“Bloody Christ! What in the hell were you thinking, man?” I demanded as I stormed down the hallway towards the king’s study where Alban had stowed Tara.
“Now, now, Son, do not let your temper get away from you,” Lachlan said in Gaelic. “I am sure Alban has a perfectly good reason for bringing Tara here. Again. And locking her up. Again.”
I gritted my teeth. Ever since my cousin returned from Afghanistan in a state one could only describe as borderline rabid, Lachlan spent more time defending his nephew than wondering, as I often did, if perhaps the fellow just wasn’t cut out to be a beta after everything that had happened to him.
“I do,” Alban agreed. My cousin was a miser with his words. However, I knew my beta well enough to hear what he didn’t say: I have my reasons. Your father is right. I didnae bring your almost mate here on a lark.
To which I answered, “What reason could you possibly have to deviate from the plan? What’s more, how am I supposed to play the chivalrous king now? She’s bound to think I’m a nutter who gets my jollies locking women up in my study. Like James McAvoy in that movie, Split.”
“Did you see that film, then?” Lachlan asked. “Because I’m not entirely convinced he was supposed to be a Scot. In fact—”
“I don’t care!” I sniped at my father. “The point is this wasn’t the plan! He shouldn’t have brought her here. For any reason!”
And Christ, look at that. There was a gaggle of castle servants clustered together outside my study door, whispering in Gaelic about the she-wolf inside.
Could this night get any wor—?
I stopped short, a single scent slicing through all the others in the castle and effectively silencing every disparaging thought in my head. It was Tara. I could smell her loud and clear, even through the heavy wood and iron door of my study. But she no longer smelled like the aggressive lone wolf I’d met in the forest dell.
“Is she …?” my father said behind me.
“Told ye I had my reasons,” Alban answered.
“Unlock the damn door!” I commanded the servants. The women started to drop into a curtsey, but I cut them off, “Don’t bother with the formalities. Just get the door open!”
They did as commanded, then jumped out of the way when I barreled past them into the room.
Tara stood directly in the door’s path. And her scent... aye, there was that intoxicating combination of snow and wool which had been haunting me in the months since I met her. But there was also a new odor permeating the room—one I recognized in an instant.
Because it was mine.
Tara smelt like us both, with a heavy dose of hCG—the pregnancy hormone—thrown in for good measure.
“She is with child!” Da exclaimed behind me in Gaelic, as if narrating my own thoughts.
“Tara … we are wolf-mated then?” I asked, my voice cracking with wonder.
Tara didn’t immediately respond.
And when she eventually did, it wasn’t with words.
There came the distinct sound of an old gun cocking. Then Tara raised my great-great-great grandfather’s Lebel military rifle and pointed it straight at me.
“Let me out of here,” she demanded between clenched teeth. “Let me out of here right now!”