Sally Wentworth - Tiger in His Lair Read online

  'I suppose you know you're trespassing?'

  The question, in a harsh, cold voice, came from behind her. Romily jumped in fright and swung round, almost missing her footing on the wet rocks. She found herself facing a tall, fair-haired man with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. The eyes had been cold, but now they widened in surprise. 'Good heavens, a girl!' He looked her over quickly, then came back to her face. 'And a pretty one at that.'

  There was more than a touch of male chauvinism in that last remark, although maybe this man had more reason to be chauvinistic than most. He was well over six feet tall and proportionately broad across the shoulders. He looked like a hillman, in walking boots and waterproof clothes of a greeny-brown colour that blended with the scenery, and he carried an unloaded gun hooked over his left arm. His face, too, had the hard, clean-cut lines of the granite rocks on which he stood. All except for those blue eyes. They were the kind of eyes that you could drown in, that could make love to a woman more explicitly than any words.

  Romily realised that she had been staring and her chin came up. 'I beg your pardon,' she said coldly.

  'And so you should,' the stranger agreed mockingly. 'For trespassing.'

  'Trespassing?' Romily looked round the forest as if it ought to be able to tell her whether she was or not. 'Is this private land, then?'

  'It is,' the man assured her, his eyes on her face.

  'I didn't see any signs,' she said on a slightly antagonistic note.

  'There aren't any. But the land is private nearly all round the lake. Where did you come from?' he asked curiously. 'We don't get many walkers in this area.' His eyes ran over her again. 'Not that you could have come far in that get-up,' he added derisively.

  Romily looked down at her wellies, slacks and anorak. 'Why? What's wrong with my clothes?' she asked in genuine surprise.

  He gave a short laugh. 'It's obvious that you've never been nearer to the Highlands than a small hill! You need stout walking boots and waterproof clothes for this terrain. You could easily slip and break an ankle on the wet rock in those boots, and the anorak would soon get soaked through.'

  Maybe he was right, but what the hell had it got to do with him ? 'But it isn't raining,' she pointed out acidly, and to prove her point pushed back the hood of her anorak, at the same time stepping forward into a patch of sunlight. Her thick auburn hair tumbled about her shoulders, the sun turning it into a rich swirl of molten copper.

  The stranger had been about to make another biting remark, but stopped, an arrested expression in his blue eyes. 'Well, well, well,' he said softly.

  Realising, belatedly, that she was alone with him in the empty forest, Romily said, 'I didn't realise I was trespassing. I'll go back.'

  She turned to climb down the rocks again, but he stepped quickly forward and said, 'No, don't go that way. It will be easier for you to go along the road.'

  'Thanks, but I…'

  'The road is just a short distance away, near the castle you can see through the trees.'

  Romily hesitated, then shrugged. 'All right, I'll go that way.'

  She followed him for a short way until they came to a wide lane of grass between the fir trees, cut to prevent the spread of forest fires, she presumed, and here he fell into step beside her. 'You haven't told me where you've come from,' he reminded her.

  'From Abbot's Craig.'

  His eyebrows rose. 'Oh yes, the new hotel,' he said with a definite sneer in his tone. 'I didn't think it was open yet.'

  'It's not. I work there.'

  'I see.' The blue eyes surveyed her with increased interest. 'And what do you do there? Let me guess, you're the receptionist?'

  She smiled in amusement. So that was the impression she'd made on him; he thought she had a supposedly glamorous job. Shaking her head, she said, 'You couldn't be more wrong. I'm the cook.'

  His eyes widened in surprise, but then he grinned. 'You're kidding!'

  Romily shrugged and didn't answer. They had come to the end of the forest and emerged below the steep crag of rock on which the castle was built. It wasn't a vast place as castles go, but large enough, and she was glad she wasn't a poor soldier sent to besiege it. Its walls were high and thick, set on bare rock so that it seemed almost to blend with the mountainside, only its high turrets standing out against the sky. Romily gave an involuntary gasp of delight; it was a castle straight out of King Arthur, a place for knights and chivalry, for dungeons and dragons. As she looked at the windows set high, high up in the walls she almost expected a captured maiden to look out and cry for help.

  'It's—breathtaking,' she said in wonderment. 'Does anyone live there now?'

  'Yes. I do.'

  She turned quickly to look at her companion and found him watching her with a quizzical look in his lazy blue eyes.

  'You do? Do you work…' She stopped as enlightenment came. 'No, you mean that you own it, don't you? But surely you're too young to…' She broke off, realising that she was becoming personal.

  'Does there have to be an age limit for owning a castle?' he asked in some amusement. He lifted his head to look up at it, his eyes dwelling on the building possessively, 'It's been mine for quite some time.'

  Which meant the he must either have bought or inherited it—the latter seemed most likely—at quite an early age, for he only looked to be in his mid-thirties now.

  'Quite a responsibility,' Romily remarked, for something to say.

  'Yes, but at least I don't turn it into a tourists' hotel with a tartan bar and haggis piped into the dining-room every evening,' he bit out harshly.

  She looked at him in some astonishment, wondering what had brought that on. 'Presumably you're referring to Abbot's Craig?' she said rather stiffly.

  He turned to look at her, this tall stranger who owned a castle, and his face softened. 'Sorry, but I have rather strong feelings about opening up the Highlands. Or rather not opening them up. And Abbot's Craig is rather near to home.'

  'You want to keep it all to yourself, do you?'

  Her tone had been sarcastic and a frown came into his eyes. 'I want to keep it for the people who live here all the year, not have it spoilt for them by hordes of tourists who come up here for just a week or two. The Highlands are becoming overrun by people in the summer months.' His mood changed suddenly and he grinned. 'I'm afraid you touched me on a raw spot. I don't usually start lecturing everyone I meet!' He walked with her across a lawn and round the front of the castle. 'Here's the road that will take you back to Abbot's Craig.'

  'Do I have to turn off or anything?' she asked.

  'No, the road only leads to here. You can't get lost.'

  'Thank you, Mr…'

  'Gordon. James Gordon.' He smiled at her, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and Romily's chest tightened so that she felt suddenly breathless. God, he was attractive! She nodded and turned to walk away, but he laughed and said, 'Aren't you going to tell me your name—or are you going to be the mystery woman in my life?'

  Romily looked at him, saw his handsome face and easy smile, the slightly challenging look in his blue eyes, and there was an air of natural charm about him now despite his earlier coldness. But Romily had met that kind of easy charm before and suffered because of it. So now she answered aloofly, 'As we're unlikely ever to meet again, I'm not going to be any kind of a woman in your life, am I?'

  'Oh, I don't know. After all, we'll be neighbours; we might run into one another again.'

  'Hardly. Unless you come down to the hotel for a drink one evening.'

  His left eyebrow rose. 'Perhaps I might do that. Would you like me to?'

  It was Romily's turn to look at him mockingly. 'To a tartan bar? Why, Mr Gordon, how quickly you change your mind! No, I wouldn't dream of letting you lower your principles on my account. Goodbye. Thank you for showing me the way.' And she turned and began to walk purposefully down the road towards Abbot's Craig without giving him a backward glance.

  But although she didn't look back, Romily's thoughts s
tayed on James Gordon as she walked along. How surprising to meet a man like that up in the wilds of Scotland. He was the sort who would be perfectly at home as a guest in the exclusive—and very expensive—hotel in which she used to work. But then he hadn't been exactly out of place in the forest either, she remembered; he had been confidently at ease in that environment, too. So, a very civilised Highlander. And one who was experienced with women. That had been obvious from the way his eyes had assessed her, especially after she'd taken her hood off and he'd seen her hair. Those devastating blue eyes had become knowing and experienced, and his manner, too, had changed subtly, as he'd turned on the charm to attract her. Yes, he'd been around, had Mr James Gordon. Was he married, she wondered, or just a playboy? She wouldn't be surprised if he was divorced. That type usually went through several wives, she thought cynically. Her thoughts ricocheted back to Richard, the man who had told her he loved her—only he hadn't bothered to tell her that he already had a wife! And presumably the wife hadn't known about her. It would have been easy for Romily to have got her revenge by telling his wife about their affair, but she hadn't done so; her own hurt was bad enough, why put another innocent person through the same kind of hell? But somehow she didn't think that Richard's marriage would last very long; he had already been chatting up a new girl on the staff at the hotel less than a month after she had found out the truth and ditched him.

  The sun went behind a cloud and it began to rain again. Romily quickened her steps, regretting the wide choice of places there had been in London to go to on her days off. Rounding a bend in the road, she saw the high walls of the castle over to her right, and wondered if she would ever see James Gordon again. It was extremely unlikely after the put-down she'd given him. Not that she thought he'd been serious about it anyway. No laird in his castle was likely to come calling on a mere cook. Especially if he had to meet her in a tartan bar! Romily chuckled to herself; she must remember to ask her brother just how he intended to decorate his bar as soon as he got home. Yes, she mused, it was rather a pity about James Gordon; he might have been worth getting to know if she wasn't so off men and if he wasn't far too macho to be taken seriously.

  Gerald and Carol pulled up in the forecourt of Abbot's Craig just as Romily got back, so she was immediately co-opted into helping to unload the car and unpack all the things they had bought at the wholesale warehouse. It had done them good to get away from all the work for a while, Romily thought as she watched them; there was an air of excitement about them as they examined their new purchases, like kids after a trip to the toy shop. Gerald must have felt the same, because he said on a note of satisfaction, 'Maybe we're getting somewhere at last.' He smiled at Carol and slipped an arm round her waist, the first gesture of affection Romily had seen either of them make towards each other since she'd been there.

  Tactfully, she left them alone and went into the kitchen to prepare dinner, her face tight as she remembered the way Richard used to look at her, convincing her that he loved her. And maybe he had—for a while. Oh, hell! Why did she keep thinking of Richard? She'd come up here to forget about him, hadn't she? But forgetting wasn't so easy, damn him! Her fingers tightened on the kitchen knife she was holding and she brought the point stabbing down on to the wooden chopping board in a violent blow that contained all the pent- up hurt and bitterness in her heart.

  'Romily! What on earth's the matter?' Carol exclaimed in surprise as she came into the kitchen.

  Opening her tightly shut eyes, Romily hastily pulled the knife out and looked in horror at the hole she had made in the board. 'Oh! Nothing. Nothing at all.' And she turned away to get some vegetables.

  Carol gave her an odd look and opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better of it and put some food that she had bought into the freezer before going away again. During dinner, Gerald and Carol told her all about their shopping expedition in Inverness, and again Romily thought that they seemed much more relaxed and carefree, smiling and often laughing together.

  'How did you spend your day?' Gerald asked her.

  'Oh, I just went for a walk. Down to the lake and then up through the forest.'

  'I should have warned you to be careful if you go into the forest. It's quite easy to get lost if you don't know the area. Sorry, I should have told you before,' her brother said, with a frown at his own forgetfulness.

  'I didn't go too far. And anyway, I met someone who showed me the way to the road, so I came back that way.'

  Carol was immediately interested. 'Oh, who was that? One of the rangers?'

  'No. He said his name was James Gordon. It seems he owns that old castle you can see up on the hill.' She paused as Carol clumsily dropped her fork on the floor and bent to pick it up. 'I suppose you both know him from when you lived here before?' Romily added casually.

  'Yes. Yes, I think we do,' Gerald answered after a moment's pause. He took a drink from his wineglass. 'Did you tell him who you were?'

  'No. Should I have?'

  'Oh, no, no. I just thought you might have mentioned that you were related to us, that's all.'

  'No.' Romily gave a short laugh. 'As a matter of fact you don't seem to be his most popular people.'

  'Why, what did he say about us?' Carol demanded sharply, her face still flushed from bending to pick up her fork.

  'He didn't mention you personally, he just seemed to be very anti having this place turned into a hotel. He said the Highlands should be kept for the Highlanders and not opened up for millions of tourists to spoil.' She looked from one to the other of them. 'Do you know him well?'

  'No, hardly at all,' Gerald said shortly. 'And we haven't seen him since we took over Abbot's Craig. At least I haven't.' He looked at Carol. 'Have you?'

  The colour had receded from Carol's cheeks leaving her looking rather pale in comparison. 'No, I haven't.' She turned to Romily. 'This trout is really gorgeous. You must put it on the menu when we open. What have you made for pudding?'

  'Another experiment for the menu. An Abbot's Craig Forest gateau—rather like a Black Forest gateau but with a couple of variations. Tell me what you think.'

  She went to get the pudding while Carol cleared the used plates and after she'd served it they talked as before, but Romily couldn't help noticing that Gerald and Carol had lost the sparkle they'd had earlier; for no apparent reason the excitement had gone and there seemed instead to be tension between them. They didn't look at each other directly any more and when they spoke it was as if they were picking their words carefully.

  As Romily stacked the plates in the dishwasher after the meal, she could only guess that one of them must have said something to upset the other while she was out of the room getting the pudding. She hoped it didn't mean that they were having problems in their marriage. Because they had lived first here and then abroad, she had seen very little of them and had no real idea whether their marriage was happy or not; she had just taken it for granted, as one does, that if a couple are together they must therefore be happy. But now that she was living with Carol and Gerald she would be bound to get to know them better, and just hoped that they were happy, for the success of the hotel as much as her own comfort. There was no way she wanted to be dragged into any marital quarrels, or even be an onlooker; that was something she could do without.

  They went up to work on the flat they were converting for themselves shortly after dinner, but tonight Romily didn't offer to help, going instead to her own room where she sat down at the desk in front of the window to work on the menus she was compiling. They would depend, of course, to a large extent on what fresh produce was available, but she wished she knew some traditional Scottish recipes that she could use to give a flavour of the country. Maybe she could ask Carol if her father's old housekeeper still lived in the area, or, failing that, it might be possible to buy an old recipe book in

  Inverness, although Romily had found that it was always better to talk to an experienced cook if you could; they always had a few useful tips to hand down if you
got on the right side of them.

  The sound of an engine gradually getting nearer penetrated her concentration and Romily looked up. As there were no neighbours close by, she hadn't bothered to draw the curtains and although it was dark outside, the moon was out and she was high enough up to see over the trees to where its reflection turned the still surface of the lake to a rich stretch of silver. But this was suddenly broken, the surface shattering into a million rippling, dancing waves of phosphorescence as a powerful boat sped across it like a knife cutting through its tranquillity. It was the same speedboat that she had seen before, but going in the other direction now, and Romily guessed that it must belong to James Gordon; there was no other house down at that end of the lake. It slowed as it went past Abbot's Craig and she realised that the light was behind her and that he could probably see her silhouetted at the window. For a moment she felt like jumping up and drawing the curtains, but stopped herself before she'd half risen from the chair, If she did that, James Gordon would know that she was aware of him and that she was vulnerable to his arrant masculinity, and she wasn't ever going to let any man have that kind of hold over her again, she'd rather die an old maid first. So she stayed where she was, looking steadily out, until the engine was throttled into roaring life again and the boat surged on across the lake and out of sight.