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  “You didn’t tell her about him, did you, Cearnach?” Duncan’s tone was a warning, and she didn’t like the sound of it.

  “Flynn MacNeill’s a ghost, one of our cousins, Elaine. He has a passion for dallying with the ladies,” Cearnach explained. Then he looked at the ceiling and said in a voice rough with barely controlled anger, “Flynn, if you weren’t already dead…”

  “Remind him that we can always hire someone to do an exorcism,” Ian said.

  “He’s harmless, although he annoys the lassies sometimes.” Duncan waved his sword around as if he was slicing the ghost in two anyway. “Did you want anything from the kitchen, lass? A glass of milk to help you sleep?”

  A ghost? She didn’t believe in such things, though she tried to always keep an open mind. She shook her head and rubbed her arms, feeling the goose bumps trailing up and down them.

  “Good night, lass, then,” Duncan said. “If he bothers you again, just call out. We’ll chase him away.”

  “Thank you, Duncan.”

  He bowed his head, then left the room.

  Guthrie cleared his throat. “Same with me.” Then he stalked out of the room after his brother.

  “I’ll take care of her,” Cearnach told Ian, and she realized that since Ian was the pack leader, he felt responsible for her.

  Cearnach was clearly showing he was the one who would take care of her as he kept her pressed against his hard—and getting harder—body.

  Ian bowed his head slightly, gave Cearnach a look like he’d better be careful with their guest, and exited the bedchamber.

  “My room or the guest room?” Cearnach asked.

  “What?” She wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, yet he looked damned earnest.

  He didn’t let go of her, as if he was her bodyguard now and taking this seriously. “He’s harmless, but he can be persistent if he likes a woman. I’m not leaving you alone. Either you join me in my bed or I join you in yours.”

  “What if I sleep with Heather?” Not that she wanted Cearnach’s poor cousin to have to share her bed with a perfect stranger just because of a pesky ghost, if that’s truly what had been harassing her.

  Cearnach snorted. “Flynn loves to torment her. If you join her, he might decide to visit the two of you at one time.”

  She raised her brows, not sure she believed him. Then she shook her head.

  “You don’t want me to stay with you the rest of the night?”

  “No, thanks.” Yes, she did. She was afraid to return to bed. Afraid of not being able to fight some unseen ghostly entity, and she feared experiencing the same thing again. But then again, she didn’t feel that sleeping with Cearnach was a safe bet, either. Not until she’d had a good night’s sleep.

  “I’ll be all right,” she assured him, not sounding half that sure of herself.

  “If you need me, my chamber is just across the hall.”

  “All right.” She hesitated to pull away from him and return to the bed. Despite the lamps lighting the room, the bed now looked dark and ominous, and she couldn’t shake loose of the fear that a body that didn’t exist was hiding under her covers.

  Cearnach helped her onto the mattress and even tucked her in, which she found endearing. He didn’t act like she was being foolish, even though she couldn’t help feeling that way. If the intruder had been real, it would have been a different story.

  “Do you want me to wait with you until you fall asleep?”

  She shook her head no. She wasn’t a child, even though she was feeling like one now. Yet, she appreciated the way he and his brothers had treated her—as though she had nothing to fear, and they didn’t think she was crazy—and that they were at her beck and call, no matter what.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, then.” He kissed her on the cheek, squeezed her hand, pulled the curtain shut, and then retreated from the room.

  The door gave a soft thunk as it closed.

  She snuggled under the covers, feeling suddenly isolated, trying to envision just what had happened. No matter how much she tried to explain away the cold hand on her breast or her name whispered in her ear or the wisp of icy breath on her cheek, she could think of only one thing—the man had been real. Not a ghost. Not a figment of her imagination.

  He was real.

  Despite closing her eyes and willing herself to sleep, she couldn’t. Like having her house broken into once when she had been sleeping and then fearing the same thing would happen again, she couldn’t relax her tense muscles, couldn’t shut down her fears. Only this time instead of fearing the thieves would return, she waited for a ghostly touch and whispered words to come again.

  * * *

  Cearnach paced across his chamber, furious with Flynn. Damn him.

  His ghostly cousin would never give up the lassies. Liking them way too much had been his downfall in the first place. But Flynn didn’t always bother them, not unless he really liked them or he really disliked them.

  Cearnach wondered if the fact that Elaine was kin to an enemy clan had bothered Flynn. Or did she really intrigue him?

  “Leave the lass alone,” Cearnach growled under his breath. “I mean it, Flynn.”

  Flynn did not make an appearance in Cearnach’s bedchamber, nor could he feel Flynn’s presence in the form of chilled air in this room. He had noticed it right away in Elaine’s room. Particularly in her bed. He was furious that Flynn would molest her.

  Of all the cousins, Cearnach had been the closest to Flynn. He supposed it had something to do with them both being jovial sorts who saw most circumstances in a good light. Flynn just couldn’t quit dallying with the lasses, not even when they had been married, not even now that he was just a ghostly version of himself.

  Cearnach was ready to return to bed when another shriek erupted from Elaine’s chamber.

  “Flynn, damn you,” Cearnach roared, throwing his door open again and storming across the hallway to Elaine’s chamber. She was not sleeping the rest of the night alone! He wouldn’t allow his cousin to bother her all night.

  Cearnach yanked open her door and felt a soft body crash into his before it registered that the body belonged to Elaine.

  “It’s all right,” he said, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace, loving the silky soft feel of her, wishing she was in his arms for reasons other than Flynn scaring her.

  She was trembling worse than before.

  “He was there again,” she finally managed to get out, sounding angry, exasperated, and uneasy.

  His brothers stalked down the hall ready to do battle again. “Cearnach?” Ian asked.

  “Aye,” Cearnach said. The temperature in the guest chamber was much colder than in his. “Flynn is up to his old tricks.”

  “We’ll find an exorcist on the morrow, mark my word!” Ian shouted. “Do you hear me, Flynn?”

  Cearnach knew Ian wouldn’t do it. Flynn was their kin, even if not in the flesh any longer. Though Ian tried to hide his feelings from his people, Cearnach knew he’d always regretted having sent Flynn away from the pack before he was murdered. Not that the reason he’d been sent away hadn’t been Flynn’s own doing. He was still family. After he was killed for another of his transgressions, Ian had felt some responsibility. That if he’d kept Flynn at home, he would still be alive today.

  Not that most of their kin truly believed that.

  “You’re coming with me,” Cearnach said to Elaine, not about to let her argue with him over the matter.

  She wasn’t arguing this time, he realized as he nodded to his brothers and led her into his room, then shut the door.

  Elaine took a deep breath and tilted her head up to look at him, brows raised, her look hopeful. “This isn’t a trick to get me into your bed with you, is it?”

  Cearnach laughed out loud. “No, it’s not a trick. You saw the look Ian gave me. He wants me to behave myself with you, but Flynn is not someone we conjure up out of the blue. I’ll tell you more about him later.” He helped her into his bed. �
��I wonder just what Flynn is up to.”

  “I don’t… I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  He thought she didn’t sound as sure of the statement as she wished to be. He wasn’t going to tell her what she wanted to hear—that she was right. That Flynn didn’t exist. Because he did, and he might end up living longer at Argent Castle than any of them.

  “Will he come back tonight? I mean, if I feel a hand on my breast again, would it be his?”

  So much for her not believing in ghosts. Cearnach frowned at her. “He’d better not bother you again. Not with me here. I won’t be fondling you unless you wish it.”

  She smiled a little at that but then shook her head. “Do you think he knows I’m kin to one of your enemy clans?”

  “Aye, he knows. He hears and sees everything.” Cearnach shut the bed curtains on her side, then went around the bed and climbed in and pulled his curtains closed. As soon as he was under the covers, he reached over, not waiting for an invitation, and pulled her into his arms. She was his to protect from her flesh-and-blood kin and his ghostly cousin. He wouldn’t let her worry about any more visitations in the night.

  She was cold, chill bumps traveling over her soft skin, and she was still trembling. He couldn’t warm her up quickly the way his body was urging him to do, but he enjoyed feeling her pressed against him, seeking his heat and protection.

  She didn’t say anything for several minutes, and he thought she might have fallen asleep, but then she said, “He won’t try to make me think you’re attempting to take advantage of me in the middle of the night and cause friction between us, will he?”

  He thought about that, wondering if Flynn would feel he was protecting Cearnach from the she-wolf. He could see him doing something to cause trouble between them if he thought he was being noble in defending Cearnach.

  “I don’t know, Elaine. I’ve never brought a woman to the castle before. I’m not sure what’s going through his mind.”

  She snuggled closer to Cearnach, her head resting on his bare chest, her arm linked around his waist, stirring a fresh need in him to have her. “He won’t come between us,” she said with firm resolve.

  Flynn was causing more trouble than Cearnach could deal with—keeping his hands wrapped around the lass in a gentlemanly way, fighting back the urge to stroke her skin, to lift that filmy piece of gauze cloaking her body, and join her in the ultimate bliss. Mate with her for life.

  “Good night, lass. Pleasant dreams.” Damn you, Flynn, for bothering the lass.

  On the other hand, Cearnach was glad to have Elaine in his arms tonight, the first of many, he hoped.

  It wasn’t until early the next morning when Cearnach woke to find Elaine’s borrowed gown bunched at the waist, his hand resting on her bare ass, her leg thrown over his legs and the most painful arousal he’d ever experienced to realize Flynn had not troubled them for the remainder of the night.

  Cearnach quickly moved his hand off her derriere before she caught him. He smiled when she moaned in protest. At least it sounded that way to him.

  He needed to disentangle himself from her bare limbs, and they should join his kin for breakfast before too much speculation about him and Elaine began to surface. Even if his kin didn’t share much of what they thought might be going on between Elaine and him, he didn’t want to fan the flames of conjecture any further.

  Yet, she was sleeping so soundly that he hated to disturb her. Especially after what she’d been through the night before.

  Continuing to sleep with the she-wolf could cause more difficulties than either of them could handle—until he could convince her that it was time to mate, and that had to happen before she began to make plans to leave Scotland.

  Chapter 15

  Elaine woke slowly in Cearnach’s protective and warm embrace, and realized several things at once. She’d actually slept the rest of the night undisturbed. She was relieved that she’d had no more issues with the ghost. But now she was in an untenable position, her gown gathered around her navel, Cearnach’s hand resting on her buttock, and her naked leg locking him in place as if she was a pirate and had captured him, and he was her prisoner. More-than-willing prisoner.

  She wanted to keep the fantasy alive. Except she’d exchange the pirate’s cabin bed for this one in the castle, which was much more her style. Rocking on rough seas was not, considering how sick she got when traveling by ship.

  He still wore the pair of black boxers, but that didn’t hide the fact he was fully aroused and that she was pressing against that rock-hard erection. She was imagining him entering her, making love to her, mating with her like two wolves would for life. Did he still want to do that with her?

  She’d felt his hand slip from her ass, and she’d let out a slight moan in protest, not intending to, trying to pretend she was asleep. It hadn’t worked.

  Maybe he was still asleep. She missed having his hand on her skin, feeling sexy and dangerous and ready for more.

  She tried to move her leg off him without disturbing him, but as soon as she lifted her leg, he groaned in a half dissatisfied, half husky way. She glanced up at him. He was smiling down at her smugly, his face covered with a shadow of stubble.

  “Ahh, lass,” he drawled with his sexy Scottish burr, “seems I chased Flynn away for you last night.”

  He ran his hand over her arm, the silky fabric sliding up and down, his touch gentle and loving.

  She quickly moved away from him, yanking down the gown so that the hem was around her ankles again. “You… weren’t in on this with your ghostly cousin, were you?”

  Cearnach laughed, the sound rich and husky. He reached over, tugging playfully on a length of her hair. She breathed in deeply and smelled his delightful masculine scent. Now her own light scent mixed with his. She never imagined she’d spend the night in a male wolf’s bed when he wasn’t her mate.

  She sighed. “Bathroom?”

  “In there,” he said, motioning toward her side of the curtained bed.

  She sat up and pulled aside the black velvet curtains and for the first time really saw his chamber. One wall was covered with swords and dirks and shields—some old and battle-scarred, some shiny and new. His chamber made her think of an Old World armory that would have been the prized possession of a museum on Scottish weaponry. She thought he should have a suit of mail to make the room complete.

  Large, bulky dark oak dressers and armoires filled the room. On top of one, a brass framed picture of Cearnach caught her full attention. He was crouched among a dozen Irish wolfhounds—some lying at his feet, two looking up at him with adoration, some standing beside him, four sitting in a semicircle around him with eyes focused on the camera, and three pups climbing on his lap. He gave the impression that he was the alpha leader of a pack of wolfhounds, his elusive smile and the twinkle in his eyes as he looked into the camera making it appear as though he was observing her. Who wouldn’t love a man who loved animals?

  Her gaze shifted to the remaining walls, which were covered with sketches of intricately carved Celtic knot designs for the wooden handles of daggers.

  “My hobby,” he said, watching her as she turned to look at him. He motioned to the sketches. “I design them and sell them to shops looking for hand-carved individual creations.”

  “They’re beautiful,” she said, marveling at the detail on the handles of the weapons. “You did all of these?”

  “Aye. Our smithy makes the blades. I work the handles.”

  “They’re truly artwork.”

  “Thanks, Elaine.” He cast her a small smile. “Not all lasses would appreciate my collection.”

  She gave his bared upper body an appreciative look. “I do.”

  His smile widened and he leaned across the bed to grasp her arm in response to her comment. She quickly hopped down from the high bed and hurried into his bathroom.

  “Coward,” he teased in a husky, sexy voice.

  “I’m not a coward,” she said from the bathroom, finding it as luxurious
as the other that she’d used when she shifted and dressed in the borrowed clothes. This one was all in black and white streaked marble, the counters and the floor in solid black stone, and the shower in white. She ran her hand over the cool, sleek marble.

  She peered out of the bathroom at him as he now sat on her edge of the bed, smiling at her in the most wicked way, his chest and legs bared, his erection outlined as it stood at attention underneath the satiny fabric of the boxers.

  She said, “I’m trying to protect your reputation.”

  “My reputation,” he said, his voice taking on an even huskier tone.

  “Oh, aye,” she said, attempting to copy his delightful brogue.

  “It’s already in tatters.” He smiled at her.

  She chuckled. “Which has nothing to do with me, and I want to keep it that way.”

  He cocked one brow. “It has all to do with you.”

  “It has all to do with your cousin Flynn.” She glanced around at the bathroom and realized she didn’t have any clothes with her here. She would need to either get them out of the guest bedroom and return here, or shower over there.

  Flynn wouldn’t bother her now that it was daylight, she assumed. If he had meant to get her and Cearnach together, he’d already done so.

  She left the bathroom.

  Cearnach stood in front of the bed, stretching his muscles, his brows raised as he watched her, probably wondering what she was up to. She tore her gaze away from his muscled chest and arms, perused the bulge in his boxers with interest, and curbed a smile. He was just too sexy for a morning wake-up vision in the flesh.

  She waved to the guest room across the hall. “I’ll use the one in the guest chamber since my clothes are there.”

  “Ah,” he said, giving her rumpled appearance a long, fascinated look. “I’ll escort you down to breakfast as soon as you’re ready to go.”

  At least no one was about when she left his room and rushed across the hall to her chamber.

  She closed the bedroom door, then hurried into the bathroom to take a shower. The guest room was well equipped with travel-sized soaps and shampoos, packaged guest toothbrushes, and mini tubes of toothpaste, perfect for a guest whose kin had stolen her suitcases. After brushing her teeth, she pulled off the gown and tucked it over the gold bath towels on the towel rack, then entered the glassed-in shower stall.