Free Hero of a Highland Wolf by Terry Spear Page A

angry—all of it was fine with her as long as she knew where he was coming from. With Archibald, it was more of a courtship game, she thought. And she really wasn’t ready for it until she was settled and refreshed and could act more like her normally enthusiastic self.
    â€œThanks, Darby. I’ll be right there.” To Archibald, she said, “Maybe we can do this again sometime later. After I’m more settled at Farraige Castle.”
    Archibald’s deeply knit brow softened a bit. “Of course. Would tonight be too soon?”
    â€œLater” meant later. Much later. “How about at the end of the week? I can get in touch with you. I have your number.”
    His brow tightened again. “I will call on you then.”
    She got the distinct impression that he wasn’t waiting for her to call him. Maybe believing she wouldn’t. Or that Grant wouldn’t allow her to. She wondered if she’d bitten off more than she should. Yet, at the time, she had thought it was a brilliant idea.
    So much for her brilliant ideas.
    She walked with him back to the castle as Darby followed in their wake, not stealthily like a wolf, but noisily like he wanted them to know that he was listening in on their conversation. He would probably report everything that was said back to Grant. Not that anything much was said.
    â€œI will call,” Archibald said again, his gaze steady on hers, ensuring he was getting his point across—that Grant wouldn’t stop him from seeing her.
    She totally agreed with Archibald there. And then he left her at the back door and took off around the side of the castle to the front where his vehicle was parked.
    Darby pulled the door open for her, his expression somber. She wanted to talk with him, with anyone, about how she felt, but she seemed to be the enemy in this situation. Shouldn’t “don’t bite the hand that feeds you” come into play here?
    This time when Darby escorted her to the main dining hall, mahogany tables were set up. Instead of benches, they had olive-green and gold embroidered chairs with cushioned seat backs. Plates and silverware were set out, too. Much, much better. Really nice, in fact.
    She smiled at Grant, who was scowling but attempting to moderate his expression a bit.
    She fought chuckling. Something appealed to her about that great, growly Scot. Maybe it was because she wasn’t used to men like him. Her first two mates had been even-tempered betas. She’d loved them, but they had been predictable, and when she had lost them many years ago, she didn’t think she’d ever take a mate again. Not that Grant was a mate prospect, but she did wonder how being mated to a wolf like him would measure up. She couldn’t even imagine.
    She took in a deep breath, recalling the smell of him in his bed.
    He was one hot Highland wolf.
    That she had taken a walk with the “enemy” in the gardens had probably killed Grant. He’d shaved, in a rush it appeared, having nicked himself in a couple of spots. He would heal quickly because of their wolf genetics. But the bloodied spots made him seem so much more human and lovable. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. She missed seeing him bare-chested while he wore only his kilt.
    â€œWe have an assortment of items for breakfast. Sausage, pancakes, bacon, toast, jams, eggs anyway that you like them, porridge. Tea. Or…coffee,” Grant said, walking with her to their new seats.
    Same location. No roasted whole pig to eyeball while eating the meal.
    â€œThanks,” she said, meaning it. She appreciated how he had changed to accommodate her. The walk with Archibald had been well worth the effort.
    As soon as they took their seats, Colleen asked for some toast, a little grape jelly, one egg over easy, and sausage. Grant looked surprised when she asked for tea.
    â€œI always drink it. Never acquired a taste for coffee,” she said.
    Grant nodded, but then he got