when he shouldn't be feeling that way in the least. He grabbed his kilt, the quickest thing within reach, and belted it around his waist, then left his chamber.

Hell and damnation. First day of the lass's arrival and what happens? He's rescuing her in the middle of the night for all to see. And now this. She was naked, sleeping in his bed, and he was off to look for a place to rest for the remainder of the night.

He definitely had to rethink the eating arrangements. The lass would get no whisky for the rest of her stay here. She could drink anything she liked as long as it was not alcoholic in nature. And after this night, he would sleep in his own bed while
she
slept on the lower floor in the White Room.