***

Guthrie MacNeill was helping his brothers and several other male kin carry the Christmas tree into the great hall when he thought again about Calla. “Have you tried calling her, Cearnach?” Guthrie asked.

Cearnach glanced back at him as they struggled to get the tree into the hall. “We’ve been kind of busy.”

“Snowstorm’s worsening,” Guthrie reminded him.

“I assumed she’d stay put,” Cearnach said, “until the roads are clear.”

Guthrie didn’t say anything, still worried about her, as he would be about anyone coming to the castle in bad weather conditions. Given all the trouble he and his clan had had with the McKinleys both before and after Calla left Baird at the altar, he was certain she’d have more trouble with Baird before long.

Guthrie took a deep breath. He shouldn’t be worrying needlessly. Cearnach had her number, and Guthrie would call to ensure she was still at home. Well, once he wasn’t helping to carry this monstrous tree inside.

As they got the tree situated, Julia hurried to inspect its location. She smiled and said, “Perfect!”

Guthrie was glad for that. Wolves could get hernias!

“Julia,” Heather, Guthrie’s cousin, said, nearly out of breath. “You got a message.” She handed her the phone.

Julia checked her text messages. “Oh my God. Calla’s stranded and on her way here in her wolf coat about five miles out. From the time of the text, she is probably about here, but somebody should go and make sure she’s all right.”

Guthrie was already stripping, not waiting for their pack leader, Ian, to decide who would go. His brother smiled a little at him, and then told their brothers Cearnach and Duncan to come with Guthrie and him, along with a few other men.

Just as Julia opened the door for them so that the men in their wolf forms could race across the inner bailey and out the open gates, they heard the howl of a she-wolf in distress. Guthrie and the others ran full out. His heart thundered as his blood heated with a fresh surge of adrenaline.

Chapter 2

Calla got out one good howl before Vardon, one of Baird’s older brothers, lunged at her. Her heart skipped a bit as she tried to jump out of his path. The snow and his sudden movement precluded that. He slammed into her and forced her onto her side.

Growling fiercely, she snapped at him with wickedly sharp canines meant to tear. Her heart was beating triple time. She wasn’t putting up with this.

He jumped back, avoiding her biting teeth and snarling at her. She rolled off her side to lie on her belly.

Baird was studying her, not making a move and not growling at Vardon, which would have told her he didn’t approve of what his brother had done. As usual, Baird was using his kin to fight his battles.

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.