CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Checking into the Stag Hotel, with its atmosphere of peaceful, olde-worlde charm, felt like dropping anchor in a sleepy lagoon after a dangerous passage on a storm-tossed sea.

With immense relief, Camilla unpacked her bags, showered quickly and ordered some tea. Emotionally and physically she felt exhausted, as though she'd just gone ten rounds in a heavyweight fight. She leaned back on the pillows of the big, soft bed and grimaced wryly to herself. I guess I'm just not used to coping with all these traumas any more, she thought.

The phone on the bedside table rang—and, just for a millisecond, Camilla paused. It was unlikely to be Ross McKeown, but the possibility was always there. After all, the Stag Hotel was the only hostelry in Glen Crannach, so he was bound to have guessed she'd be staying there. And it was most assuredly not beyond his devilish powers to find some excuse to bother her!

Mentally crossing her fingers, she reached out and lifted the receiver. 'Hello?' Her tone was cautious as she waited for the caller to reply.

'Camilla, darling! How are you, my love?'

Instant warm relief surged through her. 'Eric, it's so good to hear you!' With a happy smile she settled back, all her tension vanishing like magic at the familiar, reassuring sound of his voice. 'I'm fine,' she told him brightly. 'Just a little tired, that's all.'

'No problems, then?' he wanted to know. The journey and everything went smoothly, I take it?'

'Absolutely. Without a hitch.' It was a gross distortion of the truth, but there was really no need for Eric to be aware of all the hassles she had encountered today. As it was, she already felt that he sometimes worried too much about her.

‘This chap, McKeown, the Laird's grandson— he's looking after you properly, is he?'

Camilla took a deep breath and sighed. If only poor Eric knew the truth! 'He briefly showed me the collection,' she answered, adroitly avoiding his question, 'and it's even more spectacular than I'd expected. This looks like turning into one of the most challenging jobs I've ever done.' And for more reasons than one! she added wryly to herself. 'But how about you?' she intervened hurriedly, before Eric could ask her any more questions. 'What have you been up to today?'

She didn't really need to ask. Today was Friday, the day Eric always made a point of snatching a quick game of squash in his lunch hour—an activity which invariably led to a recuperative evening in front of the box! Still, she listened affectionately as he recounted the minor events of his day, feeling the warm, secure mantle of his love draw round her as he ended, 'I miss you, my love.'

'I miss you, too.' And she meant it. She missed his calmness, his stability, the safe way he made her feel. 'But it won't be long,' she told him, as much to reassure herself as him. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.'

He blew her a kiss down the line. 'I’ll call you again,' he promised. 'Just look after yourself in the meantime—and remember to keep thinking about your answer to that question I asked you the other night'

Camilla sighed happily as she laid down the phone. Dear Eric. If he'd insisted, he could have had his answer right there and then. For if there was one thing in the world she had no doubts about it was that she intended to accept his proposal.

She rose from the bed and paused for a moment to gaze wistfully at her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. The china-blue eyes, so assured in public, could still, in private, appear so vulnerable that she found herself wondering how, she ever managed to fool anyone at all. Couldn't the world see the frightened little girl behind the determined set of that soft fragile mouth? She smiled to herself. Apparently not But then the mask of self-assurance that she used for protection was just one of her many achievements over the past six years.

Since childhood, life had not been easy for Camilla. Orphaned at the age of seven, she had spent her most tender years being passed from hand to hand like a parcel between the cold comfort of a South London children's home and the intermittent warm oases of temporary foster families.

By the time she had reached eighteen, and independence, she had begun to feel like a piece of flotsam. And from that moment her overriding ambition had been to put down roots of her own.

After scrimping and scraping to put herself through college, she had proceeded to scrimp and scrape some more, till she finally managed to save enough for the deposit on a modest little flat of her own. Those had been the first steps towards her goal. Setting up Focus with Anni and Sue three years ago had been the next And the blossoming of her relationship with Eric, whom she'd met at a party, quite by chance, had perhaps been the most important development of all. With Eric, she had ceased to feel alone for the first time. At last there was someone in the world who truly loved her, and with whom lay the kind of secure, happy future that she longed for, and deserved.

And she loved Erie. How could she not love him, after all that his love had done for her?

So why was it she wondered now, frowning critically at her reflection, that she had allowed Ross McKeown and his scathing observations to upset her so this afternoon? What could it possibly matter to her what that detestable man might think of Eric—someone, after all, whom he had never even met?

A frown settled on the perfect oval of her, face. Yet against all reason, he had succeeded in arousing her to a pitch of furious anger that she had rarely known before.

Biting her lip, she turned away. The fact was she had been acting a little oddly ever since her arrival here—driving her hire car like a demon, then taking pictures without authority. Perhaps there's something in the air, she wondered uneasily. And whatever it was, it didn't suit her. It didn't suit her the least little bit The sooner she got back to London and Eric, the happier she would start to feel.

However, in the meantime... She pulled open the wardrobe door, her features set in resolute lines. Right now, she would forget about Ross McKeown, get dressed and go downstairs for dinner. Then she would treat herself to an early night, so that tomorrow morning she would be feeling fit and refreshed, and more than ready for their appointment at eight!

She might have been, if she'd remembered to book an alarm call before she climbed into bed. As it was, the hands of her watch were just leaving eight-thirty when she struggled to consciousness nine hours later.

She leapt from the sheets with a strangled yelp. Double blast and double damnation! Now she was really in the soup!

With a stab of panic, she grabbed for the phone, 'Get me Castle Crannach, please. Mr Ross McKeown.'

If she could apologise and let him know she was on her way, perhaps the situation could still be saved. But the secretary who answered informed her, 'I'm sorry, Mr McKeown's line is engaged.'

‘Then would you give him a message, please? Tell him that Miss Holden has unfortunately been delayed, but that she'll be with him in half an hour.'

There was no time for any breakfast, just a lightning shower before she threw on some clothes—a pair of natty jodhpur-style trousers and a bottle-green crew-neck sweater. Then she tied her blonde hair back in a green ribbon, grabbed her camera-bag and went hurtling down the stairs.

It was three minutes before nine when Camilla arrived, breathless and anxious, at the castle's main door. The dusty Land Rover, she was relieved to see, was standing parked just a few feet away. So at least he had had the patience to wait!

With a squeeze of trepidation, she rang the bell and. a moment later Maggie appeared. 'Good morning.' She smiled nervously into the unsmiling face. 'Mr Ross McKeown's expecting me.'

Silently, Maggie shook her head. 'Mr Ross has just gone out.'

'But—' Camilla gestured towards the dusty car as she started to protest Then she broke off with a defeated sigh. Of course, Ross McKeown would have more than one car, and she had been a fool to imagine that he might have had the courtesy to wait for her. 'When do you expect him back?' she asked.

'I'm afraid he didn't say. He could be gone for quite some time.'

Camilla felt her spirits sink. Somehow, she had the feeling he would be. 'However,' the woman continued, 'you're welcome to come in and wait for him.' She held the door open and stood aside, but Camilla declined, shaking her head.

'If you don't mind, I’ll wait out here. I'd like to have a look round the grounds.' There was no point in just sitting around uselessly indoors. She could use the time getting to know the place and looking for locations for her shots.

'Suit yourself.' Maggie gave an indifferent shrug and, a moment later, the big door closed.

Camilla left her camera-bag in the car and slung her Nikon over her shoulder. It was a pleasant enough day for a wander, she decided A low autumn sun was shining down warmly from a near-cloudless sky.

She didn't wander too far, just in case Ross might return. But she needn't have concerned herself. More than an hour later, there was still no sign of him. In that time, however, she had spotted a couple of useful-looking locations—a lovely old sundial and a pretty gazebo—and had managed to fall into conversation with an old man in a battered felt hat who was skilfully pruning the rhododendrons.

'If you're looking for something special to photograph,' he advised her as he clipped away, 'take a trip over to Loch Maree. There's some of the bonniest scenery in the world over there.'

‘Then I will.' Camilla made a mental note. It was her intention, while she was in the Highlands, to take some scenic photographs for her portfolio. As she spoke, she glanced impatiently at her watch. It was nearly half-past ten. What the devil did Ross McKeown think he was playing at?

At that very moment the air was rent by a roar like Satan escaping from the underworld. The old man turned to glance at Camilla. That'll be him now,' he said.

He was absolutely right. As Camilla hurried up the stone steps from the garden into the forecourt of the castle, a massive BMW motorbike came thundering up the drive with, astride it, a powerful figure in jeans and black leather who could be only one person—Ross.

As the huge machine growled to a halt he pulled off his crash helmet and shook his dark hair. Then, still astride the great metal beast he cast a leisurely glance at her. 'So you finally got here,' he observed.

Camilla felt a sharp surge of anger. ‘I’ve been here since before nine o'clock!' she shot back at him from between clenched teeth.

'Is that a fact?' With an air of total lack of concern, he pulled the black leather gauntlets from his hands. 'I must have just missed you, then. I went out just after half-eight.'

More or less immediately after her phone call, Camilla deduced without too much difficulty. He had quite evidently made a point of absenting himself before she had had time to arrive. But she knew better than to voice the accusation. He had deliberately kept her waiting, but she was the one who had missed their appointment—and she could read all too clearly the unspoken challenge that was written in his eyes. One word of complaint from her and he would demolish her!

His tone was deceptively mild however, as he loosened the zipper of his black leather jerkin and subjected her to that iron-grey gaze. ‘Too bad you got held up and couldn't make it for eight o'clock.' In one fluid movement he had dismounted and propped the huge bike up on its stand as smoothly and effortlessly as though it weighed nothing at all. 'I guess it must have been pretty tedious for you, having to hang around here with nothing to do?'

'No, not in the least,' she lied That he had kept her waiting for so long was already quite galling enough. She would not give him the added satisfaction of knowing that his ill-mannered gesture had riled her quite as severely as he had intended that it should. ‘I took the liberty of looking around,' she told him, boldly meeting his gaze. 'And I also had an extremely pleasant little chat with your gardener.'

One dark eyebrow lifted interrogatively. 'My gardener?' he enquired.

'Your gardener,' Camilla affirmed with impatience. What was the matter, didn't he know he had one? 'He very kindly suggested some places I might go to take some scenic pictures.'

Ross smiled, the superior and faintly irritating smile of one enjoying a private joke. 'He knows the area very well,' he observed. 'I'm sure he gave you good advice.'

Camilla watched as he laid his gauntlets and helmet on the saddle of the bike, feeling oddly unsettled by the powerful dark presence. The black leather jerkin, with its heavy stitching and metal-toothed zippers, seemed to emphasise and add a flavour of menace to the already broad lines of his commanding physique. Even the innocent blue jeans seemed to cling more threateningly to his muscular thighs, moulding every swell and contour, shamelessly seducing her virginal eye.

'So, what do you have in mind right now?'

With a start, she raised her eyes to his. 'What do you mean?' she asked, momentarily thrown.

'I thought you'd come here to take some photographs. Do you want to take them or not?'

'Of course that's what I came for . . .' Self-consciously, she cleared her throat and folded her arms across her chest 'But I haven't figured out yet how I want to shoot them.' She fixed her eyes on the granite-carved face with its mocking dark eyes and wide, passionate mouth and made an effort to marshal her thoughts. ‘I need to go back and have a closer look at the collection, and I'd like to do a couple of Polaroids, just as a preliminary.'

'What about locations? Have you got those sorted out?'

'A couple.' So many questions! 'Why?' she enquired, an edge to her voice.

'Well, it's just a thought. . .' he ran one hand thoughtfully over his hair ' . . . but you said you wanted to do something special with the Ceo do dh'or, and last night it occurred to me that maybe I know just the place for the sort of thing you have in mind.'

Camilla dropped her arms from her chest and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her trousers. Somehow, she doubted very much that he had even the remotest idea of what it was she had in mind She raised one sceptical eyebrow at him. 'Oh?' she enquired without enthusiasm.

He held her eyes. 'Would you like me to show you?'

She shrugged. 'OK. Why not?' It would almost certainly be a waste of time, but it would be a little ungracious for her to refuse.

He smiled revealing those very white teeth. 'Let's go, then. Follow me.'

She found herself being led round to the back of the castle, then, as they departed from the gravel path, across rougher ground between some trees. And in order to keep up with him Camilla virtually had to run, tripping and stumbling from time to time as her foot caught on some rock or fallen branch. 'What is this—some kind of route march?' she enquired crossly to his broad back.

He tossed her an unsympathetic glance over his leather-clad shoulder. 'Don't worry, we're almost there. Just another couple of yards to go.'

More like a couple of hundred! Camilla thought indignantly, as at last they came to an unprepossessing ruin, half-covered with climbing ivies and moss. 'Is this it?' she demanded irritably, casting a discreet but dismayed glance downwards at her scuffed and mud-spattered Gucci shoes.

Ross followed her gaze. 'If I'd known you were wearing designer footwear I'd have offered to carry you,' he caustically observed.

'An offer, I can assure you, I would have refused.' Better to sacrifice a dozen pairs of Guccis than to surrender herself to such a fate! She glanced past him, critically. 'So, what's this place supposed to be?'

'It's the old chapel of St Margaret. Or it used to be. It was deconsecrated last century—and as you can see, it's fallen somewhat into a state of disrepair.'

Indeed. And a highly unlikely setting it looked for the shooting of the Ceo do dh or!

Ross appeared to read her mind 'What I want to show you is inside. Down in the crypt,' he added as she frowned He turned away, through the tangle of weeds. 'Follow me. And watch your feet.'

Camilla could feel her impatience growing. She'd already had enough of this wild-goose chase, and now he was planning to entice her down into the dark and damp bowels of the earth! Perhaps it was his idea of a joke, or perhaps he was simply out to rile her. Probably the latter, she decided as, once inside the ruined chapel walls, he proceeded to escort her down a set of winding, rough-hewn stairs. It was his way of putting in her place what he perceived as a soft and snobbish southerner.

As they left the daylight behind, they were suddenly plunged into semi-darkness. She heard his footsteps pause. 'Here. Perhaps you'd better take my hand.' And the next moment he reached out and she felt his warm skin brush her fingers.

Instantly she snatched them away. ‘Thank you, but I’ll manage!' she assured him shrilly, not liking in the least the strange way her blood had leapt at his touch.

'OK. Suit yourself.' He turned away and hurried ahead of her, as she continued to grope her way behind him, praying with every shred of her being that she wouldn't lose her footing and fall. A twisted ankle was the least she feared. She feared much more making a clumsy fool of herself!

But, suddenly, as they came round the final corkscrew bend the darkness fled and she could see again. Ross was standing at the foot of the stairs. 'Congratulations. You made it,' he said.

So sorry to disappoint you, she told him silently with her eyes. Wouldn't he just have loved to see her go sprawling, camera, Gucci shoes and all!

His footsteps echoed in the cool, dank air of the ancient, vaulted crypt as he led her through a maze of archways to a comer overlooked by a high, unglazed window. Shafts of multicoloured sunlight spilled through it on to the jagged-hewn walls. He said turning to look at her, ‘This is the place I was thinking of as a backdrop for the Ceo do dh'or.'

Camilla narrowed her eyes and gazed round 'I see,' she said her tone non-committal.

‘The light is particularly good early in the morning. It illuminates the whole of this little area.'

She could see that it would, and she could also see that, for her purposes, this place was quite ideal. But she was also ungenerously loath to admit as much to Ross McKeown. He had, by some singular freak of judgement, turned up precisely what she had been after, but she was quite definitely not about to heap praise and gratitude on him!

Assuming an air of indecision, she proceeded to scrutinise the area, pausing, hands in pockets, to examine more closely the high, open window. Sunlight splashed across her head and shoulders, making her blonde hair gleam like burnished silk, softly highlighting the curve of her breasts beneath the lightly clinging sweater.

She was not aware of the iron-grey eyes that watched her with fascination, nor was she prepared for the abrupt shift of direction in the conversation as he enquired, conversationally, 'So, this solicitor boyfriend of yours ... is he missing you?'

Camilla spun round to look at him, blinking. 'I beg your pardon!' she exclaimed.

He was leaning casually against the wall, his fists thrust into the pockets of his jerkin, one knee slightly bent, his dark head held high as he looked down at her. 'I asked a very simple question. Is your boyfriend, Eric, missing you? I presume he must have told you when he called you at the hotel last night.'

'And what if he did?' she demanded hotly. 'What possible business might it be of yours?'

He shrugged broad shoulders. 'Just a friendly enquiry. It's nice to know someone's thinking of you when you re far away in a foreign land.'

Camilla decided to ignore the observation, and the note of mockery in his voice. Already this highly personal digression had brought a warm glow of discomfort to her skin. She said, carefully, 'I think I might be able to use this place. I’ll come back for another look—alone—tomorrow morning, if that's all right?'

'Feel free.' Still, he continued to watch her, the inscrutable dark eyes relentlessly probing. Then, ‘This Eric of yours ... Is he a serious amour— or just a passing fancy?'

This time, she did not ignore him. Her eyes blazed her indignation at him. 'If you really want to know, he's the man I'm going to marry!' Maybe that would satisfy his perverse curiosity and put an end to his impertinent questions!

Predictably, it did not His eyes dropped pointedly to her left hand. 'I see no engagement ring,' he pointed out 'And I feel quite sure that this Eric of yours is the kind of man who would insist on observing such traditions.' He paused with a strangely infuriating smile. 'So why, if you're going to marry him, is there no ring?'

'Because the engagement is not yet official.'

'Ah . . .' He seemed to consider this new information. That must either be because he hasn't yet officially asked you, or because you have not yet officially given him your answer...' Boldly he held her eyes. ‘Tell me, am I right?'

For some quite inexplicable reason Camilla's heart was racing, her palms grown clammy with anxiety as she balled them into tight fists at her sides. As before, when he had touched on the subject of Eric, she felt threatened and afraid. She said coldly, 'I don't intend telling you anything. It's none of your damned business!'

'Very well. Then let me guess.' His eyes wandered over her stiff, anxious form, assessing, dissecting, stripping her bare. A crude smile touched his lips as he told her, 'I say you're the one who's holding out.'

It was a coarse and inaccurate deduction, and under other more normal and benign conditions Camilla would have told him so. As it was, the one thought on her mind at that moment was, quite simply, how to escape—from the claustrophobic confines of the crypt which suddenly seemed to be closing in on her, and above all, from the increasingly distressing proximity of this wild outrageous man whose granite-grey eyes seemed to see right through her.

Clutching at the remnants of her disintegrating poise, she told him in a taut, hard voice, 'If you don't mind I'd like to leave now. I think I've seen enough.'

'Are you sure?'

'Quite sure, thank you.' With his brash inquisition and uncouth insinuations he had succeeded in genuinely unsettling her, a feat that very few people these days ever managed to achieve.

He shrugged his broad frame away from the wall. 'OK In that case, let's go.' And just for a moment, as he straightened and nodded, Camilla dared to relax inside. Perhaps he had had enough of his game. But then, pulling the rug right out from under her, he regarded her sideways and observed, ‘I’m right, aren’t I? You're the one who's holding out?'

'No, I'm not, as a matter of fact!' The words shot like gunfire from her lips. 'I happen to be dead set on marrying Eric and I shall tell him so, just as soon as I return to London.'

'Why didn't you tell him before you left—if you're so dead set, as you put it?'

'Because,' she answered evenly, wondering why she was even bothering to reply, 'he gave me a week to think over his proposal. He realised it's a serious step.'

'I couldn't agree more.' But he was smiling—that mocking, superior smile of his. 'I'm sure that marriage to a man like Eric would be a very serious step indeed.'

'And what would you know about it? You haven't even met the man!'

'Very true,' he acknowledged. Then he paused and fixed her with that rapier-like gaze. 'I haven't met Eric, but I have met you.'

And what the devil was that supposed to mean? Camilla glared at him with hostile eyes, fighting against the growing unease that was prickling like cold fingers down her spine. Again that dull sense of claustrophobia was starting to close in on her.

She tore her eyes from his face. 'I've had quite enough of this ridiculous conversation! I'm getting out of here!' Giving instant substance to her words, she swung past him on perilously shaky legs and headed swiftly for the stairs.

Next minute, she was plunging into the semi-darkness, heart pumping like a steam piston inside her chest. Her hands groped for the cool, rough walls to guide her as her feet flew recklessly up the steps. Too recklessly, alas. As the stairs curved sharply, she misjudged her footing and felt her legs fold beneath her, like a deckchair.

With a strangled gasp, she staggered forwards and might have done no more than skin her knees. But at the last minute she grabbed for her camera, fearing that it might smash against the stone steps—and succeeded only in compounding the mischief, as her foot slipped yet again, sending her hurtling backwards, completely out of control. Blindly, she reached out for something to break her fall. But there was nothing there.

'Are you trying to kill yourself?'

Even as raw panic seized her, a firm hand had caught her round her middle, wrenching her upright, out of danger, and setting her down on her still-boneless feet.

'Quite an exit,' Ross sounded amused. 'Pity you had to go and spoil it rather, right there at the end.'

Camilla breathed deeply and struggled for composure, in an odd way finding his cool, detached humour more agreeable than the expected display of concern. Thank you,' she offered wanly, regarding with a tremor the steep descent that had almost claimed her as her eyes at last adjusted to the half-light 'I really thought I was a goner there.'

‘Then that makes two of us. Just for a moment I was thinking that old Eric was about to be short of one bride.'

At the mention of Eric's name and the subtle note of irony in Ross's voice, Camilla's eyes darted to meet the dark gaze—alarmingly now on a level with her own as he stood on the staircase, one step below her. And she was suddenly quite overwhelmingly conscious of the easy, familiar way his arm was still wrapped around her waist. Merely to support her, she reassured herself—though the dangerous dark flicker deep in his eyes warned her she might be fooling herself.

'We couldn't have that now, could we?' he smiled.

Camilla swallowed drily and found herself wondering why she didn't just take a prudent step away from him, to safety. One little step, that was all it required. Instead, still motionless, she heard herself asking, 'What do you mean? What couldn't we have?'

'Poor old Eric waiting at the altar and his bride lying in bits in a Highland crypt.' As he said it he smiled lop-sidedly and his free hand reached up to touch her hair.

Camilla froze instantly, her breathing suddenly ragged and shallow, her skin strangely warm, her eyes barely focusing. Suddenly, all her senses were pinpointed on the erotically caressing fingers sending electric goosebumps across her scalp.

She swallowed helplessly as the hand on her waist drew her closer, so that she could smell the rich smell of leather, mingled with his own earthy, masculine scent And she could neither bear to hold the burning grey gaze, nor find the strength to tear her own eyes away as, with a slow and certain inevitability, he leaned forward to claim her lips with his.

She closed her eyes with a tortured shudder as excitement like a lance, went knifing through her, galvanising all her senses, turning her blood to molten fire. As his muscular body pressed hard against her own, driving the breath from her lungs and crushing her bones, she experienced for one glorious moment a sense of release and a sense of bondage that, curiously, were one and the same. With a sigh, she slackened and surrendered as his mouth proceeded to conquer hers.

'Camilla, Camilla ...' His tone was husky as he murmured her name, his hand sweeping round from the small of her back to cup the taut, excited swell of her breast.

But even as the blood leapt in her loins at the tantalising, slow caress, something akin to stunned, shocked sanity was seeping into her numbed, beleaguered brain.

With a dart of conscience she pulled away. The voice that had just murmured 'Camilla' and the lips and hands that were devouring her senses belonged to a man she scarcely knew. A man who had no right to take such liberties... for there was only one man in the world who did.

Dry-mouthed, trembling, hot and guilty, she wrenched herself free from his burning embrace. 'Stop!' she demanded in a rough, shaky voice. Then, like a panic-stricken beast she turned and fled headlong away from him, up the flight of rough stone steps. And she didn't dare stop running until she was safely out of the church.

But even in the harsh light of day her heart was still hammering inside her chest every one of her burning senses electrified and turned inside out Never in her life before had she responded so startlingly to any man's kiss.

With an uneasy stab of conscience she admonished herself. That must be wrong. Not even to Eric's?

And all at once, a sense of dread crept like a chill wind through her bones. Not even to Eric's, an inner voice answered.

And suddenly she knew, and feared, the terrible nature of the danger she was in.

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