A Highland Werewolf Wedding - By Terry Spear Page 0,31

explain himself to each of his other brothers concerning this matter. Then he shook his head. Hell. When had he become such a softy? When a little red she-wolf had turned his world upside down, that’s when.

“I need you here. If the men report that nothing is the matter, then we have no cause for concern. If there’s trouble, I’ll need you to take care of the matter.”

Armed with his sword sheathed at his back and a dirk in his boot, Duncan didn’t respond, his expression one of battle readiness. Ian didn’t want Duncan killing someone before he knew all the facts. That was one of the reasons Ian led the pack, not Duncan. That plus the fact that Ian was the eldest and Duncan the youngest by several minutes.

“Duncan?”

“Aye, Ian, but if anything’s happened to Cearnach…” He let his words trail away.

Flynn withdrew his ghostly sword and sliced through the air as if he would take on the men who dared harm Cearnach himself.

“Aye, Duncan. We will deal with it,” Ian said.

“In the harshest manner possible,” Duncan said, as if seeking clarification.

Duncan had to know that if any harm came to their brother, Ian would stop at nothing to pursue those responsible. “Aye.”

Bowing his head in deference to his brother’s leadership and position, Duncan turned around to give the word.

“Duncan, let your mate’s Uncle Ethan go with them.”

Duncan stopped in the doorway and offered a small smile over his shoulder.

The American had been giving Ian trouble ever since he’d arrived with Shelley’s family, but only because the Scots-born, transplanted Texan was a born leader of men. “He won’t be in charge.”

“Aye, one of our cousins will be.”

“Better make it Oran, then. He’s about the only one who can butt heads with Ethan and still remain on top.” Besides Ian and his brothers, that was, and Oran could barely keep the lead over Ethan.

Oran had a ready sword hand and a temper to match his red hair. Muscular and ready for a fight, he would face any foe. He had a steady head also, and he was perfect for the job.

“Shelley’s uncle will be grateful for the opportunity.” Then Duncan left the solar, and Flynn scowled at Ian and took off after Duncan.

Julia, Ian’s lovely red-wolf mate, entered the solar, her expression shadowed with worry. “Are you going after Cearnach?”

Ian gathered her up in his arms, kissed her lightly on the lips, then hugged her tight. “He’ll be all right. He’s a warrior at heart. He’ll be all right.” He repeated the words as if by doing so, he could make them true. But he wasn’t sure.

Cearnach should have called him.

Chapter 8

Cearnach dove after Elaine into the icy water, his heart skipping beats as he saw her lose her footing and the force of the river carry her away. He followed after her, paddling as fast as his legs could go to catch up. She looked worn out, trying to keep her head above water, dipping her nose in, then lifting it and sneezing. She was unable to keep her footing on the slippery rocks and pull herself out of the river.

In their favor, the sunlight was quickly fading. The farmers who had been shooting at them could no longer get close enough to the river while driving the truck, and Cearnach doubted they could see the wolves swimming in the dark water.

The roar in the distance warned Cearnach that the waterfall was coming up. The currents quickened, pulling them faster toward the sound of the falls.

All in a rush, the memories of the panic he’d felt when he’d been showing off to Calla as a young lad came back to him. He’d been teasing her, saying that he could hop from boulder to boulder without getting wet, while she’d played with an old rope, pretending to be fishing when no one in her clan would allow her to do such a thing.

With a shout of terror, he’d lost his footing on the slippery rocks and fallen into the swiftly moving water. Numb with cold, he had tried to reach the shore but couldn’t. He wasn’t all that old then, not as muscled, not as strong. She’d raced along the bank, shouting his name and desperately throwing the rope out to him, hitting him twice—once on the shoulder, once on the head—before he finally was able to grab hold.

She had quickly wrapped it around a pine tree and held on with all her might as he’d climbed onto the shore,