Dangerous Encounter

by Flora Kidd

  'Please take me to the mainland,' she said, turning to him.' 'Please!'

  His blue glance was wintry as it flicked over her wet hair and drenched clothing.

  'No, not now. Not yet. You need a bath and a change of clothes,' he replied coldly. 'Here, take the rope and get out.'

  'Oh, my clothes!' she groaned. 'My suitcase sank… and my handbag with everything in it, my car keys, money—everything! Oh, what am I going to do?'

  'You're going to go back to the castle with me, you're going to have a hot bath, change your clothes and then have breakfast,' said Magnus clearly and concisely. 'Heaven knows I never thought you'd be such a damned nuisance when I agreed to prevent you from going away with Blair. Now will you bloody well get out or do I have to heave you ashore?'

  He was very angry, boiling with rage, and he wasn't pretending. There was nothing counterfeit about the fury glaring at her out of his eyes.

  'You don't have to be so…so abusive,' she retorted.

  'I said get out!' he roared at her, and she turned at once and slipping and sliding in her wet crepe-soled shoes scrambled over the rail of the motorboat, taking the rope with her, and hurried up the steps of the jetty. Behind her Magnus cut the engine, then leapt ashore and followed her up the steps. Taking the rope from her, he looped it through an iron. ring. Standing shivering now with delayed shock as well as with cold from the water which had soaked her clothes, she watched him tie the rope deftly.

  'I hope that knot will hold the boat and it doesn't get washed away again,' she stuttered.

  He didn't answer her but, straightening up, took hold of her arm, grasping it tightly just above the. elbow, and urged her along the jetty, and there was nothing she could do about it. She was too wet and cold, too shocked by her recent near-drowning, to make any sort of protest.

  In spite of the sunshine and the mild air flowing about her, in spite of the beauty of the scenery around her now fully revealed in bright daylight, the gold, green and soft blue of islands, sea and sky, Helen could not enjoy her return walk to the castle. Walking in shoes that had become saturated with sea-water was not easy, and several times she would have stopped to catch her breath and rest if Magnus hadn't kept on pushing her along, so that by the time they were crossing the garden and approaching the castle she was reviling him silently and secretly as a cruel sadist who delighted in inflicting pain on others. Not even when they were in the house did he let go of her arm, but marched her across the kitchen and up the stairs to the bathroom.

  Flinging open the door, he pushed her into the room, not even letting go of her when he bent to put the plug in the drain of the old-fashioned freestanding bath and to turn on the taps.

  'Now get those clothes off,' he ordered, turning to her. 'Or do I have to do that for you too?'

  'No, no, you don't have to do anything for me,' she retorted, her sturdy spirit of independence suddenly asserting itself again and shaking off the dejection and shock which the failure of her attempt to escape had plunged her into. 'But… but what will I wear instead?' she demanded, managing to free herself from his grasp.

  'I'll find you something,' he replied, and strode out of the room.

  She was struggling with the zip on her pants—it seemed to have been seized up by salt water—when he returned carrying a rich-looking crimson and grey striped man's dressing gown, made from velour, and a big fluffy white towel monogrammed in red with two initials, an M intertwined with an S.

  'What's the matter now?' he demanded roughly, tossing the gown and the towel down on a stool.

  'Nothing much. I can't get the zip undone, that's all,' she muttered, giving the. tab of the zip another tug. Immediately it broke off. 'Oh, darn!' she cried.

  White steam was swirling about them and the bath was almost full of water. After giving her another exasperated glance Magnus stepped over and turned off the taps, then turned back to her.

  In a swift lithe movement he knelt beside her, grasped hold of her pants at the top of the opening with both hands and pulled hard. The zip ripped apart.

  'Anything else?' he queried silkily, as he straightened up.

  'No, no, thank you—I can manage now,' she said in a stifled voice.

  'I hope you can,' he drawled dryly, going to the doorway. 'Try not to drown in the bathtub,' he added mockingly, and went away.

  After soaking for a while in the hot water Helen got out of the bath, dried herself and put on the velour robe. Luxuriously soft, it caressed her skin which was still glowing from the rubbing she had given it. It was like being touched by Magnus, she thought fancifully, and was amazed at herself for having such an erotic thought. The sleeves of the robe were wide, curving over her shoulder and arms like a shawl. There was a tie belt and the skirt flowed out and down to her feet. On Magnus, she guessed, it reached only halfway down his legs. The breast pocket was adorned with the same monogram as the towel, this time in black.

  An M interwoven. with an S. In the slightly steamed-up bathroom mirror Helen watched her reflection trace the letters with a fingertip. M for Magnus. S for what? She searched her mind for a Scottish name beginning with S and came up with two: Stuart and Sanderson. Although it didn't have to be a Scottish name, she supposed, because Magnus himself, when he had stopped being Blair or the wild islander, didn't seem or sound to be Scottish. But then he changed so often it was difficult to know what he was really like.

  She emptied the bath, picked up her wet clothes and left the room to go downstairs to the kitchen. Magnus wasn't there, but he had been there, because on the draining board beside the sink were the dishes he had used when he had breakfasted.

  Helen looked at her wet clothing. She would have liked to have washed everything and wrung the salt water out before hanging it up to dry. The tweed jacket was in a terrible mess and being made wholly of wool would probably shrink. The pants too were unwearable and the zip was destroyed. Eventually she decided to wash only the blouse and the underwear in the sink and to hang everything on the old-fashioned drying rack which was attached to the ceiling and could be raised and lowered by ropes on pulleys.

  She had made and eaten some breakfast and had gone into the lounge and was searching the bookshelves for something to read when Magnus came into the room. He was dressed differently this morning. A blue knit leisure shirt open at the neck and halfway down his chest clung to the muscular shape of his chest and dark blue denim jeans hugged his hips and powerful thighs. He was a vigorous presence in the room, having about him a sort of charisma which drew Helen's glance to him all the time and even made her want to go up to him and touch him, make him notice her. He was a threat to her peace of mind, dangerous for her to know, and it took all her self-control to stay sitting where she was on a chair by the bookshelves and to leaf through a book she had taken down; to pretend she couldn't care less if he were in the room or not.

  'I hope you haven't any more escapades planned for today,' he said coldly, advancing towards her and standing over her, his arms folded across his chest. 'It's a good thing I saw you leaving the castle this morning and followed you, or you'd be halfway to Ireland by now, a horrid bloated body being turned over and over by the waves.'

  'Oh, don't, don't!' she cried, dropping the book and covering her ears with her hands. 'I don't want to think about it!'

  'Why did you do it?' he demanded, sitting down suddenly on the floor at her feet, crossing his legs and staring up at her. 'Did you really think you could row to the mainland in that little apology for a dinghy?'

  'Yes, I did.' She lowered her hands to her lap and stealthily pulled the robe together across her knees to cover them and her legs. Where Magnus was sitting he would have a good view of them if the robe's opening slipped apart. 'I'm quite used to handling boats, and the water was calm.'

  'Or so it seemed,' he jibed. 'That strait, the Carroch Strait, is deceptive. Like many other stretches of water about here, like the Dorus Mhor, off Crinan, and the Corrievrechan between Scarba and Jura, it flows over an uneven bottom and h
as a strong current, creating whirlpools. You need either a hefty engine like there is in the motorboat or a fishing boat to cross it. You'd never have made it in the dinghy even if it hadn't had a hole in it, and in bad weather like last night that strait is impassable.' He paused, then asked in a gentler voice, 'Eilidh, why did you try to get to the mainland by yourself? Why didn't you wait and ask me to take you over?'

  'I… I… I…' she stammered, then stopped, looked right at him and blurted suddenly, 'Because I wanted to get away from you.'

  There was an uneasy silence while they stared at each other. Magnus looked away first, down at his hands which were linked together and lying lax between his crossed legs. He didn't say anything, but his whole face seemed to tense and Helen had the impression that she had hurt him in some way.

  'Oh, it… it wasn't because… because I don't like you,' she went on hurriedly, saying more than she had intended. 'But. I didn't want to come here and I don't want to stay here for another day. If I could have found the motorboat I'd have been across by now. I'd be in my car and on the way home.'

  'No, you wouldn't,' he retorted; looking up. 'Unless of course you can start a boat's engine without a key,' he added dryly, his eyes glinting with, mockery.

  'Oh, I never thought of that,' she admitted lamely, annoyed with herself because she hadn't. Usually she thought of everything, being of a scientific turn of mind she was very methodical in her planning. 'But you haven't told me where you found the motorboat yet,' she added. 'Where was it washed up?'

  'Never mind where I found it,' he replied. 'I did, and just in time to rescue you from a watery grave.' In a lithe graceful movement which was hardly noticeable, it was so fluid, he kneeled in front of her, resting his hands on the arms of her chair. 'You know Eilidh, if you'd drowned, I'd have been very upset.' His voice softened and deepened and his eyes were dark with some emotion. He looked as if he were tortured by regret. 'I brought you here, so I feel responsible for you, and if you'd drowned it would have been on my conscience for ever—and I've enough on my conscience as it is.' He paused, frowning. 'But you couldn't be wishing more than I am that I hadn't enticed you to come here,' he whispered.

  'Then if you feel like that, why don't you take me over to the mainland?' she asked, staring at him in bewilderment. This was another, different man from the man of yesterday. Was this the real Magnus?

  'Dressed like that?' he queried, his amused glance sliding over his own soft luxurious robe. 'Or in shrunk, soaking wet clothes? Oh, no, Eilidh,' he leaned closer to her, 'you can't leave today.'

  'Tomorrow, then,' she said, pushing her advantage. 'Will you take me over to my car tomorrow?' Her shoulders slumped suddenly and she let out a sigh of exasperation. 'Oh, but what will be the use?' she moaned. 'The keys are in my handbag and that's at the bottom of the sea. Could you— do you think you could start the car for me without keys… that is if we can get into it? I locked the doors too.'

  'I might be able to. Or Archie might be able to help you.' Magnus spoke vaguely, still staring at her as if he had never seen her before.

  'Will you promise then to take me over in the motorboat?' she whispered. 'Please!' she touched him at last, placing a hand on one of his forearms. Under her fingers the hair-sprinkled skin was warm and silky and the muscle tensed in reaction to her touch.

  'It's a rule of mine never to make promises,' he said softly. 'That way I don't have to break any. Who knows, tomorrow I might be only too glad to get rid of you and will be very willing to take you to the mainland. On the other hand, you might find that when tomorrow comes you won't want to go and I might find I don't want to let you go. By then we might be so in love with each other we won't want to part.'

  The blue eyes smiled into hers and she felt again that weak jelly-like feeling in her legs. Heat flooded through her, seeming to melt her bones. She was helpless as she had been in the dangerous waters of Carroch Strait, being swept along now by a strong tide of eroticism which threatened to engulf her. Alarmed by the feeling, she leaned back away from him.

  'I think you're quite mad—quite mad,' she whispered.

  'I think I am too,' he agreed. His hands slid up her arms slowly to her shoulders, leaving delicious tingles wherever they touched her. His fingers stroked her throat gently. His blue eyes looked deeply into hers. 'The lunatic and the lover are of the same breed,' he murmured, 'and I'm mad with wanting you. Last night I couldn't sleep for thinking of you and wanting you.' His fingers slid down her throat and slipped under the edges of the velour robe. Against her cool, still slightly moist skin his hands were warm. 'And from the feel of you I know you want me,' he added softly, and bending his head he kissed her throat and her breast, everywhere his hands had been.

  'Oh,' sighed Helen, swaying towards him, her lips parting, 'what are you doing to me?'

  'I'm loving you,' he whispered. 'Showing you how glad I am you didn't drown. Ah, Eilidh, if you had drowned life would have been hell for me as I spent the rest of it searching the sea and the shores of the islands for you.'

  'But I didn't drown. I'm here, and I'm alive and well,' she comforted him, letting the dangerous tide of sexual excitement carry her along now, pressing herself against him, regardless of the fact that the robe was untied and falling away from her soft white body. 'You rescued me, I owe you my life.' Under her urgent seeking hands his ruffled spray-damp hair twisted and sprang like something alive as she stroked it. 'And I thank you with all my heart for coming to my rescue. I… I want to love you to show you how much I'm glad you saw me leave this morning and followed me.'

  He lifted his head and their lips met in a long, deeply demanding kiss. Her head spinning, Helen surrendered, with a voluptuousness which would have surprised her if she had been able to observe herself objectively, to the caress of his long lean fingers. Then with a groan of agony, as if he had been driven over the edge of madness by the feel of her, Magnus pulled her from the chair to the soft silkiness of the sealskin hearthrug until she was lying there with him and he was kissing her again and again, sweet-tasting, drugging kisses which obliterated all thoughts of past and future, until all that mattered to both of them were the present sunlit moments in the quiet room and the satisfaction of their mutual desire to possess each other.

  Through the drooping fringes of her eyelashes Helen watched him pull off his shirt, and her hands reached out eagerly to caress his bareness, her fingers worshipping the broad slant of his shoulders, the fine moulding of bones gleaming like ivory through the sunbronzed skin of his neck, sliding down over the velvet smoothness of his back, tormenting hollows, until with another exclamation of passion he pressed against her, holding her tightly in his arms so that she could feel the urgency of his desire thrusting against her thighs.

  'I didn't know loving someone would be like this,' she whispered. 'I didn't know it could be so sudden and happen between two strangers.'

  'We're not strangers, Eilidh. We've always known each other. We just hadn't met,' Magnus murmured fancifully.

  'But I don't know your last name.'

  He stiffened a little and raised his head from her breast where his lips had been marauding the soft white skin. His glance was lazily arrogant.

  'Does it matter?' he retorted lightly. 'As Shakespeare put it, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." We don't need to know names, it's what we feel that matters. Here and here.' He rested a hand lightly on her left breast, then let it slide gently downwards, and, once again mesmerised by the way he was looking at her and touching her, Helen drew his head down so she could kiss him and gave in to the enjoyment of the delicious sensations which were flooding through her.

  Then suddenly he was rolling away from her, twisting to his feet and grabbing his shirt from the floor.

  'What is it?' she gasped, sitting up quickly, the heavy silk of her pale yellow hair falling straight over the smooth white curves of her shoulders and breasts.

  'Someone is knocking at the kitchen door. Get th
at robe on,' he ordered crisply, turning his back to her as he zipped up his jeans and fastened the belt at his waist.

  'Hello there, Magnus?' called out a loud boisterous male voice from the kitchen. 'Magnus? Are you at home?'

  With the velour robe about her shoulders, Helen stood up. She pushed her arms into the wide sleeves and tied the belt at her waist just in time. Heavy footsteps sounded on the stone floor of the kitchen and, advanced into the hallway. His shirt on, raking fingers through his disordered hair but his feet bare, his socks lying like incriminating evidence by the hearthrug, Magnus went towards the half-open door of the lounge. He was too late to stop whoever had come to see him from entering the room. Snatching up the socks, Helen stepped over to the long window which looked over the bay, smoothing back her hair with one hand. Then she slipped each hand into the opposite sleeve of the robe, holding her arms folded in front of her, hiding the socks. She was, she discovered, shaking all over, and her heart was pounding and her cheeks were flushed as she realised how nearly she and Magnus had been seen making love in full daylight on the hearthrug.

  'What on earth have you come here for?' Magnus's voice was gruff with anger.

  'What else could I do but come in person?' retorted the loud male voice. 'There's no way I could contact you. By Jove, this is some place you've got here, Magnus,' the loud voice softened admiringly. 'But not easy of access. Took us quite a while to figure out how to get here.'

  'Us?' queried Magnus sharply. 'You've brought someone with you?'

  'I sure have. Marta Nielsen, the Swedish actress, and Leon Rossi, the film director.' The loud voice shouted loudly from the doorway. 'Hey, Marta, Leo! Come right through. He's here!'

  Over her shoulder Helen looked at Magnus, wildly questioningly.

  'Stay there,' he whispered at her, gesturing with one hand, before turning back to face the doorway as the man with the loud voice, who was tall and heavily built and was wearing a double-breasted pale grey suit and a brown and white striped shirt, stepped back into the lounge and was followed by two other people.