LISTEN TO A SAMPLE CHAPTER

 Audiobook format: MP3

Runtime: 00:28:04 minutes

Read by Angelica Robotti

CHAPTER ONE

Suddenly, she was frightened. Her hands clutched the wheel of the little Austin she was driving and her eyes swept across the vast stretch of moorlands. It was night, there was no moon, and Glenna Douglas began to suspect that she was lost, somewhere here in Scotland between the Ayrshire Mountains and the sea.

Off in the distance, she heard the baying of a great hound. At least, to her tortured nerves, it sounded like the cry of a monstrous beast. Her foot hit the brake, she slowed to a stop on the little country road, and sat there, rigid. Her eyes were wide as she glanced fearfully back and forth.

What had she gotten herself into? When she had started out from the United States to find her father, she had been quite confident. He had fled away to Scotland, the land of his ancestors, and he had intended to remain away for fear of facing a charge of murder. Now she was not at all sure of her destination, and even less sure of finding the father she loved.

Tears came unbidden into her blue eyes. She bit down hard on her lower lip.

“Oh, drat!” she whispered.

She had been searching now for several days. Her father was in Ayrshire—at least, his few letters to her indicated that fact—but she had not realized how much land there was in Ayrshire. Nor had she anticipated being out on a moonless night all by herself, with nothing to see and nothing to hear but the howlings of some huge dog. Glenna shivered. She wished now that she had not been so gung ho about driving without dinner. She didn’t know where she was and—she admitted frankly to herself—she had no idea of where it was she wanted to go.

Again she heard the baying, and now it seemed closer.

Well, the best thing for her to do was get out of there. She pressed her foot down on the accelerator. The car lunged forward and stalled.

Glenna sighed. Everything was going wrong for her. Her foot touched the starter. The engine gave a turn and died. Almost frantically she tried to start it again, and now there was no response at all.

The hound was closer, judging by its deep bayings.

Her eyes scanned the moorlands, seeing little but flat ground with big rocks here and there, and far off what appeared to be a stunted tree. There was no help for it, she had to get out and try to fiddle around under the hood and get this damn machine going again. Her hand touched the door handle and she stepped out onto the dirt road.

A wind was moving across the moors, carrying with it strange scents and a hint of coming autumn. Glenna sniffed at the air, telling herself that at another time she might have enjoyed seeing those moors, but right now they frightened her.

She lifted the hood and peered under it. All she could make out was a big dark mess that was the motor. I don’t even have a flashlight, she thought wildly, and fought back the sting of hot tears. She reached out and touched hot metal, then some wires.

“What am I doing?” she asked herself morosely. “Even if it were broad daylight, I wouldn’t be able to fix anything but a flat tire.”

The deep baying was very close.

Startled, Glenna whirled. A hundred yards away a huge dog was loping toward her. It was the size of a Shetland pony, she told herself frantically. She forgot the hood, forgot everything but her own safety. Glenna Douglas scrambled around the front fender and dove back into the car. Hurriedly she slammed the door and locked it.

The beast came loping up to the car and she could see saliva dripping from its jaws. Its eyes gleamed like hot red coals. It was like some monster out of Hell, she told herself, as she cowered behind the wheel. Its jaws opened and showed huge white fangs.

It stood up, putting its fore-paws on the car. Each paw was the size of a horse’s hoof, or so it appeared to her. The car swayed under its weight. It was going to turn the car over on its side, she knew. Then it would bite away the door and the next thing those teeth would be doing was chomping on her flesh.

Glenna moaned and closed her eyes.

From far away she heard a whistle. The huge animal paid no heed to it but continued to growl and slaver at her as if she were its meal. There was a wildness about the animal that touched deep into wellsprings she had forgotten since she was a child.

There was a gunshot.

Ha! That startled the demon. It sprang back from the car and stood on the road. It really was almost as big as her little Austin. Glenna closed her eyes and tried to remember the prayers she used to say long ago. Nothing would come into her mind.

She heard a voice now, shouting. The animal growled low in its throat but turned away and began loping off. Glenna, sagging in her seat, watched it go. At least she wasn’t going to be eaten alive! She turned her head in the direction from which she had heard the shot.

A man was walking along the road toward her. He was big, tall, with broad chest and shoulders. He seemed young, too, judging by the spring in his step. He was wearing a thick sweater and a tam-o-shanter. Her eyes watched him every step of the way until he was at the car.

Glenna rolled down the window.

“Thank you so much,” she said gratefully. “I was absolutely terrified by that thing.”

“Shouldn’t be out here alone on these roads after dark,” the man said.

Something rebellious stirred in Glenna. “I admit that, but I’ve been very anxious to find my father. He’s somewhere around this part of Scotland, but so far I haven’t been able to track him down.”

The man went on regarding her, and Glenna decided she might as well stare at him, too. He was young and rather handsome in a rugged way. Even in the darkness she got the impression that he was heavily suntanned, and that he was very strong. He certainly had huge shoulders.

“Trouble with your car?” he asked.

“Of course I’m having trouble with the damned thing. You don’t think I’d care to park out here in this godforsaken spot all by myself if I didn’t?”

The man’s lips seemed to move. In any other man, it might have been a smile, but with this one, Glenna couldn’t be sure. “Get out,” he said quietly. “Come along with me. I’ll put you up for the night and in the morning we can call the garage at Strathmoor to have somebody come out here and fix it.”

Glenna hesitated. She was not exactly afraid of this man, but she was by herself, and she was an attractive girl. At least, she had always been considered so, to judge by the number of men she had known who had always been very anxious to take her here and there. She sighed.

She certainly wasn’t going to spend the night in this car if she could help it. Better to take the risk of a fight for her virtue and a warm, snug bed than stay here until daylight.

She opened the door and got out. The man let his eyes roam all over her.

She was wearing a maroon sweater and a tartan plaid skirt. The skirt was a little short—it was an old one—and showed a lot of her legs. Glenna was glad, suddenly, that she had very shapely legs. To show her unconcern, she reached into the car and brought out her coat and handbag.

“I have a couple of suitcases in the trunk,” she murmured.

“Just bring one,” he told her.

Glenna eyed him coldly. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to forget the whole thing, but at the thought of a warm bed she decided to ignore the boor. She handed him the car keys.

“Pick whichever one you like,” she smiled.

He eyed her a moment, then took the keys and moved around behind the Austin. In a moment he had the trunk cover up and was staring in at an assortment of luggage.

“You’ll need a nightgown or pajamas,” he muttered. “In which of these bags are they likely to be?”

“You decide. I have some in each.”

He muttered under his breath, reached out and lifted a small bag. “It’ll be easier to carry this.” He turned to her then and said, “Come along. We have a bit of a walk yet to make.”

Glenna fell into step beside him, grateful for the fact that she had on flat-heeled shoes. They moved along in perfect silence for what seemed—to Glenna the better part of an hour.

Then she said, “You aren’t much of a talker, are you?”

“Not much to say.”

“You do have a name?”

“I’m the Mackenzie.”

“Well, Mackenzie, I want to thank you for rescuing me from—”

“The name is Keith Mackenzie.”

Her eyes twinkled with subdued laughter. She had always heard that Scotsmen were grim, dour individuals, and this man beside her could be the model for them all. She had the urge to reach out and pinch him, just to see how he would react.

Instead, she murmured, “I’m Glenna Douglas.”

He came to a stop, turned to look down at her. He was rather tall, she had to admit, and he did look somewhat handsome. Too bad he was such a grouch.

“Douglas,” he said slowly.

Glenna tilted up her chin. “And what’s wrong with being a Douglas?”

His chuckle was friendly. He reached out and caught her arm, drawing her closer to him. Glenna resisted the impulse to pull away, deciding he was merely being friendly, like a huge, shaggy dog.

“Nothing is wrong with it,” he told her as he walked along with her, almost pulling her with his big hand wrapped about her arm. “The days of the old feuds are gone, thank God. Now a Mackenzie can walk along with a Douglas through a moonless night without fear of a dirk being plunged between his ribs.”

“But can a Douglas walk with a Mackenzie without fear of having her arm broken?”

“What? Oh! I’m sorry. It’s just that I was so glad to learn you were a Scotswoman that I forgot myself.”

She smiled up at him as he took his hand away. She rather missed that hand, it felt so good, so—well, so protective. And Glenna decided she needed some protection after the events of the night.

She nudged him with an elbow. “No need to take away your hand. I rather liked it. Just don’t hold me so tightly.”

They walked like that, with his hand now gently holding her arm, and Glenna realized that she was happy, striding along with this stranger. The air seemed just as cold, but she was catching the scents of wildflowers now, and it was a heady perfume to her.

“Have you ever heard of William Douglas?” she asked suddenly.

“There’s been many a William among the many Douglases. To which one do you refer?”

“To my father.”

He stared down at her. “A living Douglas, you mean? Well no, I can’t say I have heard of him. What’s he done?”

Murder, she thought, only it really wasn’t murder. The man he had hit still lived, but her father did not know that when he fled away to Scotland.

“He came over here a few years ago,” she said softly. “There was—trouble—back in Indiana.” Glenna sighed. “I guess you could say he ran away, but only to save his neck.”

“Very wise of him.”

Glenna scowled up at the Mackenzie. “He wasn’t a coward. The man he struck deserved striking. But he fell against a stone and my father thought he would die and himself be accused of murder. And so he came over here to what he always used to call ‘the old country.’ I’m here to find him, if I can.”

They came to a turn in the road, and now the clouds seemed almost to roll back as moonlight flooded the flatlands around them. Glenna could see a big stone house—well, it was more than a house, really, it was so big. There was part of a stone wall around most of it and what appeared to be a ditch surrounding it.

“The Mackenzie castle,” he muttered.

“A real castle,” she gasped.

He chuckled. “It’s not so much a castle as it is a manor house, really. But we Scots live a bit in the past, from time to time, and what you’re looking at has always been referred to as the Mackenzie castle. At least, for the last three or four hundred years, anyhow.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Maybe not beautiful, she told herself. But it was very imposing, with its stone walls and leaden roofs, with the narrow openings in the walls, arrow-slits from which archers used to send their shafts down at attackers in the old, bad days of the clan feuds. There were big windows, too, along the main floor and on the upper ones. She could make out what seemed to be a garage off to one side, and a well. There were other buildings as well.

“You must need an army of servants to keep it up.”

“Aye. There’s me, myself, and I.”

She glanced up at his hard face. “You’re joking.”

Keith Mackenzie grunted. “I wish I were. Times are not so good, right now. I’ve had to borrow money and—”

He broke off, seeming to shake himself. “No need to bother you with my affairs.” His hand tightened on her arm. “Come along. I can put you up for the night, certainly, and feed you in the morning.”

“I could pay—”

She broke off hastily, seeing the anger come into his face. His big hand shook her for a second, as though she were a rag doll. Then he was all apologies, and he seemed almost to flush in the moonlight.

“You must forgive me. I’m a proud man, even if I’ve nothing to be proud about.”

“No, no. I apologize. It was unforgivable, what I said. It just slipped out Please! Say you forgive me!”

They stared into each other’s eyes, and Glenna felt something inside her leap up and jump around. Her heart? No, no. Hearts didn’t do that. But staring up at him, with those gray eyes of his staring right down at her, deep into her—well! It was almost as if they were seeing each other for the very first time.

“Of course I forgive you,” he murmured gently. “Not that there’s anything to forgive—”

“Oh, but there is! It was insulting, what I said. I’m truly, awfully sorry and I’ll never forgive myself.”

His smile was slow and gentle. It seemed to transform his face, making it less harsh and very handsome. His mouth was quite shapely, too, and seemed perfect for kissing. His arms were so strong they would just about crush a girl when they were wrapped around her.

What was the matter with her?

Her heart was thumping away, and she could feel the flush in her cheeks. Could he see it? She hoped not. But she could not tear her eyes away from his, just as it seemed he couldn’t look anywhere but at her.

“You must never say anything like that,” he was saying. “It’s myself is the stot—a very ox, to be sure. I’m not used to being around pretty girls, I live by myself and find myself rather boring company.”

“You are not! I think you’re charming.”

“With too much of an iron hand on a pretty girl’s arm,” he announced gloomily.

“The better to hold her up with.”

“Aye. There is that.”

He must have seen the twinkle in her eye, she decided, for suddenly he was grinning down at her, guiding her with a big hand at the small of her back, urging her along almost at a trot. They went down a narrow pathway between high grasses and Glenna could hear the rush of swift waters off to one side.

“Is there a stream somewhere about?” she asked.

“That’s the river.” He hesitated. “It isn’t much of a river but it does form a little lake where I go swimming on hot days, and later on becomes a bit of a falls as it rushes down the slopes toward the coast.”

“It must be beautiful.”

“Aye. It has its moments. Perhaps I could show it to you tomorrow.”

“Oh, would you?”

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

They came up to the huge front door that seemed to Glenna to be all of solid oak, with huge iron hinges and a lock which must have weighed all of fifty pounds. Keith pushed against the door and it swung open silently.

“Don’t you lock your doors when you go out for a walk at night?” Glenna asked in surprise.

“For why? There’s nothing here to tempt a self-respecting thief. In the old days, when my great-grandfather was alive . . . ah . . . it was a different story, then. My great-grandfather had the knack of. turning whatever he touched to gold. He was a wealthy man. The wealthiest around these parts, in Ayrshire or Lanark or Dumfries.”

She hesitated at the doorway. “How did he lose it?”

“He didn’t. He left it all to his son, who was a miser. Aye, my own grandfather it was who took the gold and the silver and whatever else that was worth a shilling or two and hid it.”

She stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Where? Where did he hide it?”

There was bitterness in his voice as Keith Mackenzie said, “Nobody knows. Oh, we’ve searched, my father when he was alive and I, but we found nothing. Not so much as a copper coin.” He lifted his head and stared outward across the moors. “It’s out there, the lot of it. The Mackenzie hoard. But what good does that do me?”

“Maybe you can still find it,” she said hopefully.

“Aye. When pigs fly.”

He pushed the door open with one hand even as his other urged her forward into a long hall lit randomly by candles. Glenna stared, seeing flags on the wall, and swords with basket-grips, and lances, with here and there an old-fashioned pistol. There was a worn rug on the stone floor, and pieces of armor, together with a massive ambry.

It was as if she had stepped into another world. Glenna stared, gasping, from a sword to a somewhat rusty breastplate, then on to a battle standard. It came to her that she was descended from men who had used such swords and breastplates and carried flags similar to these into battle. She had never really thought much about her Scots heritage; it had been a fact of life to her. Yet now she felt a swelling of her heart and was aware of a lump in her throat.

“Fascinating,” she breathed. “Oh, I love it!”

He eyed her with something like doubt mingled with disbelief. “It’s not much of a place,” he muttered deprecatingly. “It can’t compare with the Lamonts’ hall, for instance.”

She swung on him. “How can you say that? Why, it’s absolutely beautiful. It has so much historic interest, so much color and excitement that I’m almost speechless.”

Keith rubbed his chin. Some of his doubt fled away as he asked, “Do you mean that? You aren’t just saying it—as a guest might, to be polite?”

“Don’t you have any pride as a Scotsman? This is your heritage. You should be proud of it.”

“Oh, aye. I’m proud enough. But pride doesn’t pay the greengrocer.”

It seemed to him that she was glaring at him, her cheeks flushed as though with indignation. She was a fiery lass, he reflected, and felt some of that pride seep into his blood.

He went on, “If I could ever find the Mackenzie hoard, I’d be proud enough.”

“You can hunt for it, can’t you? What do you do here, day after day, anyhow? Oh! You have a job that keeps you busy.”

He shook his head. “No job. I suppose I ought, but there’s just myself to care for and I make do.”

Her eyes were accusing. “A big bullock of a man like you—with nothing to occupy his days, and you haven’t found that treasure yet? Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

Keith Mackenzie grinned. She was a spitfire, this one. Her blue eyes were snapping and crackling at him, or seemed to be, and that full red mouth of hers—that seemed suddenly so kissable to him—were making him feel oddly guilty. For no reason at all, of course.

“I’ve looked all over the moor,” he all but shouted at her.

“Then you haven’t looked in the right place.”

“I suppose you could find it, you only just having arrived here from America. You Americans! You think you know everything.”

“I may not know everything, but I don’t sit back and let the world push me around. If that money was mine, I’d find it.”

“Feel free to search for it.”

“Just so I could make you wealthy?”

The MacKenzie had to smile. There was something about this girl that woke an answering response in him. She was not at all like Marion Lamont, whom he was obliged to marry. Marion was a cold piece alongside this one, though she was lovely enough to turn the head of any man. The trouble with himself was, it was his heart and not his head that made no response to Marion Lamont.

He held up his hands, palms toward her. “Peace. I didn’t bring you here to quarrel with you. Now how about a spot of supper?”

His words made Glenna realize that her middle was absolutely empty. She had driven on without supper, hoping to find an inn or a public house where she might enjoy a hot meal. She had expected to be in Strathmoor by now, and there was a tavern or two there, or so her guidebook had suggested.

She smiled up at him. “Now that you mention it, I could do with something to nibble at.” She frowned, remembering his poverty. It might not be a good idea to eat food the man needed to sustain himself. “Just a bit of toast and some tea, perhaps.”

“Nonsense,” he boomed. “I’ll whip you up a supper that will make you glad you have Scots blood in your veins.”

His big hand turned her and walked her back along the hall to another room and through that, turning left, until they came into a big, wide kitchen. He struck a match and lighted a candle.

“Don’t you have any electricity?” she wondered.

“Of course I do, but electricity costs money and money is the one thing I don’t have much of. Besides, candlelight is more romantic.”

Glenna sniffed. Romantic, indeed! Still, she admitted to herself, it really was sort of romantic, seeing him lighting those candles and moving about with quick sureness. He went to a refrigerator and lifted out some covered plates and then several dark bottles.

“Skeachan,” he murmured. “Treacle ale. I make it myself, to while away the days.” His eyes lighted up. “A few sips of this and you won’t mind the rough fare I am about to serve you. Cold lamb, with sliced potatoes and onions done together in the pan.”

“Sounds delicious.”

He stared at her under gathered brows. “They’d serve you better at the Smuggler’s Haven Inn at Strathmoor.”

“Will you stop putting yourself down? And get out of the way. I’ll do the frying.”

She elbowed him aside and moved to put an apron about her slim middle. There was a fire smoldering in the big stone hearth off to one side, but she took the potatoes and onions toward the electric stove. Over her shoulder, she glanced at him.

“All right if I use the stove? I don’t want to run up your electric bill, you know.”

He scowled, flushing, and opened his mouth to speak. But then he saw the gentle laughter in her eyes and knew that she was teasing. He chuckled. “They say that Scots are thrifty, and maybe I’m too much so, but for tonight, we can use the electricity.”

Glenna sliced the cold potatoes and the onions, mixing them together in a big frying pan. The lamb she would serve cold. As she stirred the vegetables, Keith brought her a big goblet filled with honey-tinted ale.

“Drink that,” he nodded.

She took a sip. It was like sweet fire going down. Glenna blinked. “My, my,” she murmured, and took a longer drink.

“What do you call this stuff?” she asked slowly.

“Skeachan.” he told her. “Do you like it?”

“I’m not sure . . . yes, it’s very good. But I’d better not try any more just yet, or there’s no telling what sort of supper we’ll eat.”

The supper was delicious, however, and Glenna found that the trek from the stranded Austin had really put an edge on her appetite. The lamb was delicious, the potatoes and onions delectable. She ate until she felt stuffed, and sipped from her goblet—which, she noticed, Keith Mackenzie kept always filled for her—and then pushed back from the table.

“You can cook,” Keith said slowly. “I enjoyed the meal very much.”

“Pooh. I just heated up some vegetables. Sometime maybe I’ll show you how I can really cook.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Their eyes met, and Glenna decided that the treacle ale was very heady stuff, because she was getting ideas that a girl in her position, here alone with this big Scotsman, ought properly not to have. Her eyes considered him, aware that his own eyes were going over her.

He really was rather handsome, now that she could see him properly in the light of the candles. Rugged in an outdoor way, with fine shoulders on him and strength in his long arms. She’d bet those arms could really hug a girl. His hair was jet black, and thick, and a lock of it fell forward over his forehead.

She wondered why he lived alone, why he had not married. A man as handsome as he should have a wife. What was the matter with the girls of Ayrshire, anyhow, to let him run around free? Of course, it was none of her business, but just the same, she could think—and wonder.

Maybe it was the treacle ale that loosened her tongue. “No wife?” she found herself saying all of a sudden.

Glenna gulped and flushed, then went on hastily, “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. That stuff you gave me to drink is stronger than I thought.”

Keith chuckled. “Aye, it is that. But don’t apologize. In the ordinary way of things, I suppose I’d have married long before now. But I’m content enough, living by myself.”

No need to tell her of Marion Lamont and of the money he owed her father. Tomorrow morning she would be gone out of his life. Unfortunately. He liked to look at this girl, to study her beauty. He liked her fiery spirit, too. She had none of the haughty airs of Marion Lamont, and for that he was grateful. It was easy to be with her. And she had seemed to like the poor fare he had provided for her supper.

They stared at each other and a little silence fell.

That silence was broken by the faint howling of a dog, somewhere on the moor. It was a wild cry, and it seemed to go through Glenna like an arrow. She straightened and glanced nervously over her shoulder at the window. It was dark out there, now. The moon had fled behind a cloud.

“Is that the same beast I saw at the car?” she asked.

“Aye. It runs wild at night, sometimes, when it escapes. Somebody ought to kill it.”

There was something in his voice that made her stare at him, and she caught a dark, grim look to his face that was almost a threat. His gray eyes were hard, merciless.

Glenna felt a touch of fear stab down inside her. Why should the baying of a mere beast give him that wild, untamed look? Animals loved to run, and those broad moors must have made a marvelous playground for the dog. Still! She recalled its size and how it had come loping at her. If she had not had the car to escape into, it might have injured her seriously. Or even killed her. Could the beast be guarding someone? Or—something? Glenna told herself to try and find out just as soon as she could.

But not now. Keith Mackenzie sat, his face like iron, as if he had closed it against the world. He would not be likely to answer her questions in such a mood.

He said now, almost harshly, “You must be tired. I’ll see you upstairs to your room. You can sleep safely enough here. I’ll be at hand to keep an eye out.”

For what? What might the menace be that would harm her, a complete stranger?

She had no enemies here. Or—had she?