by Lynne Graham
‘Your dad will go bonkers if he finds out you’ve been done for theft,’ Jeanie said worriedly.
‘It’s Friday. I have the weekend to tell him,’ Kirsten mumbled, but her stomach was churning at the very idea.
‘Kirsten, you can’t tell him. You can’t take the risk. No offence intended, but your dad can act like a bit of a nutter. Why don’t you come home with me?’
The minibus that ferried castle employees back to the village every day was now within sight.
‘I couldn’t possibly—’
Jeanie gripped her arm for emphasis. ‘You can always phone me. You’re welcome any time of the day or night. My dad won’t mind you staying with us.’
Kirsten got home as quickly as she could. Breathless, she hurried up to her bedroom, removed the small gilded card from below the mattress and hurried back downstairs to dial Shahir’s mobile phone.
When Shahir answered the call, she hurtled straight into speech. Maybe he had already been told about the pendant, but she was praying that he had not and that her version of events would be the first he heard.
‘I have to see you…it’s urgent.’
There was a brief moment of silence before he suggested that they meet in an hour’s time at the viewpoint which lay about half a mile from her home.
She took strength from the fact that his rich dark drawl sounded the same as usual.
His lean, strong face austere, Shahir set down his phone.
CHAPTER SIX
FROM the viewpoint there was a spectacular panorama of the glen of Strathcraig and the mountains. Surrounded by dense forest, the turreted castle looked like a fairytale palace in a sunlit glade. On the valley floor the water of the loch gleamed as still and as blue as a tear-shaped sapphire.
The silence rushed in Kirsten’s ears, and then she heard the faint recognisable purr of a car engine climbing the hill. A couple of minutes later the limousine pulled in to the parking area.
Kirsten started to speak before she even got inside the vehicle. ‘I know you must be wondering why I contacted you—’
‘No. I am aware of what occurred this afternoon.’ Shahir rested impassive dark eyes on her, his absolute calm and composure intimidating her. For a moment it seemed as if the intimacy they had shared earlier that day might never have happened.
That cool, level tone made Kirsten lose colour. ‘I didn’t take that pendant.’
Shahir shifted a lean brown hand in a silencing gesture. ‘Although I could not condone theft in any circumstances, I do understand why you did it.’
Kirsten stiffened. ‘But I didn’t do it!
‘Kirsten…I myself witnessed what was probably your first attempt to steal from Lady Pamela.’
Totally taken aback by that astounding claim, Kirsten whispered, ‘My first attempt? What are you talking about?’
His bronzed profile took on a grim cast. ‘I am referring to the brooch that mysteriously reappeared after Pamela had already conducted a search for it. You luckily found it. Possibly you took fright when she so quickly noticed that the brooch had gone missing and you decided to replace it.’
Her brow had furrowed, an expression of consternation blossoming in her candid gaze. ‘Are you saying that you thought I was only pretending to have found the brooch?’
‘At the time I did not think that. But I do not place great credence in coincidence.’ Shahir regarded her with uncompromising cool.
‘Neither do I, but—’
‘I must be frank. When I learned that the pendant had been discovered in your locker, I recalled the matter of the brooch. Taking those two incidents into consideration, I would find it impossible to accept that you have been falsely accused of theft.’
That unequivocal declaration slammed into Kirsten like a punch in the stomach: she felt sick and she could hardly catch her breath. She did not know why, or even how, but from somewhere she had managed to acquire immense faith in Shahir’s ability to divine the truth. Now that faith seemed impossibly naive. She was in shock as well, because his explanation had added another whole layer of complexity to the theme of her presumed guilt. ‘You honestly believe that I’m a thief?’
‘There is considerable sympathy for your situation. Had there not been, you would have been prosecuted,’ Shahir delivered in a flat undertone ‘You are living in distressing circumstances, and naturally you must want to leave your home. Carrying out that objective requires money. Only today you yourself informed me that you did not plan to be at Strathcraig for much longer.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t mean I was planning to steal jewellery to fund my getaway!’ Her head was aching. She wanted to scream with frustration and sob with anger and fear and hurt. She felt horribly isolated and misjudged. She had done nothing wrong, yet a plausible case had still been made against her. People thought she had resorted to pilfering because she was desperate to escape her unhappy home life. No doubt her bruised face had made it even easier for some to believe that she was guilty as charged.
‘I intend to give you the financial help that you require to leave your home.’
Her head flew up, green eyes suddenly bright as chipped emeralds as furious mortification took hold of her. ‘No, thank you. I won’t accept money from you!’
‘I want to help. It is only right that I should. I may not be able to condone theft, but I can comprehend your desperation.’
Rage was pumping through Kirsten in an adrenalin rush. She did not trust herself to speak. She tried to open the car door, but it remained infuriatingly closed.
‘The door is locked as a security measure. What I have said may be unwelcome to you, but I am not your enemy,’ Shahir murmured dryly.
Kirsten flung her head back. ‘Oh, yes, you are! I trusted you, I had faith in you, and I don’t know why! I had this stupid idea that somehow you would know that I didn’t take that pendant! Instead you’re accusing me of having tried to steal the brooch as well. Let me out of this car!’
‘Calm down. You are being foolish.’
‘No, I’m not!’ Kirsten raged back at him, a flush of pink mantling her delicate features. ‘I’m not a thief, and I don’t want your wretched charity. Maybe you’d like me to disappear into thin air because you slept with me, but I’ll leave Strathcraig under my own steam and in my own good time—and I don’t need anything…least of all help…from you!’
Hard dark golden eyes slammed into hers with the efficacy of a missile hitting a direct target. ‘Control yourself. That is enough.’
He had not raised his voice. He did not need to do so. His intonation carried enough measured force to quell a riot. Quivering with angry distress, Kirsten sucked in oxygen and expelled it again in a shaken surge. She did not want to control her temper. She was afraid that if her anger dimmed her strength would sink with it, for even in the midst of hating him with all her heart she was conscious of the terrible shock and pain of his misjudgement.
‘Whether you accept it or not, I care about what happens to you,’ Shahir asserted. ‘I would not otherwise have asked you to marry me.’
‘Your conscience cares, but you don’t really care!’ Kirsten condemned in fierce argument.
‘I would like to know that you are safe and unharmed, and there is no guarantee of that in your current environment.’ He settled an envelope down on the seat beside her. ‘Use it or burn it. The choice is yours.’
‘It’s great to have more money than sense, isn’t it?’
Shahir ignored that childish crack. ‘Are you prepared to press a charge of assault against your father?’
‘No.’ Kirsten shook her head vehemently.
‘Then you cannot be protected from him. Have you no relatives who might intervene on your behalf to reason with him, or who might offer you a home?’
Mute, she shook her head again. Her parents had both been only children. ‘I have a brother, Daniel. He quarrelled with my father five years ago and left. I don’t know where he is. He hasn’t phoned or written home since then.’
> ‘Were you close to your brother?’
‘When we were kids, but goodness knows where he is now.’
‘It might well be possible to have him traced and found, but that would take time. It would seem that your only immediate option is to leave Strathcraig. I am offering you my support to do that.’
‘What support? Your cash? You’ve let me down.’ With pained satisfaction, Kirsten watched his angular masculine jawline clench at that condemnation.
‘Regardless of what you believe, I am concerned for your welfare. If you leave the glen, you must let me know where you are.’
‘Why would I do that when you don’t believe a word I’ve said?’ Kirsten flared back at him. ‘I am telling you the truth. I am not a thief and I certainly don’t require your advice or your money. I’ll manage fine on my own, thank you very much! Now, let me out of this car!’
She was rigid with the amount of emotion that she was holding in. She could not bring herself to touch the envelope. She did need money, but not his. To accept even a blade of grass from him would have hurt like hell.
Scrambling out of the car, she trudged back down the hill. She did not look back. She would not permit her thoughts to rest on Shahir, or on the encounter that had just taken place. That would be a severe waste of mental energy. Had she been foolish enough to believe that her handsome prince would come to her rescue, like some guy in a fairy story? Well, now she knew different. Her world had become a very scary place, and the wound he had inflicted with his mistrust was the most raw of all.
All too well aware that she dared not stay within her own home, she made herself think of practical things. She would pack a small bag, because that was all she could carry on her bike. And she would have to take up Jeanie’s offer of hospitality—for the night at least. Would Squeak be welcome as well? She knew that she dared not leave the elderly dog behind, lest he become the focus of Angus Ross’s thwarted rage.
Kirsten carted the laden tray past tables packed with lunchtime diners and deposited it in the kitchen.
‘You shouldn’t be doing that.’ Donald’s kindly face below his thinning red hair was full of concern as he served up another basket of chips. ‘You deal with the bills. Stay away from the heavy work.’
Kirsten just nodded, and waited until he was out of view before massaging the ache in her lower back. The diner was always understaffed, and with the other waitresses struggling to cope, Kirsten refused to sit idle behind the till. She was well aware that she was lucky to still have a job.
It was more than seven months since she had walked out of her home, leaving only a brief note of explanation behind. Donald was Jeanie’s brother, and he and his wife, Elspeth, had been very good to Kirsten.
The weekend after Kirsten had left the farm, Donald and Elspeth had visited Strathcraig with a trailer to pick up her personal effects. The couple had given Kirsten a lift down to London. To begin with she had rented their spare room, and she had been grateful to walk straight into a job as a waitress at the café that Donald managed. She had had to work long hours to save up sufficient to put down a rental deposit for a bedsit.
At first she had felt lost in the city. The sheer volume of the crowds and the traffic and the noise had stunned her. She often pined for the wild grandeur of the mountains and the peace and silence of the glen. But from the outset she had refused to look back with regret, and to satisfy her longing for green places she had explored the London parks with Squeak. While she’d focused on the new and bright future she was determined to carve, she had busily searched out information on further education courses.
It had not been difficult to decide that she should set her sights on training as a music teacher. As a first step in that process she had signed up for a couple of evening classes. Although she already held the required qualifications as a musician, she needed to gain exam passes in other subjects before she could hope to apply for a place on a degree course. She had been happy to face the prospect of several years of studying and living on a very low income. In fact she had felt privileged to have the opportunity, and proud that she had the courage to try and get more out of life than her father had been prepared to allow her to have.
In almost every way her future had looked full of promise, and she had worried that it was all too good to be true. Unfortunately her misgivings had proved correct, for she had soon discovered something that had wrecked all her carefully laid plans and made everything infinitely more complicated.
Another waitress began filling ketchup bottles behind the counter. When Kirsten tried to help, Patsy urged her to sit back down on a stool by the till.
‘A good gust of wind and you’d fall over,’ the older woman scolded, closing a motherly hand round Kirsten’s thin forearm for emphasis. ‘You’re too skinny to be healthy. When did you last see the doctor?’
‘I’ve always been thin.’ Kirsten sidestepped the question, because she had overslept and missed her last appointment. ‘Stop worrying about me.’
‘I can’t help it. You don’t look strong enough to lift a teaspoon, and that baby will be here in another few weeks,’ Patsy sighed ruefully.
‘I’m fine.’
Kirsten turned away to deal with a customer. The swell of her tummy bumped against the counter. The new awkwardness of her body embarrassed her, and she had yet to adjust to her changed shape. Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of her reflection in a shop window or a mirror and she just wouldn’t recognise herself.
Indeed, she had already been four months pregnant by the time she’d discovered that the queasiness she was suffering from was the result of something more than a persistent tummy bug.
Truth to tell, she had been desperately unhappy when she’d first arrived in London, and she had fought her misery every step of the way. Night and day she had waged a battle of denial against the male whose image haunted her every waking hour. She had tried to fill all her time with work or study. The strain of that crazy timetable had destroyed her appetite. It had been ages before she even noticed that her periods had stopped. Believing that stress and weight loss were the cause, she had not been unduly concerned. It had only been when the nausea refused to go away that she’d recognised the need to consult a doctor.
Even at that point it had not occurred to her that she might be carrying a baby. In retrospect her blindness seemed utterly and inexcusably stupid to her. After all, she might have been a virgin, but she was certainly old enough and wise enough to be aware that sexual relations could lead to conception. Unfortunately all such rational considerations had been hampered by the simple fact that just thinking about Shahir reduced her to a useless heap of emotional rubble and self-loathing. In an effort to protect herself from destructive thoughts she had suppressed her every recollection of him—and of the forbidden passion they had shared that day.
Only when the doctor’s diagnosis had forced Kirsten to look back to their short-lived intimacy had she realised that she could not recall Shahir having taken the precautions that would have protected her from pregnancy.
The prospect of becoming an unmarried mother had made her feel sick with shame—and very scared. And then she had been so angry with Shahir she had boiled with rage. How could he have been so careless with her? While he might seem to be the ultimate in cool control on the surface, she was aware of a wild, reckless streak underneath. She had seen that side of him on the motorbike—and in bed. An electric frisson of awareness ran through her whenever she recalled the scorching golden glitter of his eyes.
Why should Shahir worry if her life was to be wrecked by the burden of single parenthood? Once the baby was born, how was she to work or attend evening class? With a child to care for it would be a much bigger challenge for her to make ends meet and finish her education.
She had thought about phoning Shahir to inform him that he was destined to become the father of her child. But Shahir had called her a thief and, since she had denied the charge, he had to think that she was a liar into the bargain. His uninh
ibited regret at having slept with her, not to mention his being hopelessly in love with another woman, had not been in his favour either. What pride she had left had revolted at the idea of announcing her pregnancy to a man who would equate her news with catastrophe.
‘How’s that little dog of yours doing?’ Patsy enquired chattily, breaking into Kirsten’s troubled thoughts.
‘He’s still sleeping a lot. I don’t take him walking out as much as I did. The vet says he’s just old…’ Strain edged Kirsten’s voice, for she adored Squeak and she was terrified of losing him: he was her last link with her late mother.
When she’d finished her shift, she walked out on to the street. It was cold, and the street lamps cast a yellow glow over the wet pavement. A few yards ahead of her a car door opened and a man climbed out. Light glinted over his cropped black hair, shadow falling over his lean bronzed profile. Then he straightened to his full imposing height and her breath tripped in her throat. Shock froze her in her tracks, wide green eyes welded to his arrestingly handsome face.
‘I seem to have frightened you…that wasn’t my intention,’ Shahir drawled, as smoothly as if they met and talked on a regular basis.
‘How did you find out where I was?’ Kirsten exclaimed, busily engaged in buttoning her coat in an instinctive attempt to conceal her protruding stomach.
‘Ways and means. Are you feeling all right?’ Shahir stared down at her, a frown pleating his ebony brows. ‘You’re very pale.’
‘Am I? This light makes everyone look weird,’ she gabbled, striving to act normally. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to see you.’
She folded her arms, discovered her tummy got in the way of what had once been her waist and hastily dropped her arms again. ‘Why?’ she asked baldly.
