She quickly wrapped her arms around Ian’s waist, and the feel of her breasts pressed tight against his back, the snug feel of her arms around him, her head resting against him, felt damn good. He galloped in the direction of the gatehouse, hoping to hell Cearnach was wrong.
Everyone on the film crew and Ian’s own men paused what they were doing to stare at Ian and Julia riding toward them. Their mouths gaped, while Duncan and Cearnach frowned at him.
“That’s Laird MacNeill,” one of the members of the film crew said. “He owns the castle and lands around. Too bad he wasn’t wearing a kilt and we could get a shot of him.”
Ian wasn’t about to be in any blasted movie.
Heart thumping, Julia held on to Ian for dear life while the horse pounded the pavement with a monstrous gait. Most likely Ian was sick of the shambles the film crew was making of his castle and wanted to get away. She’d agree with him there.
At this point, he probably wanted to take a ride to the cottage at a more leisurely pace, well, if he’d slow the horse down, rather than drive her to the cottage in his car.
She admired the way he handled the beast, as if he had grown up riding a horse. And he probably had. Afraid for dear life that she’d fall off the horse’s rump, she tightened her hold on Ian, his stomach firm and his thighs taut, hard, and hot. Loving the feel of him anytime she had the chance to hold onto him, she realized just how addictive he was.
But this horse was way too big, way too wild-looking, and galloping way too fast. Kind of like his rider.
Wolf whistles and cheers went up around the castle grounds. With her whole body burning with embarrassment, not to mention Ian’s touch as she pressed her body close to his, and fearing she might just bounce off the horse’s rump at any moment, she noted that everyone with the film crew who had witnessed the event was grinning. If Maria learned of it, she would definitely give Julia even more of a hard time later tonight after they were through filming for the day.
But once they were beyond the gatehouse, Ian slowed the horse to a trot, and they headed in a much more unhurried manner toward Baird Cottage as if he wanted to prolong the contact between them. Or delay the arrival at the cottage and whatever was bothering him about it. She didn’t have a good feeling about that, although she tried to tell herself everything would be okay.
She slid up and down against Ian’s back while the horse’s gait slowed, the friction making her hot for Ian all over again. And she thought about her story, trying to put to good use all the sensory details she was gathering.
The hero had rescued the heroine from the enemy clan. She was too exhausted to take another step, while the enemy was in hot pursuit. The hero held her tight as he rode hard back into the outer bailey, his body scorching and solid, the smell of him all male, of the piney woods and the fresh clean air and the leather saddle.
As Julia clung to Ian, she wished he was wearing that loose-fitting tunic with the kilt that she’d seen him wear in the photo. She couldn’t help it. Her cowboy story had morphed back into the Highland story again.
She was grateful he wasn’t riding fast right now. Slow and easy was much more to her liking so she could enjoy their physical closeness more. She loved the way Ian smelled, all man and wolf, wild and untamable, his free arm hugging hers. She would never mind riding a horse if she got to travel with Ian like this.
Yes, he was just perfect for her story. Too bad she couldn’t get him to act out all her scenes so she could write them without any effort.
“Are you all right, lass?” he asked, breaking into her dream world.
His thick burr tantalized her, adding to her love of all things Scottish. She imagined him stripping off his plaid and then her curling up in his arms at night in a cavernous bed, surrounded with furs and—
“Julia?”
She didn’t want the fantasy to stop. She sighed. “I’ve changed my mind about horses.”
“What’s that?”
She snuggled her head against his back and tightened her arms around his waist. “I rather like riding like this.”
“I’ll have to teach you to love to ride on your own.”
That sounded a lot like he meant for her to stay. Yet something about his demeanor earlier had said something was wrong at the cottage, that it had to do with her and some man named Sutherland, and that it was a really bad something.
She was afraid to discover what it was.
When they arrived at the cottage, Ian helped Julia dismount and then swung off the horse and tethered him to a nearby tree. Julia fought rubbing her arms, chilled from the uncertainty of what she’d find in the cottage.
All wolves were great observers. They considered their surroundings, sniffing at the air to analyze scents from foe or prey or friend. They watched and listened and were wary and curious at the same time. But instead of using all his enhanced senses on the cottage, Julia noted Ian was watching her. It made her uncomfortable, as if he was observing her reaction, seeing if she had something to hide, when for once, damn it, she didn’t.
She kept thinking he’d open the door, and there lying on the floor would be the body of a dead man. With a knife in his chest, with her fingerprints all over it. At least Ian acted as though they were entering a murder scene and she’d done the murdering.
Her hands ice cold, she took hold of Ian’s hand, and he looked a little surprised. She was afraid he’d pull away, and he did, but only after he gave her fingers a small reassuring squeeze. It wasn’t enough. He didn’t trust her. She knew that for sure now.
She was on her own.
She walked into the living area and raised her nose and sampled the air. The smell of an unfamiliar gray lingered. “A gray wolf,” she said. “I don’t recognize his scent.” She moved into the kitchen, but before she could take a strong whiff of the air in there, the phone rang and she gave a startled cry. “Sorry.” As she grabbed the phone, her first thought was that her grandfather was calling to give her hell for telling Ian about the contract.
“Hello, love. I see you’ve brought the laird himself with you today. Are you going to tell him we’re lovers now?” the familiar Scottish voice said, soft with a menacing threat.
Her skin already felt like ice, but now it prickled with fresh goose bumps. Her knees felt weak, and her heart picked up its pace. “What have you done, you bast—”
She didn’t get the rest of the words out. Ian moved swiftly to take the phone from her hand as she slumped onto a chair, feeling light-headed and nauseous.
“She’s so bonny, my laird. So very sweet. Is she as sweet with you?” His voice was hard, and then the phone went dead.
Ian’s face turned dark as he set the phone down in its cradle.
“It’s him. The man who called last night, Ian. He’s watching the cottage. He has to be.”
“Stay here.” Then Ian stalked off toward her bedroom, and she didn’t even want to know what he’d find in there.
Ian would recognize Basil’s scent and voice anywhere. The bastard had definitely left his sperm on Julia’s sheets. Although her scent was also on the sheets, Ian didn’t smell her musky fragrance, and so he didn’t believe she’d been with the madman when he’d come. Ian would stake his life that after she and Maria had left the cottage, the bastard had ejaculated in her bed, claiming her in his sick way.
Ian ran his hands through his hair. Hell. Cearnach. His brother had about given him a stroke over believing Julia was Sutherland’s lover. But none of her actions had revealed any dishonesty in that area. And when she’d answered the phone, she had turned so paper white and was so near to collapse that there wasn’t any way that she could have faked her fear.
Ian called his brother. “Cearnach, find Maria and tell her not to leave the castle grounds. She’s either moving in with Harold’s people or with us. But she’s not to return to Baird Cottage alone.”
Cearnach didn’t say anything.
“She’s not in the wrong, brother. She’s all right.”
“Julia?” Cearnach finally asked, his voice apprehensive.
“Aye. The sick bastard just called here. Guess who the blackmailer is?”
“Blackmailer?”
“Aye. Hasn’t Aunt Agnes told you yet? I’m betrothed to Julia MacPherson. We just have to locate the contract hidden in the walls of the castle. But Basil Sutherland’s been trying to blackmail Julia’s family over it.”
Silence.
“You there, Cearnach?”
“Aye.”
“You don’t sound happy for me.”
“You’re sure about the lass?” Cearnach still sounded glum.
“I’m certain. He’s watching the place. It’s Basil Sutherland. Julia’s staying with us. We’re returning now. Everything all right there?”
“Aye.”
Cearnach didn’t sound as though everything was all right there. Hell, now what was wrong?
“We’ll see you shortly.”
“Aye, Ian. That’s good news.” Cearnach sounded more like his cheerful self now.
“You can tell me the other bad news when I arrive,” Ian said, knowing Cearnach better than that, and cut the connection.
He stalked back into the kitchen where Julia was still sitting at the table, only now she was drinking a glass of water, still pale as death. “Are you all right, Julia?”
“What did he do in there?” she asked, her voice small.
“Nothing that matters. It looks like Cearnach already got your bags. I didn’t see anything else of yours in there. I’ve already called him so he’ll be talking to Maria and making sure she doesn’t come back here alone.”
“Ian, tell me. What did he do in there?” Julia asked again, her green eyes staring up into his, willing him to tell her the truth.
He pulled her from the chair and gently kissed her lips. “He soiled your sheets.”
“As in…” Her eyes widened. “Cearnach thought… thought this man and I had… oh, Ian, I’ve never seen him in my life.” Tears misted her eyes, her expression saying he couldn’t have thought that ill of her.
