She shook her head.

“Besides, it looks more like something an armored knight would wear, not a leather-kilted Highlander,” Guthrie said.

“As long as you dance with me all night,” she reminded him.

“It will be my pleasure, lass.” He smiled. He danced as well as any other man who did so in good form, even though dancing all night was not really his thing. Still, he wouldn’t have allowed anyone else to take her. Especially when she’d thrown down the gauntlet to see if he’d bite.

Oran, Duncan, and Cearnach went as her guard detail because if Baird had the nerve to show up, with or without backup, they wanted to ensure he didn’t get anywhere near her. As part of the masquerade, all the men were armed with their sgian dubhs and swords. Oran dressed as a pirate, but he had a black leather mask to cover his eyes. If he weren’t on guard duty, Oran would steal some wench away from an unworthy bloke, Guthrie had no doubt. Duncan and Cearnach wore their MacNeill kilts—the ancient muted variety—so most wouldn’t know they were the MacNeill brothers. There was no talking them into wearing anything else, but he had noticed that Calla didn’t try very hard with them. Like Guthrie, they would not wear masks.

“They’ll insist you wear some kind of masks when we arrive. They will have loaners if you don’t have something else you’d rather wear,” Calla warned them.

“Nay, Guthrie is right. We need to keep our sight, smell, and hearing unhampered,” Cearnach said. He patted his sword. “We’ll go without.”

“The real challenge won’t be us getting into the ball without masks,” Guthrie said, “but getting you into the car with all those skirts.”

His brothers and cousin were laughing hard as Guthrie tried to tuck her all in. He loved the feel of her, all soft and curvy, and her dress was just as soft. He couldn’t wait to hold her close and dance with her.

“I can do it. I can do it,” she said, but he was having way too much fun.

Chapter 13

When Calla and Guthrie and their guard party arrived at the country manor house, which was a couple of hours away, vehicles were already sitting in a gravel car park. The MacNeills had intended to get there early so their guard detail could watch for the new arrivals. Men and women were gathering at the door or leaning off balconies to get a look at the newcomers and their costumes. Many of the women wore lavish gowns, but a few were in other kinds of costumes. Most of the men wore masks and tuxes, so the MacNeill brothers stood out in their kilts, and some of the female guests looked quite intrigued.

Calla groaned. “Here you thought you had to protect me,” she said to the brothers.

Oran said, “Here I thought being a roguish pirate would sweep the ladies off their feet. I should have known better and worn my kilt.”

Even though Oran smiled interestedly at the costumed women, Calla knew he would do his duty and watch out for her. She wished he could just relish the party. Though she had to admit, he looked like he was already having a great time. Cearnach and Duncan were much more circumspect, checking over the crowd, mostly looking at the males and smelling the air like Guthrie was, trying to pick up the scents of the wolves over the humans.

“You know that if there’s even a whiff that Baird and his kin are here…”

“Then we’ll go home at once,” Calla said. “You already warned me. But we just got here. Let’s enjoy ourselves for the time being. All right?”

She would kill Baird and his kin herself if they ruined this evening for her. And she wasn’t normally a violent person. Though she did have her moments.

Everything looked so spectacular—the lighting outside and the white lights on several of the trees. The Hightowers even had mistletoe hanging over the front doorstep. One lady was eagerly waiting to “greet” someone who stepped under it with her. She was dressed in a vampire costume, the black collar stiffened, the skirt high on the thigh, with a fringe of red lacy underskirt peeking around the edge. Her black hair was piled up on her head with a red rose poking out of the curls. A black velvet choker sported red jewels dangling from the necklace as if they were drops of blood.

“I’ll take care of her,” Oran offered, as if he had to protect them from the fangs of a vampire.

Oran took hold of the woman’s shoulders and kissed her, deftly moving her aside as he did it so Guthrie was able to escort Calla inside. Calla laughed at Oran.

The foyer was decorated in antiques and Santas in leather, iron, cloth, wood, porcelain, and just about every other material. A butler hurried to take Calla’s red cloak as a woman about Calla’s age, who was dressed in a sexy werewolf costume—gray fur ears, furry wristbands, and short miniskirt with a gray bushy tail—greeted them. She was a wolf! When she smelled that Calla was one too, she smiled brightly at her.

“Come right this way,” she said. “I’m Ivy, daughter of Northrop and Adeline Hightower.” Before Calla could introduce herself and her escort, Ivy said, “And you must be Calla, the party planner extraordinaire.” Calla hadn’t met Ivy before, but she’d planned a party for the Hightowers a year ago, which was why Calla had been invited to this affair. They’d told her they would have had her plan this one too, but it had been in the making for two years with a different party planner that they hadn’t been happy with.

“I’ve heard through the grapevine”—Ivy glanced at Guthrie—“that one hot guy escorted you to the toga party. And got an eyeful of Rosalind doing her usual thing.”