A Highland Wolf Christmas
Page 5

She lifted her head to howl again. She suspected one of the wolves would try to stop her. Nobody tackled her this time. Instead, Baird came up close to greet her nose to nose. She snarled, angry that he would keep her from going where she wished. He persisted. She snapped. He growled back, his true personality coming through in an instant.
She didn’t care if she ticked him off. He was irritating the hell out of her with his constant pestering.
Howls from the distance called to her. Relief flooded through her.
Ian and some of his kin were on their way. Thank God. She didn’t really want to bite Baird or his kin. But she would, if they kept this up.
Baird glanced at her bag.
Barks and woofs from the direction of the castle grew closer, letting her know just how far away they were now. Telling her to hold on until they could reach her. They couldn’t know why she was distressed, or why she didn’t respond. Then Baird barked at her, still trying to make up to her. The MacNeills would know now. Baird was here, blocking her from reaching them.
She stood, wary of him and the others.
Baird turned and made a low, rumbling moan at the MacNeill wolves before they were even in sight. Calla grabbed her bag, but Vardon seized it and began a tug-of-war with her, pulling her away from Argent Castle. Damn him!
She growled low and he did the same. She wasn’t letting go! But Vardon was heavier than she was, and stronger. He was dragging her, despite how fiercely she tugged and viciously she snarled, trying to make some headway. Her feet dug into the snow-covered ground as she attempted to keep him from budging her. Nothing was working. She kept sliding through the snow as he yanked the bag with him—and her along with it.
Hating to give up her bag, she let go and Vardon fell on his butt, dropping the field pack.
Baird, who was still watching in the direction of the castle, yipped a retreat. But not before Vardon seized her bag again.
Calla snarled and chased after him, meaning to bite him in the butt or the tail, whichever she could sink her teeth into. She suspected he didn’t want the bag as much as he was trying to draw her away from the MacNeill wolves. Ian’s brother Cearnach howled. She was too busy trying to reach Vardon to respond, his longer legs propelling him forward and keeping him just out of reach of her teeth.
The deep, powdery snow and the wind whipping the flakes into her eyes didn’t help matters. She was squinting, nearly blinded by the snow.
Vardon stumbled in a drift and she ran into him, not meaning to. He snarled at her, and she growled right back at him. One of the other wolves, Baird’s cousin Robert Kilpatrick, grabbed her bag and took off running. Damn!
She sprinted after him, feeling like this was a wolf relay game, and then Baird barked, and she heard the wolves behind her growling. Closer.
Thank God.
Robert dropped her bag and ran full out to avoid a clash with Ian and his men. Ten MacNeill clan wolves greeted her quickly, checking her over, and then raced off after Baird and his men. All except for one wolf. She was grateful that he’d stayed with her.
The third oldest of the quadruplets, Guthrie MacNeill, a gray wolf with a beautiful white mask, greeted her. He licked her face and made sure she was unharmed. He barked at her, seized her bag, and motioned with his head for her to follow.
Gladly.
Before the castle towers came into view, she heard the sound of wolves running to catch up to them. She and Guthrie turned, making sure the approaching wolves were Ian and his family, and not Baird and his pack.
Relieved to see Ian and the rest of his clansmen, she ran with them as a pack, her breath frosty in the blizzard wind, the heat of their bodies stretching out to her. She wasn’t used to being with a pack like this, and she loved feeling the protectiveness and the strength in numbers. As soon as they were inside the walls, the gate guards lowered the portcullis, and then closed the gates.
Ian’s wife, Julia, hurried out to greet her in the inner bailey. Calla hadn’t wanted her to come out into the cold, dressed the way she was in just a sweater, slacks, and boots, with snowflakes collecting on her red hair. Julia’s worried green eyes took in Calla and the rest of the wolves. Several more of their clansmen hurried out to greet them, moving aside to let them into the keep. Julia took Calla’s bag from Guthrie.
“Come, Calla,” Julia said to her. “I have prepared the blue bedchamber for you.”
Before long, Calla was dressed and warming herself in front of a great fire in the cozy den.
Guthrie and his brothers stood nearby, now dressed and with their arms folded across their broad chests, waiting to hear what had happened.
“All my bags are in the car,” Calla said, as if Ian and his kin wouldn’t already know that.
“We’re headed out to find your car, and if we can’t move it, we’ll haul all your things here, lass,” Ian assured her. “We won’t leave them in the car overnight.”
“Aye. I wasn’t sure when the snow would melt enough to budge it,” Calla said.
“In a couple of days, most likely. We’ll get your things for you in the meantime so you don’t have to worry,” Ian said.
“After the McKinleys stole my and Elaine’s cars, we don’t trust them not to steal yours,” Cearnach said, repeating Calla’s own concerns. He was Ian’s second-in-command of the pack and had been a friend of hers when they were young.
Calla sipped her hot tea, the sweet and spicy cinnamon flavor sliding down her throat and warming her, while Ian made arrangements for more of the men to go back to her car.