“I was hunting deer about three years ago. Someone had set a bear trap, and I found a she-wolf caught in it, dead. She looked like she’d been nursing, so I looked about for the pups. I found the den, but a coyote had gotten there first. Waya was the only one left alive, black as pitch and too wee to even open her eyes. I should’ve left her, I reckon, but I tucked her into my coat and took her home.”
Margaret’s eyes were wide, her expression one of fascinated horror. “What’s a coyote?” she whispered, checking the shadows in the corners of the room.
“It looks a bit like a fox, only bigger and lighter colored,” he said. “Mostly they scavenge, and the pups were likely too easy a meal to pass by.”
“Are there any coyotes here?”
“Nae. I reckon Waya’s the fiercest beast in all of Scotland, other than me.”
The lass grinned again, laughing. “And the both of you are my pack.”
“Aye, that we are. And nae a speck of harm will come to ye while we’re about.” He glanced past his reflection in the mirror as Rebecca stepped into the doorway. She’d donned a pretty gray muslin gown, no doubt to point out to anyone who might see them at the loch today that while she wasn’t still officially in mourning, she continued to honor her husband’s memory. Or perhaps it was for his benefit, alone.
“If she was so wee, how did you feed her?” Margaret wanted to know, standing to wander over and seat herself in his vacated dressing chair as he stood at the mirror.
“I cut the tip of a finger off my best pair of leather gloves and had one of my men bring me half a pitcher of fresh, warm cow’s milk every two hours for the next fortnight, and I convinced her that I was her mama.”
“That’s marvelous!” she exclaimed, picking one of his new gloves off the table to examine it, no doubt for holes in the fingers.
“My men thought it was a bit mad, actually, and I had to purchase another cow for my trouble,” he commented. As he recalled it, “mad” hadn’t been the term they’d used, but “fucking nodcock” didn’t seem like the kind of dialogue he should be sharing. “But there she is, and I’ve nae had a finer hunting companion. Aside from that, just having her by my side saved me at least twice from being murdered by the Cherokee when some other fool broke a treaty with them.”
“Do you think I’ll ever find a wolf cub?” Magsasked, contorting her face to match his as he shaved his upper lip.
“Young ladies do not have wolves as pets,” her mother finally interjected, straightening in the doorway before she strolled into the depths of the room.
“Waya’s not a pet, Mama,” the lass returned. “She’s part of our pack.”
“Ah. My mistake, then.” She glanced at him in the mirror, her light blue eyes more amused than he’d seen since he’d returned. “Am I part of this pack? Or is it just for wolves and young girls and uncles?”
“Oh, no,” her daughter said, shaking her head. “It’s also for you and for Reginald.”
“Well, I’m pleased both your dog and I are included, then.”
“Yer mama once found a wee kitten out in the woods,” Callum put in, watching to see whether the reminder would annoy or embarrass Rebecca.
“She did?” Mags faced her mother. “You did? Was it precious?”
Callum snorted. “It was the cub of a wildcat, turns out. That she-devil chased us until we had to jump in the loch to escape.”
“The lesson being,” Rebecca added, putting out a hand to fix one of the lass’s dark curls, “don’t go about picking up wild babies.”
“Unless we know they’re orphaned,” Mags amended.
“Unless you have permission. Will you lead your pack downstairs for breakfast?”
Margaret bounced to her feet. “Of course. Come along, pack.”
The mop trotted after her, but Waya stayed where she was in the middle of the floor. “Mags, tap yer thigh and say, ‘Waya, close,’” he instructed, demonstrating. The wolf rose and approached to stand directly beside him,her head tilted as if she couldn’t figure why he needed her there by the dressing table.
When the lass did as he said, he patted Waya on the rump to release her, and the wolf padded over to join the mop. Then the trio trotted for the stairs, one of them singing loudly about a girl and her wolf pack.
Abruptly aware of just how close Rebecca stood behind him, Callum finished shaving and shoved a towel over his face to clean off the excess soap. He’d learned over the years to guard himself, to refrain from saying or acting on whatever came into his skull, but even so it took some effort not to turn around and grab hold of her. Not to drag her to the bed and lift her pretty gray skirts and take her for himself.
“It was your idea to pick up that kitten,” she pointed out.
“Aye, but ye did it. I had nae idea ye could run so fast.”
A brief smile touched her mouth before it fled again. “When do you want to go down to the loch?” she asked.
