Satans Master

Satan’s Master

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

AT last she was on her way, her legs seeming too short for the bicycle she had hired in Inverness for this holiday of hers. Cycling in Scotland, mainly along the side of the Caledonian Canal, a series of lochs that went from one side of Scotland to the other, had seemed a good idea when she was in London. Now she wasn’t so sure.

It was years since she had ridden a bicycle, as she had proved to the man she had hired it from as she wobbled precariously down the road after paying for her two weeks’ hire. A couple of her friends had spent their holidays this way last year, at first for a laugh, and then because they were enjoying themselves.

Sabina’s father had been horrified when she had told him of her plans to go away for a few days, claiming she couldn’t possibly leave London now, not when the wedding was only eight weeks away. Her wedding. To Nicholas Freed, her father’s partner in the running of one of the major daily newspapers.

But she had known she had to get away, had to go somewhere where she could collect her thoughts together, decide whether marrying Nicholas was the right thing for her.

She had only hired the bicycle an hour ago and already she was thinking clearer, something she had found impossible to do when in close proximity with her father. He had dominated her all of her nineteen years, made all her decisions for her, including the one that she marry Nicholas.

But Nicholas was of her father’s generation, forty-five years of age, with two marriages already behind him. That she had let things get this far, to a four-month engagement and the actual wedding a matter of weeks away, was a source of wonder to Sabina. Not that she didn’t like Nicholas, she did, but she wasn’t sure she wanted him for a husband. He was attractive enough, tall, slim, dark, with deep blue eyes, and yet she couldn’t help wondering what he had done to his second wife to give her grounds for divorcing him. Her father had dismissed her nervousness, saying she wasn’t to worry about such things. But then he wasn’t the one marrying Nicholas!

Sabina took time out from these depressing thoughts to admire the beautiful scenery all around her. She had left Inverness behind her now, was riding along beside the River Ness, and soon she would see the wonder of the legendary Loch Ness. Her friends had taken this same route last year, and their enthusiasm about the beauty here had made her want to experience it for herself. Crazy, her father had called her yesterday morning when she had left their home with her packed rucksack, and crazy she might be, but she was enjoying herself, was enjoying her first freedom in years.

The sight of a public telephone box, and these thoughts of her father, reminded her that she ought to call him and put his mind at rest about her safety. They only had each other since her mother had died five years ago, and consequently he tended to be more possessive about her than was usual in a father/daughter relationship.

The telephone only rang once before it was snatched up, almost as if he had been sitting next to it waiting for her call. It appeared that he had. ‘Where the hell in Scotland are you?’ he demanded angrily.

‘I’m not silly enough to tell you that,’ Sabina said with a smile. ‘If you knew you’d come up here and take me back.’

‘Too damned right I would,’ he snapped. ‘Nicholas is none too happy about your behaviour either.’

‘You’ve told him?’

‘I could hardly keep it a secret, you are engaged to the man.’

His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her. She sighed. ‘You know my reasons for being here, Daddy.’

‘Because you need to think! A fine time to start having second thoughts, eight weeks before the wedding. I—– What the hell was that?’ he demanded. ‘Sabina, are you still there?’

She had put some more money in the box, waiting for the noise of the pips to stop before speaking again. ‘Don’t panic, Daddy,’ she smiled. ‘It was just the telephone wanting more money.’

He sighed his impatience. ‘Why didn’t you reverse the charges? I don’t want to be interrupted by that row every couple of minutes.’

‘You won’t be, because I don’t intend putting any more money in. I only called to let you know I haven’t been carried away by a rapist or mass murderer.’

‘There is no need to mock, Sabina,’ he cautioned sternly. ‘They do have those sort of things in Scotland too, you know.’

‘I’m sure they do,’ she agreed dryly. ‘But I—– There go the pips again, Daddy. I won’t be calling again.’

‘Sabina—–’

‘See you in two weeks’ time,’ she had time to say before the line was cut off.

She got back on her bicycle, the long length of her legs still golden from the weeks she had spent in Monte Carlo earlier in the summer. Her denim shorts fitted her like a glove, the deep pink tee-shirt moulded to her bare breasts. She made an attractive picture as she cycled down the road that edged Loch Ness, the light breeze lifting her long straight blonde hair off her nape, her green eyes glowing in anticipation of this holiday.

She wasn’t surprised at her father’s horror at her location, never having been to Scotland himself he couldn’t even begin to appreciate the beauty here. It was everything her friends had said it was, peaceful, exhilarating, but most of all breathtakingly beautiful.

For one thing Loch Ness was so large, like a miniature ocean, and she could see one or two motor-cruisers on its length, probably holidaymakers like herself. The banks of the Loch rose steeply either side, a smattering of sheep just visible to her on the luxurious green grass on the other side, the road cut into her side of the Loch before it too rose steeply, one or two cottages just visible in the denseness of the trees.

Because she had picked her bicycle up late in the day it was already well into evening by the time she reached her set destination of the day, Urquhart Castle, the ruins of which overlooked Urquhart Bay. She had a tent and all the necessary equipment for camping, but as there were a couple of hotels in the area she decided to stay at one of them for the night and look the castle over in the morning.

‘Morning’ was almost lunchtime by the time Sabina emerged from the exhausted sleep she had fallen into as soon as her head touched the downy pillow. When she tried to move, the whole of her body seemed to ache—in places she hadn’t even known she could ache! She must be sadly out of condition if a simple bike ride could make her feel this way. But it had been quite a few miles ride, more miles than she had cycled for more years than she could remember.

She hobbled out of bed, a quick bath easing away some of her aches and pains, deciding to have an early lunch instead of bothering with any breakfast. After all, it was almost twelve o’clock. The day didn’t look as warm as yesterday, a light drizzle was falling, a slight mist stopping a clear view of what Sabina knew to be magnificent scenery. Well, she had to look at the ruins of the castle now she was here, might even take a picture of two—if only to prove to her father what a good time she had had.

She donned denims and a sweater. a light waterproof the only clothing she had to keep out the rain. While paying for her bill she asked the proprietor if she could leave her bicycle here while she went down to look at Urquhart Castle.

‘You’ll not be going far today, I’m thinking,’ the middle-aged man took her key.

Sabina smiled. ‘I thought I might try and get as far as Fort Augustus.’

He shook his head, frowning darkly. ‘I wouldn’t recommend you going anywhere, not in this weather.’

Sabina looked down at the light drizzle. ‘It doesn’t look too bad to me.’

‘It never does. But the heavy mist can come down mighty fast. It’s a fair trek to Fort Augustus, I wouldn’t want you to get lost.’

‘But it’s a straight road, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, it’s straight,’ he nodded. ‘But there’s tracks leading off the road to the cottages, ye ken, and it’s mighty easy to take one of them by mistake.’

‘I’ll take care,’ she promised lightly, pulling her hood over her hair and braving the light rain.

The castle stood in the curve of Urquhart Bay, overlooking Loch Ness in all its glory, although the mist clung to the water like a thin white sheet. The guidebook she had bought in Inverness told her that the castle dated back to the thirteenth century, although improvement had been made during the sixteenth century.

The castle was placed perfectly for watch over Loch Ness, and had obviously been a stronghold for the Scottish Crown in the past. Now all that remained was the square keep, the crumbled ruins of its turret and outer walls. Sabina wandered amongst what must surely have once been a magnificent castle, its splendour still evident in the grey stones that made up its structure.

In the end she decided not to take any photographs now but try and get some on the way back if she could. The last thing she wanted was to show her father pictures of it pouring with rain! And it was pouring now, absolutely bucketing down. She decided to have a coffee in the hotel lounge while she waited for the rain to abate somewhat.

‘You’re going, then?’ the proprietor asked as she made a move about an hour later.

‘I thought I would,’ she nodded.

He shook his head dourly. ‘I think you’re making a mistake.’

‘If it looks like getting any worse I promise I’ll turn around and come back.’

In actual fact that was something she couldn’t do, not unless she walked. The front tyre of her bicycle suddenly went flat, and no amount of pumping it up made any difference to its condition, and the mist chose that moment to close in on her like a blanket, making it impossible for her to see farther than a few feet in front of her. There was nothing else for it, she would have to walk, and as she was sure she was nearer to Fort Augustus than Urquhart Castle she decided to go on rather than turn back.

Just where she went wrong she didn’t know; all she did know was that the surface of the road didn’t feel smooth any more, and groping down on her hands and knees she found that it wasn’t the road at all but a roughly cut dirt pathway. Where it led to she couldn’t even begin to guess, and she couldn’t even see her map in this mist, let alone read it.

If only she had listened to the man at the hotel! He had sounded like a local, had probably lived here all his life, and he obviously knew a lot more about the sudden dropping of the mist than she did.

Well, it was no good standing here berating herself; should she go on or should she attempt to find her way back to the road? One thing groping about on the pathway had told her, there was the mark of hoofprints there, hoofprints going forward, not back. But where would the path take her? She didn’t remember seeing a village in this direction when she checked the map this morning.

She sighed. She really had no choice but to go on; she wasn’t sure of her way back, and at least she knew there must be some form of habitation in this direction. She only hoped the owner of that habitation wouldn’t mind an uninvited guest for the night—she could hardly pitch her tent in this.

Keeping to the roughly hewn pathway didn’t prove too difficult; either side of her were tall trees, making it impossible for her to deviate. Nevertheless, she almost felt faint with relief when she saw a glimmer of yellow light in front of her. After almost an hour of this stumbling progress she had been beginning to doubt ever seeing another human being again.

But there had to be humans where there was electric lighting, and as she reached the front of the low, white-painted cottage she saw a spiral of smoke drifting through the lighter coloured mist. Light and warmth, it sounded like heaven to Sabina, and reminded her of how damp her clothing had become.

A sharp tap on the door heralded no reaction whatsoever, so she knocked again. Still no answer. There had to be someone here. She walked along the front of the cottage to the window with the chink of light showing through, trying to see in through the tiny gap in the curtains. She felt herself tense as the curtains moved slightly, two venomous green eyes suddenly appearing in front of her and making her let out a bloodcurdling scream.

‘Satan’s no more enthusiastic about nosey-parkers than I am,’ remarked a cold voice from behind her.

Sabina swung round to see the owner of that unwelcoming voice. Standing in front of her, the mist swirling eerily about him, stood a tall dark man dressed completely in black—black cords and black jumper, his hair also jet black, long and unkempt. His face was gaunt, all strong angles, the focal point being a pair of cold grey eyes that remained unblinkingly on her white face. He was a handsome man in a pagan sort of way, the handsomest man Sabina had ever seen.

‘Wh—who are you?’ her voice quivered.

His mouth twisted tauntingly. ‘I’m Satan’s master, who else?’

Sabina woke to find herself lying on a sofa, the hardest article of furniture she had ever sat on in her life. She had never fainted before either, for that was surely what had happened. God, that man—Satan’s master! She swung her legs to the floor, sitting up to come face to face with him.

He turned from his morose study of the fire, a man possibly in his late thirties, his expression not lightening as he saw her looking at him with wide frightened eyes. ‘So you’ve decided to wake up, have you?’ he rasped, pushing the black cat off his lap and standing up. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded. ‘And what are you doing here?’

Sabina’s mouth felt dry. ‘I—er—I asked you first,’ she said with a return of her usual spirit.

‘And I told you,’ he replied sharply, his voice deep and husky.

‘Of course you didn’t,’ she said with a nervous laugh. She had behaved stupidly a few minutes ago; this man might be dark and frightening, but he certainly had no connection with the devil. ‘That cat is Satan, isn’t he?’

‘He is.’

‘And you’re his owner.’

White teeth showed in the glimmer of a smile. ‘No one owns Satan. He just goes with the cottage. The locals believe the previous owner, a certain Mrs McFee, was a witch.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’

His steady gaze remained levelled on her. ‘Is it?’

Sabina swallowed hard. ‘You know it is.’

‘Do I?’

‘Of course it is! No rational human being—–’

His dark eyebrows rose, straight black brows that disappeared into the untidy swathe of dark hair that fell over his forehead. There was something about this man, something familiar … ‘Who says I’m a rational human being?’ his soft attractive voice taunted. ‘Who says I’m even human?’

‘Stop teasing me!’ She pushed back the hood that had been hiding her hair, unzipping her anorak. ‘Would you mind if I took this off?’ she indicated the damp garment.

‘Take off anything you want,’ he invited, already insolently appraising the curves she had revealed. ‘Female company has been in short supply around here.’

Sabina blushed under his intent stare, and left her coat on, wanting to wrap her arms protectively about her as he continued to look at her. ‘Then why do you live here?’ she snapped angrily. Her first impression of this man being a ghostly figure was completely wrong, he was all too human, despite his casting doubts upon the fact minutes earlier.

His face hardened, the angles sharper than ever, his eyes glacial. ‘I live here because it suits me to. Now I repeat, who are you?’

‘Sabina—Sabina Smith.’ She couldn’t stop looking at him, there was something so familiar about him, something at the back of her mind telling her she should know him, or someone like him. Without the dark growth of two or three days’ beard he would be—–

‘What are you staring at?’ He kicked viciously at one of the logs burning in the fire, sending sparks all over the hearth. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Answer me!’

‘I—I—– You—–’

‘Yes?’ His eyes bored into hers, holding her immobile.

‘You remind me of someone,’ she said nervously, the anger about that firm sensuous mouth making her cower in her seat.

He stepped forward, his hands biting painfully into her upper arms as he wrenched her to her feet. ‘Who?’ His face was only inches from hers as he shook her. ‘Who do I remind you of?’ he repeated.

‘I—I don’t know.’ She was beginning to feel faint—for the second time today. ‘I don’t know,’ she cried, tears gathering in her distressed green eyes. ‘What sort of man are you, to treat me like this? Let me go. Let me go, I tell you!’

His teeth bared viciously. ‘Not until you answer me. So tell me, who do I remind you of?’

Right at this moment he reminded her of the devil she had first thought him, the skin stretched tautly across his hollow cheeks, shadows beneath his cold grey eyes. But that growth of beard was completely human, although it made him more satanic than ever.

Sabina took a step backwards, unwittingly stepping on the cat’s paw. The same paw snaked out and caught her a savage blow on the ankle, as the cat growled its displeasure before running up the wooden staircase that led to the top floor of the cottage.

She winced. ‘Your cat shares your dislike of my being here.’ Her ankle felt sore already, and she was sure she could feel blood trickling down on to her foot. ‘I—– Could I just see to my ankle?’ she asked her captor.

‘Why not?’ He thrust her away from him. ‘And you’re right, Satan speaks for both of us. I don’t want you here, Miss Smith, for any reason,’ he added grimly.

Sabina was once again sitting on the lumpy sofa, the rest of the furniture and threadbare carpet in just as deplorable a condition. And yet the man’s clothes looked of good quality. He was a complete mystery, an enigma who wanted her out of his life as quickly as she had come into it.

‘Has the mist cleared?’ The scratch on her ankle was red and sore-looking, the blood flowing freely. She took out a tissue to staunch the flow, her long blonde hair escaping the collar of her anorak and falling down over her face.

‘No.’ He was looking at her with narrowed watchful eyes.

‘Then you can’t expect me to go out in that again,’ she said in disbelief, pushing her straight hair back behind her ears.

‘I didn’t exactly say that, only that I don’t want you here.’

‘I’d never find my way back to the road,’ she insisted.

He shrugged. ‘You found your way here, you could go back the same way.’ He turned to stare morosely into the fire.

Sabina racked her brains to think where she had seen that face before—although not exactly that face. This stranger was too thin, his features too harsh, the hair too long and out of style. She jumped nervously as hard grey eyes turned to look at her.

‘Well?’ he rasped.

‘I didn’t find my way here, I got lost,’ she snapped. ‘Now do you have some antiseptic I might put on this?’ she indicated her ankle. ‘Your pet has hurt me.’

‘And so will I if you stay here.’ His voice was harsh. ‘So you stay and take the consequences.’

‘C-consequences?’ she quavered.

‘There’s only one bedroom,’ he drawled tauntingly.

‘So? I—I can sleep down here on the sofa.’ Although how she would sleep on all those lumps was beyond her. ‘I won’t be any trouble, Mr—er—really I won’t. If I could just stay here until the mist clears …’

The intentness of his gaze unnerved her even more than she was already. ‘Sometimes that takes days,’ he informed her.

‘D-days?’

‘That’s right,’ he nodded. ‘How will you like being stuck here with me for days, with no one to help you?’

‘Would I need help?’ Sabina threw her head back in challenge.

‘You might,’ he said tightly, his eyes on the golden blondeness of her hair.

‘From you?’ She was curiously breathless at the prospect.

‘From me,’ he nodded, his gaze still fixed on her hair. ‘I told you, women haven’t been too plentiful around here. I’ve been here almost a year now, and no woman has crossed that threshhold until today. If you doubt my masculinity …’ he lunged forward and pulled her ruthlessly to her feet, bending his head to grind his mouth down savagely on hers.

After her initial resistance Sabina felt herself begin to weaken, felt his hands move beneath her anorak, pulling up her jumper to mould her breasts in the palms of his hands, his thumbs teasing her nipples into throbbing life. She recoiled in shock, straightening her clothing as she backed away from him.

His face had darkened with cruel humour. ‘What’s the matter, Miss Smith?’ he taunted. ‘I thought someone like you would do anything for a story.’

‘Someone like me?’ she repeated dazedly, her senses still reeling from his onslaught. ‘And for what story?’

‘Oh, come on, Miss Smith, you know exactly what I mean.’

Sabina frowned. ‘Why do you keep saying my name like that, almost accusingly?’

‘Because I am accusing you, damn you,’ he was furiously angry now, the eyes she had thought cold burning with fierce anger. ‘I’m accusing you of coming here to spy on me, of using every trick you can think of to get me to talk, of—–’

‘Please,’ she put up a resisting hand, very pale. ‘Don’t say any more. You’re wrong about me,’ she said shakily. ‘I don’t even know who you are, let alone what you’re trying to hide.’

‘I’m not trying to hide anything! I’m just sick to death of reporters—nosy, prying reporters who keep trying to twist everything that happened,’ his expression was bleak.

Sabina shook her head. ‘I’m not a reporter! Whatever gave you the idea I was?’

‘You aren’t a very good actress, and you could have tried a more original name than Smith,’ he scorned.

‘But that is my name,’ she insisted. ‘I can prove it to you.’ She moved to the door.

His hand snaked out and caught her around the wrist. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘To the saddlebags on my bicycle. I—I have identification there.’

‘I’ll bet you do. And I’ll also lay odds on you running like hell once you set foot outside that door. What’s the matter, Miss Smith, have you decided you can’t go through with it, that simply publicising confirmation of my whereabouts will be enough?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she shook her head. ‘Go through with what?’

‘Oh, I’m sure it all seemed so logical back in London,’ he sneered. ‘Someone tipped you off on my possible whereabouts and you decided to come up here and get the inside story, literally.’

‘Literally?’ She trembled as his hold tightened.

‘Literally,’ he nodded. ‘As inside my bed.’