“Hell, yeah, lass. I was pondering the same thing. I probably shaved a few years off my brothers’ lives as I took a few of those icy curves a little too fast.”

“Oh, God, nay. I couldn’t have lost you too.”

He kissed her slowly, not wildly, impatiently, but more to give her tender loving care after her ordeal. She loved him for it. She never thought of herself as a wilting flower, but after the horrible experience with the car accident, worry that she would never see Guthrie again, the fight, and the fear that Baird’s kin would cause them more trouble, she so appreciated Guthrie’s gentleness.

And yet as they kissed slowly, their tongues dancing, the friction between their bodies making her hot and hungry for his penetration, she began to slide fiercer and faster against his throbbing erection, stroking her fingers through his hair, wanting more, quicker, deeper, harder.

He was of a like mind. Thank the heavens. She loved how he would do anything to please her. He groaned with need and separated her legs so she was straddling him, her breasts brushing against his lightly haired chest, her nipples so sensitive. She was soon wet for him, her own woman’s core throbbing with the need to have him inside her, thrusting, claiming her as she claimed him.

He moved his arm between them and began to stroke her fast and hard. She was ready to scream out with pleasure, getting on her knees, barely able to breathe because she was so hot, her legs spread to him.

So much for slow as he plunged two fingers into her and she came down on them, all her composure splintering into a million fragments of bliss. Before she could collapse on top of him, he was holding her hips, centering her, and plunging his cock deep inside her.

Riding him was just as pleasurable as his hands cupped her breasts and he massaged them while her inner muscles tightened her hold on him. Like her, he couldn’t last, as if all the pent-up anxiety they’d felt earlier in the day was released. After several hard thrusts, he filled her womb with his heat.

Then she was able to collapse. But they didn’t separate and she loved the way they were joined, feeling his heat and love surround her as he pulled the covers over them. This wouldn’t be the last time they’d make love tonight, proving to the world and themselves that they were mated wolves and no one could tear them apart.

***

Guthrie’s arms were wrapped around Calla after another bout of lovemaking. She’d fallen asleep again, her head nestled against his chest, her leg in between his. She felt right there, like she had always belonged.

Then he heard a noise that brought him to instant alertness. He listened, trying to discern the sound he’d heard. He didn’t know who was serving on guard duty at this time of night, and though he hadn’t mentioned it, he really didn’t like being here at the manor house with Calla until the issue with Baird’s pack had been resolved. The Stewart’s manor house just wasn’t half as secure as the castle with its fortified walls.

Seven hours had passed since the incident on the cliffs. Time enough for Skinny to get some of the McKinley pack together and come to mete out justice if they could make it on the icy roads. Unless they arrived as wolves, their nonslip paw pads having a better chance at maneuvering over the ice.

Guthrie slipped out from under Calla and pulled the covers back over her. He threw on a pair of boxers, intending to strip them off and shift if there was trouble. He padded down the hallway, listening for the sound he’d heard. He wasn’t sure what it was, having been half asleep at the time. He made his way quietly down the stairs, until one of the steps squeaked.

Downstairs, Duncan was sleeping on the sofa in the living room by the fire in his wolf coat. Cearnach heard the stairs creak underneath Guthrie’s footsteps and came out of the kitchen to investigate.

Cearnach didn’t speak to him, but motioned to the front of the house. He’d heard something too. Guthrie touched Duncan’s shoulder, and his eyes shot open as he shifted, threw on a pair of boxers, and grabbed a sword. It wasn’t his, so Guthrie assumed it was one of Calla’s dad’s.

Guthrie held his finger to his lips, and Duncan nodded and rose from the couch.

The stairs creaked and they all turned to look as Calla headed down in her wolf form.

Guthrie motioned for Calla to stay with Cearnach and Duncan. He had to wake everyone else so they’d be ready, false alarm or not.

As soon as he climbed the steps, Guthrie knew Calla was following him. He wondered if she thought to guard him.

He was about to open the guest room where Heather was sleeping, when Calla ran for the room at the end of the hall, her parents’ bedroom, and growled softly.

Bloody hell. Guthrie jerked open the door to Heather’s guest room, saw Ethan sleeping in the chair across the room, and whispered, “Ethan, trouble.”

Ethan shot out of his chair and began to toss off his clothes. Guthrie hurried down the hall, smelling where Jasper had gone, but the door was already open, and Jasper was in his wolf form.

Jasper and Ethan joined Calla at the door, though Ethan, being the fatherly sort, nudged at her to leave. Guthrie wished he could be in his wolf form also, if wolves were in the room, but someone had to open the damn door.

He twisted the knob quickly, knowing that doing so slowly wouldn’t make any difference. All of them could hear the doorknob turning. He threw the door aside, and the growling that came from within warned him that there were three wolves in the room.

And Guthrie wasn’t suited up for battle.

Calla was having fits. She recognized the men in the room at once. That damned Vardon had survived the crash and no doubt was the instigator in coming here to fight Guthrie and the others. The younger brother, Oliver, was also here. And so was Robert Kilpatrick. She half expected Baird to be running the show, but he wasn’t there.