So apparently Magnus lived in the castle on the other side of the loch.

Milly made that discovery when Iain’s brother and his big friend escorted her and Tara to a stone bridge that led to a point directly beneath the castle in the distance.

The twenty or so villagers who had witnessed her small attempt at breaking and entering had followed them, whispering in excited Gaelic the entire way. But when they reached the bridge, Magnus turned toward the group and spoke a few short sentences in Gaelic.

And while Milly didn’t speak a word of Gaelic, she was pretty sure he’d said something like, “I’m taking these women home with me” and “you’re not invited.” Because the crowd didn’t follow them across the bridge, which looked like it had been hand built by a group of their direct ancestors at least two centuries ago,

However, Magnus’ silent, hulking sidekick apparently didn’t get the memo. Because he followed behind them, gun—musket?— raised like he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

“I’m sorry,” Milly whispered to Tara who was still wearing the red blazer, black-and-white polka dot dress, and bright yellow heels she dressed in for work this morning. Obviously, her best friend had no idea her business day would end like this when she chosen her outfit.

Tara shook her head, despite teetering on the uneven stones in her heels. “It’s not your fault. Iain should have told you his clan was a bunch of backward ass fucks when he hooked up with you.”

Milly frowned, because how did Tara know she and Iain had hooked up? She’d been purposefully vague when she texted Tara in the car on the way to the hotel, and then again two days later. Something about Iain wanting her to work over the long weekend and putting her up at a hotel near the office because a project was running behind schedule.

In other words, Milly had purposefully given Tara zero specifics. So…

“How did you know—?” she started to ask her friend.

“I’ll take that,” Magnus’ goon suddenly said behind them. They’d just reached the steps of the small but stately castle, and he reached over to take Milly’s purse off her in one quick tug.

“Hey!” Milly said.

But the big guy just jutted his chin toward the door. “Keep going” clear in his muddy gray stare.

Like Iain’s cottage, the castle had a modern day overlay on the inside. But while Iain’s cottage was full of sleek furniture, the castle’s bi-level entryway was filled with stone, leather furniture, and antlered deer heads. Like someone had dressed the place up for an episode of the “Hunting Lodges of the Rich and Famous.”

Not that Milly got to see much of the décor anyway seeing as how she was dragged by Magnus up a set of stairs in one direction, while the goon dragged Tara in another. And several completely ignored protests later, she was more or less tossed by Magnus into an office that looked…well, wonderful.

She liked the room much better than the entryway. It boasted intricately carved columns and a beautiful rustic pine floor. Most fascinating of all was that three of the four walls were completely taken up with built-in bookshelves, all of which were stuffed with leather bound volumes.

The room looked and smelled very, very old. And it felt like it belonged in a museum or a T.V. show set in a period when Scotland still had kings. Though Milly had no idea how to tell the difference between an office vs. a study, the word “study” came to mind the more she looked around.

But despite the ambiance, the room was instantly turned into a jail cell at the solid metallic “clunk” of a lock engaging on the other side of the door.

Milly sighed and waited. Then waited some more.

They’d taken her purse, and for all the castle’s modern amenities below, the study had been preserved in a way one rarely saw outside museums. There was no phone or computer on the massive wood desk.

Just lots of old books, and dark wood, and an intricately carved stone fireplace with a wolf in bas-relief on the mantle. Two beautiful leather armchairs sat in front of the fireplace, and Milly perched on one and prepared for a long wait. But she only lasted for twenty minutes or so before she got up and began pacing.

She went to the tall, arched windows and looked down. As far as she could tell, the study was at the back of the castle. There was nothing but mountain and trees as far as she could see. And though she easily opened the window, she was up far too high to jump down. So yeah, back to pacing as she waited for someone to show up with food or questions or…anything.

Several more minutes passed. If Milly had to guess, it had been an hour or so since she was tossed in this room. She began to seriously wonder if she’d been left in there to rot.

But then after another 15 or so minutes of waiting, the study door finally unlocked with a heavy thunk and Magnus entered with his dad, Mr. Scotswolf.

Magnus no longer looked totally pissed off, but she didn’t like the fact that both he and his father wore similarly gloomy looks.

“Hi, Mr. Scotswolf. Hey again, Magnus,” she said, trying to keep her tone light, even as Magnus closed the door with a resolute click behind him.

“Hello, dear,” Mr. Scotswolf replied.

Milly’s eyes widened. It was the first time she’d ever heard him speak in English. But before she could respond, Magnus said, “Tell me exactly what Iain told you about us.”

Wow. The shameless flirt was completely gone. In his place was a commandeering man she barely recognized.

She almost told him everything right then and there. But at the last minute, she clamped her mouth shut. Then opened it again to ask, “Where is Tara? She’s probably scared out of her mind.”

“Answer me, and I’ll let you see her,” Magnus said.

“I’m not answering any questions until I know she’s okay,” Milly insisted.

He narrowed his eyes and jerked his head back in apparent surprise. “Hmm, loyalty. Not something I would have expected from such a frightened wee mouse who could barely look me in the eye a few days ago. All right then, Milly…”

Less than five minutes later, Tara was shoved into the room.

“Tara!” Milly called.

“Are you okay?” Tara asked, running over and engulfing her friend in a huge hug. “I was so worried! I wanted to help you but—”

“I’m fine,” Milly assured her. “And I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. This is all my fault.”

Tara took Milly’s hands in hers. “No, it’s not. You didn’t know. In fact, you must be so confused. And besides…”

She glared at Magnus. “What kind of asshole points a gun at a pregnant female?”

“Wait a minute,” Milly said, struggling to keep up. “You think I’m pregnant, too?”

But neither Tara nor Magnus seemed all that interested in answering her questions.

“Scotland hasn’t any laws forbidding pointing a sporting rifle at a pregnant she-wolf,” Magnus replied, looking utterly bored in the face of Tara’s contempt. “However, in our clan, we do have a rule about non-pregnant females bowing to a king when first you meet him. I’ll assume you dinna ken that since you’re obviously not from around here.”

Tara stilled. But only for a moment. Too short a moment, Milly realized when her best friend released Milly’s hands and walked toward Magnus with her head dipped in a docile manner. But Milly knew there was absolutely nothing docile about Tara.

“Tara, no!” she yelled. But too late, Tara’s fist had already whipped around in a precise arc, catching Magnus directly in his long nose.

The crack of fist against bone echoed inside the old room. But to Magnus’s credit, he barely registered the punch. A slight flinch backward, followed by a trickle of blood from his left nostril were the only indicators he’d been hit at all.

“That’s for pointing a goddamn rifle at my best friend, your highness,” Tara said with a flourishing bow.

“Wait, you’re the king?” Milly asked Magnus in the silence that followed Tara’s mocking genuflect. Her mind struggled to reconfigure everything she knew about the cocky rugby player.

But she supposed being king of a clan—pack—or whatever they call themselves would explain his previously inexplicable haughtiness. And why Iain felt compelled to drop everything, whenever his brother commanded him.

“Not much longer, thanks to you,” growled Magnus.

Only to have his dad scold him in a flurry of Gaelic that began with, “Ach, Magnus…”

And that was when Milly guessed without having to be told that Mr. Scotswolf had most certainly been the king at one time, too. Because Magnus simply ground his jaw and said to Milly in a somewhat civil tone, “Aye, I’m the current king of this pack.”

But then his gaze turned vicious as he turned it to Tara. “And you should know she-wolf, there’s a very high penalty attached to punching a king.”

Tara gave him a mocking smile and said, “Luckily I’m a Canadian.”

“But you are in my country and on my land,” Magnus pointed out, bearing sharp canines.

“Magnus…” Mr. Scotswolf said behind him, his tone containing a note of warning.

Milly gulped, wondering how this stand-off would end—but then Magnus’s words registered.

“Wait, you’re a werewolf, too?” she asked Tara.

Tara’s jaw worked, but she didn’t answer.

“Tara?” Milly asked.

“It’s forbidden for any wolf to answer that question before a new wolf passes a full moon,” Magnus answered in her stead. “Or at the very least has a positive pregnancy test.”

“I don’t have a positive pregnancy test,” Milly answered. “But everyone here seems to think I’m pregnant, including Iain.”

Magnus let out a grumpy huff and said, “Even if Iain hadn’t called me this morning caterwauling about losing his mate so soon after heating her with a babe, any of us would have known the truth of it. We can smell him all over you, along with the bairn you're carrying.”

Her eyes widened, not quite knowing what to say.

But then she didn’t have to say a thing because a familiar voice called from somewhere beyond the door. “Millicent! Millicent!”

“Iain!” she called back. “We’re upstairs!”

Outside the door, the sounds of a scuffle could be heard. The smack of fists against flesh, and then Iain kicked open the door, revealing the prone figure of the large goon who’d pushed Tara into the room.

Mr. Scotswolf deftly stepped aside, just missing being plowed down by his younger son as Iain charged across the room toward Milly.

“Are you all right, chridhe?” he asked, coming to a halt at the last minute so he could hand her back her purse.

All right? She had never in her life been so relieved to see someone. The crushing ache disappeared, and though it was still gray outside, it felt like a sun bomb had gone off inside her chest.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, taking the purse and placing it back over her shoulder. “But I’m sorry for not believing you. Also, I’m sorry for breaking your window.” She slid a glance toward Magnus and whispered, “Well, that is I’m sorry for getting caught.”

“It’s not your fault,” Iain replied, even more fiercely than Tara. And like Tara, he glared at Magnus.

Behind Iain’s back, his brother made a loud scoffing sound. “Ach, not this again. Calm yerself, little brother,” Magnus said, back to look utterly bored. “Your mouse is here, safe and sound, just like I told you.”

But that bit of aggrieved reassurance did little to assuage Iain’s temper. He turned to his brother demanding to know, “Why the hell would you bring her here to the kingdom castle? You should’ve sent her straight to me!”

“I would’ve done so, believe me, Brother,” Magnus answered with a great roll of his eyes. “But not only did your wee lass come into my kingdom reeking of your bairn, she also made it clear as day in front of the entire contingent of our best village clishmaclavers that you broke one of our most ancient rules. So that puts us in a right interesting place, doesn’t it?”

Milly understood little of what Magnus said, but his words appeared to have an impact on Iain who swayed, taking a full step back, as if he’d been shoved hard.

But then he shook his head and said, “This doesn’t change anything.”

“No, it changes everything. Obviously!” Magnus answered, eyes blazing. “She drove through town, Iain. Big as day. What else was I to do?”

“I don’t know,” Tara answered, once again coming to stand beside Milly. “Maybe not pull a weapon on her?” she suggested snidely.

Milly still couldn’t believe her best friend was also a werewolf. But now that she thought about it, she could smell it on Tara. Her scent had a certain undertone that every wolf she’d met so far had carried. However, Tara smelled way different than Iain and the other Faoltiarn wolves. Like hickory and snow. And though Milly had never been to Ontario, she suspected it would smell a lot like her best friend.

“You pointed a rifle at my mate?” Iain said, his voice by now little more than a low growl.

“Calm down, little brother. It was just for show,” Magnus groused. “I had to use a wee bit of theater to get these two away from the crowd they’d attracted. The rifles weren’t even loaded. I used the antique ones hanging on the game room wall.”

That calmed Iain, but only a little. “But you frightened her.”

Magnus shrugged. “You don’t think she could do with a wee fright then, Iain? After all, she had you damn near hysterical when you couldna find her back at her flat. You’ve been pining over this mouse for years, and after you risked everything, even going against our most ancient laws to tell her the truth, she refused to believe you. Not only that, she’s compromised all of us by coming here. So aye, to my thinking there’s no harm in scaring her a wee—”

Magnus’ defense of his actions came to an inelegant and abrupt end when Iain’s fist landed directly in his older brother’s face. And this time the king of Faoltiarn didn’t just flinch, he was laid out flat on the ground.

Not exactly knocked out, but not without injury, judging from the copious amount of blood flowing from his nose.

Milly gasped, unable to believe Iain had just punched his own brother in her defense. But Tara only shouted, “Woot-WOOT!” and cackled like this was all good fun.

“Careful there, Boss Wolf,” she said to Iain, “I hear it’s super against the law around here to punch a king.”