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Satans Master
Carole Mortimer
Carole Mortimer is one of Mills & Boon’s best loved Modern Romance authors. With nearly 200 books published and a career spanning 35 years, Mills & Boon are thrilled to present her complete works available to download for the very first time! Rediscover old favourites - and find new ones! - in this fabulous collection…The devil to pay…Sabina couldn’t completely blame her controlling father for her current predicament. Finding famous singer-songwriter, Joel Brent, in his secluded Scottish cottage, is the best thing to ever happen to her.But now she’s being forced into a loveless marriage and her father has ruined her chance at happiness with Joel—by leading him to believe that Sabina is a reporter for a tacky scandal magazine! Can Sabina find the strength to escape her emotional captivity and convince Joel of her true feelings?
Satan’s Master
Carole Mortimer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u8b4ba011-797f-5604-8c81-9263f80d3e07)
Title Page (#u2d912545-50a3-591e-b2f1-239885b6e5ae)
CHAPTER ONE (#u590a3a66-d148-5143-9a06-b492b3c48d85)
CHAPTER TWO (#ub2ca8c34-b543-50c3-8131-745ce9455ed2)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_94f6f408-2c10-5f02-8439-3bd4f0e7429f)
AT last she was on her way, her legs seeming too short for the bicycle she had hired in Inverness for this holiday of hers. Cycling in Scotland, mainly along the side of the Caledonian Canal, a series of lochs that went from one side of Scotland to the other, had seemed a good idea when she was in London. Now she wasn’t so sure.
It was years since she had ridden a bicycle, as she had proved to the man she had hired it from as she wobbled precariously down the road after paying for her two weeks’ hire. A couple of her friends had spent their holidays this way last year, at first for a laugh, and then because they were enjoying themselves.
Sabina’s father had been horrified when she had told him of her plans to go away for a few days, claiming she couldn’t possibly leave London now, not when the wedding was only eight weeks away. Her wedding. To Nicholas Freed, her father’s partner in the running of one of the major daily newspapers.
But she had known she had to get away, had to go somewhere where she could collect her thoughts together, decide whether marrying Nicholas was the right thing for her.
She had only hired the bicycle an hour ago and already she was thinking clearer, something she had found impossible to do when in close proximity with her father. He had dominated her all of her nineteen years, made all her decisions for her, including the one that she marry Nicholas.
But Nicholas was of her father’s generation, forty-five years of age, with two marriages already behind him. That she had let things get this far, to a four-month engagement and the actual wedding a matter of weeks away, was a source of wonder to Sabina. Not that she didn’t like Nicholas, she did, but she wasn’t sure she wanted him for a husband. He was attractive enough, tall, slim, dark, with deep blue eyes, and yet she couldn’t help wondering what he had done to his second wife to give her grounds for divorcing him. Her father had dismissed her nervousness, saying she wasn’t to worry about such things. But then he wasn’t the one marrying Nicholas!
Sabina took time out from these depressing thoughts to admire the beautiful scenery all around her. She had left Inverness behind her now, was riding along beside the River Ness, and soon she would see the wonder of the legendary Loch Ness. Her friends had taken this same route last year, and their enthusiasm about the beauty here had made her want to experience it for herself. Crazy, her father had called her yesterday morning when she had left their home with her packed rucksack, and crazy she might be, but she was enjoying herself, was enjoying her first freedom in years.
The sight of a public telephone box, and these thoughts of her father, reminded her that she ought to call him and put his mind at rest about her safety. They only had each other since her mother had died five years ago, and consequently he tended to be more possessive about her than was usual in a father/daughter relationship.
The telephone only rang once before it was snatched up, almost as if he had been sitting next to it waiting for her call. It appeared that he had. ‘Where the hell in Scotland are you?’ he demanded angrily.
‘I’m not silly enough to tell you that,’ Sabina said with a smile. ‘If you knew you’d come up here and take me back.’
‘Too damned right I would,’ he snapped. ‘Nicholas is none too happy about your behaviour either.’
‘You’ve told him?’
‘I could hardly keep it a secret, you are engaged to the man.’
His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her. She sighed. ‘You know my reasons for being here, Daddy.’
‘Because you need to think! A fine time to start having second thoughts, eight weeks before the wedding. I—– What the hell was that?’ he demanded. ‘Sabina, are you still there?’
She had put some more money in the box, waiting for the noise of the pips to stop before speaking again. ‘Don’t panic, Daddy,’ she smiled. ‘It was just the telephone wanting more money.’
He sighed his impatience. ‘Why didn’t you reverse the charges? I don’t want to be interrupted by that row every couple of minutes.’
‘You won’t be, because I don’t intend putting any more money in. I only called to let you know I haven’t been carried away by a rapist or mass murderer.’
‘There is no need to mock, Sabina,’ he cautioned sternly. ‘They do have those sort of things in Scotland too, you know.’
‘I’m sure they do,’ she agreed dryly. ‘But I—– There go the pips again, Daddy. I won’t be calling again.’
‘Sabina—–’
‘See you in two weeks’ time,’ she had time to say before the line was cut off.
She got back on her bicycle, the long length of her legs still golden from the weeks she had spent in Monte Carlo earlier in the summer. Her denim shorts fitted her like a glove, the deep pink tee-shirt moulded to her bare breasts. She made an attractive picture as she cycled down the road that edged Loch Ness, the light breeze lifting her long straight blonde hair off her nape, her green eyes glowing in anticipation of this holiday.
She wasn’t surprised at her father’s horror at her location, never having been to Scotland himself he couldn’t even begin to appreciate the beauty here. It was everything her friends had said it was, peaceful, exhilarating, but most of all breathtakingly beautiful.
For one thing Loch Ness was so large, like a miniature ocean, and she could see one or two motor-cruisers on its length, probably holidaymakers like herself. The banks of the Loch rose steeply either side, a smattering of sheep just visible to her on the luxurious green grass on the other side, the road cut into her side of the Loch before it too rose steeply, one or two cottages just visible in the denseness of the trees.
Because she had picked her bicycle up late in the day it was already well into evening by the time she reached her set destination of the day, Urquhart Castle, the ruins of which overlooked Urquhart Bay. She had a tent and all the necessary equipment for camping, but as there were a couple of hotels in the area she decided to stay at one of them for the night and look the castle over in the morning.
‘Morning’ was almost lunchtime by the time Sabina emerged from the exhausted sleep she had fallen into as soon as her head touched the downy pillow. When she tried to move, the whole of her body seemed to ache—in places she hadn’t even known she could ache! She must be sadly out of condition if a simple bike ride could make her feel this way. But it had been quite a few miles ride, more miles than she had cycled for more years than she could remember.
She hobbled out of bed, a quick bath easing away some of her aches and pains, deciding to have an early lunch instead of bothering with any breakfast. After all, it was almost twelve o’clock. The day didn’t look as warm as yesterday, a light drizzle was falling, a slight mist stopping a clear view of what Sabina knew to be magnificent scenery. Well, she had to look at the ruins of the castle now she was here, might even take a picture of two—if only to prove to her father what a good time she had had.
She donned denims and a sweater. a light waterproof the only clothing she had to keep out the rain. While paying for her bill she asked the proprietor if she could leave her bicycle here while she went down to look at Urquhart Castle.
‘You’ll not be going far today, I’m thinking,’ the middle-aged man took her key.
Sabina smiled. ‘I thought I might try and get as far as Fort Augustus.’
He shook his head, frowning darkly. ‘I wouldn’t recommend you going anywhere, not in this weather.’
Sabina looked down at the light drizzle. ‘It doesn’t look too bad to me.’
‘It never does. But the heavy mist can come down mighty fast. It’s a fair trek to Fort Augustus, I wouldn’t want you to get lost.’
‘But it’s a straight road, isn’t it?’
‘Aye, it’s straight,’ he nodded. ‘But there’s tracks leading off the road to the cottages, ye ken, and it’s mighty easy to take one of them by mistake.’
‘I’ll take care,’ she promised lightly, pulling her hood over her hair and braving the light rain.
The castle stood in the curve of Urquhart Bay, overlooking Loch Ness in all its glory, although the mist clung to the water like a thin white sheet. The guidebook she had bought in Inverness told her that the castle dated back to the thirteenth century, although improvement had been made during the sixteenth century.
The castle was placed perfectly for watch over Loch Ness, and had obviously been a stronghold for the Scottish Crown in the past. Now all that remained was the square keep, the crumbled ruins of its turret and outer walls. Sabina wandered amongst what must surely have once been a magnificent castle, its splendour still evident in the grey stones that made up its structure.
In the end she decided not to take any photographs now but try and get some on the way back if she could. The last thing she wanted was to show her father pictures of it pouring with rain! And it was pouring now, absolutely bucketing down. She decided to have a coffee in the hotel lounge while she waited for the rain to abate somewhat.
‘You’re going, then?’ the proprietor asked as she made a move about an hour later.
‘I thought I would,’ she nodded.
He shook his head dourly. ‘I think you’re making a mistake.’
‘If it looks like getting any worse I promise I’ll turn around and come back.’
In actual fact that was something she couldn’t do, not unless she walked. The front tyre of her bicycle suddenly went flat, and no amount of pumping it up made any difference to its condition, and the mist chose that moment to close in on her like a blanket, making it impossible for her to see farther than a few feet in front of her. There was nothing else for it, she would have to walk, and as she was sure she was nearer to Fort Augustus than Urquhart Castle she decided to go on rather than turn back.
Just where she went wrong she didn’t know; all she did know was that the surface of the road didn’t feel smooth any more, and groping down on her hands and knees she found that it wasn’t the road at all but a roughly cut dirt pathway. Where it led to she couldn’t even begin to guess, and she couldn’t even see her map in this mist, let alone read it.
If only she had listened to the man at the hotel! He had sounded like a local, had probably lived here all his life, and he obviously knew a lot more about the sudden dropping of the mist than she did.
Well, it was no good standing here berating herself; should she go on or should she attempt to find her way back to the road? One thing groping about on the pathway had told her, there was the mark of hoofprints there, hoofprints going forward, not back. But where would the path take her? She didn’t remember seeing a village in this direction when she checked the map this morning.
She sighed. She really had no choice but to go on; she wasn’t sure of her way back, and at least she knew there must be some form of habitation in this direction. She only hoped the owner of that habitation wouldn’t mind an uninvited guest for the night—she could hardly pitch her tent in this.
Keeping to the roughly hewn pathway didn’t prove too difficult; either side of her were tall trees, making it impossible for her to deviate. Nevertheless, she almost felt faint with relief when she saw a glimmer of yellow light in front of her. After almost an hour of this stumbling progress she had been beginning to doubt ever seeing another human being again.
But there had to be humans where there was electric lighting, and as she reached the front of the low, white-painted cottage she saw a spiral of smoke drifting through the lighter coloured mist. Light and warmth, it sounded like heaven to Sabina, and reminded her of how damp her clothing had become.
A sharp tap on the door heralded no reaction whatsoever, so she knocked again. Still no answer. There had to be someone here. She walked along the front of the cottage to the window with the chink of light showing through, trying to see in through the tiny gap in the curtains. She felt herself tense as the curtains moved slightly, two venomous green eyes suddenly appearing in front of her and making her let out a bloodcurdling scream.
‘Satan’s no more enthusiastic about nosey-parkers than I am,’ remarked a cold voice from behind her.
Sabina swung round to see the owner of that unwelcoming voice. Standing in front of her, the mist swirling eerily about him, stood a tall dark man dressed completely in black—black cords and black jumper, his hair also jet black, long and unkempt. His face was gaunt, all strong angles, the focal point being a pair of cold grey eyes that remained unblinkingly on her white face. He was a handsome man in a pagan sort of way, the handsomest man Sabina had ever seen.
‘Wh—who are you?’ her voice quivered.
His mouth twisted tauntingly. ‘I’m Satan’s master, who else?’
Sabina woke to find herself lying on a sofa, the hardest article of furniture she had ever sat on in her life. She had never fainted before either, for that was surely what had happened. God, that man—Satan’s master! She swung her legs to the floor, sitting up to come face to face with him.
He turned from his morose study of the fire, a man possibly in his late thirties, his expression not lightening as he saw her looking at him with wide frightened eyes. ‘So you’ve decided to wake up, have you?’ he rasped, pushing the black cat off his lap and standing up. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded. ‘And what are you doing here?’
Sabina’s mouth felt dry. ‘I—er—I asked you first,’ she said with a return of her usual spirit.
‘And I told you,’ he replied sharply, his voice deep and husky.
‘Of course you didn’t,’ she said with a nervous laugh. She had behaved stupidly a few minutes ago; this man might be dark and frightening, but he certainly had no connection with the devil. ‘That cat is Satan, isn’t he?’
‘He is.’
‘And you’re his owner.’
White teeth showed in the glimmer of a smile. ‘No one owns Satan. He just goes with the cottage. The locals believe the previous owner, a certain Mrs McFee, was a witch.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’
His steady gaze remained levelled on her. ‘Is it?’
Sabina swallowed hard. ‘You know it is.’
‘Do I?’
‘Of course it is! No rational human being—–’
His dark eyebrows rose, straight black brows that disappeared into the untidy swathe of dark hair that fell over his forehead. There was something about this man, something familiar … ‘Who says I’m a rational human being?’ his soft attractive voice taunted. ‘Who says I’m even human?’
‘Stop teasing me!’ She pushed back the hood that had been hiding her hair, unzipping her anorak. ‘Would you mind if I took this off?’ she indicated the damp garment.
‘Take off anything you want,’ he invited, already insolently appraising the curves she had revealed. ‘Female company has been in short supply around here.’
Sabina blushed under his intent stare, and left her coat on, wanting to wrap her arms protectively about her as he continued to look at her. ‘Then why do you live here?’ she snapped angrily. Her first impression of this man being a ghostly figure was completely wrong, he was all too human, despite his casting doubts upon the fact minutes earlier.
His face hardened, the angles sharper than ever, his eyes glacial. ‘I live here because it suits me to. Now I repeat, who are you?’
‘Sabina—Sabina Smith.’ She couldn’t stop looking at him, there was something so familiar about him, something at the back of her mind telling her she should know him, or someone like him. Without the dark growth of two or three days’ beard he would be—–
‘What are you staring at?’ He kicked viciously at one of the logs burning in the fire, sending sparks all over the hearth. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Answer me!’
‘I—I—– You—–’
‘Yes?’ His eyes bored into hers, holding her immobile.
‘You remind me of someone,’ she said nervously, the anger about that firm sensuous mouth making her cower in her seat.
He stepped forward, his hands biting painfully into her upper arms as he wrenched her to her feet. ‘Who?’ His face was only inches from hers as he shook her. ‘Who do I remind you of?’ he repeated.
