Книга - Stay Through The Night

Stay Through The Night
Anne Mather


Liam Jameson is a world-famous writer of paranormal thrillers. But fame has its price, and now Liam lives reclusively on a remote Scottish island. Then Rosa Chantry knocks on his door and throws his world upside down.His desire for her is strong, but his conviction that he cannot satisfy a woman is stronger. But Rosa is persistent, and so is Liam's need for her. She is determined to ease his fear that the past has robbed him of his power as a man…









Stay Through the Night

Anne Mather










CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

COMING NEXT MONTH




CHAPTER ONE


IT WAS COLD. Much colder than Rosa had expected, actually. When she’d arrived the night before, she’d put the cold down to the drizzling rain, to her own feelings of anxiety and apprehension. But this morning, after a reasonably good night’s rest and a bowl of Scottish porridge for breakfast, she didn’t have any excuses.

Where was the heatwave that was supposed to sweep all of the UK through July and August? Not here in Mallaig, that was definite, and Rosa glanced back at the cosy lounge of the bed and breakfast where she’d spent the night with real regret.

Of course part of that unwillingness to part with familiar things was the knowledge that in the next few hours she was going to be stepping into totally unknown territory. An island, some two hours off the coast of Scotland, was not like visiting some local estate. That was why she was here in Mallaig, which was the ferry port for the Western Isles. In an hour she’d be boarding the boat—ship?—that would take her to Kilfoil, and she still didn’t know if that was where Sophie was.

Fortunately, she’d brought some warm clothes with her, and this morning she had layered herself with a vest, a shirt and a woollen sweater. Feeling the chill wind blowing off the water, she guessed she’d have to wear her cashmere jacket as well for the crossing to the island. She just wished she’d packed her leather coat. It was longer and would have kept her legs warm.

Still, at least it was fine, and she could survive for two hours, she told herself, leaving the guesthouse behind and walking down the narrow main street to the docks. Crossing the already busy car parking area, she went to the end of the jetty, wrapping her arms about herself as she gazed out over the water.

For all it was cold, the view was outstandingly beautiful. The island of Skye was just a short distance away, and she wondered if those purple-tipped mountains she could see were the famous Cuillins. She didn’t know. In fact she knew very little about this part of Scotland. Despite the fact that her grandfather Ferrara had been imprisoned near Edinburgh during the war, she had never been farther north than Glasgow. She did have aunts and uncles and cousins there, but her visits had been few and far between.

Now, she realised she should have been more adventurous when she had the chance. But she’d gone to college in England, married an English boy and lived in Yorkshire for most of her life to date. It was easy to make the excuse that she hadn’t ventured very far because of her widowed mother and younger sister. But the truth was she wasn’t an adventurous sort of person, and Colin had always been happiest spending holidays in Spain, where he could get a tan.

Of course she couldn’t make Colin an excuse any longer. Three years ago, when she’d discovered he’d been cheating on her with his boss’s secretary, Rosa hadn’t hesitated before asking for a divorce. Colin had begged her to reconsider, had said that she couldn’t destroy five years of marriage over one solitary lapse. But Rosa knew it hadn’t only been a solitary lapse. It wasn’t the first time she’d suspected him of seeing someone else, and she doubted it would be the last.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, as far as Rosa was concerned—they’d had no children to be hurt by the break-up. Rosa didn’t know if it was her fault or Colin’s, but she’d never been pregnant. Of course during the turmoil of the divorce Colin had blamed her for his unfaithfulness. If she’d spent more time with him, he said, and less at that damn school with kids who didn’t appreciate her, their marriage might have stood a chance. But Rosa knew that was only an excuse. Without her salary as an English teacher Colin would not have been able to afford the frequent trips to the continent that he so enjoyed.

Anyway, it was all in the past now, she thought ruefully. And, although sometimes the things Colin had done still hurt a little, on the whole she was getting on with her life. That was until the phone call yesterday morning that had brought her on this possibly wild goose chase to Kilfoil. But her mother had been desperate, and frantic with worry, and Rosa had known she had no choice but to do as she wished.

She sighed, resting her hands on the bars of the railings, staring out across the water as if the view might provide the answers she sought. What if her mother was wrong? What if Sophie wasn’t on the island? Would there be some kind of inn or hostelry there where she could spend the night until the ferry returned the following day?

She’d been told the ferry booking office opened at nine o’clock, and that she should have no trouble getting a ticket to Kilfoil. Apparently the majority of the traffic from Mallaig was between there and Armadale, the small port on Skye where they all disembarked.

But that wasn’t the ferry Rosa needed. She would be boarding the one taking tourists and backpackers to islands farther afield. Dear God, she thought, it sounded so remote, so inaccessible. For the first time she half wished her mother had come with her. It would be so good to have someone she knew to talk to.



Liam drove the Audi into the car park and swung his legs out of the car. Then, holding on to the roof with one hand and the top of the door with the other, he hauled himself to his feet and looked around.

The wind off the water was knife-sharp, but he didn’t notice it. He’d been born in Hampstead, but he’d lived in Scotland for the past ten years. Ever since his first book had been such an astounding success, actually, and he was used to the climate. A famous Hollywood director had read his book and liked it, and had optioned it for the iconic blockbuster it had become. But that had been when his life in London had gradually—and ultimately violently—become impossible to sustain.

He ran a hand down over his thigh, feeling the ridge of hard flesh that arced down into his groin even through his worn jeans. He’d been lucky, he reflected. Of the many wounds he’d had that one could have killed him. Instead, although the knife had severed his femoral artery, causing an almost fatal loss of blood, and sliced through enough nerves and sinews to leave him with a permanent weakness in his left leg, he’d survived. It was his attacker who’d died, turning the knife on himself when he’d been confident he’d achieved his objective.

Liam grimaced, determinedly shoving such thoughts aside. It had all happened a long time ago now, and since then none of his books had aroused such a frenzied response in his readers. He took a deep breath of cold sea air, glad that he’d chosen to drive back from London overnight to catch this morning’s ferry to the island. There wouldn’t be another ferry until Thursday, and he was impatient to get back to Kilfoil and to his work.

Locking the car, he flexed his shoulder muscles and stretched his legs, feeling the stiffness of driving almost non-stop for ten hours in his bones. He had pulled off into a service area around 3:00 a.m. for coffee, and slept for twenty minutes before resuming his journey. But it wasn’t the same as sleeping in his bed.

His attention was caught by the sight of a lone woman leaning on the railings at the end of the jetty. It was her hair that had drawn his eyes: deep red and wildly curly, it refused to be controlled by the ribbon she’d tied at her nape. But she seemed hardly aware of it. She was gazing out towards Skye, as if she hoped to find some kind of answer in the mist gathering over the rain-shrouded hills.

Liam shrugged. She was obviously a visitor, dressed for summer in the Highlands, he thought ironically. But, while they had been known to have temperatures well into the eighties, at present the northerly breeze was creating a more predictable sixty-five.

Jack Macleod, who ran a fleet of sailboats that he hired out to tourists, hailed Liam as he left the car and started across to the ferry terminal. ‘Now, then, stranger,’ he said, grinning broadly. ‘We were beginning to think you’d changed your mind about coming back.’

‘You can’t get rid of me that easily,’ said Liam, hooking his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans, his chambray shirt parting at the neck to reveal the dark hair clustered at his throat. ‘I got back as soon as I could. Spending too long in overcrowded cities doesn’t appeal to me any more.’

‘Didn’t I hear you’d gone to London to see the medic?’ Jack asked, regarding his friend with critical eyes. ‘Nothing serious, I hope.’

‘A check-up, that’s all,’ said Liam quickly, not wanting to discuss his private affairs in public. He was aware that their voices had attracted the attention of the woman at the quayside, and she was looking at them over her shoulder.

She sensed their awareness of her interest and looked away, but not before Liam had registered an oval face and unusually dark eyes for a woman of her colouring. Of course her hair colouring might not be natural, which was probably the case, and although she was tall she was much too thin.

‘You’ll be getting this morning’s ferry,’ Jack was continuing, unaware of Liam’s distraction, and he forced himself to concentrate on what the man had said.

‘If I can,’ he agreed, accepting Jack’s assurances that Angus Gallagher would never turn him away, and when he looked back towards the jetty the woman was gone.



Rosa went back to the bed and breakfast, collected her things and was back at the terminal building in time to book her passage to Kilfoil. She supposed she looked like any other tourist, in her jeans and trainers, with a backpack over her shoulder. The other backpackers, queuing for their tickets, didn’t give her a second glance. Unlike the two men she’d seen earlier in the car park. Well, one of them, anyway. He’d certainly given her a thorough appraisal.

And found her wanting, she was sure. She’d definitely sensed his disapproval. But whether that was because he’d found her watching them, she couldn’t be absolutely sure.

Whatever, he had been attractive, she conceded, remembering his height—well over six feet, she estimated—and the broad shoulders filling out his crumpled shirt. She guessed he was one of the fishermen who, in increasingly smaller numbers, trawled these waters. He hadn’t looked like a tourist, and the man who had been with him had been wearing waders, she thought.

Still, she was unlikely to see either of them again—unless one of them was the captain of the vessel she was hoping to sail on. Maybe someone on the ferry would remember a pretty blond girl travelling out to Kilfoil the previous week. Dared she ask about Liam Jameson? She didn’t think so. According to his publicity, the man was reputed to be a recluse, for goodness’ sake. So why had he been attending a pop festival in Glastonbury? For research? She didn’t think so.

Her mind boggled, as it always did when she thought about what her mother had told her. Sophie had pulled some stunts before, but nothing remotely resembling this. Rosa had thought her sister was settling down at last, that she and Mark Campion might move in together. But now that relationship was all up in the air because of some man Sophie had met during the pop festival.

Rosa got her ticket and moved outside again. The rain that had been threatening earlier seemed to be lifting, and the sun was actually shining on the loch. A good omen, she thought, looking about her for the ferry she’d been told would be departing in three-quarters of an hour. Pedestrian passengers would be embarked first, before the vehicles that would drive straight onto the holding deck.

She saw the man again as she was waiting in line at the quayside. He had driven his car round to join the queue of traffic waiting to board. Unexpectedly, her pulse quickened. So he was taking the same ferry she was. What a coincidence. But it was unlikely he was going to Kilfoil. According to Mrs Harris at the guesthouse, Kilfoil had been deserted for several years before a rich writer had bought the property and restored the ruined castle there for his own use.

Liam Jameson, of course, Rosa had concluded, unwilling to press the landlady for too many details in case she betrayed the real reason why she was going to the island. She’d told her that she planned to photograph the area for an article she was writing on island development. But Mrs Harris had warned her that the island was private property and she would have to get permission to take photographs.

She lost sight of the man when she and her fellow passengers went to board the ferry. Climbing the steep steps to the upper deck, Rosa shivered as the wind cut through even her cashmere jacket. God, she thought, why would anyone choose to live here if they had the money to buy an island? Barbados, yes. The Caymans, maybe. But Kilfoil? He had to be crazy!

Still, she could only assume it gave him atmosphere for his horror stories. And, according to her sister, they were shooting his latest movie on the island itself. But was that feasible? Had the story Sophie had told Mark any truth in it at all? Rosa wouldn’t have thought so, but her mother had believed every word.

If only Jameson hadn’t involved Sophie, she thought unhappily. At almost eighteen, her sister was terribly impressionable, and becoming a professional actress was her ambition. But although she always maintained she was old enough to make her own decisions, she’d made plenty of bad ones in the past.

If she had met Jameson she would have been impressed, no question about it. His books sold in the millions. For heaven’s sake, Sophie devoured every new one as soon as it came out. And all his films to date had been box office successes. His work had acquired a cult status, due to an increasing fascination with the supernatural. Particularly vampires—which were his trademark.

But would he have been attending a rock festival? Stranger things had happened, she supposed, and Sophie had certainly convinced Mark that this was a chance she couldn’t miss. Why she hadn’t phoned her mother and told her, why she’d left Mark to make her excuses, was less convincing. But if she had been lying, where in God’s name was she?

Thankfully, there was a cabin on the upper deck where passengers could buy sandwiches, sodas and hot drinks once the ferry sailed. Rosa stepped inside gratefully, finding herself a seat near the window so she could watch the comings and goings on the dock.

It didn’t take long to board the remaining passengers, and the queue of automobiles soon disappeared below. They must be loaded in the order they would disembark, Rosa reflected, wondering if the man she’d seen was familiar with the routine.

The ferry was due to sail to Kilfoil first, then the other islands on its schedule. Rosa was glad. It meant that Kilfoil was the nearest, and as the boat slipped its mooring lines and moved out into the sea loch she hoped it wouldn’t be too far.

The island of Skye seemed incredibly close as they started on their journey, and for a while other islands hemmed them in, giving an illusion of intimacy. But then the body of water widened and the swell caused the small vessel to rise and fall more heavily on the waves.

Rosa hunched her shoulders and glanced back at the group of people gathered at the snack bar. She wished she’d bought herself a drink before it got busy. As it was, she wasn’t totally sure she could walk across the cabin without becoming nauseous. She’d never been a good sailor, and the bucking ferry was much worse than the hovercraft she and Colin had once taken to Boulogne.

‘Are you feeling okay?’

Guessing she must be looking pale, Rosa turned her head and found the man from the car park looking down at her. So he had boarded this ferry, she thought inconsequentially, noticing that the rolling vessel didn’t seem to bother him. Apart from donning a well-worn leather jacket over his shirt and jeans, he looked just as big and powerful as she’d thought earlier. The shirt pulled away from the tight jeans in places, to expose a wedge of hair-roughened brown skin.

Sex on legs, she mused, momentarily diverted from her troubles, but he was waiting for an answer and she forced a rueful smile. ‘I didn’t expect it to be so rough,’ she confessed, wondering if he was aware that her eyes were on a level with his groin. She endeavoured to look anywhere else than there. ‘I suppose you’re used to it?’

His eyes narrowed, thick black lashes veiling irises that were a clear emerald-green. God, he was good-looking, she thought, noting his tanned skin, his firm jaw and his mouth, which was oddly sensual despite being compressed into a thin line. But then he spoke again, his voice harder than before, and she was diverted from her thoughts by the realisation that he didn’t have a Scottish accent.

‘Why do you say that?’ he demanded, and Rosa blinked, unable for a moment to remember exactly what she had said.

But then it came back to her. ‘Um—I just thought you seemed familiar with the area,’ she confessed awkwardly, wondering what was wrong with that. ‘Evidently I was mistaken. You’re English, aren’t you?’

Liam scowled, cursing himself for the impulse that had driven him to ask if she was all right. She’d looked so damned pale he’d felt sorry for her. She was obviously out of place here. No waterproof clothing, no boots, even the pack she’d dumped beside her looked flimsy.

‘We don’t all speak the Gaelic,’ he said at last, and she shrugged her slim shoulders.

‘Okay.’ Rosa quelled her indignation. At least their conversation was distracting her eyes from the restless sea outside. ‘So,’ she said at last, ‘do you live in the islands?’

‘Perhaps.’ He was annoyingly reticent. And then, disconcertingly, ‘I hope you don’t intend to go hiking in that outfit.’

Rosa gasped. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘No,’ he conceded ruefully. ‘I was just thinking out loud. But I couldn’t help noticing how cold you looked earlier.’

So he had noticed her. Rosa felt a little less antagonistic towards him. ‘It is much colder than I’d anticipated,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t expect to be here long.’

‘Just a flying visit?’

‘Something like that.’

Liam frowned. ‘You’ve got relatives here?’

Rosa caught her breath. He certainly asked a lot of questions. But then she remembered she’d been going to ask if anyone had seen her sister. If this man used the ferry on a regular basis, he might have seen her. And Liam Jameson. But she preferred not to mention him.

‘As a matter of fact, I’m hoping to catch up with my sister,’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘A pretty blond girl. I believe she made this crossing a couple of days ago.’

‘She can’t have,’ he said at once. ‘This ferry only leaves every Monday and Thursday. If she made the crossing at all, it had to have been last Thursday.’

Rosa swallowed. Last Thursday Sophie had still been in Glastonbury with Mark. It had been on Saturday night that he’d phoned to tell her mother what had happened, and that had resulted in Mrs Chantry phoning Rosa in such an hysterical state.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked now, trying to assimilate what she’d learned, wondering if Liam Jameson had a plane or a helicopter. He probably did, she thought. Why should he travel with the common herd? He might even have a boat that he kept at Mallaig. It had probably been naïve of her to think otherwise.

‘I’m sure,’ her companion replied, his gaze considering. ‘Does this mean you don’t think your sister’s here, after all?’

‘Maybe.’ Rosa had no intention of sharing her thoughts with him. She took a deep breath. ‘Is it much farther, do you know?’

‘That depends where you’re going,’ said Liam drily, curious in spite of himself, and Rosa decided there was no harm in telling him her destination.

‘Um—Kilfoil,’ she said, aware that her words had surprised him. Well, let him stew, she thought defiantly. He hadn’t exactly been candid with her.




CHAPTER TWO


LIAM WAS SURPRISED. He’d thought he knew everything about the families who had moved to the island after he’d first acquired it. Having been uninhabited for several years, the cottages had fallen into disrepair, and it had taken a communal effort on all their parts to make the place viable again. In the process of rewiring the cottages, reconnecting the electric generator and generally providing basic services, they’d become his friends as well as his tenants. These days Kilfoil had a fairly buoyant economy, with tourism, fishing and farming giving a living to about a hundred souls.

He wanted to ask why she thought her sister might be on the island, but he knew he’d asked too many questions already. Okay, she intrigued him, with her air of shy defiance and the innocence with which she spoke of his island. Unless he missed his guess, there was something more than a desire to catch up with her sister here. Had the girl run away? Or eloped, maybe, with a boyfriend? But why would she come to Kilfoil? As far as he was aware, there was no regular minister on the island.

Rosa saw him push his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, apparently unaware that the button at his waist had come undone. She was tempted to tell him, except that that would reveal where she was looking, and she hurriedly averted her head.

‘About another hour,’ he said, answering her question, and then, as if sensing her withdrawal, he moved away to approach the bar at the other end of the cabin. It was quiet now, and, watching with covert eyes, she saw him speak to the young man who was serving. Money changed hands, and then the young man pushed two polystyrene cups across the counter.

Two?

Rosa looked quickly away. Was one for her? She dared not look, dared not watch him walk back to where she was sitting in case she was mistaken.

‘D’you want a coffee?’

But no. He was standing right in front of her again. ‘Oh—um—you shouldn’t have,’ she mumbled awkwardly, but she took the cup anyway. ‘Thanks.’ She levered off the plastic lid and tasted it. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’

Liam hesitated now. This wasn’t his usual practice, buying strange women cups of coffee, letting them share his space. But she looked so out of place here he couldn’t abandon her. She might be a journalist, he reflected, eager to get a story. But, if so, she’d been very offhand with him.

Nevertheless, she seemed far too vulnerable to be alone, and much against his better judgement he dropped down into the empty seat beside her. Opening his own coffee, he cast a sideways glance in her direction. Then he saw her watching him and said hastily, ‘At least it’s hot.’

‘It’s very nice,’ Rosa assured him, not altogether truthfully. The coffee was bitter. ‘It was kind of you to get it for me.’

Liam shrugged. ‘Scottish hospitality,’ he said wryly. ‘We’re well known for it.’

She gave him a sideways look. ‘So you are Scottish?’ she said. ‘You must know this area very well.’ She paused. ‘What’s Kilfoil like? Is it very uncivilised?’

Liam caught his breath, almost choking on a mouthful of coffee. ‘Where do you think you are?’ he exclaimed, when he could speak again. ‘The wilds of Outer Mongolia?’

‘No.’ Despite herself, her cheeks burned. ‘So tell me about the island. Are there houses, shops, hotels?’

Liam hesitated, torn between the desire to describe his home in glowing detail and the urge not to appear too familiar with his surroundings. ‘It’s like a lot of the other islands,’ he said at last. ‘There’s a village, and you can buy most of the staple things you need there. The post and luxury items come in on the ferry. As do the tourists, who stay at the local guesthouses.’

Rosa felt relieved. ‘So it’s not, like—desolate or anything?’

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Liam, thinking how relieved he’d be to be back again. ‘All these islands are beautiful. I wouldn’t live anywhere else.’

Rosa’s brows arched. ‘Where do you live?’

He was cornered. ‘On Kilfoil,’ he said reluctantly. And then, deciding he’d said quite enough, he got to his feet again. ‘Excuse me. I need to go and check on my car.’

When he’d gone, Rosa finished her coffee thoughtfully. She wasn’t totally surprised by his answer, but she couldn’t help wondering what a man like him found to do there. Could he be a fisherman, as she’d speculated? Somehow that didn’t seem very likely. A thought occurred to her. Perhaps he worked for Liam Jameson. Or the film crew, if they were making a film on the island.

She should have asked if there was a film crew on the island, she chided herself. But then, if she had, she’d have had to explain why she was really here. No, it was wiser to wait until she got there before she started asking those questions. She didn’t want to alert Jameson as to who she was.

She couldn’t help the shudder that passed over her at the thought of what she had to do. Her mission, she thought wryly. Goodness, what was she letting herself in for? But surely if there was a film crew on the island the people in the village would know about it. Whether they’d tell her where Liam Jameson lived was another matter.

The journey seemed endless, even worse than the three train journeys she’d had to make to get to Mallaig. Then at least she’d had some scenery to look at. Apart from a handful of mist-strewn islands, all she could see now was the choppy water lapping at the sides of the ferry.

She sighed and glanced at her watch. If what the man had said was true, it shouldn’t be long now. Glancing towards the front of the vessel, she glimpsed a solid mass of land immediately ahead of them. Was that Kilfoil? She hoped so. She’d call her mother as soon as she stepped onto dry land.

Lucia Chantry would be desperate for news. Sophie was her baby, and although she knew as well as anyone that her daughter could be selfish and willful at times, Rosa had never been left in any doubt as to who was her mother’s favourite. Sophie could do no wrong, whereas Rosa was constantly making mistakes. Not least when she’d married Colin Vincent. Her mother had never liked him, and she hadn’t hesitated to say I told you so when Colin turned out to be such a jerk.

The ferry was slowing now, cutting back on its engines, preparing for its arrival at Kilfoil. As it eased into its berth, Rosa got to her feet, eager for her first glimpse of her destination. It was certainly unprepossessing, she thought, just a handful of cottages climbing up the hillside from the ferry terminal. But the overcast sky didn’t help. She was sure it would look much more appealing in sunlight.

Fifteen minutes later she was standing on the quay, watching as the few cars heading for the island rolled off the ferry. Glancing about her, she saw the road that wound up out of the village and the dark slopes of a mountain range behind.

The island suddenly seemed much bigger than she’d anticipated. But what had she been expecting? Something the size of Holy Island, off the coast of Northumberland, perhaps? And if she did find Sophie here, if she hadn’t been lying, how was she supposed to get her to come home? If her sister was starstruck, she wouldn’t be influenced by anything Rosa said.

Rosa had just located a sign that said ‘Post Office’ when she saw a dusty grey Audi coming up the ramp towards her. The man who’d bought her coffee was at the wheel and she turned abruptly away. She didn’t want him to think—even for a moment—that she was looking for him.

To her relief, the big car swept past her, but then it braked hard, just a dozen yards up the road, and she saw its reversing lights appear. It stopped beside her and a door was pushed open. The man thrust his legs out, got to his feet with an obvious effort and turned towards her.

She noticed he was favouring his left leg, something she hadn’t observed on the ferry. But then, the rolling of the vessel would have precluded any observation of that kind. She’d been decidedly unsteady on her own feet.

Liam, meanwhile, was cursing himself for being all kinds of an idiot for stopping the car. But, dammit, she still looked as if a puff of wind would blow her away. And she certainly wasn’t interested in him. He’d noticed the way she’d deliberately turned her back on him. So what was he doing playing the knight errant again?

‘Got a problem?’ he asked, forcing her to turn and face him.

‘I hope not,’ she said tightly, wishing he would just go away. But, on the off-chance that he might be able to help her, she ought to be more grateful. ‘Um—I was looking for the Post Office, that’s all. I wanted to ask where Kilfoil Castle was.’

‘Kilfoil Castle?’ Liam was wary now. ‘Why do you want to know where Kilfoil Castle is? It’s not open to the public, you know.’

‘I know that.’ Rosa sighed. Then, giving in to the urge to trust him, she added, ‘Do you happen to know if there’s a film crew working there?’

‘A film crew?’ Now Liam was genuinely concerned. Had he been wrong about this woman all along?

‘Yes, a film crew,’ repeated Rosa. ‘I understand they’re making a film of one of the Liam Jameson’s books on the island.’

Like hell!

Liam stared at her, trying to decide if she was as naïve as she looked. ‘Why would you imagine Liam Jameson would allow a film crew to desecrate his home?’ he demanded bleakly. ‘Movies have been made of his books, I know, but they’re not filmed here.’

Was it just his imagination or did her shoulders sag at this news? What was going on, for God’s sake? Had she expected to find her sister on the set? ‘I think you’ve made a mistake,’ he said gently. ‘Someone’s given you the wrong information. I can assure you there’s no production team at Kilfoil Castle or anywhere else on the island.’

Rosa shook her head. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘You’re not just trying to put me off?’

‘Hell, no!’ Liam gazed at her compassionately. ‘I realise it must be a blow, but I don’t think your sister’s here.’

Rosa’s brows drew together. ‘I don’t remember saying that I thought my sister was with the film crew,’ she retorted defensively.

‘No, but it doesn’t take a mathematician to put two and two together.’

Rosa bit her lip. ‘All right. Perhaps I did think Sophie might be with them. But if she’s not, then perhaps she’s somewhere else.’

Liam gazed at her. ‘On the island?’

‘Yes.’ Rosa held up her head. ‘So perhaps you could direct me to Kilfoil Castle, as I asked before. Is there a taxi or something I could hire if it’s too far to walk?’

Liam blinked. ‘Why on earth would you think your sister might be at Kilfoil Castle?’ he asked, trying not to sound outraged at the suggestion, and his companion sighed.

‘Because she apparently met Liam Jameson a few days ago, at the pop festival in Glastonbury. He told her they were making a film of his latest book in Scotland and he offered her a screen test.’



To say Liam was stunned would have been a vast understatement. It was as if she’d suddenly started talking in a foreign language and he couldn’t make head or tail of what she was saying. For goodness’ sake, until Sunday morning he’d been in a London clinic having muscle therapy to try and ease the spasms he still suffered in his leg. Besides which, he’d never been to a pop festival in his life.

Realising she was waiting for him to say something, Liam tried to concentrate. It was obvious she believed what she’d just told him. Her look of uncertainty and expectation was too convincing to fake. But, dammit, if her sister had fed her this story, why had she believed it? Anyone who knew Liam Jameson would know it was untrue.

But perhaps she didn’t. Certainly she hadn’t recognised him. And, taken at face value, it wasn’t so outrageous. Two of his books had been filmed in Scotland. But not on Kilfoil. He’d made damn sure of that.

‘Liam Jameson does live here, doesn’t he?’

Rosa was wishing he’d say something, instead of just staring at her with those piercing green eyes. They seemed to see into her soul, and she shifted a little uncomfortably under their intent appraisal. He probably wasn’t aware of it, but they were making her feel decidedly hot.

‘Yes,’ he said at last, when she’d finally managed to drag her gaze away from his. ‘Yes, he lives at Kilfoil Castle, as I assume you know. But there’s no way he could offer your sister a screen test. He isn’t involved in film production. If she told you he was, she was wrong.’

‘How do you know?’ Although Rosa was prepared to accept that he might be right, she was curious how he could be so certain about it. ‘Do you know him personally?’

Liam had been expecting that. ‘I know of him,’ he said, curiously reluctant to tell her who he was. ‘He’s—something of a recluse, and to my knowledge he’s never been to Glastonbury. Your sister sounds quite young. Jameson is forty-two.’

‘Forty-two!’ If he’d expected her to know his age, too, he’d been mistaken. She hunched her shoulders. ‘That old?’

‘It’s not so old,’ muttered Liam, unable to prevent a twinge of indignation. ‘How old is your sister?’

‘Almost eighteen,’ answered Rosa at once. ‘Do you think Liam Jameson likes young girls?’

‘He’s not a pervert,’ said Liam sharply, and then modified his tone as he continued, ‘And, let’s face it, you don’t have any proof that it was Jameson she went off with.’

‘I know.’ Rosa blew out a breath. ‘But where else can she be?’ She wet her lips, her tongue moving with unknowing provocation over their soft contours. ‘Anyway, if you’ll give me those directions to the castle, I’ll go and see if Mr Jameson has an answer.’

That was when Liam should have stopped her. He should have explained who he was, and how he knew Jameson had never been to Glastonbury, but he chickened out. He’d gone too far with the deception to simply confess that he was the man she was looking for. And his innate sense of privacy made him a victim of his own deceit.

‘Look, I think you’re wasting your time,’ he said carefully. ‘Jameson has never been to a pop festival.’ He caught her eyes on him. ‘As far as I know.’

‘You know an awful lot about him,’ said Rosa curiously. ‘Are you sure you’re not a friend of his?’

‘I’m sure,’ said Liam, wishing he’d never started this. ‘But I do live on the island. It’s a small place.’

‘It doesn’t seem very small,’ said Rosa unhappily. ‘And I’m not really looking forward to meeting this man, if you want the truth. He writes about horrible things. Ghosts and werewolves—’

‘Vampires,’ put in Liam unthinkingly.

‘—stuff like that,’ she muttered, proving she hadn’t been listening to him. ‘That’s probably why Sophie was so impressed by him. She’s read everything he’s ever written.’

‘Really?’

Liam couldn’t help feeling a glow of satisfaction. No matter how often he was told by his agent or his publisher that he was a good writer, he never truly believed it.

‘Oh, yes.’ Rosa sighed again. ‘Sophie’s mad on books and TV and movies. She wants to be an actress, you see. If this man has been in contact with her, she’ll be like putty in his hands.’

‘But he hasn’t,’ said Liam. And then he amended that to, ‘You don’t really believe he has?’

‘Perhaps not.’ Rosa had to be honest. ‘But, if you don’t mind, I’d rather hear that from Liam Jameson himself.’

Liam scowled, scuffing the toe of his boot against a stone, aware that at any moment someone could come up and speak to him and then he wouldn’t have any choice in the matter.

‘Look,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Why don’t you just get on the ferry again and go home? If your sister wants to tell you where she is, she will. Until then, it would probably be wiser for you not to accuse people of things you can’t know or prove.’

Rosa shivered. ‘Get on the ferry again?’ she echoed. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Well, it doesn’t call here again until Thursday, like I said.’

Rosa tried not to show how dismayed she felt. ‘Oh, well, there’s nothing I can do about it now. And Liam Jameson’s the only lead I’ve got.’

Liam blew out a breath. ‘Okay, okay. If that’s your final word, I’ll take you.’

‘Take me where?’

‘To Kilfoil Castle. That is where you want to go, isn’t it?’

‘Well, yes. But do you think Mr Jameson will agree to see me?’

‘I’ll make sure he does,’ said Liam drily. ‘Let’s go.’

‘But I don’t even know who you are,’ Rosa protested, the idea of getting into a car with a strange man suddenly assuming more importance than it had before.

‘I’m—Luther Killian,’ muttered Liam ungraciously, waiting for her to recognise the name of his main character. But there was no reaction. Her sister might read his books, but she definitely didn’t.




CHAPTER THREE


ROSA hesitated. ‘Um—is it far?’ she ventured, drawing a sigh of impatience from the man beside her.

‘Too far to walk, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ he said shortly. ‘There’s always old McAllister, of course. He runs a part-time taxi service, if it’s needed. I can’t vouch for the reliability of his vehicle, though.’

Rosa glanced down at her bag which, even looped over her shoulder, was heavier than she’d expected when she’d packed it the previous day. ‘Well, all right. Thanks,’ she said, not without some misgivings. ‘If it’s not out of your way.’

Don’t do me any favours, thought Liam irritably, reaching for her bag and opening the rear door of the car. He tossed it onto the seat and then gestured for her to get into the front. His leg was aching from standing too long and he couldn’t wait to get off his feet.

‘You didn’t say if it was far,’ she ventured, after he’d coiled his length behind the wheel, and Liam shrugged.

‘The island’s not that big,’ he said, which wasn’t really an answer. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t take long to get there.’

Rosa hoped not, but the island did seem far bigger than she’d imagined as the Audi mounted the hill out of the village. They emerged onto a kind of plateau that stretched away ahead of them, very green and verdant, with small lakes, or lochs, glinting in the intermittent rays of the sun.

Away to their left, the mountains she’d seen from the quayside looked big and imposing. Their shadowy peaks were bathed in cloud cover, but the lower slopes changed from grey to purple where the native heather flourished among the rocks. Here and there the scrubland was dotted with trees, sturdy firs that could withstand the sudden shifts in the weather.

‘This is Kilfoil Moor,’ said her companion, nodding towards the open land at either side of the road. ‘Don’t be fooled by its look of substance. It’s primitive bog in places. Even the sheep have more sense than to graze here.’

Rosa frowned. ‘Are you a farmer, Mr Killian?’

A farmer! Liam felt a wry smile tug at his mouth. ‘I own some land,’ he agreed, neither admitting nor denying it. Then, to divert her, ‘The island becomes much less hostile at the other side of the moor.’

‘And have people—like—walked onto the moor and been swallowed up by the bog?’ asked Rosa uneasily.

Liam cast her a mocking glance. ‘Only in Jameson’s books, I believe.’

Rosa grimaced. ‘He sounds weird. I suppose living up here he can do virtually as he likes.’

‘He’s an author,’ said Liam irritably, not appreciating her comments. ‘For God’s sake, he writes about monsters. That doesn’t mean he is one!’

‘I suppose.’

Rosa acknowledged that she was letting the isolation spook her. A curlew called, it wild cry sending a shiver down her spine. A covey of grouse, startled by the sound of the car, rose abruptly into the air, startling her. She made an incoherent sound and her companion turned to give her another curious look.

‘Something wrong?’

Rosa shrugged. ‘I was just thinking about what you said,’ she replied, not altogether truthfully. ‘I think I agree with you. Jameson wouldn’t have brought Sophie here.’

‘No?’ Liam spoke guardedly.

‘No. I mean—’ She gestured towards the moor. ‘I can’t imagine any man who lives here going to somewhere frantic like a pop festival.’ She paused. ‘Can you?’

Liam’s mouth compressed. ‘I seem to remember saying much the same thing about half an hour ago,’ he retorted.

‘Oh. Oh, yes, you did.’ Rosa pulled a face. ‘I’m sorry. I think I should have listened to you.’

Liam shook his head. He didn’t know what she expected him to say, what she expected him to do. But if she hoped that he’d turn the car around and drive her back to the village she was mistaken. He was tired, dammit. He’d just driven over five hundred miles, and there was no way she was going to add another twenty miles to his journey. If she wanted to go back, Sam would have to take her. Right now, he needed breakfast, a shower and his bed, not necessarily in that order.

Or that was what he told himself. In fact, he was curiously loath to abandon her. He felt sorry for her, he thought. She’d been sent up here on a wild goose chase and she was going to feel pretty aggrieved when she found out he’d been deceiving her, too.

The awareness of what he was thinking astounded him, however. This had always been his retreat, his sanctuary. The one place where he could escape the rat race of his life in London. What the hell was he doing, bringing a stranger into his home? For God’s sake, she wasn’t a teenager. She was plenty old enough to look out for herself.

‘Anyway,’ she said suddenly, ‘I’m still going to ask him if he knows where she might be. I mean, if they are making a film up here, he will know about it. Where it’s being made, I mean. Don’t you think?’

Liam’s fingers tightened on the wheel. Why didn’t he just tell her who he was? he wondered impatiently. Why didn’t he admit that he’d kept his identity a secret to begin with because he’d been half afraid she had some ulterior motive for coming here? She might not believe him, but it would be better than feeling a complete fraud every time she mentioned his name.

‘Look, Miss—er—’

‘Chantry,’ she supplied equably. ‘Rosa Chantry.’

‘Yes. Miss Chantry.’ Liam hesitated now. ‘Look, I think there’s something I—’

But before he could finish, she interrupted him. ‘Oh, God!’ she exclaimed in dismay, and for a moment he thought she’d realised who he was for herself. But then she reached into the back of the car, hauled her pack forward and extracted a mobile phone. ‘I promised I’d ring my mother as soon as I reached the island,’ she explained ruefully. ‘Excuse me a minute. I’ve just got to tell her I’m all right before she begins to think she’s lost two daughters instead of just one.’

‘Yeah, but—’ he began, about to tell her that there were no transmitters for cellphones on the island when she gave a frustrated cry.

‘Dammit, the battery must be dead,’ she exclaimed, looking at the instrument as if it was to blame for its inactivity. Then she frowned. ‘That’s funny. There’s no signal at all.’

‘That’s because we don’t have any mobile phone masts on Kilfoil,’ said Liam mildly. ‘The place was deserted for years—apart from a few hardy sheep—and although things have changed a bit since then, we prefer not to litter the island with all the detritus of the twenty-first century.’

‘You mean I can’t ring my mother?’

‘No. There are landlines.’

‘So do you think Liam Jameson will let me make a call from the castle?’

‘I’m sure he will,’ muttered Liam, aware he was retreating back into the character he’d created. ‘Don’t run away with the idea that the island’s backwards. Since—since its modernisation, it’s become quite a desirable place to live.’

Rosa arched brows that were several shades darker than her hair. ‘Is that why you came here?’ she asked. ‘To escape the rat race?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘And you like living here? You don’t get—bored?’

‘I’m never bored,’ said Liam drily. ‘Are you?’

‘I don’t get time to be bored,’ she replied ruefully. ‘I’m a schoolteacher. My work keeps me busy.’

‘Ah.’ Liam absorbed this. He thought it explained a lot. Like how she was able to come up here in the middle of August. Like why she seemed so prim and proper sometimes.

The moor was receding behind them now, and they’d started down a twisting road into the glen. He pointed ahead. ‘There’s the castle. What do you think?’

Rosa caught her breath. ‘It’s—beautiful,’ she said, and it was. Standing square and solid on a headland overlooking the sea, its grey walls warmed by the strengthening sun, it was magnificent. ‘It’s very impressive,’ she breathed. And not what she had expected at all. ‘But how can anyone live in such a place? It must have over a hundred rooms.’

‘Fifty-three, actually,’ said Liam unthinkingly. And then, with a grimace, ‘Or so I’ve heard.’

‘Fifty-three!’ Rosa shook her head. ‘He must be very rich.’

‘Some of them are just anterooms,’ said Liam, resenting the urge he had to defend himself, but doing it just the same. ‘I’m fairly sure he doesn’t use them all.’

‘I should think not.’ Rosa snorted. ‘Is he married?’

‘No.’ Liam had no hesitation about telling her that. It was in the potted biography that appeared on the back of all his books, after all.

‘Well, does he live alone?’ Rosa was persistent. ‘Does he have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?’ she added, pulling a face. ‘These days you never know.’

‘He’s not gay,’ said Liam grimly. ‘And he has household staff who run the place for him, so he’s hardly alone.’

‘All the same…’ She was annoyingly resistant to his opinion. ‘I bet he has to pay his employees well to get them to stay here.’

Liam clamped his jaws together and didn’t answer her. He could have said that several of the people he employed were refugees from London, like himself. He did employ locals, where he could, but the islanders only wanted part-time work so they could pursue their own interests. The Highlanders were an independent lot and preferred fishing and farming to working indoors.

They approached the castle through open land dotted with sheep and cattle. Rosa saw shepherds’ crofts nestling on the hillside, and more substantial farm buildings with whitewashed walls and smoking chimneys. A stream, which evidently had its source in the mountains, tumbled over rocks on its way to the sea. And in the background the shoreline beckoned, the sand clean and unblemished and totally deserted.

Rosa knew that anyone who’d never seen this aspect of Scotland wouldn’t believe how incredibly beautiful it was. The sea was calm here, and in places as green as—as Luther Killian’s eyes. And just as intriguing. Though probably as cold as ice.

The castle itself looked just as splendid as they drew closer. Although obviously renovations had been made, they’d been accomplished in a way that didn’t detract from the building’s charm and history. Only the square windows, that had replaced the narrow lattices once used for firing on the enemy in ancient times, were out of character. But the heavy oak front doors looked just as solid a defence.

There were outbuildings set back from the main house, with a cobbled forecourt edging the stone steps in front. They approached over a wooden bridge spanning a dry ditch, which might once have been a moat, and parked on the forecourt to one side of the studded doors.

One of the doors opened immediately and a man and several dogs stepped out into the sunlight. The dogs—two golden retrievers and a spaniel—bounded down the steps to greet them, their tails wagging excitedly.

To the accompaniment of their barks of welcome, Liam swung open his door and hauled himself to his feet. Once again, his leg had stiffened up and he cursed its weakness for spoiling one of the true pleasures of his life. He had always enjoyed driving and had a handful of expensive cars in his possession. He preferred them to the helicopter that his agent had insisted was essential, and leased the aircraft to the local air ambulance service more often than he used it himself.

Steeling himself against the pain, he left the car and strode towards Sam Devlin, the man who ran Kilfoil for him with such consummate skill and efficiency. ‘Liam—’ began Sam, only to break off when his employer raised a warning finger to his lips. ‘It’s good to see you again,’ he amended, his grey brows drawing together in confusion. ‘Is something wrong?’

Liam glanced back significantly, and now Sam saw Rosa getting out of the car. ‘Do we have a visitor?’ he asked in surprise. He knew, better than anyone, that Liam never brought strangers to Kilfoil.

‘We do,’ said Liam in a low voice, after shaking hands with the older man. ‘She’s here because she wants to ask Liam Jameson where her sister is.’

‘What?’ Sam stared at him. ‘But you’re—’

‘She doesn’t know that.’ Liam sighed. ‘It’s long story, Sam, but now’s not the time to share it. Just play along, will you? I intend to tell her who I am, but—not yet.’

Sam grimaced. ‘But why bring her here—?’ he began, and then broke off when the young woman left the car and started towards them. She was slowed by the snuffling of the dogs, but she was too near now for them to continue their conversation. He collected himself with an effort. ‘Welcome to Kilfoil, miss.’

‘This is Sam Devlin, Liam Jameson’s second-incommand,’ said Liam smoothly. ‘Sam, this is Miss Chantry. Rosa Chantry, isn’t that right?’ He looked to her for confirmation. ‘Perhaps Mrs Wilson would be kind enough to provide Miss Chantry with lunch.’

‘I’m sure she’d try,’ Sam agreed drily, but Rosa couldn’t impose on her host in that way.

‘Actually,’ she said, ‘if I could just have a quick word with Mr Jameson—?’

‘Mr Jameson’s—tied up at present, Miss Chantry,’ said Sam, with a wry look at his employer. ‘If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you where you can wait.’

‘Oh, but—do you think he will see me?’

Rosa addressed her words to Sam now, even though Liam had assured her he’d arrange it himself.

Sam looked at his employer blankly. ‘I think it’s—possible,’ he said, gaining a nod of approval. ‘Um—why don’t you follow me?’

Rosa hesitated, turning to the man who’d driven her here with a grateful smile. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Mr Killian.’

Liam inclined his head, aware that Sam was staring at him, open-mouthed. ‘My pleasure,’ he replied, realising he meant it. He turned away as Sam pulled himself together and led her into the castle. She wasn’t going to be so pleased when she discovered who he really was.

Meanwhile, Rosa was experiencing an unwarranted feeling of regret that she wouldn’t be seeing Luther Killian again. He had been kind, in spite of her ingratitude. She wished she’d asked him where he lived now. After all, whatever happened later, she was going to be stuck on the island for at least another couple of days.

She followed Liam Jameson’s man into the castle with some reluctance. Despite her desire to speak to Jameson and get this over with, it was a little daunting being faced with such surroundings. Although the hall they entered via an anteroom was brightly lit by several wall sconces, and the huge fire that was burning in the grate, it was intimidating. With its lofty ceiling and tapestry-hung walls, it reminded her that the man she’d come to see made his living from scaring his readers.

‘We only use the hall as a reception room,’ Sam Devlin offered, as she hovered just inside the door. ‘The rest of the castle is much more cosy. It would be impossible to keep the place warm otherwise.’

Rosa could believe it. ‘Does Mr Jameson live here all the year round?’

Sam seemed to consider his words before replying. ‘Mostly,’ he said at last. ‘Except when he’s away on business or pleasure. Now, please come this way.’

To Rosa’s surprise, and trepidation, they crossed the hall to where a winding flight of stone stairs led to an upper floor. Although the stairs were carpeted, Rosa viewed them without enthusiasm. She’d assumed the man was going to show her into one of the rooms that opened off the hall.

‘Wouldn’t it be easier if I just waited here for Mr Jameson?’ she asked.

‘I’m afraid not.’ Sam was polite, but resolute. ‘This floor of the castle is given over to kitchens and storerooms, as well as providing living quarters for the full-time staff.’

‘I see.’ Rosa was reassured by the idea that there were other people living as well as working here. Luther Killian hadn’t told her that.

With no alternative, she followed the man up the stairs, realising as she did so that this must be one of the towers she’d seen from the road. She wasn’t good with spiral staircases, but happily it opened out onto a narrow landing, with windows in an outer wall that gave an uninterrupted view of the bay.

‘Oh, isn’t that wonderful!’ she exclaimed, pausing at a window embrasure and gazing out at the view. The windows overlooked the front of the castle, with the little bridge they’d driven over just below her. And she saw, with some surprise, that Luther Killian’s car was still parked in the same spot. Frowning, she glanced round at Sam Devlin. ‘Um—Mr Killian’s still here.’

‘Is he?’ Sam didn’t sound particularly interested, and then Rosa remembered Killian had said he’d speak to Liam Jameson himself. He might be explaining the situation. If so, that would be something else she had to thank him for. Maybe she’d ask Sam Devlin where Killian lived before she left.

But thinking about leaving reminded her that she still hadn’t phoned her mother. ‘Er—do you think I could make a phone call while I’m waiting?’ she ventured, and Sam shrugged.

‘There’s a phone in here,’ he said, opening a door into what appeared to be a library. ‘Make yourself at home. I’ll ask Mrs Wilson to provide some refreshments.’

‘You will tell Mr Jameson I’m here?’ Rosa reminded him, wondering about the rather curious look that crossed his face at her words.

‘I’ll tell him,’ he agreed, remaining on the landing. ‘If you’ll excuse me…?’

Rosa nodded, trying not to feel apprehensive when he closed the door rather firmly behind him. Well, she was here. She’d reached her destination. And if the circumstances were not what she’d expected, it wasn’t her fault.

Turning, she surveyed the room with determined confidence. One wall curved, as if it was part of the tower she’d just climbed, but all the walls were lined with bookshelves. There was a granite-topped desk, strewn with papers and a laptop computer, and several leather chairs.

Rosa wondered if these were Liam Jameson’s books, but there were obviously too many for that to be so. Approaching one of the shelves, she drew out a bulky tome, hand-carved in leather. But the title, Vampire Myths of the Fifteenth Century, made her hastily push it back again.

But she was wasting time, she thought, noticing the neat black instrument set at one end of the desk. She had to call her mother. Mrs Chantry would probably be biting her nails by this time. Particularly if she’d tried to ring Rosa herself.

As she waited for the connection, Rosa perched on the edge of the window seat. The walls were thick and the sills were broad, plenty broad enough to provide a comfortable seat. Glancing down, she saw that from this angle she could see the gardens at the back of the castle, and a couple of huge glasshouses, set into the lee of the tower.

Obviously the place was self-sufficient, she thought. And, despite her initial reaction, Rosa quite envied Jameson for living here. It was peaceful in a way very few places were these days.

Then, her mother answered. ‘Rosa? Rosa, is that you? Have you found Sophie? Is she all right?’

‘I haven’t found her.’ Rosa decided there was no point in prevaricating. ‘There isn’t a film crew on the island, Mum. Sophie must have been making it up.’

‘Oh, she wouldn’t do that.’ Mrs Chantry was so gullible where her younger daughter was concerned. ‘If she’s not there, then Mark must have made a mistake. Scotland’s a big place. They must be filming somewhere else.’

‘But where?’

‘I don’t know, do I? That’s for you to find out.’

‘Perhaps.’ Rosa was non-committal. ‘I may know more after I’ve spoken to Liam Jameson himself.’

‘You mean you haven’t spoken to him personally?’

‘How could I?’

‘Well, for heaven’s sake, Rosa, what have you been doing?’

‘Getting here,’ retorted Rosa indignantly. ‘It was a long journey, you know.’

‘So where are you now? Sitting in some bar in Mallaig, I suppose. And who told you there’s no film being made on the island?’

‘As a matter of fact, I’m on the island at this moment. I’m at Kilfoil Castle. And I’m pretty sure that nothing’s going on here.’

Her mother snorted. ‘So if Jameson’s not there—’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Rosa interrupted. ‘Haven’t I just said I’ll know more after I’ve spoken to him?’

‘So he’s not with the production?’

If he ever was. ‘It would appear not,’ said Rosa trying to be patient. She heard the sound of someone opening the library door. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, Mum. I’ll ring you later. As soon as I have some news.’

She rang off before Mrs Chantry could issue any more instructions. Then, getting up from the window seat, she turned to find Luther Killian standing just inside the door. He’d evidently changed. The crumpled shirt and jeans he’d worn to travel in had been replaced by a long-sleeved purple knit shirt and drawstring cotton trousers. Judging by the drops of water sparkling on his dark hair, he’d had a shower as well.

Rosa knew her jaw had dropped, and she quickly rescued it. ‘Oh, hi,’ she said, a little nonplussed. ‘I thought you’d gone.’

Well, she’d thought he would have by now.

Liam’s smile was guarded. ‘Is everything all right at home?’ he asked, guessing what had been going on. He pushed the tips of his fingers into the back pockets of his pants. ‘You look—surprised to see me.’

‘I am.’ Rosa didn’t think there was any point in lying about it. ‘Have you spoken to Liam Jameson? Has he agreed to see me?’

‘He has,’ said Liam drily, finding this harder than he’d expected. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Rosa, but I’m Liam Jameson.’

Rosa stared at him aghast. ‘You’re kidding!’

‘No.’ Liam pulled a face, and then, abandoning his awkward stance, he crossed to the desk and went to stand behind it. ‘I didn’t intend to deceive you. Not initially. It just worked out that way.’




CHAPTER FOUR


‘YOU’RE NOT SERIOUSLY going to allow her to stay here until she can get a ferry back to the mainland, are you?’ Sam Devlin was dismayed. ‘Man, you know nothing about this woman. How do you know this wasn’t just a ruse to get into the castle?’

‘I don’t.’ Liam finished the plate of bacon and eggs Mrs Wilson had cooked for him and reached for his steaming mug of coffee, sitting on the gleaming pine table beside him. He took a mouthful of the coffee, the third cup he’d had that morning, and sighed his satisfaction. ‘But, in answer to your first question, she’s leaving this morning. As soon as she can get her belongings packed.’

‘Well, that’s a mercy,’ said Sam briskly. ‘I could hardly believe it when Edith told me she was staying the night. Not but what the lassie seems honest enough. It’s just unlike you to invite a stranger into your home.’

‘I know.’ Liam could hear the edge in his voice, but he didn’t appreciate Sam telling him what he already knew. ‘Anyway, I doubt if you’d have wanted to drive her back to the village last night.’

Sam sniffed. ‘You could always have called McAllister out. He gets little enough work as it is.’

‘Well, I didn’t,’ said Liam shortly. ‘And, for your information, I don’t think she has an ulterior motive for being here. For God’s sake, she didn’t know who I was until I told her.’

‘So you say.’

‘So I know.’

‘All right, all right.’ Sam backed down. ‘But I’m always suspicious when supposedly innocent strangers turn up out of the blue. I mean, who would be stupid enough as to believe you’d allow anyone to make a film on Kilfoil?’

‘Her teenage sister, perhaps?’

‘But you have nothing to do with film production.’

‘I told her that,’ said Liam mildly.

‘So why did you bring her here? Couldn’t you have convinced her you were telling the truth and sent her on her way?’

‘She wanted to come,’ said Liam flatly. ‘She insisted on speaking to Liam Jameson in person.’

Sam shook his head. ‘This was when you were masquerading as Luther Killian?’

‘If you want to put it that way, yes.’

Sam snorted. ‘Well, I don’t know what you were thinking of, Liam. For God’s sake, you’re not a teenager. You’re a middle-aged writer of horror fiction. You should have known better.’

‘Gee, it’s so good to know what you think of me,’ drawled Liam drily. ‘Why didn’t you add with more scars than Ben Nevis and a gammy leg into the bargain?’

Sam’s gnarled cheeks had gained a little colour now. ‘Och, you know what I think of you, man. Surely there’s no need for me to mince my words.’ He paused, and when his employer didn’t say anything he continued fiercely, ‘If you were the type who played around with the lassies, Liam, it would be different. But you’re not. You never have been. Sure, I know you’ve had the odd fling now and then, but you’ve never brought your conquests home. Not since Kayla—’

‘Don’t go there, Sam.’

Liam came to life now, and the older man hunched his shoulders at the reproof. It was years since he’d even thought about Kayla Stevens, thought Liam grimly. The woman he’d been intending to marry before the disastrous attack that had almost killed him.

They’d met at a launch party his publisher had thrown for him when his first book had made number one on the bestseller lists. Kayla had been a struggling model, hired out by her agent for such occasions to add a little glamour to the mix. She’d seemed out of place there, too innocent to be forced to earn a living in that way. Liam had felt sorry for her—much as he’d done for Rosa Chantry, he thought now, scowling at the memory. But he’d eventually learned that Kayla had always had an eye to the main chance.

Although she’d hung around the hospital for a while after the attack, the idea of getting hitched to a man who was badly scarred, who might be impotent or paralysed, and who would definitely need a lot of care and understanding to recover, hadn’t appealed to Kayla. Six months after returning Liam’s ring, she’d married a South American polo player with enough money to keep her in the style to which she’d become accustomed. The fact that without Liam she’d never have had the opportunity to meet such a man didn’t even compute.

Sam was looking dejected now, and Liam took pity on him. ‘Look, this isn’t about what Kayla did, right? It’s about helping someone out. Rosa’s mother doesn’t know where her younger daughter is. I expect she’s pretty worried by now.’

‘So why doesn’t she go to the police?’

‘And say what? That her daughter’s gone off with another man and her boyfriend’s jealous? Sam, teenagers are notoriously unpredictable. She’ll probably turn up in a couple of days and deny the whole thing.’

‘So why did you get involved?’

Good question. ‘I’ve been asking myself that,’ admitted Liam sagely. ‘I don’t know. Because my name was mentioned, I suppose. According to Rosa, her sister’s a big fan. Maybe I was flattered. In any case, she’s leaving today.’



It was the sunlight that awakened her. When she’d finally gone to bed—some time after midnight, she thought—she’d been sure she wouldn’t sleep and the moonlight had been comforting. But she must have been more tired than she’d thought, both mentally and physically. Otherwise, why would she have accepted that man’s help?

Discovering that the man she knew as Luther Killian was really Liam Jameson had knocked her off balance. And angered her, too, she admitted. He’d had no right to lie about his identity, however desperate he was to retain his anonymity.

The fact that he must have been equally stunned to learn that he was supposed to have met her sister at a pop festival and offered her a screen test made it marginally excusable. But she wouldn’t have come here at all if he’d been honest with her from the start.

Pushing back the duvet, Rosa swung her legs out of bed and padded, barefoot, to the windows. The floor was cold beneath her feet, but she thought she’d never get tired of the view. She was on the second floor of the castle and her windows looked out over the headland. She had an uninterrupted view of the restless sea that broke against the rocks.

It was so beautiful, the sun already tingeing the tips of the waves with gold. But there were clouds on the horizon, brooding things which threatened rain later. Perhaps this afternoon, she considered, wondering where she’d be sleeping tonight.





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