Page 34 of Wolf Pack

“If I had known you wanted to bathe, I would have allowed you to go first,” he said, not budging from his spot of claimed territory—right next to her clothes.

“I was here to guard you.”

He raised a brow. “Lorne sent you to guard me?”

Now that surprised him. Lorne never sent anyone to watch over Alasdair because he didn’t want anyone to pull the duty. Sometimes, Hans or Rory came with him to provide extra security and take turns swimming, too.

Isobel swam closer to the shore, but she wasn’t getting out. “Nay, Dawy and Agnes did.”

He glanced back at the croft. “Did they now?”

He swung his attention back to Isobel.

“Ja. Aye. Then, when you left—or I should say, pretended to leave—I wanted to enjoy a swim in the loch. Dinna fault them for it.”

“Quite the contrary. I’m glad they sent you to me. How do you like it here so far?”

She smiled and left the water when he wouldn’t leave. “We are very happy.” She was like a water goddess—divine to behold, the water dripping from her glorious skin. On the shore, she grabbed up her chemise and pulled it on, the sheer fabric clinging to her wet skin. Her nipples extended, and her short blond curls between her legs caught his eye.

Then she pulled her léine on, fastened her brat, and secured her weapons. He walked her back to the croft.

“You truly are no’ going to scold them for sending me out to guard you?” she asked, sounding so serious that he chuckled.

“Nay. They are a kindhearted couple who were delighted that you and your kin would stay with them.” He inclined his head toher when they reached the door, but he didn’t leave, wanting to kiss her in the worst way.

Would an Icelander’s lips be as sweet as a Scotswoman’s? He was dying to learn the truth.

She opened the door and bid him a good night, then shut the door. He stared after it wishing he’d kissed her and not allowed her to get away. He let out his breath and told himself tomorrow would be another day and tomorrow eve at gloaming? Mayhap another encounter with the Viking water goddess?

When he retired to bed that night, all he could think of was Isobel—and how much he had wanted to seduce the woman from the moment he had laid eyes on her when he was a wolf in the woods while she had climbed the cliff.

He finally drifted off to sleep until he was swept away into the world of dreams.

Hans bumped into his shoulder. “If you make a play for her and she and her pack kill you, we will take down every last one of them.” He spoke his words only so Alasdair could hear them.

“You will no’. If she and her pack see me as a threat, I will retreat until she realizes I’m no’ going away. But if she did try to kill me and somehow succeeded, you would take no action against her or her kin. They are only trying to survive, just like we are.”

The wolves’ ears were perked, listening to any sounds of danger or something to hunt.

“You are the most stubborn of us, Alasdair.”

“I need a wolf mate. She will do.” Finding another wolf pack was nigh to impossible. Wolves, aye, but notlupus garouslike them. She intrigued him because she was not a Highland lass, but from Iceland.

Their other brother Rory, and their sister, Bessetta, joined them and he wanted to groan out loud. Did they have to follow him everywhere? Aye, he was the eldest, by about fifteenminutes, and by virtue of that, he’d taken charge from the time of birth on.

He’d scrambled to his mother’s teat, and once he’d had his fill, he’d ensured his smaller sister, the last born, had plenty of milk, too. It had been a good thing he had taken charge of his siblings from the onset because once their mother and father had died at sea ten years later, he and his siblings had been fending for themselves. Until he took over the pack.

“I want the one with the black fur on his tail,” Bessetta said.

Rory scoffed. “He is a wild Icelander. And too young for you.”

“And Alasdair is intrigued with the Icelandic woman. She is as wild as the wolf with the black-tipped tail. Besides, you are a wild Highlander.” Bessetta and the others quickly crouched lower when one of the wolves looked their way.

Because of the direction the wind was blowing, the northern wolves couldn’t smell them, but Alasdair and his siblings smelled them.

“Does she always hunt with her bow?” Bessetta asked Alasdair. “Have you seen her as a wolf?”

“Aye.” A beautiful wolf with a mix of white, yellowish, and black fur, her chin and throat white.

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