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Shores Of Love
Alex Ryder


The brave-heart bride!Washed up on the shores of a remote Scottish island, Avalon Rivers was desperate to return home. Only she hadn't taken into account the island's well-known legend - that the Cheif of the Clan's bride would come to him from the sea.The islanders had hailed her as the Cheif's bride-to-be and, what was more, tall, sexy, and rich Fraser of Suilvach, Lord of the Deer and Eagles, was going along with their plans. He had made up his mind, it seemed: Avalon was going to be his bride - whether she liked it or not… !









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#uc4b650ed-2abc-57d6-b6d4-3d26872936a2)

Epigraph (#u4b8f43a4-c87e-5f8c-a166-a3c6e2489483)

About the Author (#u51e1e4d0-4ada-5bba-89af-dba4c75c3f5b)

Title Page (#uba357230-963f-5792-bd37-7a4f9168d2a2)

CHAPTER ONE (#u6e0740dd-ec31-5b17-8305-6e90a62f8dee)

CHAPTER TWO (#ueda78701-79a1-55cb-bcf5-12d9a66dea3c)

CHAPTER THREE (#uc22ecce4-2b3f-5588-847b-fd547d99a290)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)










ALEX RYDER


was born and raised in Edinburgh and is married with three sons. She took an interest in writing when, to her utter amazement, she won a national schools’ competition for a short essay about wild birds. She prefers writing romance fiction because at heart she’s just a big softie. She works now in close collaboration with a scruffy old one-eyed cat who sits on the desk and yawns when she doesn’t get it right, but winks when she does.




Shores Of Love

Alex Ryder











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_c5babc25-7abc-50bd-a379-f1b1c0ee3d3e)


AVALON swore under her breath, then clenched her fists and bit her lip in anger. It had happened again! How was it possible? You’d have thought that just for once Fate might have given her a break instead of dropping her in the sludge yet again. You’d have thought that just for once it might have left her to get on with her life in peace. What did it have against her, for heaven’s sake? She was kind to animals and she always gave up her seat in the bus to older people or young mums with kids. But no. Someone up there really seemed to have it in for her. And this time it wasn’t just your common-or-garden-type disaster. She was used to coping with them. This time it was mind-blowingly serious. When someone poked a gun into your ribs and snarled, ‘I’ll deal with you later,’ then pushed you into your cabin and locked the door, you were entitled to break into a cold sweat.

She shivered with apprehension, then took a deep, steadying breath. One thing was for sure. Panic wouldn’t get her anywhere. If she was going to get out of this mess in one piece she’d have to keep her wits about her.

The cabin was tiny and too cramped to pace back and forward so she sat down on her bunk, her green eyes flickering with anger. She’d had a bad feeling about this job right from the start and she should have trusted her instincts. There had been something about Mr Smith and his partner—not to mention their ‘wives’—that hadn’t rung true, but at the time she’d been desperate enough to put her suspicions aside and jump at the chance of working her passage back to England. Anyway, when you were stranded in a foreign country with no money, no passport and nowhere to sleep, your options were pretty limited.

She’d warned them that she was no cordon bleu cook but Mr Smith had assured her that all that would be required of her was plain, simple fare. As long as she could scramble eggs and grill an occasional steak they’d be satisfied.

The lying toad, she thought bitterly. They hadn’t wanted a cook. They’d hired her to be a scapegoat in case anything had gone wrong with their plan and now that she’d found out what they were really up to they were going to make damned sure that she never got the chance to go to the police. They were probably going to dump her overboard when they were far enough away from the coast.

From their point of view it couldn’t have been simpler. Her job was done. No one but they knew that she was aboard this motor-cruiser and if she mysteriously disappeared off the face of the earth there was no way they could be connected with the affair. Anyway, who would miss her enough to make enquiries? Not one single soul that she could think of.

Well, either she could sit here moaning and getting more terrified by the minute as she waited for Mr Smith to return or she could do something about it. Getting resolutely to her feet, she leaned over the bunk and peered through the porthole. It was almost dark but she could see the even darker mass of a coastline barely a quarter of a mile away. Where were they, anyway? It had been five days since they’d left Portugal. Surely they must be near England by now?

The porthole wasn’t very big, but then neither was she. It would be a tight squeeze but she reckoned she could make it. The cabin was right at the stern of the boat, so unless anyone happened to be looking back from the bridge she should be able to get away without being spotted. She was a fairly good swimmer and the sea didn’t appear to be too rough.

If only there were a sign of habitation ashore. A light from a house. Anything. She’d have to get in touch with the authorities and she couldn’t do that if she ended up on some deserted little island. If that happened she’d either die of starvation or exposure.

Suddenly she blinked, and rubbed her eyes and stared towards the land. There! There it was again! A bluish-white light flickering—like a huge candle-flame. It died away but her heart had already given a wild beat of hope. A light meant people…civilisation!

Realising that it was now or never, she quickly unscrewed the brass butterfly nuts and opened the glass cover, then put her arms and head through the opening. Once her shoulders were through she turned awkwardly on her back and reached up. Her scrabbling fingers found the edge of the deck and she pulled and hoisted the rest of her body through the porthole. For a ghastly moment her slim hips got firmly wedged and she could neither get out nor go back in. She kept squirming and struggling and bruising her skin against the hard edges then, like a cork out of a bottle, she popped free.

Six feet beneath her the dark, oily-looking water slid by and she could see the frothy wake astern of the ship. She was in a crouching position, her toes on the bottom lip of the porthole and her fingertips desperately clinging to the deck above. The big danger now was the propellers. She’d have to jump far enough backwards to be clear of them. Raising herself higher, she took a quick look forward towards the bridge to make sure that no one was looking astern then, taking a deep breath, she pushed with her legs and launched herself into space.

The shock as she hit the water drove the breath from her body and she fought and struggled her way to the surface, choking and gasping for air. My God! It was absolutely freezing! Where was she? Iceland? Her teeth began chattering and as she rose on a heavy swell she saw the stern light of the cruiser disappearing into the night

At that moment she was far too concerned with her ability to survive in this icy water to feel any sense of triumph at her escape, and in desperation she struck out for the shore. After a few yards she trod water and kicked off her sandals. It would be better to reach land barefooted than not reach it at all.

A spasm of cramp gripped her thigh muscles and she almost sobbed in despair. The sense of feeling was leaving her fingers and toes and she knew that the numbness would gradually creep all over her until she no longer felt anything. At that point she’d get drowsy and simply give up. It would be the end of everything.

Slowly she drew nearer to the shore and she heard the rumble of the surf dashing against the rocks. Her strength was ebbing fast and she no longer had the energy to swim. She was completely at the mercy of the elements now. She closed her eyes, sobbed and prayed.

The tide swept her relentlessly towards the shore then one wave, larger than the others, bore her high in the air then tossed her carelessly on to a large slab of granite. The receding water surged around her inert body and she felt a sharp pain in her head—and then…nothing.

The dream came later. There was a sensation of floating on a warm, soft cloud and from a great distance she heard a woman’s voice saying, ‘I told you she was coming, didn’t I? From the sea, just like the others. The legend has come true after all.’

‘You say that old Gavin found her?’ That was a man’s voice. Deeply resonant. A voice used to command and demanding respect.

‘Aye. On the rocks just past the point.’

‘But where did she come from?’

‘Does that matter?’

‘Of course it matters, woman. The legend may or may not be true. I’m going to need a lot more evidence than this. Her eyes are half-open. Have you tried talking to her?’

‘It’s concussion. She can’t see or hear anything. All she needs is a good night’s rest and she’ll be as right as rain in the morning—apart from a sore head.’

The man didn’t sound too convinced. ‘You’re sure there are no other injuries? Nothing broken?’

‘Positive. Have a look for yourself.’

It was a good job it was only a dream, Avalon told herself. The top cover was whisked away, leaving her lying naked on the bed. Then the man’s voice became a face. The shape hovering over her was blurred and indistinct but she had an impression of raven-black hair and piercing blue eyes. Then his hands were exploring her body. She should have told him to stop being so familiar but her limbs seemed to be filled with warm honey and she couldn’t even murmur. Besides…there was something exciting about his touch.

Finally he stood up but continued to stare down at her. ‘She’s young,’ he remarked. ‘Eighteen or nineteen.’

‘And a right pretty wee thing, Fraser. Look at that fine blonde silvery hair and the lovely green eyes. Just like a sea nymph. She’ll make a bonnie bride, I’m thinking.’

‘Aye…’ the voice replied gruffly. ‘But I need to know more about her.’

‘She’s perfect, I tell you. They wouldn’t have sent her otherwise.’

‘Well, perhaps you’re right and perhaps not. We’ll have to wait until she wakes up, then we’ll get to the truth of the matter.’

Avalon tried to smile up at him and tell him that she came from London but she was too tired, and slowly the faces and voices disappeared as she slid back into the darkness of her mind.

When she awoke she blinked in the sunlight streaming through the window. For a moment she lay, staring around the strange room, wondering where she was, then the memories rushed back and a shiver of fear ran through her body as she recalled her ordeal in the sea. The porthole…The plunge into the icy water…The roar of the surf dashing against the rocks. She wondered now how she’d ever had the nerve to go through with such a thing. By some miracle she’d been saved and brought here.

She struggled to sit up, then groaned as a heavy band of steel seemed to tighten viciously round her head. Cautiously, she raised her hand and felt the bump on her temple.

She opened her eyes again slowly and took in her surroundings. The room was simply furnished—just the bed she was on, a dressing-table and a chair. The walls, like the ceiling, were bare and whitewashed and the only touch of colour about the place was provided by a huge jar of wild flowers on the windowsill. The floor was pine, deeply glossed through years of polishing, and boasting a huge sheepskin rug by the bedside. There was no sign of her clothes, however, and she had no intention of walking around naked looking for them.

A faint sound from beyond the door caught her attention and she cried out. ‘Hello? Hello? Anyone at home?’

An instant later the door opened and a woman poked her head round. ‘Well, well! So you’re awake at last.’ She opened the door wider and came in. ‘And none the worse for wear by the look of you.’

She was a stout, amiable old dear with iron-grey hair and button-bright eyes the colour of hazelnuts. Her ample figure bulged beneath a chunky sweater and she wore thick stockings beneath a tweed skirt. Motherly was the description that sprang to Avalon’s mind.

From the bed she smiled up uncertainly. ‘Hello…How did I…?’

The woman raised a hand. ‘Just you wait till I put the kettle on. You’ll feel much better after a cup of tea.’

As she left the room Avalon looked at the closed door thoughtfully. The woman’s voice had sounded vaguely familiar. She recalled a dream. Or had it been a dream? There had also been a man…Tall…dark…Her frown deepened as she tried to remember the details, then she gave up.

There was one thing she did remember only too damn well, though. Mr Smith’s threat to deal with her later. They were bound to have discovered about her escape by now. What would they be doing about it? Well, they might think that she’d drowned—but could they take that chance? In all probability they’d have turned round and would be at this very moment trying to find out if she’d managed to get ashore somewhere.

The first thing she had to do was to notify the local police and let them deal with Mr Smith and his friends. Impatiently she got out of bed and stared through the window. The house seemed to be built on a slight rise but the view, from this window at least, consisted of nothing more than miles of empty, desolate moorland stretching into a purple, hazy distance. It was like no land Avalon had ever seen before and she wondered where she was. The woman’s accent had been oddly soft and lilting, yet it hadn’t sounded Irish. Scotland, then? Some place on the west coast of Scotland? Thoughtfully she climbed back into bed. All right. So she was stranded in some Godforsaken spot in the wilds of Scotland and she didn’t have a penny to her name nor a pair of shoes to her feet. But at least she was still alive.

The woman bustled in a few minutes later with a mug of hot, sweet tea. ‘Now, just stay there and drink this. And here’s an old dressing-gown and a pair of slippers to wear until I’ve finished drying and ironing your clothes. When you’ve finished your tea you can have a nice hot bath. We must have you looking your best when the Chief arrives.’

Avalon looked at her with a blank expression. ‘Chief? Chief of what?’

‘Of the Clan, of course. Young Fraser of Suilvach. Lord of the Deer and Eagles, to give him his correct title.’ She paused. ‘By the way, you seem to have lost your shoes. I’ll phone the harbour store and have them send up a pair of plimsolls. What size do you take?’

Avalon’s mouth had been hanging open and now she got her wits back. ‘Er…size four. And thanks, Mrs…er…?’

The woman gave a hearty chuckle. ‘My name is Kirsty. And it’s Miss. Can’t you tell an old maid when you see one?’

‘Well…you’re being very kind, Kirsty. My name is Avalon.’

‘Yes. I know.’

Her mouth dropped open again. ‘You know?’

‘Of course. They told me your name. And they described you perfectly.’

A knot of fear settled in Avalon’s chest. ‘They? Has…has there been anyone asking about me? A stranger calling himself Mr Smith?’

Kirsty frowned, then shook her head. ‘There’s no one called Smith around here. And definitely no strangers.’ She smiled benevolently. ‘Don’t you bother yourself about folk asking questions. You’re perfectly safe here. You’ve nothing to worry about.’

Nothing to worry about? That’s all she knew, Avalon told herself wryly. ‘Is…is there a police station near here?’ she asked hopefully.

For the merest second Kirsty’s smile lost some of its warmth, then she scoffed, ‘The nearest police station is in Oban and that’s over four hours by boat. We don’t need the police here. We’ve always man aged without them. What happens here is our business and no one else’s.’

Avalon’s spirits sank. Four hours by boat! This place must be even more remote than she’d thought ‘You mentioned a harbour,’ she persisted. ‘Is it far from here?’

‘Put on that dressing-gown and I’ll show it to you,’ offered Kirsty.

A few moments later they were standing at the front door of the cottage. From here there was a commanding view over the fair-sized fishing village. Nestled in a sheltered bay the white-painted houses and buildings looked clean and well-looked-after. A few brightly painted fishing boats were tied up at the jetty in the sleepy-looking harbour but there was nothing remotely resembling a motor-cruiser.

Avalon breathed a silent sigh of relief. She was safe for the moment, at least.

‘What do you think?’ asked Kirsty at her elbow. ‘Pretty little place, isn’t it?’

Avalon wasn’t yet in the mood to appreciate the finer points of the scenery but she murmured politely, ‘It’s lovely. Very picturesque. What’s it called?’

‘Port Suilvach.’ Kirsty pointed across the bay to an imposing, granite-built mansion, half hidden behind a stand of pine trees. ‘That’s the Chief’s house. You’ll be staying there from now on.’ She paused for a moment, then added, ‘I really expected you sooner, but better late than never, I suppose.’

Avalon eyed her uncertainly. There was something decidedly odd going on here. Or perhaps it was just Kirsty. She was pleasant enough but seemed a bit eccentric.

They went back inside the cottage and Avalon had a chance to look around. Although there was an atmosphere of solid comfort she had the peculiar feeling that she’d entered some sort of time-warp. A fire burned brightly in an ancient blackleaded grate that apparently served for cooking and heating water as well as providing warmth. An old Victorian sideboard surmounted by silver-framed photographs and two blue and white china dogs took up most of one side of the room while a sombre-looking grandfather clock stood in the corner, reluctantly ticking off the seconds.

‘Bacon and eggs suit you?’ Kirsty asked cheerfully.

Avaion, feeling lost and rather foolish standing there in her grossly oversized slippers and dressing-gown, nodded and admitted quietly that she felt as if she hadn’t eaten for a week.

Kirsty beamed. ‘A healthy appetite is a good sign. Well, the bathroom is through that door. By the time you’ve had your bath I’ll have your breakfast ready.’

The bath was a cast-iron and chipped enamel museum piece, but as Avalon relaxed in the hot sudsy water she wasn’t inclined to be critical. She had far too much to be thankful for—not least the fact that she was being offered such overwhelming hospitality by a complete stranger.

More relaxed now, Avalon considered her next move. Perhaps she should just try to forget all about Mr Smith and his friends and put it down to experience. No doubt the law would catch up with him sooner or later. She definitely didn’t want to see or get involved with them again, and if she reported them to the police she’d end up having to go to court and answer a lot of damned awkward questions. Once she got back to London she’d simply fade anonymously into the population and try to start a new life.

Half an hour later, pink and glowing and feeling at least halfway civilised in her own freshly laundered clothes, she sat at the plain deal table and pushed her empty plate away. ‘That was delicious, Kirsty. I’ve never enjoyed a breakfast as much as that.’

Kirsty chuckled. ‘Aye. I could tell by the way you were tucking in.’ She produced a battered tin full of dark tobacco and deftly rolled herself a cigarette then, after tapping it expertly on her thumb, lit it and blew an acrid cloud of smoke at the ceiling. ‘I don’t suppose folk from London ever bother to bake their own bread. And of course the eggs come from my own hens out the back and the butter is fresh-made in the village creamery. And the water here isn’t full of chemicals. Oh, aye, you’ll find a big difference living here in Port Suilvach.’

It was on the tip of Avalon’s tongue to tell her that she’d no intention of staying here any longer than she could help when there was a loud rap at the front door and her heart gave a lurch. Could that be Mr Smith—or one of his gang—searching for her?

Kirsty gave her an odd look followed by a reassuring smile, then called out loudly, ‘Come in, Jamie.’

A tousled, red-haired, freckle-faced eight-year-old burst in and handed Avalon a shoebox along with a torrent of Gaelic and only stopped when Kirsty reproved him gently. ‘Mind your manners, Jamie. Avalon doesn’t have the Gaelic yet. You must talk to her in English.’

The boy flushed, grinned, then said breathlessly, ‘You have to try them on and if they don’t fit I’ve to take them back and get them changed and is there anything else you need?’

They were top-of-the-range trainers. Avalon tried them on, then smiled at the boy. ‘They’re perfect, Jamie. And no, there’s nothing else I need at the moment.’

As soon as he’d gone Avalon poured another two cups of tea from the enormous teapot. ‘We’ll have this then I’ll help you with the washing-up,’ she offered. ‘Then I’ll have to go down to the village. Do you think there’s any chance of me finding a few days’ work there?’

The brown eyes widened in shocked surprise. ‘Work? But…why?’

‘Why?’ Avalon repeated. ‘Because I’ve no money, that’s why. I’ll have to earn enough to repay you for all this and then pay my fare home. Of course I suppose I could always hitchhike. That would save—’

‘Oh, you poor wee thing!’ Kirsty burst out suddenly. ‘I…I didn’t realise. You still haven’t any idea why you were brought here. How could you? You must have been wondering what I was talking about half the time.’

‘Well…’ said Avalon, feeling thoroughly bemused at Kirsty’s outburst. ‘I’m sorry, Kirsty, but at the risk of appearing rude I still don’t know what you’re talking about. No one brought me here. It was just—-just an accident.’

‘You may think it was an accident but it was all planned by them,’ Kirsty maintained stoutly. ‘They told me. How else do you think I knew your name or that you came from London?’

She could see that Kirsty was beginning to get agitated and she replied in a calm, reasonable voice. ‘Well, anyone can tell from my accent that I come from London. And, as for my name…Well, perhaps you heard me talking in my sleep last night That’s the most likely explanation, isn’t it?’

Kirsty gave an emphatic shake to her head. ‘You must believe me, Avalon. The guardians brought you here to us. Your destiny is here.’

Oh, God, thought Avalon. She’d been right. There definitely was something odd about Kirsty. Guardians…and destiny? Mild delusions, more likely. Perhaps she’d been living here too long on her own. There was probably a medical name for it.

Kirsty heaved a sigh. ‘Oh, dear. I suppose the sooner you know the truth the better.’

Avalon gave her a cautious smile. You didn’t argue in cases like this. You simply played along and pretended to agree with everything they said.

‘I’ve known about you coming here for the last two months,’ Kirsty began quietly. ‘The guardians told me to expect you. They assured me that the old tradition would carry on.’

‘And what tradition is that?’ Avalon asked with feigned interest.

‘The bride of the Clan Chief always comes from the sea.’ Kirsty took another puff at her cigarette. ‘You can’t deny that you came from the sea, can you?’

Somehow, Avalon managed not to laugh outright. ‘No. You’re right about that So you’re telling me that I was brought here to marry this…this…What was his name again?’

Kirsty eyed her solemnly. ‘Young Fraser of Suilvach. Soon you’ll be his wife and the First Lady of the Clan.’

‘Well, that’s nice,’ said Avalon, going on with the game. ‘I’m sure that it’s a great honour, Kirsty, but are you sure that your Chief will agree to marry a complete stranger?’

Kirsty gave an emphatic nod. ‘He’ll marry you gladly. You’ve been chosen by the guardians, you see. If he were to refuse their choice…Well, it would bring nothing but disaster to the Clan. We don’t want that, do we?’

‘No,’ Avalon agreed in a grave voice, ‘we certainly don’t.’ If she ever told anyone about this they’d laugh in her face and accuse her of making it up. ‘Look,’ she said in quiet desperation, ‘these Clan guardians you keep talking about. Are they a committee or something? If they’re down in the village perhaps I can go and have a chat with them. We can get all this sorted out without anyone getting into trouble.’

Kirsty laughed at the very idea. ‘The guardians don’t live in the village. They live on the Nevay.’

Avalon held her patience. ‘All right, then. Where’s the Nevay? Is it far from here?’

‘Not at all. You can see it from the bedroom window.’

Avalon thought for a moment. ‘When I looked out of the window I couldn’t see a thing. Just empty moorland stretching for miles.’

‘Aye,’ nodded Kirsty. ‘That’s the Nevay. The enchanted land. That’s where they live.’

The enchanted land? Suddenly Avalon was seized by a horrible suspicion and she took a deep breath. ‘Kirsty? Who exactly are these guardians? What do they look like? Can you describe them to me?’

Kirsty laughed again. ‘Good heavens, lassie! No one has ever seen the guardians. They like to be left alone. They’re shy. And apart from that they don’t really trust us mere mortals. They think we’re coarse and ignorant. I’m the only one around here they ever talk to. Whenever they have something to tell me they send me a sign. Sometimes it’s a light at night and I go out to the Nevay and listen to their voices.’

An unaccountable shiver ran down Avalon’s spine and the words were out before she realised what she was saying. ‘I saw a light last night. A big, tall flame. That’s how I knew someone was here.’

Kirsty nodded wisely. ‘That was the Fire Magic. If you saw it then that proves you were the one who was chosen.’

Avalon stared at her in amazement, her suspicions now a certainty. This perfectly normal-looking nice old lady was telling her that she’d been brought here by fairies to marry a Clan Chief! Some big, hairy ruffian in a kilt, no doubt. It was unbelievable! Fairies…? God almighty!

Weakly, she got to her feet and managed a smile. ‘You just sit there and rest, Kirsty. I’ll do the washing-up.’

‘Aye,’ Kirsty said cheerfully. ‘And then I’ll give you a brush and you can do something with your hair. We can’t have the Chief seeing you like that, can we?’




CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_67606a84-611d-5f10-8ceb-fc0a30df6b62)


NEITHER of them had heard the Land Rover drawing up outside. Avalon had just finished brushing the tangles out of her long, silvery blonde hair and was surveying the result critically in the mirror when she saw the reflection of the man striding through the door. She turned slowly, then stiffened and felt a hot flush of resentment rush to her cheeks. So last night it hadn’t been a dream after all. This was the same raven-haired man who’d gazed down at her on the bed and run his hands over her naked body.

Over six feet tall and wide-shouldered, he seemed to fill the room with his sheer dominating presence. In her ‘dream’ last night his features had been blurred and indistinct but now every detail imprinted itself on her mind—the finely chiselled nose and cheekbones, and the wide sensual mouth. Every uncompromising line added up to a display of proud, almost arrogant power and self-assurance. His clothes sat easily on his lean, muscular body—a plaid shirt rolled up at the sleeves and light brown cords tucked into hard-worn combat boots. And those eyes! They were fixed on her now like two blue lasers scorching their way through the tattered fabric of her dignity.

Finally he spoke in a hard, clipped voice. ‘I’m Fraser of Suilvach. I hear that you’re the girl I’m supposed to take as my wife.’

Oh, my God! She’d been hoping that when he arrived he’d simply take her down to the village, apologise for Kirsty’s strange delusions and send her on her merry way, but now it was obvious that she had another crank on her hands. Well, enough was enough. She didn’t mind humouring Kirsty but she was damned if she’d play this game with him. She decided simply to ignore him, then had second thoughts. There was a dangerous, hard edge to this man and she guessed that people ignored him at their peril.

Impatient for an answer, he turned to Kirsty. ‘Has our little sea-witch eaten yet?’

Kirsty nodded happily. ‘Aye. There’s nothing wrong with her appetite.’

‘And does she have a name?’

‘It’s Avalon. I said it would be, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, Kirsty. You did.’ His blue eyes returned to Avalon and began surveying her doubtfully from head to toe, like a man deciding whether or not to buy a second-hand car. Finally he growled, ‘She’s pretty enough, I grant you that. Are you quite sure that she’s the one?’

Kirsty was busy rolling herself another cigarette. She licked the paper then bobbed her head. ‘There can’t be any doubt about it now, Fraser. Didn’t she just tell me herself that it was the Fire Magic that guided her here?’

Avalon groaned and began to sink into a morass of despair. Fairies! Fire Magic! This was like something from The Twilight Zone. Were they all crazy up here? God knew what kind of things they got up to at the full moon. Painted themselves blue and howled at the sky?

Suddenly she flinched and drew away as he reached out to touch her face, and he rapped, ‘Stand still, dammit I want to see that bruise on your temple.’

Anger at last overrode her caution and she snapped back at him, ‘My bruises have nothing to do with you. Kindly keep your hands to yourself. I don’t like being treated like some circus freak.’

There was a tense, crackling silence then Kirsty said placatingly, ‘The poor wee thing is still a bit confused, Fraser. She’ll need time to settle down.’

‘Aye,’ he observed grimly. ‘And she’ll have to learn some manners while she’s at it. When I ask a question I expect the courtesy of a reply. Perhaps you should go and tell your friends on the Nevay that I’ve no intention of saddling myself with a woman I know nothing about but who seems to be as cold as the sea that gave her birth.’

The threat obviously alarmed Kirsty and she hastened to reassure him again. ‘She’s a lovely little creature, Fraser. Just give her time. All this must be very strange to her.’

The Clan Chief didn’t seem the least bit moved by this desperate appeal to his patience. Glowering beneath his dark brows, he observed drily, ‘I’m getting the feeling that our green-eyed little mermaid thinks we’re a couple of fools.’ He continued to stare at Avalon in an unnerving silence which turned her mouth dry with apprehension, then he questioned her sharply. ‘I want to know how you got yourself washed up on my property last night like a piece of wreckage.’

She was tempted to tell him to go and ask the fairies but thought better of it. He was liable to bite her head off. ‘I was on a boat,’ she muttered. ‘I…I fell overboard and swam ashore.’

He raised a darkly mocking brow. ‘You fell overboard? That was a damned clumsy thing to do. What kind of boat was it?’

She eyed him truculently. ‘A motor-cruiser.’

‘How many people were on board?’

She sighed. ‘Five. Including me.’

‘And none of them saw this…accident happen?’

‘No.’ She avoided his eye. ‘It was dark and I was the only one on deck.’

‘Well, no doubt they’ve discovered your absence by now so presumably they’ll be reporting the incident to the authorities.’

She bit her lip and kept avoiding his eye. ‘Yes. I suppose so.’

He subjected her to another silent scrutiny then he turned towards the door and gestured for her to follow. ‘Right Let’s go.’

His cold, overbearing manner refuelled her anger and she entertained the notion of telling him to go to hell, but once again the danger of the situation she was in demanded caution. If she refused he wouldn’t think twice about slinging her over his shoulder. Until she found some way of getting back to civilisation and out of his clutches she’d no option but to put up with his tyrannical behaviour.

‘Fraser! Wait.’

He turned in the doorway. ‘Yes, Kirsty?’

The older woman looked worried. ‘Be good to her, Fraser. Promise me you’ll look after her. Until the Grand Ceilidh, at least.’

He sighed heavily. ‘You know what my plans are for the Grand Ceilidh.’

‘Aye. But plans can be changed. My…my friends don’t want Pamela here. That’s why they’ve sent Avalon. Please be kind to her.’

The Clan Chief eyed her sternly, then he relented. ‘All right, for your sake, Kirsty, I’ll see that she comes to no harm. She’ll stay with me until the ball and we’ll see what happens.’

Kirsty smiled with relief and Avalon desperately weighed up the chances of making a mad dash for freedom. Anywhere back in the land of reality would do.

As the Land Rover set off along the track she looked at him suspiciously. ‘Where are you taking me? I thought we were going to the village.’

He ignored her question. ‘How did you manage to fall overboard? The sea wasn’t rough last night.’

‘I…I tripped over a rope,’ she lied. ‘I told you. It was dark.’ She knew there was no use telling him the truth. He wouldn’t believe her. No one would.

The Land Rover was bucketing recklessly along the rough, potholed track that skirted the shore and rounded the headland to the south. She clung to her seat grimly and wished the maniac would slow down.

‘What was the name of the boat you were on?’ he shouted, apparently determined to go on with his relentless questioning.

‘C-C-Caprice,’ she told him through chattering teeth.

‘Where was it heading for?’

She glared at him in a temper and raised her voice over the noise of the engine and the rumble of the wheels. ‘I’ve no idea. And I can’t carry on a conversation while I’m being rattled about like this.’

He glanced at her sideways and made no comment, and as soon as his eyes were back on the road she made a face and stuck her tongue out at him. She had to endure another five minutes of the torturous journey then he slammed on the brakes, killed the engine, and got out.

She remained still, her arms folded and her eyes fixed straight ahead. He got out, then went round and opened her door. ‘Get out.’ To her surprise he actually helped her down to the ground. She looked around nervously, wondering what he had in mind for her now. On her left there was nothing but that barren, windswept moor while to her right the ground fell sharply down to the rocky coastline.

‘Why did you stop here?’ she demanded suspiciously.

‘This is where you were found last night.’ He pointed down to the black barnacled rocks. ‘Lying down there. Half-frozen and unconscious.’ He paused, then added quietly, ‘You’re an extremely lucky young lady. Old Gavin MacLean was driving by in his tractor and if he hadn’t looked down and spotted you you’d certainly have died from exposure.’

She tore her gaze away from the rocks and said humbly, ‘Yes. You’re right. If I ever see him I’ll thank him.’

‘You’ll see him,’ he assured her with an ironic smile. ‘In the meantime you can answer a few questions.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t feel like answering any more questions. I don’t see what right you’ve got to subject me to this kind of—’

‘I’ve got every right in the world. You’re not in London now. You’re on my property,’ he reminded her harshly. ‘Technically speaking you’re a trespasser and I could prosecute you. So while you’re here you will do as you’re told and you’ll answer any damned question I feel like asking. Is that clear?’

She gulped. He was like a wolf baring its fangs and she hurried to placate him. ‘All right. Calm down. What do you want to know?’

He gave a satisfied nod and permitted something vaguely resembling a cold smile to flit across his face. ‘That’s better. Now, we’ll start off with your full name.’

‘Avalon Rivers,’ she replied stiffly.

‘How old are you?’

‘Nineteen.’

‘Parents? Where do they live?’

She sniffed and knew she was going to catch a cold. ‘I don’t have any.’ She saw him frown and she explained patiently, ‘I never knew them. I was raised in an orphanage. As far as I know they were killed in a car accident when I was a year old.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ he said quietly.

‘There’s no need to be,’ she assured him tartly. ‘It has nothing to do with you.’

His face hardened again. ‘How about friends? Any close friends?’

A chill wind had sprung up, sending low grey clouds scurrying in from the sea. ‘Only acquaintances.’

‘What about boyfriends?’ he demanded.

She shook her head.

‘Hmmm…’ He gave her a long, sceptical look. ‘An attractive young girl like you without a boyfriend? That’s hard to believe.’

‘And I’m finding all this hard to believe,’ she flared in sudden resentment. ‘If you must know, I had a boyfriend but it’s all over. We had an argument and I told him that he was nothing but a snake and I walked out on him.’

He raised his brows in cold amusement. ‘That sounds interesting. Tell me about it.’

She glared at him, then sighed. ‘Listen…Is all this really necessary?’ The deep growl from his throat decided her that it was and she explained hastily, ‘We worked for the same company. I got an idea for processing the paperwork more efficiently and I told him about it. That very same day he took my idea to one of the directors and pretended it was his. It ended up with him getting the credit and the promotion. Needless to say I told him what I thought of him and walked out in disgust.’

He shook his head. ‘That was stupid. You should have stayed and waited for your chance to get even.’

Yes, she felt like saying. But we’re not all as cold-blooded as you, are we?

‘Did you ever sleep with him or are you still a virgin?’

The bluntness of his question rocked her and her face went red. ‘That’s none of your damn business.’

He growled like an angry bear again. ‘I’m making it my business. You’d better give me an answer or I’ll find out for myself right here and now.’

She glared back at him but the defiance in her eyes turned to horror as he begun unbuckling the belt around his waist. Backing away from him, she gasped, ‘You…you wouldn’t dare.’ But as soon as she’d said the words she knew that she was wrong. This cretin was ruthless enough to do anything. This was his land and he was the lord and master here. Even if there had been anyone around to hear her screaming for help, they’d make sure to keep well out of the way.

‘I—I’ve never slept with any man,’ she said breathlessly. ‘That’s the honest truth. I swear it. Now, don’t you dare touch me.’

He eyed her darkly for a moment then reluctantly he fastened his belt. ‘It had better be the truth,’ he warned her. ‘Because if I do decide to take you as my wife and I find out on our wedding night that you’ve been lying to me you’ll live to regret it.’

‘Well, you’ve got no worries on that score,’ she grated. ‘I’ve no intention of marrying you. In fact, if you were the only man left on this planet I’d stay as far away from you as possible. You’re the most detestable, arrogant—’

‘I don’t think you’ve got any choice in the matter, Miss Rivers,’ he broke in coldly. ‘Your fate is entirely in my hands and you’re going to stay here until I’ve made up my mind whether you’re worthy or not to become First Lady of this Clan.’

She put her hands on her hips, tossed her head and scoffed at him, ‘Is that a fact? And what’s to stop me leaving here right now? If I walk far enough I’ll be bound to reach a main road and get a lift south. Or perhaps you’re hoping that your fairies will turn me into a frog or something?’

A thin smile twisted his lips. ‘Nothing quite as drastic as that. But it’s forty miles of single-track road before you’d ever have a chance of getting a lift. Perhaps two cars a week use the road out of here. The only other way is by boat and since I own all the boats here I merely have to give orders that you’re not to be allowed aboard in any circumstances.’

Filled with a sense of outrage, she spluttered at him, ‘You can’t do that! You can’t keep me here a prisoner against my will!’

His blue eyes mocked her. ‘I can do anything I like with you, my dear girl,’ he said softly. ‘Who’s going to stop me? Your friends from the Caprice?’ He saw her bite her lip and he laughed. ‘I don’t think we need worry about them coming here. Anyway, we’ll talk about them later. At the moment it’s you I’m interested in.’

She shivered and looked at him helplessly. ‘Look—I’m freezing. Are we going to stand here all day?’

‘Yes, if necessary.’ He leaned into the Land Rover, then took out a travelling-rug and handed it to her. ‘Put this around your shoulders.’

She wrapped herself up then wondered if it would do any good appealing to his better nature—always assuming that he had such a thing. ‘Look,’ she said quietly, ‘there isn’t any sense in this, is there? If you want a wife why don’t you choose a local girl? I mean—apart from needing a personality transplant—I’m sure most women find you attractive. But you and I? We don’t even like each other, do we? And please don’t give me all that rubbish about legends and magic fires and fairies. I wasn’t born yesterday.’

The blue eyes measured her coldly, sending another shiver through her in spite of the rug around her shoulders. ‘Kirsty is the one who believes in fairies,’ he snapped. ‘I believe in hard facts. Nevertheless, I respect Kirsty. Everyone here does. That’s why I’ve promised her that I’ll look after you.’

‘Until you’ve made up your mind whether I’m worth marrying or not,’ she observed drily. ‘My feelings don’t even matter to you, do they?’

‘You’ve only got yourself to blame for the position you’re in,’ he said coldly. ‘No one invited you here. I’ve got better things to do than play nursemaid to a bad-tempered little teenager. Your presence here is going to cause me considerable problems.’

‘Well, I’m sorry. If I’d known I was going to be all this trouble I’d have just let myself drown instead of swimming.’

He ignored her sarcasm. ‘One fact I can’t ignore is that Kirsty seems to like you. Whatever it is she sees in you eludes me for the moment, but I’m going to find out.’

She challenged him again, indignantly. I’m sure there are plenty of women here who’d jump at the chance of being your wife. Why pick on me? I’m entitled to know that, at least.’

‘You’re still a stranger,’ he told her bluntly. ‘All a stranger is entitled to here is food, shelter and hospitality—which you’ve been given.’

She glared at him in silent exasperation, then tried a new idea. ‘I don’t know anything about you, this part of the country, or the people. I wouldn’t fit in here and I’m certainly not worthy enough to be the First Lady of anything. I was shunted from one foster home to another when I was a kid. I’ve got no breeding whatsoever. You’re just wasting your time with me.’

Those damned eyes of his mocked her again and he growled, ‘Aye. I suspect you’re right. But I’m the one who decides, not you. So from now on, Miss Rivers, you’ll answer my questions without resorting to lies or evasion. Is that clear?’

‘I’m not in the habit of telling lies,’ she retorted angrily. ‘And I object to the way you—’

His voice cut through her protestation like a blade of cold steel. ‘Like you, I wasn’t born yesterday. If a boat has only got five crew and one of them suddenly disappears the others are bound to notice sooner or later, wouldn’t you agree? First thing this morning I contacted the nearest coastguard station to find out if any ship had reported a missing crew member. Well, no such report had been made. How do you account for that, Miss Rivers?’

‘Perhaps they…they haven’t got round to reporting it yet,’ she said evasively.

Suddenly her shoulder was grabbed in a vice-like grip and he thrust his face closer to hers. ‘They didn’t make any report because they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves. That’s the truth, isn’t it, Miss Rivers?’

She ran her tongue nervously over her lips. The man’s anger was like an icy blast from the polar wastes, chilling her to the marrow. ‘L-look,’ she stammered. ‘I—I—’

‘Save your breath,’ he grated. ‘Two hours after you were found on this beach last night a motor-cruiser called Caprice tied up at a deserted pier fifteen miles north of here. The police and Customs were waiting and your friends are now in custody.’

Her feeling of relief that Smith and his confederates had been caught was short-lived at the realisation that she was now being accused of being part of the gang. In wide-eyed consternation she blurted, ‘You…you’ve got it all wrong.’

‘Have I?’ he asked, with harsh scepticism. ‘By your own admission you were a member of the crew. And if you hadn’t “accidentally” fallen overboard you, too, would be in custody.’

She winced at the pressure of his hand. ‘Let go my shoulder, damn you. You’re hurting me.’

When he let her go she glared up at him. ‘All right! So I did lie to you. But I was just the cook on that damned boat. I didn’t know what they were up to. And I didn’t fall overboard. I jumped.’ She paused and gave a bitter sigh. ‘It’s a long story and you probably wouldn’t believe a word of it, anyway.’

He studied her shrewdly, then growled, ‘I might. But no more lies. Understand? If you aren’t part of that gang then what were you doing on the boat in the first place?’

‘I told you,’ she muttered. ‘I was just the cook.’ ‘So you say,’ he derided. ‘But you’ll have to do better than that.’

‘Dammit! I’m telling you the truth.’

‘How long had you been working for them?’

She sighed. ‘Only a few days. I met them in Portugal. My hotel room—’

‘What were you doing in Portugal?’

It was obvious that he wasn’t going to be satisfied until he’d wrung every last detail from her so she began again. ‘After the row with my ex-boyfriend I quit my job and decided to take a holiday.’

‘To mend your broken heart, no doubt.’

She ignored the sarcastic interruption and went on. ‘I drew all my savings from the bank, locked up my flat and caught the first available plane. Anyway, I spent the next two weeks swimming and lazing around on the beach and vowing that no man would ever use me or make a fool of me again.’ She paused and eyed him bitterly. ‘Of course I was wrong, as usual, wasn’t I?’

His face was unreadable and she continued reluctantly, ‘It was the day before I was due to come home when someone broke into my hotel apartment and I lost everything. Money, passport, clothes…’

She had hardly been able to believe her eyes at first when she’d seen the empty drawers and overturned mattress. She’d only been gone for ten minutes and her room had been ransacked! Whoever had done it must have climbed up on to the balcony and entered through the open window.

In a fury she had run downstairs to the reception desk and reported the break-in to the manager.

He was sympathetic but adamant that she had no claim against the hotel. ‘Madam should have made sure that the window was securely latched before she went out,’ he said. They would inform the police, of course, but there was little hope of catching the culprit and recovering her property. Surely madam had taken out insurance against this sort of thing happening?

Madam hadn’t, and she turned from the desk in dismay. With the loose change in her pocket she had barely enough left to buy lunch. And how was she going to get home tomorrow without a plane ticket? She couldn’t even think of anyone in London who could forward her a loan. With her spirits at zero she made her way outside and stood on the broad tree-lined pavement completely at a loss as to what to do now.

‘They weren’t much help, were they? I couldn’t help overhearing.’

She turned at the sound of the voice and looked at the middle-aged man who’d followed her out Instinctively on her guard, she took in his appearance. He seemed harmless enough, but you never could tell. At least he was well-dressed and groomed. The typical English gentleman abroad. Dark blazer and flannels and some sort of regimental tie over an immaculately white shirt. He had a clipped moustache and a friendly smile on his rather bland face.

‘No, they weren’t,’ she answered at last. ‘But it was my own stupid fault.’

‘Damned awkward being stranded in a foreign country,’ he sympathised. He held out his hand. ‘I’m Roger Smith. Here with my wife and a couple of friends.’

She shook hands and gave him a polite smile. ‘Avalon Rivers.’

He looked at her sadly. ‘Did they actually take everything?’

She gave a resigned nod. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to get home now. My hotel room is paid for tonight but tomorrow I’ll have to sleep on the beach then try to get a job somewhere.’

He shook his head doubtfully. ‘I think you might need a work permit. As for sleeping on the beach, I wouldn’t recommend it. Far too many odd-looking characters going around.’ He paused as if he’d had a sudden inspiration. ‘Look here, Miss Rivers…I don’t know if the idea will appeal to you or not but there is a way I can help you out of your predicament. It’s entirely up to you, of course.’

Experience had taught her to be wary of unsolicited offers of help. There were usually strings attached.

As if sensing her reluctance he went on quickly, ‘The truth of the matter is that you’d be doing both my wife and me a great favour. We’re sailing back to England tonight but the girl who was doing our cooking has decided to stay on. She seems to have formed some kind of attachment to a local boy and is quite devastated at the thought of leaving him. Anyway, the position is yours if you want it.’

It sounded almost too good to be true and she said cautiously, ‘It’s a wonderful offer, Mr Smith, and I’m grateful, but I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook.’

He laughed and brushed her objection aside. ‘I admire your honesty, but you’ve nothing to worry about. We don’t go in for haute cuisine aboard the Caprice. Just plain, simple cooking. I’m sure you can manage that.’

A voice in her head was telling her to be careful. All this seemed like too much of a coincidence to sit comfortably, but she stifled it. She was in danger of becoming a distrustful cynic. Anyway, the offer and Mr Smith seemed genuine enough. If she passed up this chance she’d still be left with the problem of how to get back to England.

‘The trip shouldn’t take too long,’ he went on persuasively. ‘And of course I’ll see that you’re well paid at the end of it.’

That was enough to settle the matter and she smiled at him. ‘All right, Mr Smith. When would you like me to start?’

He rubbed his hands together briskly. ‘Good show. I’ll take you to the boat now and show you around.’

They went by taxi to the harbour where he led her down the gangway on to the deck of a motor-cruiser. She knew nothing about boats but she could tell affluence when she saw it. Beneath the bridge there was a hatchway and once they were down the short flight of steps he proudly showed her the layout. There were two large and luxuriously furnished cabins at the front. The main lounge and dining-room was amidships, and to the rear of that was the galley where the meals were prepared. A door led from the rear of the galley and he pushed it open. ‘This will be your own cabin. It’s small but I’m sure you’ll find it comfortable enough.’

She showed her appreciation with a smile. ‘It’s very nice.’

He beamed with pleasure. ‘Now, then…My wife and my friends are shopping at the moment. I’ve to meet them for lunch back at the hotel. We’ll be gone for most of the day and don’t expect to be back until late this evening.’ He fished a sheet of paper from his inside pocket and handed it to her. ‘This is a list of provisions we need. I was going to fetch them myself but this can be your first job.’ Next he handed her a card. ‘This is the name and address of the supplier. Everything has already been paid for. I’ll give you money for a taxi and you can go and collect them some time this afternoon.’

She stopped telling her tale and looked at Fraser resentfully. ‘You don’t believe a word of this, do you? You think I’m making it up as I go along.’

‘Get on with it,’ he growled impatiently. ‘At the moment I’m keeping an open mind on the matter.’

She glared at him in angry silence for a moment longer then went on, ‘Well, there were a lot of provisions. Four medium-sized crates, in fact, and I wondered why they needed so much stuff for a short trip to England. The taxi driver just left me and the crates on the quayside and I had to manhandle them aboard myself.

‘Anyway, Mr Smith and his party came back about nine-thirty. He introduced me to his wife and the other couple then he went to the bridge and I heard the engines start up. When we were clear of the harbour he came down and examined the crates. Three of them were filled with cans of peaches and he told me to lay them aside because they were a present for someone back in England. I thought it odd at the time. Whoever heard of giving tinned peaches as a present?

‘Well, everything went well until last night. I’d been keeping out of the way as much as possible and just doing my job. I wasn’t keen on the two women, anyway. In spite of their airs and graces you could tell they were a pair of hard-bitten good-time girls. They wore flash jewellery and—’

‘Never mind the women,’ snapped Fraser. ‘I’m only interested in what happened last night’

She pouted at him. ‘I’m doing my best.’ She took a deep breath then went on…

It had been the sticky patch on the galley floor that had caught her attention and she had traced the source to one of the cans of peaches. Rather than let them go to waste she had pulled the leaking can from the crate, opened it with a tin-opener and emptied the contents into a bowl. She had looked at the result and frowned. A big can and so little an amount of peaches? She had peered into the empty can and found that it had been split into two separate compartments. Turning the can over, she had attacked the bottom with the opener and spilled the contents on to the worktop. White powder? My God! It had been cocaine or something very like it!

‘How did you know it was drugs?’ Fraser asked her.

She eyed him scornfully. ‘Well, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t talcum powder. Not after the trouble someone had taken to hide it.’

His mouth twitched and he nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, I opened another tin and that was the same. And then it suddenly dawned on me that I was the one who’d brought it aboard. If Customs had stopped and searched the boat before we left Portugal Smith could have denied all knowledge of it. He could have said that I applied for the job as cook then used the opportunity to smuggle the drugs myself. It would have been his word against mine. Anyway, that was when Mr Smith came through and caught me. To cut a long story short, he pulled out a gun then locked me in my cabin and said he’d deal with me later.’

‘I’d prefer to hear all the details,’ Fraser said curtly. ‘Everything!’

She shrugged. ‘At first he tried to deny that it was drugs, then when he saw that I didn’t believe him he tried to bribe me. I told him what I thought of drug dealers and that when we got ashore I was going straight to the police. That’s when he got nasty and pulled the gun.’

A shiver ran down her spine. It was probably delayed shock, she told herself. She’d be having nightmares for the next six months and peach melbas would never taste the same. ‘He…He was going to kill me,’ she said in a subdued voice. ‘I could see it in his eyes. He only needed to wait until we were further out to sea then he could dump me overboard and watch me drown.’

She closed her eyes and shivered again and suddenly she found herself being supported in Fraser’s arms. He held her tightly for a moment and the world stopped swaying.

‘I…I’m all right now,’ she muttered. ‘You can let

go.’ He led her to a rock and made her sit down then he went to the Land Rover and returned with a flask. ‘Take a sip of this. You’ll feel better.’

She raised it to her lips and drank, then coughed and spluttered, ‘What…what was that?’

‘Whisky and honey. A well-known remedy around here for everything from depression to pneumonia.’

A warm glow spread throughout her and she breathed deeply at the sweet, clean air. God, it was so good to be alive. Even in a place like this.

As she got to her feet he eyed her closely then, apparently satisfied that she wasn’t going to keel over again, he said, ‘How did you manage to escape from the locked cabin?’

‘I climbed out through the porthole,’ she said mat-ter-of-factly. ‘It was dark but I knew we were close to the shore. Then I saw the light and I knew there must be people so I jumped.’ She shivered again. ‘What I didn’t bargain for was how cold the water would be. I was frozen stiff and getting cramp. I remember a big wave…and crashing down on a rock…Then waking up in Kirsty’s cottage.’

He studied her in silence, his eyes betraying nothing, then he remarked drily, ‘That’s a pretty farfetched story.’

She made a sound of disgust ‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me.’

‘I find it hard to believe that anyone could squeeze themselves through a motor-cruiser porthole. Even someone as slim as you.’

‘Well, I did,’ she retorted. ‘It wasn’t easy. I got stuck but managed it in the end.’

‘Hmm…’ His blue eyes surveyed her again, then he said quietly, ‘Take down your jeans.’

Her mouth fell open. ‘What…?’

‘You heard me. Take them down, now.’

She backed away from him in alarm. ‘Don’t be disgusting. I’ll do no such thing.’

His hand reached for her threateningly. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer me to do it for you.’

‘D-don’t you dare lay a finger on me,’ she warned. ‘I’ll scratch your eyes out.’

‘For God’s sake, girl, be sensible!’ he rasped. ‘I’m not going to rape you. When I do avail myself of that luscious little body of yours you can rest assured that it’ll be in more comfortable surroundings than this.’

His statement that he wasn’t going to sexually assault her there and then but that he would definitely get round to it sooner or later did nothing for her peace of mind. ‘Then why do you want me to take my jeans off?’ she demanded.

‘If you had trouble getting through the porthole then you’ll have abrasions. Probably on your hips,’ he explained slowly. ‘I examined you last night for injuries and the only abrasion I saw was on your temple.’

Her cheeks flared at the memory of his hands all over her and she replied heatedly, ‘Then you couldn’t have looked closely enough. Not that you had any damn right to in the first place.’

His eyes weighed her again, then he growled, ‘If there are no marks then I can only assume that everything you’ve told me is a pack of lies.’

‘They’re there, I tell you,’ she insisted vehemently. ‘They were stinging like hell when I had a bath this morning.’

‘Then show me.’

‘Get lost.’

He took another step towards her and she backed into the Land Rover, her heart thudding at the expression of harsh resolution on his face. ‘All right!’ she yelled at him. ‘Don’t touch me. I’ll show you.’ Turning her back on him, she unzipped her jeans, slid them down over her hips, hooked the hem of her briefs upwards then turned sideways and thrust her hip at him. ‘There. See for yourself.’

He grunted. ‘Now the other one.’

She repeated the process with her other hip then looked at him resentfully. ‘Are you satisfied? Have you seen enough?’

He watched as she hurriedly did up her jeans then his eyes glinted with amusement. ‘Yes. For the time being at least. When we get back to the house you can put some ointment on those scratches.’

She looked at him in alarm. ‘What house?’

‘Mine, of course. You’ll be living there from now on.’

The idea didn’t appeal to her in the least. It sounded too much like going into the lion’s den. ‘In your dungeon, no doubt?’ she challenged acidly. ‘Chained to the wall like the rest of your prisoners? I think I’ll decline the invitation if it’s all the same to you.’

He gave a sigh of mild irritation. ‘I wish you’d stop being so damned awkward. Anyway, you’ve no option in the matter.’

Now, at last, she had the chance to mock him for a change. ‘Of course I have,’ she said smugly. ‘I can get in touch with the police and give evidence against that gang. No doubt they’ll find me accommodation in a hotel until the trial is over, then I can go back to London.’

He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t advise it, Avalon. At the moment Smith probably thinks that you drowned last night. If you suddenly turn up as a witness against him then he and his friends might try to implicate you out of sheer spite. It would be a case of your word against theirs, odds of four to one. The judge might not be so easily convinced of your innocence as I was.’ He shrugged philosophically. ‘It would be a pity seeing someone as young and pretty as yourself languishing in prison for the next ten years.’

Again her spirits plunged and she stared at him bitterly. ‘I see. So now it’s blackmail, is it? Either I agree to stay here or you’ll hand me over to the police?’

‘I hadn’t thought about that…’ he drawled. ‘But now that you mention it…’

‘You’re despicable,’ she snorted. ‘I think I’d rather spend ten years in prison than be married to a man like you.’

He grinned at her and shook his head. ‘No, you wouldn’t. Now that I’m satisfied that you aren’t a part of that gang after all you’ll find me much friendlier.’

Her mouth dropped open as she gaped at him. ‘What? Are you seriously telling me that you thought that I…I…?’ She spluttered at him in indignation. ‘For God’s sake! Do I look like a drug smuggler?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. What do drug smugglers look like? Anyway, you were certainly acting as if you had something to hide when I asked you how you got here.’

‘I hate people who deal in drugs,’ she muttered, rubbing her hip and thinking of Smith.

‘And so do I. At least we’ve got that much in common.’

She eyed him warily. ‘Well, don’t let it go to your head. And don’t start getting any funny ideas. If I have to stay here I’ll feel a lot safer in Kirsty’s house than in yours.’

‘Out of the question,’ he said firmly. ‘I can’t get to know you better if we’re living a mile apart’ He paused and flashed his white teeth at her. ‘Besides, Kirsty thinks that it was her fairies that sent you to me. We’d better humour the old dear…just in case.’




CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_645ab434-a06e-5674-a435-894951962655)


AS THE Land Rover bounced and rattled its way back along the track Avalon sat tight-lipped, grim-faced and thinking furiously. He was as mad as a hatter, of course. It was the only explanation. And so was Kirsty—which was a shame because she seemed to be such a cheery, harmless old dear. In a way it was also a pity about him because if she’d met him in any other circumstances…Well, who could tell? You couldn’t deny that there was something about him that appealed to the baser instincts, and let’s face it, her instincts were just as basic as any other red-blooded woman’s. There had been a moment back there when she’d felt light-headed and he’d put his arm around her—

That train of thought came to an abrupt end as he brought the Land Rover to a stop. They’d just passed Kirsty’s cottage and were halfway down the hill leading into the village. He pulled on the handbrake then contemplated her with a critical frown. ‘Relax,’ he growled. ‘You look as if you’re about to be burnt at the stake.’

She narrowed her green eyes at him. ‘You say a thing like that and expect me to relax?’

With a glint of cold humour in the depths of his eyes he began lecturing her. ‘News travels fast in a small place like this and everyone will have heard about you by now. They’ll be eager to see what kind of woman has been sent to marry their Chief.’

Oh, no! she thought with despair. It couldn’t be! Not the whole population? There had to be someone around here whose head was on straight.

‘So I’d be obliged if you would at least try to look a little happy at the prospect,’ he went on grimly. ‘Otherwise they’ll feel let down.’

She looked at him rebelliously. ‘This is crazy. Surely some of them are bound to wonder how I came to be in the water in the first place?’

‘They won’t be interested in that,’ he declared firmly. ‘However, for the benefit of any strangers who turn up, the story will be that you were on holiday, sailing single-handed up the west coast, when you were suddenly caught in a squall and your yacht capsized.’ He flashed his teeth at her again in a humourless smile. ‘So far I’m the only one who knows about your involvement with the drug smugglers. For your own safety we’ll leave it that way.’ He paused then added pointedly, ‘For the time being at least.’

There was no mistake about that threat—and wasn’t that just typical of the kind of man he was? Smile and look happy, or else!

With a final look of warning he released the handbrake and they drove down the hill into the village. The main street ran past the harbour and halfway along it he pulled up outside a shop which, by means of a weatherbeaten, faded sign above the door, proclaimed itself to be the Suilvach Fashion Emporium. Barely glancing at her, he said brusquely, ‘Get out. We’ve some shopping to do.’

She was quickly learning that when he spoke in that kind of voice it was better just to do as he said. Reluctantly she got out and followed him into the shop.

In spite of its outward appearance the interior of the place came as a surprise. As modem as any large city store, it was well-lit and laid out with racks of skirts, tops, dresses, sweaters.

A bright-eyed little brunette welcomed them with a smile. ‘Good morning, Fraser.’ She turned to Avalon and said a little breathlessly, ‘And you will be the girl from the sea everyone is talking about. You gave old Gavin a terrible fright last night, I can tell you.’ At Avalon’s look of incomprehension she explained, ‘He was the one who found you on the rocks. After he took you to Kirsty’s he came straight down to the pub. The poor old soul needed four big drams before he could stop shaking long enough to tell us the story. An hour and six drams later he had to be carried home and put to bed.’

Fraser smiled tolerantly. ‘All right, Aileen. Never mind the gossiping. You’ve got work to do. This young lady’s name is Avalon and she has nothing in the world but the clothes she’s wearing. I’ve got business to attend to at the harbour. You’ve got half an hour to see that she gets everything she needs. If there’s anything you haven’t got in stock, telephone Oban and have them send it up on the first boat.’




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