Guthrie would kill Baird if he harmed Calla in any way.

***

Calla had just washed up in her bathroom when she heard the lock to her bedroom door snick closed. She frowned. Guthrie couldn’t have come to see her. Not with all the activities going on. Not right now.

She opened the bathroom door and saw Baird standing by her bed.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her heart drumming against her ribs. How in the world had he gotten in? Her skin felt chilled. She hoped now that Guthrie would come to check on her.

“My life isn’t worth living if you don’t come back to me, Calla,” Baird said, truly sounding like he was pleading.

She couldn’t believe it. He was either the greatest play actor there was, or on some level, he truly believed what he’d said. Neither made any sense.

“You need to leave right this very minute.” She hoped she could talk him out of this madness. “If Ian and his people find you here…”

“You don’t understand. I can’t leave until you agree to be my mate. Stay here if you like and plan the MacNeills’ Christmas party…but please come back to me. Just say you’ll be mine.”

Please? She’d never seen him behave in such a way. Groveling. If his pack members saw their leader begging before her, she figured they’d kick him out of the pack.

“Baird, you have to leave. I don’t know what your game is, but Ian and his men—”

She heard the men running toward the door. Her heart was already pounding hard. Baird didn’t even look away from her. He had to be crazy!

Guthrie shouted at the door, yanking and banging on it, sounding as though he was ready to break it down, but the door was solid oak. They would need a battering ram.

“Open the door, Baird. We’ll allow you safe passage if you leave in peace,” Ian said, his voice commanding.

“Calla, are you all right?” Guthrie shouted.

“Aye, Guthrie. I am.” She begged Baird, “Please, do as Ian asks. They’ll honor their words.” Baird ignored them completely, a wild look in his eyes that scared her. She was afraid he planned to hurt her if he didn’t get his way. She didn’t see that he was armed. He’d probably figured that if the MacNeill men caught him with weapons, it would go worse for him. But he could still hurt her with his bare hands.

She assumed that talking him down wasn’t going to work. The problem with wolves was that they watched a person’s slightest body movements—eyes, muscles twitching, changes in stance, mouth—and could assess what someone was about to do. So as soon as she tried to slip into the bathroom and slam the door closed, he was there in a heartbeat, his hand shoved against the door, his foot in place before she’d managed to get the door closed. He hit the door so hard that she jumped back to avoid it striking her.

Immediately, she began tugging off her sweater and kicking off her boots. But she only managed to get that far before he crossed the floor and grabbed for her. “Nay, damn it, Calla. I don’t want to hurt you. But I will if you attempt to shift.”

She was still wearing her long skirt and bra. The skirt would hamper her wolf’s hind legs, but nothing would obstruct her bite. She figured that if she shifted, he’d have no other choice but to back off and give up.

Unless he shifted too.

At least that was the plan, right before he slammed his fist into her temple.

***

Oran had run to get the master key to Calla’s bedchamber while Guthrie and his brothers listened, trying to figure out a plan.

Ian tried to call Baird on his cell phone. Baird ignored the ringing, but now they knew he had the phone on him.

Calla and Baird weren’t talking or fighting any longer, and that had Guthrie worried.

“He wants her,” Ian said, trying to reassure him. “He’s not going to jeopardize that by hurting her.”

“I don’t believe it,” Guthrie said. “Baird had to be desperate to come here like this and get stuck in such a dangerous predicament. There’s no telling what he meant to do.”

Oran raced down the hallway with a set of keys jangling. Ian tried the master key on the door and unlocked it, but the door was bolted. There was no budging it.

“Get a couple of axes,” Guthrie said to Oran, who ran off to get them. “Baird, open the damned door!” Guthrie turned to Ian. “It’s too quiet in there. What if he forced her out the window?”

“Bloody hell,” Ian said, and called someone on his cell as he motioned for Duncan and Cearnach to go around the back side of the keep where her window looked out over the gardens. “Jasper, get some men to Calla’s guest-room window pronto. Baird might be escaping from her room that way.”

Guthrie prayed that Baird wasn’t taking Calla with him that way. Fear consumed him. Everything was too quiet.

Then they heard movement in the bedroom.

“Calla!” Guthrie shouted, his skin sweating with worry.

“I’m coming,” she said, sounding weak, as if she was in pain.

Guthrie growled, wanting to kill Baird in the worst way.

Ian called Cearnach. “Calla’s coming to the door. Baird must have left.” Then he made another call. “Oran, forget the axes. Calla’s opening the door.”

The bolt slid open and Guthrie pushed the door slowly, not wanting to hit Calla with it and worried that Baird had injured her.

She was sitting on the bed, holding the side of her head and dressed only in a bra and her skirt. He helped her to lie down and covered her with a blanket, while Ian stalked to the open window and shouted down to someone below, “Baird’s not up here.”