As she drove through the village of Stag’s Head, she decided to make a stop, noting the clean streets, the smiling faces. It would be her last chance to be alone until the deal was finalized.
Though she hadn’t planned this, she found herself drawn to a little shop offering late-afternoon tea and scones.
The shopkeeper brought her order to a small round table for two and paused to pour tea.
After a few pointed questions about her reason for the visit to his town, he smiled, giving him the look of an ancient, gnarled cherub.
“Ye’ve business with the laird, have ye? A finer man ye’ll never meet. ’Tis thanks to him that I’m still in business. Most of the folks in town will tell ye the same. Unlike some who’ve inherited land and titles, our Laird Gordon truly cares about the lot of us. This town wouldn’t survive without the laird’s generosity.”
Beth considered his words as she enjoyed the scone, still warm from the oven, and strong, hot tea. Fortified for the rest of her journey, she walked to the doorway where the old shopkeeper stood.
“Thank you. I’m glad I made a stop here. The tea and scones were lovely. Now I’m off.”
“Aye. It’s just up the road a bit, lass. No more than a few kilometers and ye’re there. Take care, now. It isn’t safe to be out of doors after dark, or . . .”
A customer stepped between them, placing a hand on the old man’s arm and engaging him in small talk.
Beth glanced at the old man, who waved a hand before continuing his conversation with his customer.
Fortified by that brief respite, Beth settled into the rental car. She couldn’t wait for her first glimpse of Stag’s Head Lodge.
As the car followed the twists and turns of the narrow road, she could just make out the stark outline of a fortresslike castle up ahead before it was hidden from view by ominous clouds.
She smiled. Only the very rich would consider calling a castle of that size a hunting lodge.
She was still smiling when, without warning, her car’s engine suddenly died.
Puzzled, Beth tried the ignition. Nothing happened. She sat for a moment before trying again.
The engine was completely dead.
Darda’s first rule popped into her head: Punctuality. In order to impress her clients, it was necessary that she reach her destination on time.
Annoyed, Beth slung her bag over her shoulder and dug into the backseat for her small overnight case. The rest of her luggage would have to remain with the car until she came back for it. Locking the doors, she started on foot, determined to walk the final mile. As she trudged, she questioned the wisdom of having worn such fashionable heels. She’d wanted to make a good first impression, but her choice had been frivolous. Still, her walking shoes were in her suitcase. There was no time to turn back to the car and rummage around for them.
She pushed aside her doubts. She’d walked much farther than this in the city. What woman hadn’t sacrificed comfort for style, especially when the stakes were so high?
Dusk was settling over the countryside, and she had begun to accelerate her pace when she suddenly stumbled. The weight of her overnight bag added to the momentum. With nothing to grab on to, she fell face forward. Instead of hitting the ground, she could feel herself continuing to fall down a long, dark tunnel.
As the darkness rushed by she let out a piercing scream before landing hard and hitting her head, causing a shower of stars to dance through her brain.
Such pretty, spinning stars, in bright neon colors.
It was her last thought before losing consciousness.
CHAPTER TWO
“Well now. What have we here?”
At the strange voice, Beth opened her eyes.
Standing over her was a plump little groundhog wearing a chef’s hat and a long white apron, and peering at her as though she had two heads. In the animal’s front paw was a giant wooden spoon that could have easily served as a paddle for a boat.
How was this possible? A talking groundhog? Dressed as a chef? The fall must have been much more serious than she’d thought. Her brain was muddled.
Still . . . she’d seen his face somewhere before, though she couldn’t recall where. “Who are . . . ?”
“I have baking to see to. Bones and phones to add to my scones.” He abruptly turned.
“Wait. Please don’t leave me.”
“I mustn’t be out at the start of a new moon or I might encounter . . .” He never even gave her a backward glance as he hobbled away.
She was left alone, with only silence.
Of course she was alone. She’d only dreamed her visitor.
She eased to a sitting position and felt her head swim. Touching a hand to the spot, she could feel the sticky warmth of blood.
Very slowly she picked up her purse and overnight bag before getting to her feet. She started walking in the direction the funny little groundhog had gone, though she had no idea where she was, or what might lie ahead. Dream or no dream, that creature was her only guide.
Why was the countryside so dark? Where were the street lights? Had the fall affected her vision? And where had she been headed? Oh yes. Stag’s Head Lodge. Thank heaven she had enough brainpower to remember that much.
As she came up over a rise she spotted a light up ahead. A light that seemed to be swaying, before abruptly moving away. Alarmed that she would be left behind in the dark, she started running and stumbling until she could make out the figure of a giant stag up ahead.
Hearing her footsteps, it turned, and twin beams of blazing red light were fixed on her with a look so fearsome, she covered her eyes and looked away.
When she looked up she realized her mistake. It wasn’t a stag, but a horseman holding a lantern as he headed away from her.
“Wait. Stop.” Dazed, confused, she began to run after him. “Can you help me? I seem to have lost my way.”
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” In the darkness, the heavily accented Scottish voice was low with anger.
“I’m expected at the lodge. I’m Beth Campbell from New York.”
“A Campbell? On Gordon land? How dare—”
“I phoned to say I was on my . . .”
Feeling herself fading, she began to sway as the sky above her slowly circled.
The man was out of the saddle and managed to catch her before she hit the ground. With little effort he swung her up into his arms and mounted his horse.
“Thank y—” Her throat was so dry, she couldn’t seem to make her mouth work.
His breath was hot against her cheek. “It’s not thanks I want. I’d much prefer to see the back of you as you take your leave of my land. But for now, I suppose, I have no choice but to take you with me.”
He flicked the reins, and the great black horse started toward a darkened fortress in the distance.
Beth found herself in a most awkward position, being held in the strongest arms she’d ever known, her face nearly buried in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. She breathed in the scent of forest and evergreen, making her think of a wild, dangerous, primitive creature. She felt small and insignificant in his arms.
A feeling of sheer terror rose up and had her by the throat, but she couldn’t make a sound.
He was dressed in a rough woolen cloak, with the hood lowered, allowing his shoulder-length hair to flow out behind him.