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“They were drunk,” she said, as if that made any difference.
“Which made them all the more dangerous,” Guthrie told her. “Particularly when they were armed with swords.”
“I doubt they had the skill with a sword that you and your kin do.”
“True,” Guthrie said, “but if a man draws a sword, it’s like pulling a gun on another man. You don’t threaten someone with it unless you plan to use it.”
“He didn’t just unsheathe his sword,” Ethan said. “He swung it at Guthrie. Now, lass, a man can’t just let that pass.”
“You broke Ralph’s nose!”
Ethan and Jasper chuckled in the backseat.
“Aye. He threw the first punch,” Guthrie said, now wondering if she’d missed that part of the equation.
She let her breath out harshly. “You’re lucky he’s not pressing charges. And that they’re not asking for a refund for my services. Or you’d be paying for them.”
Guthrie tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel, then said, “Other than that, did the party go as well as you had expected?”
She glowered at him.
He shrugged. “All that’s important is that you remain safe.”
“Aye, but who’s going to keep me—and my business—safe from you?”
***
As soon as they returned to Argent Castle, Calla stormed toward the stairs of the keep. Guthrie figured he should be glad if Ian told her he would assign someone else to watch over her. He knew he needed to get his mind back on financial reports. So why the hell was he following Calla’s sweet, red sweater-covered arse all the way up the stairs?
Calla glanced back at Guthrie. “Where are you going?”
“If you intend to speak to Ian about the affair, I’ll explain what happened since I have firsthand knowledge. You were inside the Rankin manor house and didn’t see most of it.”
“You’ll give your sweet version of it,” Calla said.
“The truth.” He motioned to Ian’s door, and she knocked at the doorjamb. “May I have a word with you?” she asked Ian, who was sitting at his desk.
Ian hung up his phone and set it down.
“Guthrie broke Ralph Rankin’s nose,” Ian said, motioning for them to come in and take seats.
Word always spread fast in a wolf pack.
“How did you learn of it?” Calla asked, sounding astounded.
“Ethan called and informed me of what happened. Anytime one of my pack members is involved in a skirmish, it’s my business to know.”
“Then you know why I don’t want Guthrie to accompany me any longer,” Calla said, casting him an annoyed look.
“They’re not pressing charges, are they?” Ian said, knowing very well they weren’t. Ralph Rankin’s father was furious with Ralph for getting drunk and then, armed with swords, attacking Guthrie and his men. The old man was just glad no one had been wounded at the point of a sword.
Calla looked more than exasperated. “That isn’t the point!”
“Calla, in matters like this, I stand by my men, who are there to protect you—” Before she could counter with the notion that they weren’t protecting her, Ian quickly added, “and themselves. But someone else is going with you to the party you’re in charge of tomorrow.”
“Good,” Calla said, then with a scathing glance in Guthrie’s direction, she brushed past him and out of the room.
“Guthrie, want to close the door?” Ian asked.
Guthrie did, figuring he was going to get a lecture. “What Ethan told you was correct,” Guthrie said, taking his seat. He didn’t know what Ethan said exactly, but he knew the Texan would have told the truth.
“That Calla’s got the hots for you like you have for her?”
Guthrie closed his gaping mouth. Then finding his tongue, he said, “What?”
Ian grinned at him.
Chapter 6
After handling the Rankin family reunion, particularly following the fight that had ensued during it, Calla was drained when she retired to her guest bedchamber that night. Thankfully, Ralph Rankin’s father, John, had been incensed with his son’s and nephews’ drunken actions. Although more than half of the guests loved the short display of unscheduled swordsmanship, Calla didn’t believe that was a good ending to her otherwise successful party.
She did wonder if she could have a clan perform a sword fight, just for entertainment, during a future Scottish family reunion. The problem was that the only ones she knew who could do a superb job at it without injuring their opponents were the MacNeills.
Well, not the only problem. She shook her head at the notion. She could just envision the MacNeills having a fight with the ones she’d arranged the party for—again.
After taking a long, hot shower, she slipped into bed and tried to read a book on setting up parties on a budget. She stared at the pages, not reading or seeing anything, until she finally gave up, turned out the lamplight, and closed her eyes. Which conjured up images of Guthrie in his medieval shirt with his tartan sash crossing his muscled torso, his kilt blowing in the chilly breeze.
She’d admired his footwork in his brown leather boots as he had quickly outmaneuvered Ralph, and she’d watched the way the men’s swords clashed and how Guthrie had disarmed Ralph in a flash. Guthrie had looked so confident, warrior-like, and…hell, sexy that she wished he’d been battling with his kin in a friendly practice—not at the Rankin’s reunion—so she could have enjoyed it.
Even the women who had raced out to see him fight had been “oohing” and “ahhing” over his physique. Which had made Calla grind her teeth and fold her arms. Aye, she knew better than to actually attempt to stop a sword fight in the middle of it. But she hadn’t liked that the women—other than her—were just as fascinated with the Highland hunk.
When one of the women had asked if Guthrie was wearing anything under his kilt, obviously not interested if any of the other kilt-dressed men were, Calla had bit her tongue. She’d wanted to retort that he was wearing briefs—as if she knew—but she’d had her eyes glued to him every bit as much as the rest of the women had, trying to get a peek.
Opening her eyes, Calla gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. Maybe a glass of milk would help her to quit thinking of what went on at the party.
