She seemed to ponder that notion and then finally said, “You don’t love me.”

He was so surprised at her comment that he just stared at her.

She gave a little shrug. “I’m a romance writer.”

“Ah.” That explained it.

“No, listen. In the olden days, men and women married for lots of reasons—because they had to, because it was convenient, for financial reasons or status, maybe because they loved each other. None of that matters. All that is important is that we live today, now, in the present, and the past isn’t crucial in the scheme of things.”

Her voice had taken on an almost desperate quality, still soft, still sexy, but she seemed afraid.

“Aye,” he agreed, yet he thought even that concession might be a little premature, depending on where this dialogue was going. “For the most part,” he countered, just to give himself some leeway if he needed it.

“Not for the most part. It’s as it should be. People should marry for love.”

“Even in this day and age, people marry for reasons other than love.”

Her fingers went very still again.

“For the sake of argument,” and because he damn well wanted to hear where this was going, he said, “all right, so the man and woman marry for love and…?”

“Not the man and woman. Us.”

He raised his brows.

“I mean, you don’t love me, and well, I don’t know you at all, and so…” She shrugged again.

He fought laughing. But she sounded serious, which put a damper on what he thought should have been funny. “All right, so I don’t love you,” although lust was definitely part of the problem, he thought, because even now he wanted her. He tried to think with his other head and continued, “and you don’t love me and…?”

“Well, if there was an agreement that said you had to mate me and I had to mate you, there would be no reason to do so. Because we don’t love each other.”

“A betrothal agreement?” He frowned and gave a gentle tug on her curl. Her believing in relationships that had all to do with love had to be a by-product of writing romance novels, but the notion of a betrothal agreement between them made him wonder what was truly going on. “What if, for the sake of argument, I did love you?”

Her eyes grew big. “Well, you don’t. You already said you don’t. And since we have no other reason to mate, then that’s that.”

She wasn’t making any sense, so he thought he’d go about it another way to attempt to get at the crux of the matter. “Let me tell you the way it is. You were aware of the location of the secret entrance.”

She let out her breath, and the heat of it stroked his chest. Hell, he was already halfway aroused. He was ready to forget the interrogation, assume she had wanted to return to him and the gate had been locked, forget that she had known where the tunnel was and had sneaked in for some other nefarious purpose, and get on with more pleasurable business.

“I dropped my boot on the metal door and heard a clunk.”

His hand settled on her shoulder and then he caressed it. “All right, but you were looking for the secret passage, and don’t deny it.”

She lowered her gaze to his chest and teased a nipple with her fingertip.

He stifled a groan. “Why were you looking for the secret entrance?”

“It seems rather obvious. To get inside.”

“You were already inside the castle earlier in the evening. You could have stayed the night at my invitation. Why use the tunnels?” The thought that kept coming to mind was that she meant some misdeed, that she was the enemy, and in any other situation, he would have fought that enemy before giving in. But her sweet, torturous touch gave him other notions, and he was ready to yield to the sensation and forget whatever reason she had tried to slip into the castle unnoticed. Was that her ploy? If so, he’d met his match in battle.

She sighed. “I had the notion I could describe it for my story.”

That part of her story he believed. “You’re writing about cowboys, remember?” Which he didn’t accept as true one wee bit.

“Okay, I’m sure if your Aunt Agnes is going to go through the journals recounting your family’s history, you’ll find out eventually. The God’s honest truth is that your family stole the castle from mine. So,” she said, poking a finger at his chest, “if it weren’t for the MacNeills, I would be living here, not you. And it would be at my invitation that you could stay with me in my bedchamber, not the other way around. But the coverings on the bed would be a pretty pale blue, not this dark.”

His mouth gaped. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, particularly since the lass seemed so sincere. Argent Castle had been her family’s? Positively ludicrous.

Ian looked momentarily stunned. Julia couldn’t describe it any other way. As he pulled away slightly from her, he looked as though he wanted to leave her this moment and prove it wasn’t true, or maybe that it was wishful thinking on her part.

Then a slow grin appeared. “Is that so, lass?”

He didn’t believe her? Just like that?

“Okay, fine. We owned the castle. You laid siege to it, and then my great-grandfather, Conaire MacPherson, had to capitulate. He had to agree to the MacNeill’s terms to give up his daughter to mate with whomever the current laird was.”

Ian frowned. “None of this is true. No MacPherson has ever mated with a MacNeill in my family line. That would only have been a couple of generations back, and that I would have remembered.”

“You’re right. No MacPherson, at least from our clan, mated with yours. They escaped. And since then, we’ve only had male offspring.”

He raised his brows.

“Well, except for me, of course.”

“You’re the first?”

“Yes.” She waited to see his reaction.

He was looking down, contemplating her words, and not saying anything. Then he looked at her. “So you would be…”

“Your mate. According to the contract.”

He smiled. “I see. So that’s where the issue of love comes in.” He gave her an amused frown. “Who put you up to this?”

Her own frown was not amused. “No one put me up to this. But I’m glad that you don’t believe in it. Once I find the contract, my grandfather wants to destroy it, and that will be the end of that.”

“Everything on my land is mine. I’m afraid if a box was left here, it is mine as well. If we’re able to secure it, I’ll inspect the contents and make a decision as to whether it will go to your grandfather or not.” He sounded like he was humoring her.

Maybe he thought she knew of a chest hidden in the walls that contained a wealth of treasure, and she planned to steal it but pretended instead the box contained a betrothal agreement. Now how stupid would that be? He’d inspect the contents for certain anyway.

“So your grandfather sent you to find the box and destroy the documents so you don’t have to mate me.”

“Right.”

“Hmm. I don’t believe this. You know why I don’t believe this?”

“No, but I suspect you’re going to tell me.”

“The knowledge would have been passed down from generation to generation. I would have been told that I was to be mated to a MacPherson, if that were the case.”

She shrugged. “Good. Then like I said, you don’t have to worry about the contents of the box.”

He shook his head.

She let out her breath hard. “Someone has been blackmailing my grandfather.” She watched Ian’s face darken, waiting for him to take in the new information, to see if he thought it was as amusing as the last.

But he didn’t say anything.

“Whoever it is knows about the contract and told my grandfather he has to pay if he doesn’t want me to have to mate the current laird of Argent Castle.”

“When did this occur?”

Now he sounded like he believed her. Or maybe he was still humoring her. “Recently.”

“How recently?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But it had to be recent.”

He reached over her, his hot body pressing lightly against hers. He plucked something off his bedside table and then handed his cell phone to her. “Call him.”

She hesitated. She was certain her grandfather wouldn’t like it that she had told Ian about the contract when he’d told her not to. But she hadn’t had much choice. After punching in her grandfather’s number, she listened to the phone ring and ring and ring. She wondered then if he wouldn’t answer because the caller ID might say Ian MacNeill.

But then her grandfather picked up the phone and said, “Hello?” His voice sounded suspicious and businesslike.

“Grandfather, I need to know when—”

Ian slipped the phone from her fingers and leaned back against the bed, pulling her tight against his hard muscular frame and holding her hostage. She would have melted against him, loving the feel of him, except for one thing—fear of what her grandfather was thinking right this very minute—and that made her stiffen with apprehension.

“Hello, Mr. MacPherson? This is Laird MacNeill. I understand someone’s been blackmailing you.” With a smug smile, he glanced down at Julia and swept his fingers down her bare butt, the string of a lacy thong she was wearing making her feel exposed and sexy although she was trying to concentrate on what was being said.

She frowned at Ian, figuring her grandfather would really be angry with her for telling the truth.

The smile slipped from Ian’s face and he said, “Hello? Mr. MacPherson?”

She could hear the dial tone. Her grandfather had hung up on the laird of Argent Castle.

Ian stared at the phone for a minute before he realized Julia’s grandfather had indeed hung up on him. Hell. He tossed the phone aside on the mattress and then ran his hands down Julia’s back and reached down to cup her soft arse. He loved her choice of panties. “Do you know where this box is hidden, lass?”