Chapter 14
Fourteen
So apparently Magnus lived in the castle on the other side of the loch.
I made that discovery when Iain’s brother and his big friend escorted me and Tara to a stone bridge that led to a point directly beneath the castle in the distance.
The twenty or so villagers who had witnessed my small attempt at breaking and entering had followed them, whispering in excited Gaelic the entire way.
But when we reached the bridge, Magnus turned toward the group and spoke a few short sentences in Gaelic.
And while I didn’t speak a word of their language, I was pretty sure he’d said something like, “I’m taking these women home with me” and “you’re not invited.
” Because the crowd didn’t follow them across the bridge, which looked like it had been hand built by a group of their direct ancestors at least two centuries ago.
However, Magnus’s silent, hulking sidekick apparently didn’t get the memo. Because he followed behind us, his gun—musket?— raised like he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to Tara who was still wearing the red blazer, black-and-white polka dot dress, and bright yellow heels she dressed in for work this morning. Obviously, my best friend had no idea her business day would end like this when she chose her outfit.
Tara shook her head, despite teetering on the uneven stones in her heels. “It’s not your fault. Iain should have told you his clan was a bunch of backward ass fucks when he hooked up with you.”
I frowned, because how did Tara know me and Iain had hooked up?
I’d been purposefully vague when I texted her in the car on the way to the hotel, and then again two days later.
Something about Iain wanting me to work over the long weekend and putting me up at a hotel near the office because a project was running behind schedule.
In other words, I had purposefully given Tara zero specifics. So …
“How did you know—?” I started to ask my friend.
“I’ll take that,” Magnus’s goon suddenly said behind us. We’d just reached the steps of the small but stately castle, and he reached over to take my purse off me in one quick tug.
“Hey!” I said.
But the big guy just jutted his chin toward the door. “Keep going” clear in his muddy gray stare.
Like Iain’s cottage, the castle had a modern-day overlay on the inside.
But while my former boss’s home was full of sleek furniture and electronics, the castle’s bi-level entryway was filled with stone, leather furniture, and antlered deer heads.
Like someone had dressed the place up for an episode of the “Hunting Lodges of the Rich and Famous.”
Not that I got to see much of the décor anyway seeing as how I was dragged by Magnus up a set of stairs in one direction, while the goon dragged Tara in another.
Several completely ignored protests later, I was more or less tossed by Magnus into an office that looked … well, wonderful.
I liked the room much better than the entryway. It boasted intricately carved columns and a beautiful rustic pine floor. Most fascinating of all was that three of the four walls were completely taken up with built-in bookshelves, all of which were stuffed with leather-bound volumes.
The room looked and smelled very, very old. And it felt like it belonged in a museum or a television show set in a period when Scotland still had kings. Though I had no idea how to tell the difference between an office vs. a study, the word “study” came to mind the more I looked around.
But despite the ambiance, the room was instantly turned into a jail cell at the solid metallic “clunk” of a lock engaging on the other side of the door.
I sighed and waited. Then waited some more.
He’d taken my purse, and for all the castle’s modern amenities below, the study had been preserved in a way one rarely saw outside of museums. There was no phone or computer on the massive wooden desk.
Just lots of old books, dark wood, and an intricately carved stone fireplace with a wolf in bas-relief on the mantle.
Two beautiful leather armchairs sat in front of the fireplace, and I perched on one and prepared for a long wait.
But I only lasted for twenty minutes or so before I got up and began pacing.
I went to the tall, arched windows and looked down.
As far as I could tell, the study was at the back of the castle.
There was nothing but mountains and trees as far as I could see.
And though I easily opened the window, I was up far too high to jump down.
So yeah, back to pacing as I waited for someone to show up with food or questions or … anything.
Several more minutes passed. If I had to guess, it had been an hour or so since I was tossed in this room. I began to seriously wonder if I’d been left in here to rot.
But then after another fifteen or so minutes of waiting, the study door finally unlocked with a heavy thunk and Magnus entered with his dad, Lachlan Scotswolf.
Magnus no longer looked totally pissed off. But I didn’t like the fact that both he and his father wore similarly gloomy looks.
“Hi, Mr. Scotswolf. Hey again, Magnus,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, even as Magnus closed the door with a resolute click behind him.
“Hello, dear,” Mr. Scotswolf replied.
My eyes widened. It was the first time I’d ever heard him speak in clear English. But before I could respond, Magnus said, “Tell me exactly what Iain told you about us.”
Wow. The shameless flirt was completely gone. In his place was a commandeering man I barely recognized.
I almost told him everything right then and there.
But at the last minute, I clamped my mouth shut. Then opened it again to ask, “Where is Tara? She’s probably scared out of her mind.”
“Answer me, and I’ll let you see her,” Magnus said.
“I’m not answering any questions until I know she’s okay,” I insisted.
He narrowed his eyes and jerked his head back in apparent surprise. “Hmm, loyalty. Not something I would have expected from such a frightened wee mouse who could barely look me in the eye a few days ago. But alright, then…”
Less than five minutes later, Tara was shoved into the room.
“Tara!” I called.
“Are you okay?” Tara asked, running over and engulfing me in a huge hug. “I was so worried! I wanted to help you but—”
“I’m fine,” I assured her. “And I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. This is all my fault.”
Tara took my hands in hers. “No, it’s not. You didn’t know. In fact, you must be so confused. And besides …”
She glared at Magnus. “What kind of asshole points a gun at a pregnant female?”
“Wait a minute, you think I’m pregnant, too?” I said, struggling to keep up.
Neither Tara nor Magnus seemed all that interested in answering my questions.
“Scotland hasn’t any laws forbidding pointing a sporting rifle at a pregnant she-wolf,” Magnus replied, looking utterly bored in the face of Tara’s contempt.
“However, here in Faoltairn, we do have a rule about non-pregnant females bowing to a king when first you meet him. I’ll assume you dinnae ken that since you’re obviously not from around here. ”
Tara stilled. But only for a moment. Too short a moment, I realized when my best friend released my hands and walked toward Magnus with her head dipped in a docile manner.
However, I knew there was absolutely nothing docile about Tara.
“Tara, no!” I yelled.
Too late, Tara’s fist had already whipped around in a precise arc, and it caught Magnus directly in his long nose.
The crack of fist against bone echoed inside the old room. But to Magnus’s credit, he barely registered the punch. A slight flinch backward, followed by a trickle of blood from his left nostril were the only indicators he’d been hit at all.
“That’s for pointing a goddamn rifle at my best friend, your highness,” Tara said with a flourishing bow.
“Wait, you’re the king?” I asked Magnus in the silence that followed Tara’s mocking genuflect. My mind struggled to reconfigure everything I knew about the cocky rugby player.
But I supposed being king of a clan—pack—or whatever they call themselves would explain his previously inexplicable haughtiness. And why Iain felt compelled to drop everything, whenever his brother commanded him.
“Not much longer, thanks to you,” growled Magnus.
Only to have his dad scold him in a flurry of Gaelic that began with, “Ach, Magnus …”
And that was when I guessed without having to be told that Mr. Scotswolf had most certainly been the king at one time, too.
After getting chewed out, Magnus ground his jaw and said to me in a somewhat civil tone, “Aye, I’m the current king of this pack.”
But then his gaze turned vicious as he turned it to Tara. “And you should know she-wolf, there’s a very high penalty attached to punching a king.”
Tara gave him a mocking smile and said, “Luckily I’m a Canadian.”
“You are in my country and on my land,” Magnus pointed out, bearing sharp canines.
“Magnus …” Mr. Scotswolf said behind him, his tone containing a note of warning.
I gulped, wondering how this stand-off would end—but then Magnus’s words registered.
“Wait, you’re a werewolf, too?” I asked Tara.
Tara’s jaw worked, but she didn’t answer.
“Tara?” I asked.
“It’s forbidden for any lupine to answer that question before a new wolf passes a full moon,” Magnus replied in her stead. “Or at the very least has a positive pregnancy test.”
“I don’t have a positive pregnancy test,” I answered. “But everyone here seems to think I’m pregnant, including Iain.”
Magnus let out a grumpy huff and said, “Even if Iain hadn’t called me this morning caterwauling about losing his mate so soon after heating her, any of us would have known the truth of it. We can smell him all over you, along with the bairn you're carrying.”
My eyes widened. I didn’t know what to say to that—to any of this.
But then I didn’t have to say a thing.
“Millicent! Millicent!” a familiar voice called from somewhere beyond the door.
“Iain!” I called back. “We’re upstairs!”
Outside the door, the sounds of a scuffle could be heard. The smack of fists against flesh, and then Iain kicked open the door, revealing the prone figure of the large goon who’d pushed Tara into the room.
Mr. Scotswolf deftly stepped aside, just missing being plowed down by his younger son as Iain charged across the room toward me.
“Are you all right, chridhe?” he asked, coming to a halt at the last minute so he could hand me back my purse.
All right? I had never in my life been so relieved to see someone. The crushing ache disappeared, and though it was still gray outside, it felt like a sun bomb had gone off inside my chest.
“I’m fine,” I assured him, taking the purse and placing it back over my shoulder. “But I’m sorry for not believing you. Also, I’m sorry for breaking your window.”
I slid a glance toward Magnus and whispered, “Well, that is I’m sorry for getting caught.”
“It’s not your fault,” Iain replied, even more fiercely than Tara. And like Tara, he glared at Magnus.
Behind Iain’s back, his brother made a loud scoffing sound.
“Ach, not this again. Calm yerself, little brother,” Magnus said, back to looking utterly bored. “Your mouse is here, safe and sound, just like I told you.”
That bit of aggrieved reassurance did little to assuage Iain’s temper. He turned to his brother demanding to know, “Why the hell would you bring her here to the kingdom castle? You should’ve sent her straight to me!”
“I would’ve done so, believe me, Brother,” Magnus answered with a great roll of his eyes.
“But not only did your wee lass come into my kingdom reeking of your bairn, she also made it clear as day in front of the entire contingent of our best village clishmaclavers that you broke one of our most ancient rules. So that puts us in a right interesting place, doesn’t it? ”
I understood little of what Magnus said, but his words appeared to have an impact on Iain who swayed, taking a full step back, as if he’d been shoved hard.
But then he shook his head and said, “This doesn’t change anything.”
“No, it changes everything. Obviously!” Magnus answered, eyes blazing. “I drove through town, Iain. Big as day. What else was I to do?”
“I don’t know,” Tara came over to stand beside me.
“Maybe not pull a weapon on her?” she suggested snidely.
I still couldn’t believe my best friend was also a werewolf. But now that I thought about it, I could smell it on Tara. Her scent had a certain undertone that every wolf I’d met so far had carried.
However, Tara smelled way different than Iain and the other Faoltairn wolves. Like hickory and snow. And though I had never been to Ontario, I suspected it would smell a lot like my best friend.
“You pointed a rifle at my mate?” Iain asked. His voice lowered into a dangerous growl.
“Calm down, little brother. It was just for show,” Magnus groused. “I had to use a wee bit of theater to get these two away from the crowd they’d attracted. The rifles weren’t even loaded. I used the antique ones hanging on the game room wall.”
That calmed Iain, but only a little. “You frightened her.”
Magnus shrugged. “You don’t think she could do with a wee fright then, Iain?
After all, she had you damn near hysterical when you couldnae find her back at her flat.
You’ve been pining over this mouse for years, and after you risked everything, even going against our most ancient laws to tell her the truth, she refused to believe you. Not only that….”
Magnus glared at me. “She’s compromised all of us by coming here. So aye, to my thinking there’s no harm in scaring her a wee—”
Magnus’s defense of his actions came to an abrupt end when Iain’s fist landed directly in his older brother’s face. And this time the king of Faoltairn didn’t just flinch, he was laid out flat on the ground.
Not exactly knocked out, but not without injury, judging from the copious amount of blood flowing from his nose.
I gasped, unable to believe Iain had just punched his own brother in my defense.
Meanwhile, Tara shouted, “Woot-WOOT!”
She cackled like this was all good fun.
“Careful there, Boss Wolf,” she said to Iain, “I hear it’s super against the law around here to punch a king.”