Dangerous Encounter

by Flora Kidd

  Picking up the tray, she carried it out to the kitchen and from force of habit washed up and put everything away and, after making sure that the kitchen was as clean and tidy as she would like to find it after someone else had cooked in it, she went upstairs. On the second landing she paused to look in the rooms she had used, the bathroom and the bedroom at the back of the tower. All were dark and Magnus wasn't in any of them. Switching on another light, she mounted the second flight of stairs and went straight to his room. The door was partially open but there was no light on. She looked into the room. A breeze coming in through an open door which was set into the outer wall of the room stirred the curtains at the window.

  Crossing the room to the open door, she looked outside on to the battlements of the tower. Behind the stone parapet was a narrow wall-walk and she guessed that Magnus had gone outside, possibly to view the sunset from such a wonderful viewpoint. But the sun had set almost forty minutes ago and the sky was almost completely dark blue now, at least as dark as it would ever become in that northern latitude during the summer.

  Was Magnus still outside? Curious to find out how far it was possible to see from the battlements, Helen stepped out and looked through one of the gaps in the parapet, one of the openings through which a defender of the tower in days gone by would have fired an arrow or even a gun, shooting downwards on any attacker while remaining concealed behind the sturdy 'cops' or 'merlons', as the raised parts of the parapet were called.

  Far below, glinting with reflected starlight, the water in the bay creamed along the narrow beach and occasionally leapt in flashes of sparkling foam against jutting rocks. Beyond the entrance to the bay, right down the Sound, lights twinkled on indiscernible land from scattered houses on the island of Jura and the opposite mainland. The night air was soft and warm, still holding some of the heat of the sun which had shone all day.

  Withdrawing from the gap, Helen walked slowly along the wall-walk to a small turret with a pointed slate roof built at the corner of the battlements and walked through it to the west side of the tower, thinking she might find Magnus still there watching the last streaks of light fading in the sky. But the wall-walk was shadowed and empty and when she looked through a gap all she could see was the dark shape of another mountainous island which loomed beyond the limits of Carroch, dark blue against the blue-grey of the western sky.

  She walked on, stopping on the northern side and on the eastern side to look out, wishing she had thought to come up during the daytime when the views in such clear weather must have been magnificent, and eventually returned to the southern side and the door which opened out of Magnus's bedroom.

  The door was shut. Thinking it has been blown shut by the wind, she felt for a knob to open it and found none. She was shut out in the dark in that high windy place, and the only way she could think of to get back inside would be to smash a windowpane—if she could find anything to smash it with—and release the catch on the inside of the window so as to open it, a piece of vandalism from which she retreated, having too much respect for other people's property to damage it.

  'Magnus!' she shouted. 'Magnus!' Then she thumped hard on the sturdy wooden door and waited quietly for something to happen. She didn't frighten easily, but there was something creepy about being out on the narrow wall-walk so high above ground level and she didn't fancy spending the night up there. The door didn't open and no light went on in the room, so she banged on the door again, thumping with both fists and shouting for help at the top of her voice. Then, breathless from her efforts, she leaned against the door, feeling panic needle through her as she realised that if Magnus was downstairs he might not hear her and she would have to wait until he dame up to bed, if he did come up and didn't stay in the lounge all night drinking whisky.

  'Magnus—oh, Magnus!' she cried, and banged again on the door.

  Suddenly light slanted out through the window. The door opened abruptly while she was still leaning against it and she fell forward into the lamplit room. She was caught and held steady by Magnus, who grasped her arms above the elbow. He was dressed only in black silk pyjama pants and in the lamplight the suntanned bare skin of his chest, arms and shoulders gleamed like gold. From under puzzled frowning brows his blue eyes stared at her.

  'What were you doing out there?' he demanded.

  'I was looking for you,' she gasped. 'Oh, I'm so glad you heard me banging on the door! I thought I'd be out there for the night. I made coffee, but when you didn't come to have some I came upstairs to find you. I saw the door open and thought you must be out on the battlements. Were you?'

  'No.' He let go of her arms and stepped past her to close the door, then turned to face her. 'While you were making the coffee I went out, the front way, took a walk along the beach.' His sudden grin was slightly crooked and self-mocking. 'It was to clear my head of too much wine on top of too much whisky,' he added wryly. 'When I came back into the house you weren't in the kitchen or anywhere else downstairs, so I decided that you'd gone to bed and thought I might as well get a good night's sleep myself. I came up here, found the door open… I must have left it open when I was up here this morning, showing Marta and Leo and Max the view. I'd no idea you were up here or I wouldn't have closed it. I was just going to sleep when I heard you shouting and thumping.'

  Again his grin mocked himself. 'I didn't open the door at first because I thought I must be imagining things. This tower is supposed to be haunted by a woman, the wife of the Scottish knight who used to own it.' His grin faded and his eyes softened. Stepping towards her, he raised a hand; and touched her cheek gently. 'Poor Eilidh,' he murmured. 'You're quite white with fright.'

  'I'm all right,' she muttered, stepping back from him as she felt tension sparking between them like an electric shock and sweat sprang on the palms of her hands, making them clammy with the need to touch him. Forgetting that she had been looking for him to ask him to take her to the mainland, she clenched her hands and pushed them into the pockets of Wanda's jeans. Thank you for letting me in. I'm sorry I disturbed you. I… I think I'll go to bed now—it's getting late. Goodnight.'

  She must get away from him before the pull of attraction proved too much for her. She must get out of this warm comfortable room of his and go back to the pleasant but impersonal guest bedroom on the first floor. Turning, she stepped blindly towards the door, only to find he had moved and was standing in her way so that she walked right into him. Once again he grasped her arms to steady her, and immediately she was surrounded by the mysterious masculine scents of his skin and hair and was feeling the heat of his body radiating out to her, encircling her and drawing her close to him.

  'Please, Magnus,' she whispered. 'Please let me go.'

  'No. You can sleep here, with me,' he replied softly, his hands sliding up her arms to her shoulders and over her back as he impelled her gently, almost imperceptibly towards him.

  'I can't—I mustn't,' she muttered half-heartedly, trying to assert mind over matter, trying to control the urge she had to sway towards him, put her arms around him and lift her face for his kiss. 'I… I think it would be safer if I didn't stay,' she added.

  'Safer for whom? For you? Or for me?'

  'For both of us. After tomorrow, after I've left here and gone back to Glencross, we're not likely to see each other again, ever,' she argued, holding herself stiffly so as not to come into contact with him and keeping her head down so that she wouldn't even make eye contact with him.

  'Does that mean you're never going to see a film in which I'm acting again?' he asked with a touch of mockery.

  'You know that isn't what I meant,' she retorted, still not looking at him. I'll go back to Glencross, to my work there in the hospital, and you… well, you'll go your way, and the chances of us ever meeting again will be very slim. We'll never meet again, never.'

  'You could be right,' he murmured, lifting a hand to her head and undoing the ribbon which held her hair back behind her neck. Shimmering and soft the silken stuff slid over he
r shoulders and about her cheeks. Magnus tossed the ribbon to the floor and curved his hands about her face under the twin swathes of hair, framing it and lifting it so he could look into her eyes. 'But that isn't a good reason for us not to enjoy each other's company now, while we're still together. Sleep with me, Eilidh, and then neither of us will be lonely tonight. You know you want to. That's really why you didn't want to go to the mainland with me this evening. That's why you came up here looking for me. You want me and I want you—it's as simple as that. In spite of ourselves we're attracted to each other, so why should we back away from each other? Why shouldn't we both have what we want, here and now?'

  His voice was deep and persuasive, his eyes were dark, their expression warm and frankly sensual. He was mesmerising her again, using all his skill as a lover to break down her resistance. Against his chest her hands pushed ineffectually, palms and fingers losing their stiffness as soon as they touched him, betraying her.

  'Oh, I can't. I mustn't,' she insisted weakly, even while she was caressing him, feeling the roughness of hair and the smoothness of skin, finding a heady delight in touching him so intimately and in hearing his gasp of pleasure as her fingers found and tantalised a particularly sensually vulnerable spot.

  'Hey, this isn't fair!' he complained, laughing a little. 'You have me at a disadvantage. To be equal you must take that blouse off. Here, let me help.'

  Expertly he undid the fastenings of the blouse and slid the garment from her shoulders, then her head was reeling with the inhaled scents of his hair as it brushed against her face when he lowered his head to kiss the white skin of her shoulders and breast which he had exposed. Her body arched involuntarily against his, her eyes closed and while she was still gasping for breath from the exquisite sensations which were tingling through her Magnus lifted his head and took her lips in a kiss which seemed to scorch right through to the core of her, blasting away the last of her already weak defences.

  After that terrible blinding kiss she had no control over what happened next and had no knowledge of how she came to be lying on the bed close to him, the rest of her clothing having been smoothed and stroked away by his eager yet gentle hands.

  'You're beautiful, Eilidh,' he murmured, leaning over her while he stroked her slowly and suggestively. 'As sweet and fresh as a daisy, white tipped with gold, and I love you—I love you more than I've ever loved any woman before you. Ah, love me, Eilidh, love me now, tonight, and let the future, all the tomorrows take care of themselves.'

  The soft music of his voice lulled her mind while the caresses of his lips and hands were arousing a fiercely passionate response within her body, a desire to please him as he was pleasing her, to love him as he asked to be loved. She didn't like being reminded of those other women he had known and she became suddenly determined to obliterate them from his mind for ever. Moving against him urgently, glorying in the feel of his manhood thrusting against her, she wound her arms about him and kissed his face, his throat everywhere she could in a wild abandonment until, unable to control his own excited passions any longer, he pushed her back against the pillows and the sweet heat of his mouth smothering hers softened the explosive shock of their union.

  Pain was sharp but gave way quickly to new sensations which created a turbulence within her that swelled and swelled. Then she seemed to shake and crack apart like the earth shakes and cracks when the wildfire contained within it rises to the surface and bursts forth, and then she was sighing and sagging, laughing and crying all at once as their bodies melted together and with a moan of pleasure and satisfaction Magnus buried his hot face against her throat.

  It was the slight chilling of her skin that roused Helen from the doze induced by satiation into which she had fallen. She opened her eyes and looked down. Magnus's head was still resting against her shoulder and he seemed to be asleep, one hand lying heavily on her breast and one leg lying across both of hers as if he sought to keep her his prisoner even while he slept.

  She looked up and across at the oblong grey which was the window. The night was not yet over, but she had no idea of actual time. For a while as they had spun together in the wild whirlpool of physical passion, time had been of no account to either of them.

  But the moment of loving, the fiery culmination of passion followed by the sweet fulfilment and limb-relaxing languor was past. The warm sense of being united, of being a part of each other, had gone. Sanity was back, chilling her, separating her from him, even though he was still lying close to her.

  She glanced down again at the ruffled head, at the handsome face calm and devoid of expression in sleep. What had she done? She had done something she had never done in her life before. She had lain intimately with this man, yet she didn't know him. Oh, she knew very well what he looked like. She knew the thickness of his dark hair, the deep blue of his eyes, the chiselled straightness of his bold nose, the beautiful moulding of his lips. And now, after tonight, she knew and would remember the fed of his skin under her hands, the hardness of his thighs pushing against hers and the tender touch of his fingertips caressing her.

  But she still wasn't sure who he was. She still felt she hadn't met the real Magnus Scott—or rather she couldn't tell when he wasn't acting a part. Even what had happened between them on this bed, she realised miserably, the wonderful feeling they had shared of belonging to each other, could have been an act…

  The act of love. The phrase leapt into her mind, mocking her, and she groaned. Yes, that was what it had been, for he had said he loved her and she felt she had loved him, but it wasn't real love, true love, that they had experienced for each other; only the urge to satisfy physical desire.

  'Oh, what have I done? What have I done?' she groaned, tears gathering in her eyes and slipping silently down her cheeks.

  Magnus raised his head and looked at her, his eyelids slanting heavily Over the dense blueness of his eyes. Seeing her tears, he bent to lick them one by one from her cheeks, then pressed his salt-tasting lips to hers in another kiss which threatened to bewitch her again.

  'You have made love with me,' he whispered, when he lifted his lips from hers. He rubbed his bristly cheek against hers, 'It was good, wasn't it? As good for you as it was for me?' He raised his head again to look down at her quizzically, his lips curving in their half sweet, half mocking smile.

  'Yes,' she whispered. 'No.' She twisted her head from side, to side in an agony of confusion. 'Oh, how can I tell? I've no experience, nothing to compare it with. I… I've never done it before… and now I wish I hadn't. I wish I hadn't!'

  His smile faded. His eyebrows frowned, his eyes lost their warmth and became empty, as expressionless as pieces of blue glass.

  'Why?' he demanded. 'Why do you wish that? Are you ashamed of what you've done? Ashamed of being with me, of loving the way we did? Believe me, Eilidh, you have no need to be ashamed. What we did was beautiful and natural.' He paused, his frown deepening as he chewed uncertainly at his lower lip. Then he smiled again as he stroked her hair from the soft white swell of her breast. 'But if you didn't find it satisfactory, we can always try again,' he whispered, his breath fanning her cheek as he bent his head as if to kiss her again.

  'No, oh no! It isn't that,' she cried, twisting her head away from the temptation of his lips. 'It's just that I don't know if… if you were pretending to… to love me or not. You see——' she turned to face him again, feeling safe again because she sensed he had moved away from her. One hand supporting his head, his elbow on the pillow, he was staring at her and frowning again in puzzlement. 'I don't know which is the real you,' she continued in a whisper, and added, her voice cracking a little under the pressure of her agitation, 'I don't know you. I don't know you at all. You're always changing, acting different parts.'

  Magnus did not move, but a muscle clenched at his jawline as if he had gritted his teeth and his eyes closed tightly, the heavy lids creasing, the lines radiating out from the upturned corners hardening, and she guessed instinctively that she had hurt hi
m. Then with a quick movement he slid down beside her again and with his eyes open and smiling once more into hers he put his hands on her arms and brought her close to him; white and quick-breathing, her tawny eyes wide and troubled, her kiss-blurred lips drooping a little sadly.

  'All I can say is that I wasn't pretending, Eilidh, and that you know me as well as I know myself,' he told her. 'And now let's sleep for another hour or so. I'd like to leave Carroch as soon as the sun is up. I've a long way to go tomorrow to be where I have to be.'

  He kissed her again gently and gathered her against him, stroking her hair soothingly. Calmed by the tender caress, Helen laid her head on his chest and soon, warmed by the covers which he had pulled up and over both of them, she drifted off to sleep.

  He wakened her when the sun was rising and flooding the room with rosy light, dispersing grey shadows. He was already dressed in the clothes he had worn the previous evening, dark pants, white shirt and blue suede jacket. His hair was damp and sleek, although one recalcitrant lock was beginning to slide forward over his forehead and he was freshly shaved. But there were dark lines etched below his eyes and his mouth was set in a taut controlled line. He looked as if he hadn't slept as well as she had.

  'Which do you prefer, tea or coffee for breakfast?' he asked.

  'Tea, please,' she whispered, and sat up, shaking her hair back behind her shoulders, feeling an urge to reach out a hand to him, wanting to make contact with him in some way because he seemed so withdrawn. 'Magnus…' she began, and actually did stretch a hand towards him.