He returned to the solar and picked up where he’d left off, flipping to another page in the journal. Not only had she done an excellent job of writing about him, but she’d captured Duncan’s warrior instincts, Guthrie’s studiousness, and the layout of the castle, as well as some of their cousins’ gruff appearances and roaming eye for the lassies. She had only praise for the MacNeill clan, which surprised him. Was it a ploy, though? In case they found her journal?
He read through the beginning of Julie’s American Western story, where Ian MacNeill featured prominently and the heroine was already stealing a horse, which made him wonder if she intended to steal something from them. Something of importance.
From both the notes she had written about Ian, her hero in the Highland historical romance she had started and then seemed to set aside, and now in the cowboy story, she was in love with him. Maybe only on paper, but he obviously was her hero, the one who would capture the heroine’s heart if they could ever be on the same side of the law. A made-up tale for sure, if she was in a conspiracy with Basil Sutherland. And no matter how much Cearnach didn’t want to believe it, he couldn’t see it any other way.
Duncan stalked into the solar and looked at Cearnach sitting on the settee against the wall, journal in hand. “Are they still in his bedchamber?” Duncan asked quietly.
Cearnach gave a slight bow of his head and then rose, crossed the floor, and placed the journal in the top right-hand drawer of Ian’s desk.
“Does she say much of anything?” Duncan asked.
“Aye. She portrays all of us. In a good light,” Cearnach added, not about to reveal what he’d discovered at the cottage to anyone but Ian. “So what’s going on with the film crew?”
“They want everyone who signed up as background performers to show up to wardrobe first thing in the morning so we can be fitted for costuming. And then?” Duncan smiled darkly. “We’re to learn how to swing a claymore properly.”
“Weel, do they want us to do the teaching?”
Duncan laughed. “If Ian got wind of it, he’d be out there leading the whole bunch in training. An armorer is supposed to hand out swords tomorrow.”
“My claymore will be the one I got as a lad. With the sword having the proper balance and weight, I can manage anyone.”
“The director won’t like it.”
Cearnach snorted. “The director doesn’t have to like it. As to costuming? I’ll be wearing my own plaid.”
“Aye, same here.” Duncan motioned with his shoulder in the direction of Ian’s bedchamber, the door shut tight. “Is it serious?”
“What? The relationship? Or what she’s up to?” Cearnach tried to keep the bite out of his words.
Duncan’s brows pinched together as they headed down the hall to the stairs. “I didn’t think anything, or should I say anyone, would distract him from the film crew’s business while they were here. Appears that a little red wolf has done the trick. Do you think he is still interrogating her?”
Cearnach shook his head. “What do you think?”
“I think he’s working awfully hard at it, and if he doesn’t get the truth soon, they’ll miss out on dinner also. Maria Baquero isn’t going away, though.”
“I’ll speak with her again,” Cearnach said. “I’ve heard some ugly rumors I need to find out the truth about.”
“What’s that, brother?”
“Basil Sutherland and his men have been added to the roster of fighting men for a couple of battle scenes. The scripted battles will surely take a turn for the worse, and Ian will be sorely vexed once he learns of the situation.”
Ian would kill Basil, Cearnach thought, if he learned Julia was playing Ian for a fool while working with their enemy.
“Och. Well, wait until after he’s eaten.” Duncan glanced at Ian’s chamber as they passed it by. “Or maybe after he emerges from his chamber. He should be in good form by then, don’t you think?”
Once Ian learned the truth about Julia? Cearnach truly didn’t want to be the bearer of ill tidings—again.
Ian appreciated his brothers’ thoughtfulness in keeping their voices down as they passed his bedchamber. He assumed Cearnach had found Julia’s journal. Now, he had to solicit his kin’s help in locating the secret niche in the region of the living quarters, if such a thing still existed, and learn what it really contained. A betrothal contract? He didn’t believe so. Something valuable, he assumed.
Julia had fallen asleep again. He dressed and then left her naked and buried under his covers in his bedchamber while he summoned his aunt to the solar. He assumed she would know something about the MacPhersons, more than what she’d mentioned earlier in the kitchen about their portraits being in one of the tower rooms.
After she arrived at his solar, he started with the questioning at once before Julia became aware he’d left her alone. “What connection do we have with any red wolves by the name of MacPherson?”
“I’ve been looking into the records, but… well, no one told me the woman was a red wolf and not a gray.” She looked down at her lap and thought about it for several minutes. But when she looked up at Ian, he could tell from her expression that she didn’t recall anyone like that.
“I’ll keep looking through the records, though. I meant to have someone type them up and save them on a computer.” She waved a hand dismissively at Ian. She had never been interested in computers. “But you know what a chore that will be, and no one in the family has been interested in doing the work.”
“If you discover anything, will you tell me?”
“Aye, of course.” She frowned at him. “You know she writes about werewolves? Do you know what the stories are about?”
“Heather reads them. She said she has a whole collection of them.”
Aunt Agnes wrinkled her nose. “They are not literary in the least.” She shuddered. “Books about sex, that’s what they are.”
“Guthrie has asked Heather to get one of her books for him to look at.”
“I’ll take a look at it. Unless it has to do with financial reports, he doesn’t read.”
Ian couldn’t help smiling a little. His aunt was of the opinion that unless the book was nonfiction, it wasn’t worth reading. So the thought she would want to peruse a romance novel filled with sex amused him. “Cearnach said he would read it.”
Agnes gave a snort of laughter. “Cearnach doesn’t read, unless it has to do with how to carve a new handle for a dirk.”
“Duncan said he would.”
Agnes stared at Ian in disbelief. “A romance novel? You can’t be serious.”
Very serious. In fact, Ian had the feeling that all his brothers planned to flip through the books, looking for anything that might catch their interest.
“Do you recall anything about a red family who was named MacPherson? You must have some idea.”
Aunt Agnes eyed him warily. “Seems to me you’ve been interrogating the lass all morning and half the afternoon. Surely you’ve made some headway with her.”
Ian leaned back in his chair. “She says I’m betrothed to her.”
His aunt didn’t react one wee bit. She didn’t laugh at him or look shocked. She didn’t show any expression that would reveal she’d even heard him.
Then her face split into a grin. “It’s about time. If there’s nothing further, I’ll be on my way to see what I can learn about the lass. Do tell your mother about this latest betrothal. I’m sure she’ll be pleased with the news.” And then before he could respond, his aunt hurried out of the solar.
He assumed she hadn’t heard of this contract, either, or maybe she had but had never seen it. Without locating it, they really had nothing to go by.
He’d fully intended to return to Julia in his chamber when Cearnach knocked on his door frame. Which was, in and of itself, not something he usually did. Ian leaned back in his chair, considered Cearnach’s dark expression, and knew something dreadful had to have happened.
“Come. What’s the problem, Cearnach?”
Cearnach closed the door.
Now Ian knew the problem had to be dire.
Ian waited, although the suspense was killing him. But he could tell Cearnach did not want to be the messenger. And the last time he looked this worried was when he’d had to tell Ian about Flynn’s transgressions with Ian’s betrothed.
“Flynn and Ghleanna are the past, Cearnach. Nothing could be that bad. Now, what is the news?”
Cearnach sat in a chair in front of Ian’s desk and shifted uncomfortably. “I think your telling Flynn you’d exorcise him when he locked us in the tunnels hurt his feelings. I haven’t seen him about bothering anyone of late.”
That was what this was about? Ian knew Cearnach and Flynn had been best of friends, and telling Ian about their cousin’s affair with Ian’s betrothed had probably been the most difficult thing Cearnach had ever done, but hell, their cousin had deserved worse treatment than he’d received. Ian frowned. “He knows I wouldn’t get rid of my own kin.”
Cearnach cleared his throat, the inference being that Ian had indeed sent Flynn away from clan and family.
“Aye, well, he had lain with my betrothed, Cearnach. Was I to keep him here and pretend it did not matter to me? How could I have led the clan, the pack, if my own kin would steal my betrothed right under my nose and I did nothing about it?”
“Aye, and a cold fish she was.”
Ian stared glumly at the window.
“He saved you from a fate worse than death.”
Ian looked at his brother.
“He was… is still our kin. Whether he planned to or not, he gave you the freedom to mate whomever you please, as long as the woman is truly the right one for you.”
“Are you referring to Julia?”
Cearnach’s eyes darkened and narrowed. “You know nothing about the lass, Ian. If it were me, I’d tread lightly where she’s concerned.”
