Chapter Thirteen

Rosalie jumped to her feet. ‘What? No, that’s impossible. You must be mistaken!’

Niall glared at her, a hard line forming at the side of his mouth. ‘You may not think I’m good enough to be your boyfriend, but at least give me some credit when it comes to cars.’

Shocked by the anger in his tone, she put a soothing hand on his forearm. ‘I’m sorry. You know better, of course … but who would sabotage the Porsche, and why?’

Niall shrugged. ‘That’s for the police to find out. I called them as soon as I was sure. They have already taken the Porsche away for forensic examination.’

‘How often does McBride drive the car?’ Marc Petersen asked.

Rosalie hissed an annoyed sigh. What business was it of his?

‘He drives it all the time,’ she answered nonetheless. ‘It was always his favourite car, that’s why I was so surprised when Niall said he wanted to sell it.’

Her heart tightened as her mind flooded with happy memories of Geoff taking her to school or to Irlwick in the red sports car. She sat on the bucket seat when she was a child, but later he’d allowed her on the passenger seat. She would never forget the thrill of those rides in the long summer evenings, with the breeze whipping her hair around her face, the scents of the pine forest all around and the sky slowly turning to dark blue and reflecting onto the surface of the loch.

‘Niall serviced it earlier this week and Geoff drove it the day before you arrived,’ she added, thoughtful. ‘Someone must have sneaked into the garage during the night.’

‘Given the lack of security at Raventhorn,’ Marc said in a sharp voice, ‘and the fact everybody around here seems to know how to find the house and car keys, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before.’ He paused. ‘I can’t help wondering about the timing, though.’

Rosalie frowned. ‘The timing?’

‘What if someone found out about the sale? You may have to come clean about the reason I’m here sooner than you’d planned. You’ll have to tell the police at least.’

Niall frowned. ‘What sale? Has Petersen bought the Porsche? What do you have to tell the police? What’s going on, Roz?’

She looked at Marc with pleading eyes then turned to Niall. ‘It’s nothing – at least it’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll tell you later, I promise. Right now all I want is to go home.’

‘Fair enough, but what the hell happened to you yesterday?’ Niall asked. ‘I’ve just been to the site of the accident with the mountain rescue team and the Range Rover is definitely a write-off.’

His eyes were thunderous as he glared at Marc. ‘What were you thinking, letting Rosalie drive in the snowstorm? If it’d been me in the car, I would never have let her get hurt. I knew she should have been paired up with me yesterday, not with some hopeless city wimp.’

Marc’s jaw clenched. He put his cup of coffee down, slowly rose to his feet, and Rosalie’s breath caught in her throat. He was a head taller and a lot bulkier than Niall, and with his face hard as stone and his eyes the colour of flint, he looked a lot scarier too.

Niall leaned forward and tightened his fists by his sides, as if poised for a fight.

Her heart pounding, she slipped in between the two men. ‘Stop it, Niall, this is ridiculous. The accident wasn’t Marc’s fault at all. I was the one who insisted on driving.’

Much to her relief, Niall took a step back. ‘Well, he shouldn’t have let you have your way.’

‘Nobody could have prevented the accident,’ Rosalie carried on. ‘We were on our way back from the holiday chalet when a huge four-by-four came straight at us, forcing me to brake and veer off the road.’

She gave Niall a tentative smile. ‘Let’s go home now. Please. I’m dead on my feet.’

He nodded. ‘Aye. Sorry. You don’t look so well, it’s true.’

She didn’t protest when he wrapped a protective arm around her waist and led her out of the café and into the cold. Outside, light was fading already and the temperature had dropped a few degrees. She climbed into the truck, and slid onto the seat. Marc sat next to her and once again she was squeezed against his warm, solid body.

‘By the way,’ Niall started, ‘it’s going to take me a few days to fix your cab. I need to order a new bumper and do some work on the bonnet. I’ll do the work myself and wave the labour cost off.’

‘Thanks, Niall. You’re a pal.’

He cast her a sidelong glance. ‘I only wish you’d stop this nonsense about being a taxi driver and let me take care of you. With all the upsets and the fake calls you’ve had lately, you should have realised by now that this job is unsuitable for a young woman. It was lucky I was around when you were stranded on your own, but I may not always be there. And I’m not even mentioning the fact you’re not earning enough to scrape a living.’

There he went again. Only this time, she didn’t have the strength to argue and fight. Anyway, he would have his wish before long. Because of Marc, her taxi driving days would soon be over. She was aware of Marc giving Niall a hard stare. Yet he should be glad to hear Niall echo his own words about her lack of business sense.

The sky had turned dark blue and a full moon cast a ghostly, butter-coloured glow over the frigid white landscape, outlining the shape of the mountains and making the forests even more mysterious. Inside the truck it was warm and cosy, however. Rosalie closed her eyes. She was tired, and sleep was suddenly very tempting.

The bumps on the track over the bridge shook her awake. She was shocked to realise that she was leaning against Marc Petersen’s solid chest, and that he had slipped his arm around her to hold her.

She stiffened and pulled away. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s been a difficult couple of days.’

Niall pulled up in the courtyard. A burning pain shot through her shoulder as she straightened in her seat. She may not like it, but Marc was right. She wasn’t fit to drive.

Marc flung the door open, climbed down and helped her out, and she almost stumbled into his arms.

Niall leaned towards her. ‘Give me a ring if you want a lift to the hospital tomorrow. I’ll drive you.’

Marc stood right behind her as she shut the door and waved Niall goodbye, so close she could feel the heat from his body. She tensed. Just how long was she going to have to endure the man’s presence?

Immediately another, more worrying, thought popped into her mind. He was the one who was enduring her presence at Raventhorn, so how long before he decided he wanted her out of the only home she’d ever known?

‘I suggest you get some rest while I make a start on the accounts for Love Taxis,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you know my decision by morning.’

She swung round. ‘You want to look at the books now?’

He shrugged. ‘Why not? I have to make a start some time, and it shouldn’t take me long.’

Dread squeezed a tight fist inside her. She should be there too. At least then she could give him her side of the story, explain why there were days, weeks, without any profit.

‘Actually, I’d rather stay, in case there is anything you don’t understand.’

He smiled his usual cold smile. ‘I can assure you that I’m quite competent at analysing accounts and balance sheets.’

Resolve hardened inside her. He could say what he wanted. It was her future that was at stake. ‘I don’t doubt that for one second, but I want to be there. It’s my right, isn’t it?’ She knew she sounded defensive, but she didn’t care.

He arched his eyebrows. ‘Of course.’ He dug out his key from his coat pocket, unlocked the service door and they stepped into the kitchen.

She tried to unzip her anorak, and cursed between her teeth when a sharp pain gripped her neck and shoulder.

‘Let me help.’ He helped her take her coat off, taking great care not to touch her shoulder and hung it in the utility room. ‘Please sit down while I get some pens and paper.’

‘I’ll get them.’ She walked out of the kitchen before he could object. How dare he behave as if she was a guest at Raventhorn? He may own the place but she had been brought up here!

The library was in its usual state of chaos. She picked up a scroll from the floor and put it on the desk. She didn’t need to read it to know it was another of Geoff’s ancient manuscripts about Isobel’s and Harald’s tragic love story, unless it regarded Harald’s estate on Orkney or in North Jutland in Denmark, where he was from originally.

Her hand stilled. North Jutland. Wasn’t there where Marc said his father’s family was from too? Not for the first time she found it odd that the man who had bought Raventhorn should be Danish. Who knows, perhaps Marc even had Viking blood, just like Harald? He certainly had other traits she’d always associated with the Vikings – their dark golden hair, imposing stature and cruel disposition.

Rosalie yanked the drawer open and grabbed a couple of pens and pencils. She had always struggled to understand how Isobel could have fallen in love with a man as ruthless and war-mongering as Harald Johansen. She was even rumoured to have been so scared of him that she had asked a wizard to cast a love spell onto her marriage bed. It must have worked since the newlyweds had not only spent three full days and nights in that great big bed which was now in the Crimson Room, but a bond so strong had formed between the couple that Harald had swum to his death trying to rescue his wife, and Isobel had chosen to throw herself from the Armitage’s tower to join him in his watery grave. Rosalie pushed lids onto the pens and sighed. What would it feel like to love a man so much death was preferable to a life without him?

‘Are you all right? You’ve been gone a long time,’ Marc said as he walked in, startling her. As he spoke a light bulb blew up with a loud popping sound, and Rosalie dropped the pens onto the desk with a surprised squeak. She forgot about the pile of books behind her, lost her balance and fell against Marc.

‘Careful.’ His arms slid around her waist to steady her.

It was as if an invisible force pulled her closer. Her nose rubbed against his jumper, her fingers spread on his chest and she breathed in his hot and spicy scent.

His hands closed on the small of her back, moulding her to him. Her skin tingled, her body tightened in a flash of heat, and her heart started thudding, too hard, too loud. She looked up and met his grey eyes, so deep she felt herself fall into their turbulent waters. Seconds ticked by and stretched until time stood still. Even her heartbeat slowed down. Marc bent down, watching her all the time, and holding her captive in his serious gaze. There was only one thought in her mind. He was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her.

Her lips parted in anticipation, her body went limp in his arms and her fingers curled in his thick, woolly jumper.

He didn’t kiss her, instead he let her go, stepped back, and glanced at the chandelier. ‘I really must hire an electrician. It’s a wonder the place hasn’t caught fire yet.’

He sounded so cool, so calm, as if nothing had happened.

But nothing had happened, she scolded herself. Why then did she feel lost and disappointed now she wasn’t in his arms any longer?

He looked down. ‘Are you all right? Is your shoulder hurting?’

She had to get a grip on herself. He mustn’t suspect, even for a second, that she had once again been about to make a fool of herself.

‘I am perfectly fine. You gave me a fright by sneaking up behind me, that’s all, and then the light went off and …’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Did you get the pens and paper? Good. Then we’ll make a start.’

It took a lot of self-control to lead the way out of the library when all he wanted was to pull Rosalie back into his arms and kiss the breath out of her. It was lucky he had gathered his wits before he embarrassed himself. She would most probably have slapped him. She made no secret of her feelings towards him.

What was he thinking of? Well, he wasn’t thinking at all, and that was the problem. Since he’d arrived at Raventhorn he’d acted on impulses and urges, and on intense, dark desires, and that was completely unlike him. No doubt the string of sleepless nights he’d endured since his father’s death were starting to wear him out.

He should be relieved that he’d stopped himself just in time, he thought as he walked out of the library, yet tantalising questions swirled into his mind. What would he have done if she’d let him kiss her? He clenched his jaw. He knew exactly what he would have done – he would have taken her upstairs, and into that great big bed in the Crimson Room, and kept her there all night.

They didn’t talk as Rosalie followed him into the kitchen. He filled the kettle, flicked it on to make some tea, and took what was left of Lorna’s chocolate cake out of the fridge. He cut a slice, and placed it on a dessert plate in front of Rosalie. She didn’t even look at it.

‘I think you should leave the accounts to me and have an early night,’ he said.

She glared at him. ‘So that you can shut Love Taxis down without hearing my side of the story?’

‘I don’t need a story. Figures usually speak for themselves. Anyway, aren’t you eating? It’s not like you to ignore chocolate cake.’ He rubbed the bruise on his cheekbone and smiled. ‘After all, you almost killed me for it.’

She shook her head and pushed the plate away. ‘I’m not hungry. I want to get on with the accounts.’

He looked at her pale face, at the mauve shadows under her eyes. She needed to sleep, and he wanted to be alone to think. There were things he needed to sort out – things regarding their mountainside accident, the revelations concerning McBride’s Porsche and her over-possessive boyfriend.

Something about the mechanic made him uneasy. He seemed so desperate for Rosalie to give up her taxi service and marry him, and what better way of convincing her to do that than sending her on fake errands, and scaring her half to death. He was also the one who had serviced McBride’s Porsche, which meant he had had the opportunity to tamper with the brakes.

Marc sighed. Then again, perhaps he was letting his dislike for Niall Murray cloud his judgement. He had nothing to gain by tampering with McBride’s sports car. But damn it, the man was a moron! He couldn’t stand the way he talked down to Rosalie, as if she was unable to make her own choices. The way he called her ‘his girl’ and made none too subtle references to their relationship.

‘I should have asked Niall in for a drink,’ Rosalie said as if reading his thoughts. ‘Perhaps it’s time I told him what’s going on. He is after all one of my oldest friends.’

‘You can call him tomorrow.’

He tightened his jaw, put his mug down and rose to his feet, angry to feel so bloody annoyed all of a sudden. He was behaving like a jealous man and it was ridiculous. Of course he wasn’t jealous of Niall Murray. He’d never been jealous in his life. Never been the possessive type. Never cared enough about any woman for all that nonsense, and he wasn’t about to start now.

The phone rang, shrill in the silence of the castle.

Rosalie jumped out of her seat. ‘I’ll get it.’

She came back soon after and sat down. An elbow on the table, her chin resting on her hand, she stared into space.

‘Bad news?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘It was Duncan. His mother has taken a turn for the worse and he is staying in Edinburgh to look after her.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose I’d better call Fergus and Fiona, tell them to cancel all our bookings for next week.’

Her eyes were huge and sad. ‘It seems you’ve won after all. With Duncan away and me unable to drive, Love Taxis is as good as finished.’

He drank his coffee, and put the empty cup down. ‘There is another alternative.’