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He turned around. “Were you addressing me?”
Guthrie had thought Kevin would make his appearance. Then again, he probably would rather have his brother and cousins deal with the MacNeills and not get his hands dirty. Had they been discussing Guthrie and his family being here and stewing about it all this time?
“No need for you and the rest of your friends to be here,” Ralph said, motioning for them to leave like they were annoying bugs. “The lass will be warming my brother’s bed tonight.”
Guthrie narrowed his eyes. He really had to curb his tongue. Just seeing the way these men were acting, he hated to think that someone inside—like Kevin Rankin—might be harassing Calla.
“Why don’t you leave? We’ll treat the lass right. We’ll take care of her,” the black-haired man said. One of Ralph’s cousins, but Guthrie didn’t know his name.
“We’ll wait here for her, if it’s all the same to you,” Guthrie said. He thought he sounded rather diplomatic, when he would have preferred taking a bite out of the man.
Ralph scowled back at him, probably used to ordering people about and getting his way. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Leave. We’ll take care of the wee lass. No need for you to stay.”
“Aye, I heard. And we stand firm.” Guthrie stood straighter, taller, the hair on his arms standing on end, like a wolf’s fur would when the wolf was confronted with trouble.
Ralph stalked toward them, his two companions following him. Guthrie instinctively sized them up as they advanced. The black-haired man was less muscled than Ralph, but the other was much bulkier. And all were human.
“Maybe I need to make myself clearer,” Ralph said with a drunken swagger.
Guthrie really didn’t want to get into a fight with this man and ruin Calla’s party. But he never walked away from a battle. Ever. Though he reminded himself the man was inebriated.
Ralph and the others closed the distance. When he was well into Guthrie’s personal space, Ralph raised his hand as if to shove Guthrie back. Guthrie quickly knocked Ralph’s arm away—hard. He imagined the man would be sporting a sore or bruised arm by tomorrow.
Ralph fumbled to draw a sword.
“Don’t be a fool, Rankin,” Guthrie said. Unless the man was a practiced swordsman, he’d never be a match for a wolf who’d fought in numerous battles early on and had regularly practiced swordsmanship with his kin throughout the years. Both Rankin and his older brother had fought in a mock battle at the last Celtic fest they had attended, so Guthrie knew Ralph could swing a sword, but he hadn’t paid close attention to how well.
The man gave him a sloppy, evil grin. “Rusty, eh? Just wear a sword for show, but don’t know how to use it? Well, we’ll see who the better man is.”
Ethan said, “He seems to be itching for a fight. We ought to hog-tie him and take him out back to let him cool his heels a wee bit.”
Jasper agreed with a nod of his head.
Though Ethan, Jasper, and their triplet brother, Teague, had been born in Scotland, they’d lived for centuries in Texas, and Guthrie didn’t think he’d ever get used to their sayings.
Ralph cursed and finally freed his sword. Guthrie hated to unsheathe his, but he couldn’t leave Calla behind and he had to protect himself in case the drunken lout managed to slice at him. He smoothly pulled his sword free of its scabbard.
The man swung at him. With a strong swing, Guthrie’s blade connected with Ralph’s, hooking it and sending it flying across the cobblestone driveway.
For a moment, no one moved. The aggressors’ mouths hung open, stunned. Guthrie and his friends waited, anticipating further violence.
The man turned to his friends. “Make them leave. You’re still armed.”
The two men drew their swords. Eyeing Guthrie, they didn’t approach.
“You don’t want to do this,” he warned.
That seemed to incite the men. One came at him while the other targeted Ethan, who had yet to draw his own sword. Like Guthrie, he’d been avoiding a fight.
Just as swiftly as Guthrie had done, Ethan unsheathed his sword.
These men were not as drunk as their fearless leader and lasted a good while longer before Guthrie sent his opponent’s sword skittering across the stones to join Ralph’s. Ethan quickly dispatched the other man’s sword in the same manner.
“Fight! Fight!” a few people shouted from the direction of the manor house.
Just great, Guthrie thought. Calla would learn of this.
Sure enough, just as the first man threw a punch at Guthrie, he realized that Calla was already there.
Guthrie avoided the punch and brought his free hand up, jabbing the man in the nose hard. A sickening crunch sounded, and Ralph cried out and held his hand protectively over his nose.
A wee bit too late.
***
“I can’t believe you got into a fight with Ralph Rankin,” Calla said, furious with Guthrie as he drove her back to Argent Castle.
Ethan and Jasper sat quietly in the backseat, but Guthrie could smell the way they were bristling at Calla’s words and knew—because they were there to protect their “guest”—that they were biting their tongues.
“They started it,” Guthrie said, not the least bit remorseful. Well, maybe a little because he really hadn’t wanted to ruin her party.
“You could have avoided it!” she growled.
“He drew a sword on Guthrie. The sot was drunk and dangerous, lass,” Ethan said, angry.
Guthrie hadn’t intended to explain why he had fought the man. She had to know he had better sense than to pick a fight.
Calla turned her glower from Ethan back to Guthrie. “You broke Ralph’s nose!”
“Aye. He had it coming, lass. He said someone was lying in wait to bed you,” Guthrie finally said. He hadn’t planned to mention that, but it just slipped out, as angry as he still was over the insult.
She closed her gaping mouth. Then she said, “And you believed him?”
“I ignored him for a good long while, Calla.”
“He did,” Ethan said.
Guthrie had lost his father so many years ago that he had never expected his mother to take another mate, but he couldn’t have been gladder that the Texas Scot served as his stepfather now.
“I’m sorry, lass. Had there been some other way, I would never have resorted to it,” Guthrie said.
