Terry Spear - Heart of the Highland Wolf

HHeart

ighlan ed

Wolf

TERRY SPEAR

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Copyright 2011 by Terry Spear

Cover and internal design 2011 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

Cover design by Dawn Pope

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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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I dedicate Heart of the Highland Wolf to myHighland ancestors who inspired me to write aboutlove immortalized in the Highlands of Scotland andto readers all over the globe who find happinessin fictional tales of romance, adventure, mystery,and enduring love.

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Chapter 1

The ghostly fog made Julia feel as though she had slipped into the primordial past. She couldnt believe shed made it to the Highlands of Scotland where a castle beckoned, filled with secrets, intrigue, and hunky Scots with any luck. Hopeful y, none of them would learn why she was really here and put a stop to it.

Nothing would dampen her enthusiasm as she and her friend Maria Baquero headed for Baird Cot age, within hiking distance of Argent Castleand the end of her writers block.

At least, that was the plan.

After flight delays and missed luggage, theyd had trouble get ing their rental car at Inverness Airport

following a mix-up when a Scotsman declared their car was his. Another man had creeped Julia out when she realized he was watching them, and shed felt apprehensive at the way his thin lips hadnt hinted at a bit of friendliness. But then she dismissed him as she and Maria final y set off in late afternoon with Maria driving the rented Fiat into the deepening fog.

The laird of Argent Castle, Ian MacNeil , had been a royal pain to deal with concerning filming the movie at his castle. Luckily, as assistant director, only Maria had to do business with him. Pretending to be Marias assistant, Julia was to watch from the sidelines and take notes. But not for the film production. For her breakout HeartOfHighlandWolf.indd 1

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Terry Spear

novel. Julia Wildthorn was one of the United States

most successful werewolf romance novelists and the only one, she was sure, who had ever suffered a writers block like this one.

Dense fog obscured the curving road as it ran through rocky land on either side. Pine trees in the distance faded into the thickening soup, which offered glimpses of quaint dry-stone dykes that must have stood for centuries, snaking across the land and dividing someones property from anothers.

Despite Julias enhanced wolf vision, she couldnt see any better than a human in the soup.

Eyes widening, she caught sight of something running in the woods. Something gray. Something that looked a lot like a wolf and then melted into the fog like a phantom.

Heartbeat ratchetting up several notches, she tried to catch another glimpse, her hand tightening on the doors armrest as she peered out the window, her nose almost touching the glass. Did you see anything? she asked Maria, her voice tight.

Maria gave her a disgruntled snort. In this fog? I can barely see the road. What did you think you saw?

A wolf. Julia strained to get another glimpse of what shed seen. But it couldnt have been. Wolves here were killed off centuries ago.

Off to Julias left, the mist parted, revealing older aspen, the bark covered with dark lichen stretching upward, while tal , straight Scots pines and stands of wil owy birch clustered close together in the distance.

But no more signs of a wolf. Julia blinked her eyes.

Maybe because she was so tired from the trip, her eyes were playing tricks on her.

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Heart of the Highland Wolf

Julia straightened and faced Maria. Maybe it was a lupus garou, if I wasnt imagining it. She smiled at the thought. A hunky Highland werewolf in a kilt.

Shed never considered she might run across a lupus garou in Scotland. Not as elusive as their kind were, hiding their secret from the rest of the world.

Unless she bumped into one and could smell his or her scent, she wouldnt know a lupus garou from a strictly human type.

Hmm, a Highland werewolf, Maria said thoughtful y, sliding her hands over the steering wheel, although getting hold of a Spanish conquistador would be just as intriguing.

An Iberian werewolf whose ancestors had been turned by a wolfish conquistador, Maria was a beauty with dark brown hair and thick, long eyelashes.

Being a redhead with fair skin, Julia turned heads on her own, but the two of them together often stole the show.

Maria was stil stewing about the laird who was in charge of Argent Castle. Laird Ian MacNeil is being a real hard ass about the filming particularsrestricting our use of the castle and grounds, the times, the locations, and who knows what else when we arrive.

Maybe he wont be so bad once the filming begins. Although Julia didnt believe thatand the sour look on Marias face said she didnt, either. Julia pulled the lairds photo from her purse. Marias boss had paid a private investigator good money to obtain the picture. Exactly how did the guy get a picture of the laird like this if its so difficult to catch a glimpse of him?

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Terry Spear

The P.I. followed him to a Celtic festival. The laird was surrounded by his men and a couple of women, so the detective snapped one shot right before the laird took part in a sword-fighting demonstration.

Who won?

The laird and his men. According to the P.I., the MacNeil s had a real workout against the Sutherlands.

Bad blood has existed between them for centuries. The fighting looked so real, he thought organizers of the show might step in and stop the demonstration.

In one word, Julia summed up Laird Ian MacNeills appearance: dangerous.

It wasnt his handsome featureshis short, very dark coffee-colored hair, the rich color of his eyes, the rigid planes of his face, and his aristocratic nosethat made him appear that way. Not his broad shoulders or firm stance or unsmiling mouth, either. It was his unerring gaze that seemed so piercingly astute, like he could see into a persons very soul.

That worried her.

In the photo, the man was prime hunk, wearing a predominantly green and blue kilt, an ermine sporran belted in front, and a sword sheathed behind him. From the looks of the hilt partially peeking over his shoulder, the sword served as a warning that he was armed and deadly, much more so than just his looks. He wore a shirt belted, hanging open to the waist, and revealing sexy abs a woman would love to caress. At least this woman would. Just as rugged, his castle sat in the background, formidable, commanding, and resilient.