Sweet Bondage (3 page)

‘Of course!'

‘The first four fit. Can't tell about the other while you're hiding in that bulky coat.'

‘I'm not about to take it off,' she said, hugging her sheepskin more firmly to her. ‘Any number of girls would fit that description. I am not Glenda Channing.'

‘Then why are you driving her car?'

‘That's easily explained. Miss Channing took it into the garage this morning because the engine was making a funny noise. I offered to lend her my car to get her out of a fix. She
needed
transport urgently and I was in no particular hurry to get home. I said I'd collect her car and drive it home for her. It's as simple as that.'

An explosion of laughter burst from his throat, the unpleasant sort that grated. ‘You must think I'm simple if you think for one moment that I'm going to swallow that.'

His hand came forward. She shrank back in her seat, an automatic reaction that he acknowledged by the contempt that flickered in his eyes.

‘I was only reaching for this,' he said as his hand closed round Glenda's black patent leather handbag. ‘We'll soon see who you are, won't we?'

He opened it up. A few seconds' rummaging brought a twisted smile to his lips. ‘You lie with charming conviction and such a convincing innocence that you almost had me believing you. But I don't think I need look further than your driving license and credit cards for proof of your identity, do I, Miss Channing?'

Her eyes had closed in despair when she saw what he was doing. ‘I can explain that, too. The mix-up occurred in the cafe, Betty's Cafe, where I bumped into Glenda Channing. We shared a table. She left before I did and she took my clutch bag by mistake instead of her own handbag.' Even to her own ears it sounded a lame story.

‘That,
Miss Channing, is straining credibility just a bit too much. I'd even go as far as to say that it is an insult to my intelligence.'

‘It's the truth,' she said wearily, with little hope of convincing him. Everyone knows that a handbag is as personal to a woman as a wallet is to a man. Had the situation been reversed she would have been hard put to believe him. Yet there
was
a logical explanation and she must have another stab at getting through to him. ‘In normal circumstances I don't suppose she would have picked up the wrong handbag, but mine used to belong to her. I bought it at a church jumble sale.'

‘I'm not buying it. The lie, I mean. You've wasted enough time. Are you coming under your own steam or do we wrestle?'

‘We wrestle every inch of the way,' she said, gritting her teeth. ‘I am not Glenda Channing and I am not coming with you.'

She tried to sit fast. She made a spirited attempt, but she had about as much chance of resisting him as a feather has of knocking down a brick wall. He picked her up as though she was weightless, held her captive while he meticulously locked Glenda's car, and then ruthlessly tossed the car keys into the scrub beyond the drystone wall. ‘Unlocked cars tempt joy-riders. There's too much under that bonnet. Wouldn't like it on my conscience if some young hothead ended up wrapped round
a
telephone pole.'

His conscience again! This was incredible. Even as she kicked and screamed and struggled and bit, all the while hoping in vain that someone would come along and rescue her from what seemed to be her inevitable fate, she couldn't help but see the comic side. Kidnapping ranked as one of the vilest of crimes. How could anyone who dealt in that kind of human suffering have principles? Something didn't make sense.

‘I think you might be less of a distraction in the back,' he said, bundling her into his car. ‘In any case, you'll be more comfortable. We've a long drive ahead of us and if you want to catnap you can. I brought a blanket to make you cozier. Don't try anything stupid, like attempting to jump out or hitting me over the head with your handbag or any other foolish trick. At the speed I intend to travel you wouldn't live to regret it.'

‘I won't, then, because I want to live. I want to live for the pleasure of seeing your face when you find out you've kidnapped the wrong girl.'

‘Not that again. Repetition is so boring.'

‘I said when you find out, as you will when you discover that no one is particularly bothered about my disappearance. I've given up trying to convince you—for the moment.'

Conversation temporarily ceased as the car's powerful engine burst into life and it shot
off
at hair-raising speed. He hadn't been joking when he said he intended to travel at a fast pace. It didn't take her long to realize that he was more than a merely competent driver. The car seemed almost an extension of his own hands, following orders from a brain that was like lightning when it came to anticipating road conditions. His skill gave her a sense of security.

She must be as mad as he was. Here she was being kidnapped by a dark-visaged speed-demon and she was thinking in terms of security! She ought to be sitting on the edge of her seat, biting her fingernails and shivering in terror. Why didn't she feel afraid? She felt a lot of things, anger, frustration and—yes!—a sneaking admiration for the magnificent way he handled the car and a rising sense of adventure, but no fear. Now why was that?

Chewing on that thought it came to her that he was no ordinary run-of-the-mill kidnapper. Not that she had ever met a kidnapper before; she had no yardstick to measure one by, but he seemed not only too kind but too affluent. On the other hand, she supposed that kidnapping could be quite a lucrative business. If he made his living by it, and providing he didn't make today's mistake too often and pick up the wrong victim, he could afford to dress well and run an expensive car.

Somehow, though, she thought this had the flavor of a one-off job, rather than a regular
occurrence.
If that were so, then her first, hastily reached conclusion that she was being abducted for money might also need revising. She could be wrong, but perhaps Glenda hadn't been chosen solely on the grounds of her father's vast wealth. What if money didn't enter into it and she had been abducted to settle a score?

She'd heard enough village gossip to know that this was more than likely. Clifford Channing hadn't got where he was today without making enemies. He was reputed to have a nose for profit, seeing possibilities others missed, playing his hunches with boldness, flair, and ruthlessness, using people, then destroying them. It was said that he didn't care what hardship he caused and turned a deaf ear to appeals. It didn't matter to him if he left a man's life in ruins or broke a woman's heart. He liked female companionship almost as much as he liked making money. His lady of the moment was always ‘the one,' but the cosseting never lasted. He quickly tired of her and she got the same shabby treatment he handed out to his business associates.

They had traveled for quite some time now, through daylight and into darkness. Funny how courage wanes when light fades. Things always seem more terrifying in the dark. She wished she hadn't remembered Clifford Channing's reputation. It wasn't funny anymore. She realized that she had been foolhardy not to
appreciate
the gravity of her position sooner, not that she could have done much about it

‘You're very quiet,' he tossed at her over his shoulder. ‘Are you all right?'

‘I'm a bit stiff. I could do with stretching my legs. And I'm hungry.' And scared. She didn't add this, thinking it was better to keep her new-found fear to herself.

Perhaps fear wasn't something she could hide very well, because he said, ‘There's food in the car. I'll pull off the road as soon as I see a likely place. Oh, and you don't have to sound so frightened. You must know that I'm not going to harm you.'

‘Thank you,' she said gruffly, comforted by the assurance despite herself.

The car headlights picked up a road sign indicating a lay-by ahead. He reduced speed in preparation and pulled in.

He flicked on the interior light, hauled out a food hamper, and lifted it on to the passenger seat by his side.

Opening it he apologized, ‘Only sandwiches, I'm afraid. But you do have a choice. Chicken or ham?'

‘Chicken, please. I'd appreciate a drink of something first. Traveling long distances always gives me a thirst.'

‘Coffee coming up.'

He took a flask from the hamper and unscrewed the top even before she said, ‘Lovely, thank you.'

It
was more than lovely. It was delicious. Hot and strong, easing a passage in her throat, dispelling the dryness and a little of the fear as well. The situation seemed slightly less menacing now that she was on the receiving end of human kindness in the form of food and drink. She wondered if he would be more disposed to listen to her now. She could but try.

‘Honestly, I'm not Glenda Channing. There's no point in your kidnapping me. It was true what I said about collecting Miss Channing's car for her and the mix-up over the handbags.'

‘Still keeping up the pretense, are you? Anyway, who's been kidnapped? This was at your instigation; you've come voluntarily.'

‘You know that I've done no such thing.'

‘It's too late for a change of mind. I've gone to a lot of trouble to fetch you. Elaborate plans have been made.' He swallowed the rest of his coffee in a gulp, put the cup back in the hamper and twisted round, his arms bent at the elbows and splayed along the back of his seat, granite chin resting on linked fingers to look at her. ‘I expected you to look more hardboiled. Who would have thought that anyone with such an appealing little face could be so heartless and insensitive? I don't mind admitting that I'm having problems on that score. I've got to keep reminding myself of what you have done—and what you would do,
given
half the chance. You stand for everything I most despise. This time you've met your match. Clever as you are, you may as well get it into your head to drop the pretense because it isn't going to do you any good. I am not taken in, nor am I likely to be. Is that clear?'

‘No, it isn't I've landed myself in some bizarre situations in my time, but I've never been involved in anything like this before. I'm beginning to feel really angry.'

His words had caught her on the raw. She wasn't used to being viewed so harshly. She liked to think that she was regarded kindly and admired for her caring and the way she concerned herself for others. She didn't think it was too conceited of her to know that this was the majority opinion and that most people thought well of her. Miss Davies, her superior at work, had once confided that she loaded things on her quite shamefully because she was a kind-hearted girl who never grumbled when asked for help.

It came to her that she was taking this personally, as if his biting contempt was directed against her and not the girl he thought she was, Glenda Channing. It also occurred to her that she was being paid back for her earlier dissatisfaction with a vengeance. Never again would she covet anyone else's lot as she had Glenda Channing's. Not only was this a severe punishment, but it brought a complete reversal of thought. She was glad she
wasn't
the other girl. She couldn't have borne it if he'd looked at her like this and known all the while who she was. Hard on the heels of that thought came a tremendous sense of self-betrayal. Why should she want him to think well of her? His code of behavior was hardly commendable, no matter what injustice, real or imaginary, had been done to him. She was a fool to want his good opinion.

‘Hurry up with your coffee. You can eat as we go along. We still have a fair amount of ground to cover.'

She had no option but to do as she was told. The fleeting idea of getting out of the car and making a run for it was squashed. It would be a waste of energy. He would catch up with her and bring her back. She was better hanging on and watching out for an opportunity that gave her a sporting chance of making an escape.

‘Is there any point in my asking where we are and where we're heading for?' she inquired, thinking the information might come in useful.

He shrugged. ‘Won't do you much good to know, but I'll tell you. We're in the Border Country. Our destination is an island off the coast of Scotland.'

‘And . . . then what?'

She had already deduced that Scotland was his homeland. Although his accent was modified, possibly by an education received elsewhere, the rolling of the r's was a dead
giveaway
that he had links there.

His eyes moved with slow and purposeful precision down the slender length of her body, which was still obscured by the bulk of her sheepskin coat, and that strange bitter smile she had seen before touched his mouth once again. ‘We'll just sit it out and wait.'

‘Wait for what?'

‘Until it's too late.'

‘Too late for what?' When he didn't answer she said, ‘Why won't you believe that I'm not Glenda Channing and I don't know what you are talking about?

His voice was cool. ‘Of course you don't You're sweet and innocent, as pure in mind and body as virgin snow. Still, time will disclose all, don't you agree?'

‘Yes,' she said, but without conviction.

She didn't like the way the net of circumstances had drawn her in. She didn't like the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. It confirmed her suspicion that she wasn't being abducted for money and had been snatched to settle a score. But it destroyed the assumption that the score to be settled was against Glenda Channing's father. It seemed that it was against Glenda herself.

Glenda's guardian angel had worked overtime on her behalf in planting her in Glenda's place. Lucky for Glenda, not so lucky for her. Her guardian angel had apparently taken the day off.

2

It was ironic that she had always wanted to go up into the Scottish Highlands, but for one reason or another she had never got farther north than Edinburgh. As a schoolgirl she had been held in thrall by Scotland's romantic and turbulent past. She had thrilled to the exploits of Bonnie Prince Charlie and Flora MacDonald and shivered to the gory tales of bloody battles and the ruthless butchery that took place as the Scots feuded among themselves or fought the invader in defense of their kingdom.