One Summer At The Castle: Stay Through the Night / A Stormy Spanish Summer / Behind Palace Doors

And found her wanting, she was sure. She’d definitely sensed his disapproval. But whether that was because he’d found her watching them, she couldn’t be absolutely sure.

Whatever, he had been attractive, she conceded, remembering his height—well over six feet, she estimated—and the broad shoulders filling out his crumpled shirt. She guessed he was one of the fishermen who, in increasingly smaller numbers, trawled these waters. He hadn’t looked like a tourist, and the man who had been with him had been wearing waders, she thought.

Still, she was unlikely to see either of them again—unless one of them was the captain of the vessel she was hoping to sail on. Maybe someone on the ferry would remember a pretty blond girl travelling out to Kilfoil the previous week. Dared she ask about Liam Jameson? She didn’t think so. According to his publicity, the man was reputed to be a recluse, for goodness’ sake. So why had he been attending a pop festival in Glastonbury? For research? She didn’t think so.

Her mind boggled, as it always did when she thought about what her mother had told her. Sophie had pulled some stunts before, but nothing remotely resembling this. Rosa had thought her sister was settling down at last, that she and Mark Campion might move in together. But now that relationship was all up in the air because of some man Sophie had met during the pop festival.

Rosa got her ticket and moved outside again. The rain that had been threatening earlier seemed to be lifting, and the sun was actually shining on the loch. A good omen, she thought, looking about her for the ferry she’d been told would be departing in three-quarters of an hour. Pedestrian passengers would be embarked first, before the vehicles that would drive straight onto the holding deck.

She saw the man again as she was waiting in line at the quayside. He had driven his car round to join the queue of traffic waiting to board. Unexpectedly, her pulse quickened. So he was taking the same ferry she was. What a coincidence. But it was unlikely he was going to Kilfoil. According to Mrs Harris at the guesthouse, Kilfoil had been deserted for several years before a rich writer had bought the property and restored the ruined castle there for his own use.

Liam Jameson, of course, Rosa had concluded, unwilling to press the landlady for too many details in case she betrayed the real reason why she was going to the island. She’d told her that she planned to photograph the area for an article she was writing on island development. But Mrs Harris had warned her that the island was private property and she would have to get permission to take photographs.

She lost sight of the man when she and her fellow passengers went to board the ferry. Climbing the steep steps to the upper deck, Rosa shivered as the wind cut through even her cashmere jacket. God, she thought, why would anyone choose to live here if they had the money to buy an island? Barbados, yes. The Caymans, maybe. But Kilfoil? He had to be crazy!

Still, she could only assume it gave him atmosphere for his horror stories. And, according to her sister, they were shooting his latest movie on the island itself. But was that feasible? Had the story Sophie had told Mark any truth in it at all? Rosa wouldn’t have thought so, but her mother had believed every word.

If only Jameson hadn’t involved Sophie, she thought unhappily. At almost eighteen, her sister was terribly impressionable, and becoming a professional actress was her ambition. But although she always maintained she was old enough to make her own decisions, she’d made plenty of bad ones in the past.

If she had met Jameson she would have been impressed, no question about it. His books sold in the millions. For heaven’s sake, Sophie devoured every new one as soon as it came out. And all his films to date had been box office successes. His work had acquired a cult status, due to an increasing fascination with the supernatural. Particularly vampires—which were his trademark.

But would he have been attending a rock festival? Stranger things had happened, she supposed, and Sophie had certainly convinced Mark that this was a chance she couldn’t miss. Why she hadn’t phoned her mother and told her, why she’d left Mark to make her excuses, was less convincing. But if she had been lying, where in God’s name was she?

Thankfully, there was a cabin on the upper deck where passengers could buy sandwiches, sodas and hot drinks once the ferry sailed. Rosa stepped inside gratefully, finding herself a seat near the window so she could watch the comings and goings on the dock.

It didn’t take long to board the remaining passengers, and the queue of automobiles soon disappeared below. They must be loaded in the order they would disembark, Rosa reflected, wondering if the man she’d seen was familiar with the routine.

The ferry was due to sail to Kilfoil first, then the other islands on its schedule. Rosa was glad. It meant that Kilfoil was the nearest, and as the boat slipped its mooring lines and moved out into the sea loch she hoped it wouldn’t be too far.

The island of Skye seemed incredibly close as they started on their journey, and for a while other islands hemmed them in, giving an illusion of intimacy. But then the body of water widened and the swell caused the small vessel to rise and fall more heavily on the waves.

Rosa hunched her shoulders and glanced back at the group of people gathered at the snack bar. She wished she’d bought herself a drink before it got busy. As it was, she wasn’t totally sure she could walk across the cabin without becoming nauseous. She’d never been a good sailor, and the bucking ferry was much worse than the hovercraft she and Colin had once taken to Boulogne.

‘Are you feeling okay?’

Guessing she must be looking pale, Rosa turned her head and found the man from the car park looking down at her. So he had boarded this ferry, she thought inconsequentially, noticing that the rolling vessel didn’t seem to bother him. Apart from donning a well-worn leather jacket over his shirt and jeans, he looked just as big and powerful as she’d thought earlier. The shirt pulled away from the tight jeans in places, to expose a wedge of hair-roughened brown skin.

Sex on legs, she mused, momentarily diverted from her troubles, but he was waiting for an answer and she forced a rueful smile. ‘I didn’t expect it to be so rough,’ she confessed, wondering if he was aware that her eyes were on a level with his groin. She endeavoured to look anywhere else than there. ‘I suppose you’re used to it?’

His eyes narrowed, thick black lashes veiling irises that were a clear emerald-green. God, he was good-looking, she thought, noting his tanned skin, his firm jaw and his mouth, which was oddly sensual despite being compressed into a thin line. But then he spoke again, his voice harder than before, and she was diverted from her thoughts by the realisation that he didn’t have a Scottish accent.

‘Why do you say that?’ he demanded, and Rosa blinked, unable for a moment to remember exactly what she had said.

But then it came back to her. ‘Um—I just thought you seemed familiar with the area,’ she confessed awkwardly, wondering what was wrong with that. ‘Evidently I was mistaken. You’re English, aren’t you?’

Liam scowled, cursing himself for the impulse that had driven him to ask if she was all right. She’d looked so damned pale he’d felt sorry for her. She was obviously out of place here. No waterproof clothing, no boots, even the pack she’d dumped beside her looked flimsy.

‘We don’t all speak the Gaelic,’ he said at last, and she shrugged her slim shoulders.

‘Okay.’ Rosa quelled her indignation. At least their conversation was distracting her eyes from the restless sea outside. ‘So,’ she said at last, ‘do you live in the islands?’

‘Perhaps.’ He was annoyingly reticent. And then, disconcertingly, ‘I hope you don’t intend to go hiking in that outfit.’

Rosa gasped. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘No,’ he conceded ruefully. ‘I was just thinking out loud. But I couldn’t help noticing how cold you looked earlier.’

So he had noticed her. Rosa felt a little less antagonistic towards him. ‘It is much colder than I’d anticipated,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t expect to be here long.’

‘Just a flying visit?’

‘Something like that.’

Liam frowned. ‘You’ve got relatives here?’

Rosa caught her breath. He certainly asked a lot of questions. But then she remembered she’d been going to ask if anyone had seen her sister. If this man used the ferry on a regular basis, he might have seen her. And Liam Jameson. But she preferred not to mention him.

‘As a matter of fact, I’m hoping to catch up with my sister,’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘A pretty blond girl. I believe she made this crossing a couple of days ago.’

‘She can’t have,’ he said at once. ‘This ferry only leaves every Monday and Thursday. If she made the crossing at all, it had to have been last Thursday.’

Rosa swallowed. Last Thursday Sophie had still been in Glastonbury with Mark. It had been on Saturday night that he’d phoned to tell her mother what had happened, and that had resulted in Mrs Chantry phoning Rosa in such an hysterical state.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked now, trying to assimilate what she’d learned, wondering if Liam Jameson had a plane or a helicopter. He probably did, she thought. Why should he travel with the common herd? He might even have a boat that he kept at Mallaig. It had probably been naïve of her to think otherwise.

‘I’m sure,’ her companion replied, his gaze considering. ‘Does this mean you don’t think your sister’s here, after all?’

‘Maybe.’ Rosa had no intention of sharing her thoughts with him. She took a deep breath. ‘Is it much farther, do you know?’

‘That depends where you’re going,’ said Liam drily, curious in spite of himself, and Rosa decided there was no harm in telling him her destination.

‘Um—Kilfoil,’ she said, aware that her words had surprised him. Well, let him stew, she thought defiantly. He hadn’t exactly been candid with her.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_b70c1d66-9bcd-5a8a-b19a-b84d09326c8b)

LIAM WAS SURPRISED. He’d thought he knew everything about the families who had moved to the island after he’d first acquired it. Having been uninhabited for several years, the cottages had fallen into disrepair, and it had taken a communal effort on all their parts to make the place viable again. In the process of rewiring the cottages, reconnecting the electric generator and generally providing basic services, they’d become his friends as well as his tenants. These days Kilfoil had a fairly buoyant economy, with tourism, fishing and farming giving a living to about a hundred souls.

He wanted to ask why she thought her sister might be on the island, but he knew he’d asked too many questions already. Okay, she intrigued him, with her air of shy defiance and the innocence with which she spoke of his island. Unless he missed his guess, there was something more than a desire to catch up with her sister here. Had the girl run away? Or eloped, maybe, with a boyfriend? But why would she come to Kilfoil? As far as he was aware, there was no regular minister on the island.

Rosa saw him push his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, apparently unaware that the button at his waist had come undone. She was tempted to tell him, except that that would reveal where she was looking, and she hurriedly averted her head.

‘About another hour,’ he said, answering her question, and then, as if sensing her withdrawal, he moved away to approach the bar at the other end of the cabin. It was quiet now, and, watching with covert eyes, she saw him speak to the young man who was serving. Money changed hands, and then the young man pushed two polystyrene cups across the counter.

Two?

Rosa looked quickly away. Was one for her? She dared not look, dared not watch him walk back to where she was sitting in case she was mistaken.

‘D’you want a coffee?’