He knew her nationality before she opened her mouth and he heard that soft drawl. She had that lean, rangy look he associated with Americans. A result, no doubt, of all that corn-fed beef and huge mutant vegetables they fed their children over there. Long lustrous blond hair. Big clear blue eyes framed by dark lashes and brows. Not a scrap of makeup that he could see. She had the kind of beauty that would age like the finest whiskey.
It was hard to imagine what might bring a woman like that to Glenraven, but he was going to find out.
SAM DREW IN a calming breath and tried again. “I need to get to Loch Glenraven,” she said slowly and carefully into the phone as a chill wind whipped her hair across her cheeks. “Can you help me find a car and driver?”
The woman on the other end of the line said something, then paused, obviously waiting for Sam to respond. Sam wanted very much to respond but she hadn’t understood more than every third word. She wondered if the Scots people she’d met were having as much trouble understanding her as she was having understanding them. Sometimes she had to remind herself they were all speaking the same language.
“Please,” she begged. “Jock drove me here. Could he possibly—”
The word no came through loud and clear.
“Damn,” she whispered, pressing the off button on her cell phone. Now what was she going to do? The airfield’s office was locked. The clerk had apparently closed up for the day while Sam was talking to the naked pilot. And why shouldn’t he close up? She’d seen Texas ghost towns that were more active than this little airfield. With a storm kicking up, they probably wouldn’t see another soul all day.
She turned toward the crumbling runway. The naked pirate and his Cessna were still there. The thought of paying ten thousand dollars to go the hundred miles or so to Glenraven galled Sam no end, but she didn’t seem to have a choice. It was either pay that outrageous sum or spend the night alone in the middle of nowhere with nothing but her cell phone and her imagination for company.
And, to make matters worse, dark threatening clouds had settled over the mountains.
Besides, she hadn’t come this far to give up now. With a little luck, by this time tomorrow she’d have her elusive prey’s signature on the bottom line of an exclusive Wilde & Daughters Ltd. contract. That was worth whatever embarrassment she’d feel when she told the naked Scotsman she’d pay his ten-thousand dollar ransom to get to Loch Glenraven.
She marched to the plane and was about to hoist herself into the cabin when he appeared in the doorway. He was fully dressed except for shoes and socks. Wouldn’t you know it? Even his feet were gorgeous.
“It’s a deal,” she said without preamble. “Ten thousand dollars to fly me up to Glenraven right now.”
If her decision surprised him, he didn’t let on. The expression on his darkly handsome face didn’t change.
“You’ll pay me ten thousand dollars to take you to Glenraven.”
“It’s highway robbery, but yes, I will.”
“And what is there in Glenraven that interests you so much that you’ll surrender to highway robbery to get there?”
“That’s none of your business,” she said evenly. “Will you take me there or not?”
He hesitated. “There’s little in the way of amenities at Loch Glenraven,” he said. “It’s a small town and a tightly knit one. Strangers are looked upon with suspicion.”
“That won’t be a problem,” she said with just the right note of hauteur in her voice. “I’m expected.” Which, of course, she wasn’t.
“I know everyone at the Loch and all their friends and relations,” the pilot said. “Which one of them expects you, lass?”
His obvious distrust was getting on her nerves. “Bad enough you’re getting ten thousand dollars of my money,” she snapped at him. “You don’t deserve my itinerary, too.”
“Angus Birkell?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Robbie Macdonald?”
“No,” she said, as her tenuous hold on her temper began to slip.
“It couldn’t be Simon Laidlaw. He’s on his honeymoon with the Widow Leslie. Conn Thripp is in hospital. And old Tom wouldn’t be the kind of man you’d—”
“Duncan Stewart,” she burst out, unable to bear his patronizing scrutiny another second. “If you must know, I’m going to see Duncan Stewart.”
THE LASS’S NAME was Samantha and she claimed she had a six o’clock dinner appointment with Duncan Stewart at the castle.
Which was news to Duncan Stewart.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she demanded. “Is it so hard to imagine I might have an appointment with Mr. Stewart?”
Duncan nodded his head slowly. “Aye,” he said. “Harder than you might think.”
She seemed to gather strength from his momentary surprise. “So will you fly me up to Glenraven?”
“I’ll fly you to Glenraven,” he agreed. What better way to discover why the beautiful American businesswoman was on her way to breach the walls of his castle?
She extended her right hand. “Ten thousand dollars, American.”
He clasped her hand in his. Her fingers were long and graceful, her bones delicate. He could crush them with little pressure. “Ten thousand dollars, American.”
She allowed herself a quick smile. “It’s a deal.”
He allowed himself to notice what a beautiful smile it was. For a long time now he had gone out of his way to ignore such things. “We’d best get on with it,” he said, still holding her hand in his. “There’s a storm on its way.”
She glanced at the sky, and her clear blue eyes widened in alarm as she saw how quickly the dark clouds were approaching. “It’s not that I’m afraid to fly,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I just don’t believe in taking unnecessary chances.”
He hardened his heart against her display of courage. “’Tis my fondest wish to die in bed of old age. I’ll not be meeting my Maker in this bucket of bolts.”
She relaxed a little. “I’m glad to
