A Highland Werewolf Wedding - By Terry Spear Page 0,89
near a loch or has a waterfall nearby.”
“Aye, lass. They will make sure of it.”
***
Despite not expecting to be overly impressed, Elaine was when they arrived at the first estate.
Heavy stone walls and massive oak doors gave the immediate impression of the medieval three-story building being just as hardy as the Highlanders accompanying her.
“No loch,” she said to Cearnach, thinking of what her uncle had eluded to.
“Aye. No waterfalls near here. No pile of rocks.”
Two vanloads of warriors joined them as Elaine knocked on the door of the manor, the renters already informed of their visit. Wide-eyed, a matronly woman stared at all the men standing around.
“My husband’s kinsmen,” Elaine said, “wanting to see the property also. They’ll just look at the grounds. My husband will accompany me on a brief tour of the manor. The others will remain outside.”
“Of course, Mrs. MacNeill. Come in. I’m Tricia Haverstein.”
Calling Cearnach her husband when he wasn’t—and when her kind normally didn’t wed, nor had she ever planned such a thing—felt odd.
Inside, she toured the seven bedrooms, all with fireplaces and small glazed glass windows. Antiques filled each room, and all the walls were papered in floral designs. The older woman related details about the place as they moved through it. About all the people who had made changes to the building over the years. How at one time the manor was a monastery. She pointed to the window seats. “Prayer seats for the monks.”
Three spiral staircases led from one floor to another in the same manner as the stairs at Argent Castle, for protection in case of invasion. The kitchen looked old with its stone walls and fireplace, but was modernized with new appliances. A wine cellar where Elaine thought a treasure might have been hidden proved to hold nothing but racks of wine.
The woman motioned to one of the racks. “At one time a ship sank and casks of wine were brought here to be enjoyed by the vicar and the parson. It was called the ‘right of wreckage’ in the Middle Ages.”
“Finders, keepers,” Elaine mused.
“Aye.”
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Haverstein.”
They left the manor, and when Elaine climbed into the car with Cearnach, she said, “The other manor is only three hours from this one.”
Cearnach studied her for a moment, then nodded. He called Ian and okayed the trip to the next medieval manor.
They stopped for a meal at a quaint little eatery and then they were off again.
The next manor was similar to the first, with ancient, beautiful oak doors and floors, stone walls, and antique-filled rooms.
Like the other, the place was not near any water. “This couldn’t be where they hid the treasure,” she said. “No loch. No waterfalls.” She couldn’t help the disappointment in her voice.
“Aye, but remember the properties are worth far more than the merchandise your uncles stole. And they are yours.”
“Ours,” she reminded him.
“They are that.” He called Ian to let him know of their progress. “I’ll tell her. See you later.” He set the new phone down on the console. “They haven’t brought your car to the castle yet, Ian said.”
“Do you think they will?” Elaine asked.
“I don’t know, lass. Because you wouldn’t do as they asked, maybe not. It’s time to go home.”
She worried now what other measures Ian might take to get her property back and restitution paid for Cearnach’s vehicle. She hoped it didn’t mean a battle between wolf packs.
***
Duncan and Guthrie and the other men scouted the area surrounding the keep that Elaine owned. No one was at home, but they noted the smell of a gray wolf and suspected he might be Elaine’s kin and trouble. If they’d been human, they would have had to abide by human laws, such as those against illegal search and breaking and entering. But shape-shifting wolves had their own set of rules to live by. It was the only way their kind could live among humans without detection and survive as long as they had. Using a key, Duncan, Guthrie, and Oran entered first.
Even though his attention should have been on searching for hidden places within the keep, Duncan kept wanting to look through the drawers of the desk, learn the contents of the computer sitting atop it, and rifle through every cabinet, nook, and cranny in every room of the keep.
“He’s not any of the McKinleys or Kilpatricks we know,” Guthrie said, watching Duncan as he stared at another confounded bureau drawer.
Then he jerked it open and began searching through it.