Wild Justice

by Joanna Mansell

  'I don't think so. Not that it's really important. At least, not to me.'

  'Well, it's sure as hell important to me,' she retorted. 'Being kidnapped by someone who's having some sort of brainstorm—'

  Jared merely smiled. She had to admit that he looked perfectly sane. And everything he had said made an awful kind of sense, if he truly believed her father capable of the devious and ruthless behaviour of which he had accused him.

  'Call it a brainstorm if you like,' he said calmly. 'It doesn't worry me. In fact, very little worries me these days. And it won't change anything. Your father's about to learn what it's like to lose the thing of most value in his life. As far as he's concerned, for the next few days it's going to be as if his daughter's disappeared off the very face of the earth!'

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jared Sinclair left her on her own after that, as if he wanted to give her time to take in everything he had told her. Cassandra had only one thought in her head, though. Getting away from here! She didn't intend to be kept a prisoner by someone who was clearly out of his mind.

  A quick exploration of the other rooms on the ground floor confirmed her suspicions. There was no phone; there had probably never been any phone. Jared Sinclair had lied about that, just as he had lied about so many other things—including the way in which her father had acquired Glenveil Toys.

  She gave a small shrug. If she couldn't telephone for help, then there was no alternative. She would have to walk out of here.

  A glance out of the window told her it had started to rain. Cassandra frowned, but wasn't deterred. All right, she would get wet!

  She pulled on her light jacket, peered cautiously round to see if there was any sign of Jared Sinclair, and then quietly let herself out of the front door. The path was uneven and difficult to negotiate in high heels, but she persevered, walking as fast as she dared. A couple of times, she turned and glanced back at the house, but there was still no sign of Jared. He didn't seem to have realised she had gone, which gave her some satisfaction. She hadn't thought it would be this easy to get away.

  Once she reached the road, she looked quickly in both directions, trying to decide which way to go. Were there any houses nearby, where she could go for help? She certainly couldn't see any, although it was difficult to see very far in the steadily increasing rain. Quickly, she hunted back through her memory, trying to remember if she had seen any farms or houses during the last stage of their drive up here. With a definite sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, she had to admit that she hadn't noticed any. In fact, one thing which had struck her was the sheer emptiness of this part of the Highlands. It was as if it had hardly been touched by human habitation.

  Well, perhaps there were some houses ahead, she told herself with forced optimism. But, unless she hurried, she would never have a chance to find out. Surely it wouldn't be long before Jared Sinclair realised she was missing, and came after her?

  However, it was impossible to walk quickly in high heels, and the road surface was far too rough to let her walk barefooted. Why on earth hadn't she packed some sensible, flat-soled shoes? Because she hadn't known that Jared Sinclair was a madman, and that he planned to hold her a prisoner in this awful place! she muttered in a sudden burst of edgy temper mixed with angry frustration.

  The rain had begun to pour down now. In minutes, she was drenched to the skin and freezing cold, and her shoes were rubbing sore blisters on her heels. She stubbornly kept going, though. Nothing would have induced her to go back to that cold, comfortless house, and Jared Sinclair.

  She had absolutely no idea how long she kept walking. It had to have been over an hour, she decided wearily as she trudged on through the heavy drizzle. And the really odd thing was that Jared hadn't come after her. Perhaps he had never really meant to keep her shut away in that house. Maybe just luring her up here and scaring her half to death had been enough for him, and he was satisfied with that.

  A couple of minutes later, a dark shaped loomed up in front of her. Cassandra blinked, and then let out a weary sigh of relief. A cottage! She had made it. In just a few minutes, she would be warm and dry, and sending a message to her father to come and rescue her from this nightmare.

  She hobbled up the overgrown path to the front door, and then hammered on it loudly. When no one opened it, she hammered again, and then stood back impatiently, peering up at the windows to see if she could see any sign of life.

  With a nasty jolt of her nerve-ends, she noticed what she had been too preoccupied to notice before. Several panes of glass were either cracked or broken, and the cottage had a distinctly derelict air about it.

  Although she knocked on the door a couple more times, it was without any real hope. She tried peering in through the downstairs windows, but they were too grimy to let her see inside. It was pretty obvious that she was out of luck, though. The cottage was uninhabited.

  A great wave of depression swept over her. Her legs ached, her feet were sore and raw where her wet shoes had chafed her skin, and she was so freezing cold that she didn't think she would ever be able to get warm again. For the first time since she was a child, Cassandra wanted to sit down and just cry from sheer misery.

  Instead, she turned round and began to drag herself wearily back down the path. And that was when she noticed the large black car parked on the road, just a few yards away.

  Somehow, she wasn't at all surprised to see it. At the back of her mind, she had known all along that Jared Sinclair had never had any intention of letting her go.

  She walked over to the car and stared down at him coldly. 'Come to gloat?' she enquired, hating him so deeply at that moment that she was sure he must be able to see the pure venom in her eyes.

  He merely opened the car door for her. 'Get in,' he ordered.

  'Thanks for the offer, but I prefer to walk!'

  'Don't be stupid!' He leaned over, gripped hold of her arm, and pulled her into the car. From the moment Cassandra felt his fingers on her arm, she knew it was useless to struggle. This man was strong—much stronger than she had expected. If it came to a physical tussle between them, there was no doubt in her mind who would win.

  They drove back to Glenveil in silence, and as they pulled up in front of the house Cassandra found herself hating it more than ever.

  'This place is awful!' she muttered. 'How on earth can you stand to live here?'

  Jared merely shrugged. 'I never really think about it.'

  'Don't you care?' she said a little incredulously.

  'Not particularly.' He got out of the car and strode towards the house, not even looking to see if she was following him.

  The last thing in the world that Cassandra wanted to do was to trail after him into that cold mausoleum of a place. She was just too frozen and exhausted, though, for any pointless gestures of defiance.

  Jared headed towards the drawing-room and, reluctantly, she followed. Then she was glad that she had, because she found the fire had been lit. The logs were spitting and crackling as they burnt brightly, and she instantly made for the warm glow.

  As she huddled over the flames, she turned her head and glowered at him.

  'How did you know where to find me?'

  'It wasn't difficult,' he replied. 'I was watching from the window when you left the house, so I saw which way you went. I knew it would take you about an hour to reach the cottage. All I had to do was wait for a while, and then come in the car to pick you up.'

  'You think you're so damned clever, don't you?' she muttered angrily. 'Anyway, why did you let me go so far in that pouring rain? You could have come after me straight away, and saved me from getting soaked and frozen.'

  'Yes, I could,' he agreed coolly. 'But I wanted you to find out for yourself just how hard it is to get away from here. In the direction you went, the road doesn't go any further than that derelict cottage. If you try and go the other way, you'll walk nearly fifteen miles before you see any sign of a house. And before you've gone even half that distance, I'll hav
e come after you and brought you back here again.'

  'All right,' she snapped, 'there's no need to rub it in. You've made it perfectly clear. There's almost no way I can get away from this place. So—how long do you intend to keep me here?'

  'I haven't decided yet,' he answered calmly.

  Cassandra glared at him in frustration. For so much of her life, men had dictated what she could or couldn't do. No, not men, she corrected herself rather guiltily. One man—her father. He had done it through love, of course, so she supposed that ought to make a difference. Yet, somehow, the feeling of being trapped had been just the same. And, just when she thought she was beginning to break free a little, Jared Sinclair had come along with his own very distinctive brand of imprisonment.

  It was intolerable, she told herself fiercely. She was beginning to feel as if she hated all men, for the power they had over her, and the physical strength that enabled them to maintain that dominance. To have someone like Jared step in and take over her life like this, restricting her movements, giving orders which he clearly expected to be obeyed—she wouldn't, couldn't stand for it.

  'You do realise what'll happen when I finally get out of here?' she told him furiously. 'You'll be charged with kidnapping. You'll go to gaol. And I hope they keep you there until you rot!'

  Jared Sinclair seemed totally unperturbed by her outburst. 'I haven't kidnapped you,' he reminded her. 'At least, not technically speaking. I'm not demanding money in return for your release.'

  'I very much doubt if the courts will look at it like that,' she retorted. 'One way or another, you'll pay for this.'

  He merely shrugged. 'Perhaps I will.' He didn't appear in the least concerned by the prospect.

  Cassandra stared at him in growing bafflement. 'It really doesn't worry you, does it?' she said slowly, at last.

  'No, it doesn't,' he agreed. 'Although it might worry me a little if you become ill through sitting around for too long in wet clothes. I told you that I don't intend you to come to any physical harm, and I meant it. You'd better go and find something dry to wear.'

  'I'm so cold,' she complained. 'Even putting on dry clothes isn't going to make much difference. About the only thing that'll get me warm is a long soak in a very hot bath.' She stared at him belligerently. 'I suppose this house does have proper plumbing?' she demanded.

  'Yes, it does. But I'm afraid the boiler isn't lit. There isn't any hot water.'

  'No hot water?' she repeated in disbelief. 'Oh, this is ridiculous!'

  'The boiler needs clearing out,' Jared said with unexpected patience. 'I'll do it in the morning. There'll be hot water by tomorrow lunch time.'

  'And I'm supposed to wait for a bath until then?' She didn't care that her voice was cracking a little now. She had had enough of this place, this man, this entire absurd situation.

  'There's an old tin bath somewhere,' Jared told her. 'If you like, I'll bring it in here, heat up some water on the stove, and you can use that.'

  'A tin bath in front of the fire?' She wanted to laugh, but was suddenly afraid that she might end up with a very different kind of tears filling her eyes. 'Oh, what the hell,' she muttered in sudden defeat. 'I'll do anything to get warm.'

  'Go upstairs and change into something dry while I'm heating up the water,' he instructed. 'I've put your things in the bedroom at the top of the stairs.'

  Loath to leave the fire, but at the same time wanting to get out of the wet clothes that were clinging damply to her chilled skin, Cassandra moved towards the door. Jared was standing on the far side of the room, his face shadowed now as evening began to draw in. She looked at him for several long moments, then she shook her head.

  'I'm still not convinced that I'm not dreaming all of this,' she said, rather bemusedly.

  His mouth curled into a not entirely pleasant smile. 'Believe me, the whole thing's very real.'

  She stared at him for a while longer. 'Yes, I'm beginning to realise that,' she said at last, in a quiet voice. Then she turned away from that tall, shadowed figure, and left the room.

  She found her bedroom without any difficulty. Her overnight bag had been tossed on to the bed—a four-poster, she noted with wry amusement. Maybe this house did have one or two romantic touches. Shivering deeply now, she stripped off her soaked clothes and then pulled on the spare jumper and skirt she had brought with her. It didn't make very much difference, she was still chilled to the bone. Guessing that it would take some time to heat up enough water for her bath, she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the quilt around her shoulders for extra warmth as she waited.

  Some time later, there was a brief knock on the door. 'Your bath's ready,' Jared informed her, rather curtly.

  It was getting dark now. As she walked over to the door, she clicked down the light switch, but nothing happened. She opened the door and found Jared still standing outside.

  'Hey,' she said, a little alarmed. 'What's happened to the electricity?'

  'We're not connected to the mains,' replied Jared. 'All our power comes from a small generator.'

  She gave an exaggerated groan. 'Let me guess— you haven't got it going yet. Is that something else that's going to have to wait until the morning?'

  'We can easily manage for one night without proper heat or light,' he told her in an unperturbed tone.

  'You might not mind living like a Spartan, but I'm used to a rather more comfortable life,' she grumbled. 'How can I take a bath in the dark?'

  'There are plenty of candles.'

  'Candles? Oh, great! Things are just getting better and better!' she said rudely.

  He didn't react to her rudeness, though. 'You'd better take your bath before the water gets cold,' was all he said.

  Cassandra thought she detected a sudden note of tiredness in his voice. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see his face clearly, but the shadows were too thick now. He was little more than a dark silhouette. She gave a small shrug. She hoped he was tired. In fact, she hoped that lugging all that hot water round to fill her bath had left him completely wiped out. It was certainly no more than he deserved, considering his appalling behaviour.

  She made her way back downstairs, and found that an old-fashioned tin bath had been set out on the rug in front of the fire, in the drawing-room. Several candles had been lit and placed around the room, giving an illusion of warmth and comfort as they gave off a mellow glow. Cassandra wasn't deceived, though. There wasn't any real warmth in this house. And, even if there had been, Jared Sinclair would have quickly destroyed it with the cold aura of his personality.

  She closed the door, looked to see if it had a lock on it, and was disappointed to find that it hadn't. With a resigned shrug, she walked over to the bath, stripped off her clothes, and then gingerly stepped into it.

  The water was certainly hot! The only trouble was, there wasn't much of it; just a few inches in the bottom. Cassandra, who liked to wallow in a bath filled almost to the brim and liberally laced with expensive scent, gave a small sigh and tried to make the best of it. It was cramped, too; she had to sit with her knees drawn nearly up to her chin. At least the combination of hot water and warm fire was beginning to thaw her out a little, though. Half an hour of this, and she might begin to feel half-way human again.

  As the water finally began to cool, she regretfully decided it was time to get out. And it was then that she realised that she didn't have a towel.

  She muttered frustratedly under her breath. By the time she had dripped her way wetly upstairs, to fetch the one in her bag, she would be as cold as when she had first got into the bath. Anyway, there was no way she was going to walk through the house totally naked. Jared Sinclair might seem to be outwardly fairly unemotional, but now and then she had caught glimpses of an inner turbulence which had definitely disturbed her. After all, he had to be unstable, or he would never have gone ahead with this insane plan to keep her a prisoner here. With a man in that sort of mental state, you could never be sure of what he was going to do next—or how he was goi
ng to react.

  Since there wasn't any real alternative, she decided she would just have to sit by the fire until she was reasonably dry. She was about to haul herself out of the bath when the door opened and Jared strolled in.

  'Haven't you ever heard of knocking?' she enquired with an angry edginess. At the same time, she hurriedly slid as deep down in the bath as she could get.

  'I thought you might need these,' Jared replied, without much interest. He tossed a couple of towels over to her, expertly aiming them so that they landed only a few inches away from the bath.

  'Thanks,' she muttered, although there wasn't much trace of gratitude in her voice. Moving very carefully, she reached out just one arm and picked up the nearest towel. As her fingers sank into the soft towelling, she raised her eyebrows in feigned surprise. 'I didn't expect this sort of luxury. Considering the way things have gone so far, I thought you'd probably expect me to rub myself dry on lengths of coarse cotton!'

  'I wouldn't want you to think that I'm totally uncivilised.' His response was smooth and definitely mocking. Cassandra instantly bristled in response.

  'Do you think anyone in their right mind would describe your behaviour as civilised?'

  'It seems perfectly reasonable to me.'

  'Then you've got a very weird idea of what is and isn't reasonable,' she retorted. 'For instance, most people would have knocked before they came in. And they certainly wouldn't just stand there, watching me take my bath!'

  Jared remained unruffled. And that disturbed Cassandra more than anything. She wasn't used to men being indifferent to her. One way or another, they always reacted—and usually fairly strongly!

  His light gaze was still resting on her, and she could have sworn she caught a glint of amusement in the depth of those silver eyes. It was hard to be sure, since the candles didn't give off enough brightness to see anything very clearly, but she had a strong suspicion that he was laughing at her. Except that this man didn't seem to laugh at anything, she reminded herself uneasily. He rarely even smiled, and when he did it was with very little trace of genuine humour.