CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

Camilla gaped at him as he came towards her. This was surely the sickest joke that fate could possibly have chosen to play on her.

Cool, strong fingers gripped hers briefly. Then, holding her gaze, Ross McKeown smiled, evidently appreciating the joke more than she. 'So, you made it, after all. I take it, then, that you didn't run into any more "herds" of sheep?'

Camilla straightened to her full five foot seven, but she still felt only about two inches tall. With accusing blue eyes she looked up into his face, a good six or seven inches higher than her own. 'Why didn't you tell me who you were?'

'I don't seem to remember you asking.' A hard look replaced the humour in his eyes, silently reminding her of the imperious manner in which she had assumed him to be a lowly farm worker when they had last met, just over an hour ago. "You were so busy trying to lay down the law that my identity was the least of your concerns.'

Inwardly Camilla winced. She couldn't deny that the accusation was true. And, though she was far from proud of the way she had acted, the very notion of apologising stuck in her craw. After all, his own behaviour had not exactly been worthy of applause.

'But you knew who I was, didn't you?" she charged.

'Not immediately, but I guessed soon enough.

Somehow your overbearing manner fitted precisely with my image of a big-city photographer.

That was an uncomfortable gibe—as much a slur on her profession as it was on her. 'I was lost,' she protested weakly, offering what sounded like a serviceable excuse. And feeling grouchy and frustrated and tired, she might have added.

But she was glad she hadn't as Ross rebuked her impatiently, 'Spare me a repeat of the helpless act, Miss Holden. You, I would suggest, are about as helpless as a she-cat with six sets of claws. And if there's one breed on this planet I have absolutely no time for, it's conniving, manipulative women!'

Camilla paled at the insult and was momentarily lost for a suitable response. Earlier she had taken him for a poor judge of character. Now he was just being downright rude. Perhaps, it occurred to her, as with an effort she met the iron-hard gaze, she had given mortal offence by assuming him to be a humble shepherd.

She swallowed on the lump in her throat, acutely, claustrophobically conscious now of the ferocious aura of male power that radiated out of him. Every hard-packed sinew of that muscular body, every domineering line in his granite-hewn face somehow seemed to menace her with its aggressive affirmation of authority and strength. She wished he weren't standing quite so close as she told him now, defensively, 'It was perfectly natural for me to assume that those sheep were yours.'

One eyebrow lifted 'Indeed the sheep are mine, Miss Holden.' Then he smiled a humourless smile as he added 'However, it was quite by chance that I happened to be there with them. Just a couple of minutes before you came blundering on to the scene, I was passing, on my way home. I stopped to give old Jock, one of our shepherds, a hand with a ewe that had wandered off and got tangled up in some bushes in the woods. We'd just about got her free when you almost scattered the entire flock with that infernal blaring horn of yours.'

Suddenly Camilla couldn't resist it 'You're pretty handy with the horn yourself.' She now knew exactly who the cowboy in the Land Rover had been!

Ross allowed himself a fleeting smile, revealing very even, very white teeth. 'I was out to give you a fright You were driving much too fast'

Then so were you.' She narrowed her eyes at him as he led her now across the room to a group of sofas and bade her sit noting with a frisson of displeasure how he carelessly stretched his legs out in front of him, as he sank down into the sofa opposite, so that the brown leather shoes he wore were only inches away from her own.

As she laid down her camera on the coffee-table between them, she adjusted her blue skirt over her knees and pointedly moved her feet to one side. 'I seem to remember you overtaking me without any trouble at all.'

‘That's different.'

Camilla barely suppressed an ironical snort 'Yes, somehow I thought it might be!'

Ross McKeown held her eyes for a moment causing her to drop her gaze. Then, very carefully, he elaborated, 'It's different because I know the road. And, since the seats in a Land Rover are considerably higher off the ground than they are in a car like yours. I had the additional advantage of a far superior view of the road.' He leaned magisterially against the cushions as the iron-grey eyes raked her face. ‘I’d have been able to stop in time if I'd come upon a flock of sheep.'

Camilla flushed and glanced up at him again. 'I stopped in time!' she defended.

He held her eyes. 'But only just I seem to remember you came within a hair's breadth of ploughing straight into the whole damned lot.' He paused for a moment then added pointedly, 'And in these parts, the irresponsible killing of sheep is considered to be a serious offence!'

'I suppose you hold public executions—with hanging, drawing and quartering, and popcorn for the onlookers at half-time?'

Her sarcasm was not lost on him, but Ross McKeown did not smile. 'Not for killing sheep, Miss Holden. We reserve our more spectacular punishments for more socially objectionable crimes. Like pig-headed arrogance and overbearing conceit.'

In spite of a sharp stab of irritation, Camilla laughed out loud at that That he, of all people, should accuse her. 'In that case, I'm very much surprised that you're still around to tell the tale!'

At that moment they were interrupted as the woman in the white starched apron appeared through the doorway, pushing a trolley. So, it was teatime at Castle Crannach. And at the tantalising aroma of hot buttered pancakes, fluffy fruit scones and Highland oatmeal bannocks, Camilla was suddenly very much aware of just how long it was since she'd last eaten.

‘Thank you, Maggie. I’ll do the honours.' As the woman arranged the tea things on the heavy mahogany coffee-table. Ross gestured politely to her to leave. Then, with the dour-faced Maggie gone, he set about adroitly pouring tea from a fine Meissen teapot into fragile Meissen cups.

Camilla watched him with a strange fascination. There was something both incongruous and faintly appealing about the vision presented by this ultra-masculine man, with his wild, dark hair and ferocious grey eyes, as he handled the delicate gold-leafed porcelain. For, in spite of his powerful, broad dimensions, the well-shaped hands had a sensitive touch. They seemed to move with feather-light precision as, with the minimum of fuss, they accomplished their task.

He leaned towards her, extending a cup. ‘Your tea, Miss Holden. Help yourself to sugar and something to eat' And as for a moment his gaze meshed with hers and his hand came within a thread's breadth of her own, Camilla caught a flash of something oddly intimate and deeply unsettling in his eyes. Something totally unexpected. Something she could not property decipher, nor even begin to identify. Yet it sent a sudden chill through her bones and a stab of sharp panic skittering in her heart.

For, in some strange and inexplicable way, what she had seemed to glimpse in that moment of revelation was the real and terrifying dark substance of the nagging apprehension that had been preying on her for days.

Ross brought her back to earth with a bump. 'I think it's time we got down to discussing the reason why you're here.' He leaned back in his seat again and surveyed her with penetrating, cool grey eyes. 'You haven't come all this distance, after all, just to sample our Highland hospitality.'

Indeed she had not. She laid down her cup. ‘I’ve come to photograph the Celtic collection for this new art series that Meredith's is bringing out' A sudden furrow marred her brow as an anxious thought occurred to her. 'I made all the arrangements through your secretary. I presume they have your approval?' It would be disastrous, she was thinking, if he were to veto the project now. And, having glimpsed the perverse, impulsive nature of the man, she could not safely rule out that possibility.

The collection has been photographed before. Could not Meredith's have used photographs from those previous sources?'

Politely, Camilla shook her head. ‘The whole series is to be put together with new and original photographs. They're looking for a totally fresh approach. They're not using any old source material at all.' Hence her partners' parallel trips to Paris and Florence. And I’11 bet the Louvre and the Uffizi aren't giving them half the hassle that I'm being given here! she thought sourly. She forced a smile and added equably, 'In the field of fine arts publication, Meredith's is very highly regarded Naturally, they wish to preserve that reputation. They want only to produce the best.'

'Which is why, I presume, they're hiring you?'

Camilla stiffened, resenting the taunt. He had managed to make the observation a blanket disapprobation of Meredith's judgement ‘They hired us because they believed we would do the job well. Our studio has done work for them before.'

'Yes, you did the Stately Homes of England collection and another on Victorian bric-a-brac.'

Camilla's eyes widened in frank astonishment. So he had taken the trouble to dig into her credentials. Then her astonishment doubled as he continued, 'And a very fine job you did of them, too. Which is why you have my full permission to go ahead with the job you've come to do. You may be lacking in other qualities'—the iron-grey eyes held hers disparagingly—'but you appear to be an able photographer.'

So she had misinterpreted that earlier taunt. His disapproval of her appeared to be directed at her personal, not her professional qualities. Well and good Ross McKeown's judgement of her on a personal level mattered to her not one jot. After all, it could scarcely be any lower than her own scathing personal judgement of him. As long as she had his professional respect she required nothing more of him.

'Perhaps, once we've finished here'—he pushed the plate of scones towards her as she reached out for a second one—'I can very quickly show you the collection and you can start thinking about how you want to set it up? He leaned back in his seat again and rubbed long, strong fingers over his chin as he went on to put to her, with a faintly curious lift of one eyebrow, 'I take it you’ll be wanting to shoot the Ceo do dh'or as well?'

Camilla frowned.

‘The Golden Mist Ceo do dh’or is its Gaelic name.'

And it sounded even more beautiful in Gaelic than in English. She nodded affirmatively. 'Oh, yes. Definitely.' The legendary set of jewels that were said to have belonged to Scotland's Queen Margaret were her top priority on this assignment 'I want to do something really special with them.'

A smile of challenge flickered across his lips. 'I take it then, that you're not afraid of the curse?

Camilla swallowed and took a deep breath. Inclined to be slightly superstitious by nature, she had to confess that the story of the Ceo do dh'or curse had sent a shiver down her spine when first she'd heard it But she looked boldly across at Ross McKeown now. 'Why should I be afraid of the curse? You're the one who should be afraid. I understand it affects only the heirs of the Lairds of Glen Crannach.'

'So they say.' Ross seemed totally unperturbed, even scathingly amused, as he continued to enlighten her, The jewels were a gift from King David to an ancient ancestor of mine at a time when the McKeowns' seat of power was centred on the Isle of Mhoire. It was only at the end of the eighteenth century that my family moved their base to Glen Crannach—bringing the Ceo do dh'or jewels with them, of course. The jewels have never left McKeown hands.'

He paused a moment before continuing, observing Camilla's rapt expression. 'However, over the two hundred years since the jewels were moved, three of my ancestors have met sudden and somewhat mysterious deaths. My father, his grandfather, and his grandfather before him. All were in their thirty-fifth year and all were the current heirs at the time. According to the legend, you see, the jewels must never leave the Isle of Mhoire.'

'So why do you keep them here?’ It was no more than idle curiosity that made her ask If the headstrong Ross McKeown wished to tempt fate by flying in the teeth of an ancient Celtic curse, that was entirety up to him. Wouldn't it be more sensible to keep them on the island? For the sake of preserving your family's title, at least? After all, you are the last in line.' To her knowledge, the unmarried Ross had a sister, but the title was not permitted to pass to a woman.

'I appreciate your concern.' His tone was mocking as he met her eyes. 'But I'm afraid I don't share it I don't happen to believe in curses, you see. I believe in things that can be substantiated by the laws of science and good sense. The accidents that happened to my father and the others are all capable of logical explanation, I'm sure. The coincidence of their ages, along with the fact that they all happened to be the current heir at the time, I can assure you, is no more than that—a somewhat bizarre, but totally meaningless coincidence.

'But we shall see...' He shrugged and paused to run long, tanned fingers slowly through his thick dark hair. 'I still have a couple of months to go until my thirty-fifth birthday...’ He smiled a wry smile, still watching her. 'If I can survive till the end of November unscathed, then the curse will be revealed for the hokum it is.'

Hokum, he blandly called it, and it might well be. But Camilla knew for certain that she herself would never have taken such a risk, and she found herself marvelling slightly at the self-assurance of the man. Though in her mind she instantly dismissed that self-assurance for the unutterable arrogance it really was. Ross McKeown quite clearly believed that he possessed powers beyond those of ordinary mortals!

Cynically, she observed aloud, 'Just so long as you manage to survive till the end of this week, when I’ve finished my pictures. It would really be most inconvenient if you were to drop dead half-way through the shoot.'

He smiled crookedly, seeming to appreciate this dark humour. Then I shall try my very best not to inconvenience you.' He laid down his cup and started to stand up. 'Perhaps, if you've had enough to eat we can go through and have a look at the collection?'

Without any difficulty at all, Camilla could have polished off the remaining pancakes, bannocks and scones. If they were the work of the dour-faced Maggie, then the woman's skill as a cook more than made up for her lack of charm. But Ross was evidently eager to make a move, so she laid aside her napkin and got to her feet Tm ready,' she assured him. Then she grabbed her camera and slung it over her shoulder as, without preamble, he headed for the door.

He led her out into the hall, then along a corridor and up a short flight of stairs, till they came to a heavy, oak-panelled door. Then he reached into the pocket of his jeans and drew out an elaborate-looking key. This whole room is specially protected' he told her as he turned the key in the lock. 'And the only person who knows where the key is kept aside from my grandfather and myself, is Maggie.' He pushed the door open and stood aside to let Camilla pass. 'Please. Go ahead.'

Camilla gasped at the sight that met her eyes. She had already seen and closely studied most of the previous photographs of the collection, but none of them had done anything like justice to the staggering beauty of the real thing.

'I can't believe it! There's so much more here than I’d expected, and it's all so beautiful!'

In delighted admiration, she glanced round at the displays of ancient artefacts, from silver quakhs, or drinking bowls, to bejewelled horn snuff mulls and stone-carved Celtic crosses, her brain already racing with ideas on how best to make them come alive on film. She grinned at Ross. 'It's magnificent! I can't wait to get started!' Then, her excitement bubbling, Where's the Ceo do dh'or?’

'In here.' He was crossing to a steel-clad wall safe and quickly keying in the combination. 'Normally, it's kept in here,' he advised her. 'But just for this week, while you're doing the photographs, well leave it in one of the cabinets with the other bits of jewellery.'

As he spoke, he withdrew from the safe a carved wooden box with a silver lock and key. Then, laying the box on a nearby table, he turned the key and raised the lid

The Ceo do dh'or.' He stood aside to let her see and smiled at the wonder that lit up her eyes. The jewels of a queen and saint Nearly a thousand years old.'

On a soft bed of dark blue velvet lay an exquisite set of matching necklace, bracelet and ring, fashioned from ancient silver and studded with semi-precious gems. With admiring eyes, Camilla gazed at it. 'It's hard to believe it's really that old.'

'You like it?'

'Like it? It's a work of art!'

'Here. Take a closer look.' With strong, delicate fingers Ross lifted the bracelet from the box and handed it to her. ‘Try it on. See how it feels.'

Nervously, Camilla slipped it over her wrist. It felt regal and heavy and precious and cool.

'It suits you.' As she glanced up to meet his eyes, he reached for the necklace and held it up and, though she guessed instantly what he was about to do, she didn't have the wit to step away.

The next moment he had caught her lightly by the shoulder as he held the necklace up to her throat his fingers brushing the blonde hair aside as they reached behind to fasten the clasp.

The response that shot through her was really quite unwarranted, yet utterly, totally overpowering all the same. The touch of his fingers against the skin of her neck was like a branding iron burning into her flesh, and the brush of the broad chest against her breasts as, for a moment the powerful arms embraced her sent shivers of pure, exquisite anguish ricocheting through her veins.

Like a drowning woman, she gulped for air as his lips seemed to come within a whisper of her cheek She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin and smell his clean, cool, masculine scent Then she shuddered and swallowed drily, feeling her whole body go as limp as a rag as with delicate, sensuous fingers he paused to adjust the heavy pendant as it fell against the cleavage of her cashmere-clad breasts.

He stepped back, letting his hands slide slowly down her arms as he released her, sending goosebumps right to the soles of her feet 'Here. See how you look.' With one hand still burning on her elbow, he proceeded to propel her across the room to where an enormous gilt-framed mirror hung against the bare stone wall. 'As you can see, they look even better on a woman than they did in the box.'

Undoubtedly she would have agreed, if she had been able to focus her attention on the jewels. But all Camilla was aware of at that moment was the tall, dark, wild-looking man at her side and his reflection looking back at her through the glass.

'Yes,' she murmured foolishly, wondering what madness this was that possessed her. And wondering, too, with helpless indignation, if he could sense the cruel havoc he had wreaked in her soul.

That thought was suddenly enough to return a measure of free will to her limbs. She turned away abruptly, fumbling to undo the clasp of the necklace before he could make a move to help her. With a stiff smile she handed it to him, taking care to make no contact with his hand. Then she slid the bracelet quickly from her wrist and handed that to him as well.

'I think I would like to photograph these outdoors, in natural light,' she told him, turning away and feeling slightly amazed at the remarkable steadiness of her own voice. 'But I’11 have to look around for a suitable background. Would you be agreeable to that?'

She heard him return the pieces to the box, close the lid, then turn the key. 'Of course. Though, naturally, if you plan to take them out of this room, I must insist on you being accompanied—either by myself or, if I'm not available, by prior arrangement, by Maggie, our housekeeper.' As she turned to glance at him with a measure of surprise, he assured her with a solemn smile, 'Maggie has been with us for years. I would trust her with my life.'

A rare and glowing commendation indeed Somehow, Camilla did not see the Honourable Ross McKeown as a man who would lightly trust anybody with anything of his—least of all his life.

She watched as he locked the Ceo do dh'or box inside one of the cabinets that lined the wall. Td like to make a start tomorrow morning, as early as possible, while the light's at its best'

'Whenever you like, I’m be up at six.'

A little earlier than she'd had in mind! 'Say about eight o'clock? I'd like to have some breakfast first'

He shrugged as he led her towards the door. 'Eight's fine. I’ll be here.'

Out in the passageway, she waited while he relocked the heavy oak-panelled door and returned the key to the pocket of his jeans. Then they made their way in single file back down the stairs and along the corridor to the hallway.

'Feel free to have a look around the grounds for locations before you leave.' Ross had paused by the reception-room doorway, leaning casually against the door-jamb as he issued the invitation.

But it was getting late. Camilla glanced quickly at her watch. 'It's time I checked in at my hotel I'm expecting a phone call in about half an hour.'

She should not have added that extra bit of information. She had no call to explain her private affairs to him, and she knew the minute the words left her mouth that he would pounce on them A caustic smile curled round his lips and one dark eyebrow lifted insolently. 'Boyfriend phoning up to check that you've survived your first day in this heathen land?'

He was absolutely right, as it happened. The call she was expecting was from Eric. She threw him a cool look. 'Something like that.'

The broad shoulders beneath the Aran sweater flexed as he folded his arms across his chest and a look of amusement flickered in his face. 'So, you have a steady boyfriend, do you?' As she disdained to answer, he leaned back his head and let his smile broaden as his eyes swept over her, impudently, openly assessing her, as though she were a piece of livestock. Tell me about this boyfriend of yours. No, wait a minute. Let me guess ...'

Camilla glared a warning at him. 'Kindly don't trouble yourself. Eric is none of your damned business!'

'Erie?' He ignored her admonition and seemed to consider the name for a moment ‘I’ll bet I can tell you more or less exactly what this Eric of yours is like.'

He treated her to another impertinent sweep of his dark eyes, making her flesh burn and her blood boil in a total confusion of responses. 'I’ll bet he's a banker, or an accountant—or a solicitor,' he challenged. 'Someone with clean fingernails and perfect manners and not a single nasty habit to his name.'

Camilla suddenly hated Ross McKeown with an intensity that was almost pleasurable. 'And what's wrong with clean fingernails and good manners?' she fumed. 'What's wrong with being a solicitor?'

'So, I was right?' He grinned down at her with evil enjoyment ‘I’ll bet he listens to Mozart and country music and takes two weeks' summer holiday every July. His favourite food is Indian and he drinks Scandinavian beer and German wine.'

As he paused, Camilla was trembling with fury. He had reeled off his list like a damning indictment as though passing down judgement from some superior height And though his attitude in itself was quite maddening enough, the thing that infuriated her most of all was the fact that he had, more or less, been right.

'Have you finished?' she demanded.

'Not if you'd like me to continue. I bet I could even tell you what car he drives, not to mention the colour of his socks.'

Camilla clenched her jaw at him and resisted the urge to take a swipe. Any form of physical contact with him was something she was keen to avoid. Just being within the same four walls was already quite unpleasant enough!

'I think you must be the most contemptible, ill-mannered man I've ever had the misfortune to meet!' As the words came out in a heartfelt snarl, she noted with some satisfaction that the look of amusement had gone from his face. 'And now, if you’ll excuse me ...' Abruptly she started to push past him, intending to continue through the doorway and into the reception-room beyond. 'I left my camera-bag in there. I’ll just collect it and then I’ll leave.'

'Just one minute, if you don't mind!'

Before she could take evasive action, he had reached out and grabbed hold of her by one arm, sending a welter of panic-stricken questions scattering like ninepins through her brain. What vile intention was in his mind? she was wondering wildly as, roughly, he jerked her towards him so that her body crushed up against his. What ghastly, evil imposition was he planning to inflict? And suddenly all her instincts for survival were hurtling to her aid. Whatever iniquity he intended, she would put up a damned good fight! _x

She was totally unprepared, however, for his next unchivalrous move.

'Just one thing before you go.' In one deft movement he had snatched the camera-strap from her shoulder, releasing her abruptly at the same time, so that she staggered slightly as she fell back and could only watch in impotent horror as he snapped open the back of her precious Nikon and deftly removed the roll of film.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' I've already shot most of that!'

'Precisely.' Eyes like meat cleavers slashed her face as, very deliberately now, he proceeded to expose the entire length of film. 'No one takes photographs in my house without first receiving my permission. Don't talk to me about manners, Miss Holden, until you've acquired a few yourself.'

Camilla could have kicked herself for her earlier rash breach of protocol. Taking photographs without prior permission was not her usual mode of operation at all. But though it was undoubtedly within Ross's rights to lodge a civilised complaint the action he had just taken had been high-handed in the extreme. 'You had no right to do that!' she seethed. 'Only part of that film was shot in your house. The rest were views I took from the road while I was driving over here.'

He was unrepentant Then you’ll just have to go back and take them again.'

She balled her fists and glared at him, trembling with rage at his bare-faced arrogance. 'All you had to do was ask, you know, and I wouldn't have used the ones of the house. But I suppose you're quite unfamiliar with such civilised procedures!'

'I suppose I am, Miss Holden.' His jaw darkened dangerously as he scowled back at her. 'But then I'm not in the habit of asking for my rights. I prefer to take them!' He thrust the camera back at her, along with the useless roll of film. 'I would advise you to bear that in mind in all your future dealings with me.'

Rigid with fury and outrage, Camilla stalked past him into the room. She was certain now beyond a shred of doubt that this assignment was destined to be a scourge on her soul.

With trembling fingers she proceeded to load the camera into the camera-bag, yank the zipper closed and hoist the heavy strap impatiently over her shoulder. Then, without even glancing in his direction as he led her across the hall to the front door, she bade him a curt and thankful, 'Goodbye.'

'So long, Miss Holden,' he answered calmly. Till tomorrow morning at eight'

She was aware of him standing watching her as she made her way, stiff-legged, to the car. And though nothing in the world could have induced her to turn round and meet that odious dark gaze, she could picture with no difficulty at all the superior, triumphant smile on his face.

She climbed into her car and slammed the door shut Damn him and all he stood for! Then, as she jabbed the key in the ignition, she paused to glance in the rear-view mirror at the tall, dark-haired figure on the castle steps and smiled maliciously to herself as a sudden comforting thought crossed her mind.

If ever there was a man who thoroughly deserved to have an ancient Celtic curse dangling over his head, that man was surely Ross McKeown!

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