I woke with a jolt and looked all around only to find myself in bed at Iain’s Edinburgh flat.
Oh, thank God.
I released a huge breath and sat up. It had been a dream. A terrible messed-up dream. Thank goodness…
All those feelings of sweet relief screeched right out of me when I spotted the long rifle resting on top of the tufted ottoman at the foot of my bed. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
It all came rushing back to me; being ambushed and abducted by Magnus’s beta goon.
I recalled the long drive to the castle in Faoiltiarn. I had never once set foot in Ontario’s kingdom town. Yet there I was, visiting Magnus’s kingdom town twice in one year….
* * *
I found the gun in that jail cell of a study. It was a masterpiece of polished mahogany and well-oiled steel. It smelled—not exactly ancient, but definitely old.
Anyway, it was exactly what I needed to get out of this place. I quickly pulled down the weapon and grabbed the wooden box of bullets beside it.
I could both hear and smell Magnus approaching, and I barely had time to carefully load the gun before he came crashing through the door.
“Put the rifle down, Tara!” he commanded as soon as I raised the gun and aimed it at him, “Put it down right now!”
His voice was harsh, but not with anger.
Fear … I could see it in his face along with another emotion; concern. His gray eyes were fixed on my still-flat belly.
“Careful there, Tara,” an older man said behind him—Magnus’s and Iain’s father, Lachlan. I vaguely remembered him from the last time I’d been brought here against my will.
“That is a very old military gun—and it’s not entirely dependable,” Lachlan told me. “None of us want to see you or the bairn hurt … or worse. My son just wants to talk with you. That’s all, lass.”
Lachlan looked a lot like Magnus. Tall and strong, with only his gray hair and a few additional decades of sags and wrinkles to differentiate them. But unlike his son, he didn’t try to command me. Instead, his voice stayed low and gentle, the way someone sounds when they’re trying to calm a spooked horse.
Guilt twisted my stomach. I hated the idea of having to use force on Lachlan or anyone else, for that matter—even if Magnus had ordered his goon, Alban, to kidnap me from my office parking garage.
But I had been kidnapped. I reminded myself of that fact.
And this rifle was the only leverage I had. Sure, Magnus wanted to talk. But how much talking would he have been willing to do if I hadn’t found the rifle?
Not much, I bet. He’d have kept me against my wishes, completely ignoring the fact that I had a life I wanted to get on with.
Fear buzzed like my father’s honey bees around my head. No, I had to get away I would and could not let myself be trapped again.
Instead of lowering the gun, I walked resolutely forward.
And to my relief, when I reached the threshold, the three men parted for me like the Red Sea. Though, Lachlan kept murmuring warnings about the gun as if I was a child who didn’t understand.
Out in the hall, I found three older she-wolves, wearing long brown skirts with a swatch of the Faoiltiarn tartan overlaid. They all regarded me with teary eyes and happy smiles, seemingly oblivious to the loaded rifle in my hands.
There hasn’t been a baby born in Faoiltiarn since around the turn of the century …
I remembered Iain’s explanation about why the villagers held his pregnant mate in such high regard. And these three ladies were staring at me in the same way. As if a walking miracle had manifested in the hall.
“Banrigh! Banrigh!” they cried.
“Get back,” I warned, even though I knew I would drop the gun before I’d ever fire on three older she-wolves.
“Stand back.” Magnus told the she-wolves from somewhere to the side of me. “Let her go. Give her no reason to fire that gun.”
The she-wolves did as he commanded, moving out of my path with a few more curtsies. And that was all the leeway I needed. Still carrying the rifle, I dashed down the partially carpeted white marble stairs and escaped outside.
Then I stole the Land Rover I’d been driven here in. Alban unwittingly aided me when he dropped his car keys into the center console before escorting me into the castle. Other than a brief issue negotiating a three-point turn—of course, the vintage Land Rover didn’t have power steering—I drove out of there without any further trouble.
The last thing I saw as I peeled out of the gravel parking area beside the stone bridge was Magnus standing in front of his ancient castle.
His hair whipped in the wind as his father and staff came to stand behind him. I couldn’t make out the details of his expression, but I somehow knew for certain he was watching my retreating vehicle like a hawk.
Eventually, after a long, anxious drive back to the city, I returned to the safety of Iain’s high-security apartment. I set the antique gun on an ottoman, then collapsed into my bed, not even bothering to change out of my work clothes.
I had escaped. Barely.
* * *
Why did we have to leave? My wolf whined inside of me even as I stared at the gun the next morning.
She somehow didn’t understand why my human had refused to allow her the one thing, the only thing, she’d ever asked for.
I just pushed away the sheets and answered, Because freedom—nothing can top that.
That declared, I headed into the bathroom where I showered, applied my makeup—and then abruptly decided to stay home. There was no way in hell I could handle work after what happened the last night.
So after all that, I returned my second-favorite Ted Baker dress to the closet and slipped into the pink satin Boux Avenue nightgown I’d bought for myself while shopping for a wedding gift for Milly.
Had that only been ten weeks ago?
I shook my head, unable to fathom how much my life had changed since my best human friend became a werewolf, the same as me.
My phone’s ringtone cut off my troubled thoughts. I dashed over to the nightstand where I’d left my phone charging and cursed softly when I saw the familiar Canadian number.
It was Barbara, the used bookstore owner and long-time family friend who always let my parents use the phone at her store for their Monday calls.
“Hey, Barbara,” I said, forcing as much cheer into my voice as possible. “How are you?”
“The question is how are you, Miss Tara?” Barbara’s wholesome Canadian voice answered. “Your parents were worried when you missed the call yesterday.”
My chest tightened. Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly feel any worse about last night… turns out I completely forgot to call my parents for their weekly chat.
Then again, I’d been kind of preoccupied. Being abducted, held prisoner, and escaping in a stolen car didn’t leave a lot of spare time to call the folks. But my parents didn’t know that, and I hated to worry them.
“I am so sorry,” I told Barbara. “Something … came up.”
“I’ll say,” Barbara chuckled, her voice taking on a teasing quality. “But your parents were worried sick. You’ve never missed a call. Not once!”
“I know, I know. And I am so, so, sorry.” I loved my parents. They were kind and thoughtful and I always looked forward to our weekly conversations. “Please tell them I’m okay, and that I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
“And …?” Barbara prompt, the teasing tone had returned to her voice.
“Uh … and … I’m very sorry?” I answered confusedly. “I mean, I don’t know what else to say, Barbara.”
“Okay, I understand. I get you want to tell them yourself. But in the meantime, shouldn’t you share your exciting news with me?”
“What exciting news?” I asked, totally bewildered.
“Oh, you know—the announcement plastered all over the Scottish news sites! Your parents were very worried yesterday when they didn’t get your call. So, I decided to check online after they left to make sure nothing had happened to you. I mean, you have never missed a call. Anyway, I Googled your name and almost had a heart attack when the results popped up. But then I took a closer look and, well, you know …”
“Hold on, hold on. What are you talking about?” I was trying to be patient with Barbara but I was becoming more confused than a fattened turkey on Canadian Thanksgiving.
I took a deep breath and reset. “Okay, let me see if I understand. You say you found something about me online? Are you sure it’s not another Tara Hamilton? I mean, I can’t be the onl—"
I was interrupted by two short beeps announcing another incoming call. “Hold on, Barbara …”
I glanced down at the screen to see my boss’s name pop up on the caller ID. The notification was right beneath my phone’s digital clock … which helpfully reminded me that I was over an hour late for work.
Oh, shit.
“Barbara, I am so sorry but I really have to go.”
“Tara, wait...!”
“My boss is on the other line. I’ll call you back soon! Don’t forget to apologize to Mom and Dad for me!”
I didn’t wait for Barbara to reply … just switched over to Gordon.
“Hey, Gordo, I am SO sorry I’m late. I—uh—I was just about to call in sick,” I began …
“Glamour!” Gordon’s voice boomed into the phone. He sounded downright … jovial? “Hold on a tic, lass. Let me put you on speaker …”
I could hear him fumbling with his desk phone and then, “Everyone, I’ve got Tara on the line!”
His declaration was followed by a loud cheer.
I frowned. What in the hell was going on? And then it clicked—of course! This was obviously some kind of joke... probably because I didn’t show up this morning. My mostly Scottish co-workers would happily “take the piss” out of a nun if given the chance.
“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m late. But I have a very good reason—”
A loud burst of laughter cut me off followed by Glenda’s voice shouting, “Well, of course you’re late! I’d be late too if I were in your shoes …!”
I sighed. “Look, Gordon? Gordon!! Can you please take me off speaker for a minute? Or at least can we talk in private?”
There was a ton of grumbling, but I waited them out until the sounds of shuffling feet were followed by the click of Gordon’s office door.
“Okay. So Gordo … I’m going to have to leave Scotland sooner than I thought,” I told my boss. “I’m really so—”
“What?!?!” Gordon bellowed into the phone. “Do you mean to say the rumors are true? Scotswolf will retire at the end of the season after he gets his 100th cap? No! Say it isn’t so!”
Okay, was he even speaking English at this point?
“Gordo … stop!” I demanded for the second time that day. “What are you talking about?”
“What are you on about?” He demanded right back at me. “Because if Magnus is retiring as a result of you and him getting hitched and having a bairn on the way, then I cannot be as happy as I was when I first heard the news. I mean, I know most players throw in the towel after fourteen years, but I still think Scotswolf has a good two or three more left in him.”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted, widening my eyes. “Who told you I was pregnant … and getting married?”
“He did,” Gordon answered.
My stomach cramped for reasons that had nothing to do with the wolf I was gestating inside of it.
“Are you saying Magnus contacted you and told you I was pregnant and engaged to him?” I asked.
“No, course not! Why would he do that?”
“Then wha—?”
“It was in the press release, announcing you and him were up the duff. You’re famous!”
Iain’s penthouse took up the entire top floor of the building. And according to Iain, the floors, ceilings, and walls had been well insulated to minimize incoming and outgoing sounds. Still, I doubted there was a single resident in the entire building who didn’t hear me shrieking “WHAT?!?!”
Then, as if on cue, the apartment security system announced, “Magnus Scotswolf and guest are at the front door.”