The Devil at Archangel (11 page)

water as the mood took her. The faint breeze lifted her hair, making

her feel fresh and invigorated— erasing the last vestiges of her

restless night. v Perhaps life at Archangel would prove to be much

more than just tolerable after all. In her present mood, she felt that she

could cope with anything, even unwanted advances from Theo. She

found herself smiling at the thought. What had happened to that

rather shy girl in England who had been made to feel grateful for a

man's attention, however slight? She was probably flattering herself.

Theo undoubtedly had a number of girl-friends, in spite of his

grandmother's remarks about his rather solitary existence. There was

altogether too knowing a look in his eyes for him to have led a

completely monk-like existence, and Christina decided that what Mrs

Brandon did not know, she could not possibly be expected to grieve

over.

Where Christina was concerned, he probably could not resist the

impulse to flirt with her, merely because she was there—another

moth to be drawn to the brightness of his candle-flame. Besides, if

she was honest with herself, Theo was not really her type, despite his

attraction. She was quite certain about this, even if she had not yet

formulated any definite idea as to what her—type might be. And she

was also quite—quite sure that Devlin Brandon did not come

anywhere near this vague ideal either. On the contrary, she thought

with a curl of her lip.

She was so immersed in her own thoughts, her ears filled with the

sound of the sea, that she wasn't aware at first of the muffled

drumming sound behind her. And when it did impinge on her

consciousness, she couldn't place it first of all. Then with a faint

shock, she realised that it was the drumming of a horse's hooves

coming along the beach.

She glanced over her shoulder, half resentfully, regretting the loss of

her solitude, and tensed, There was no mistaking the tall figure who

sat the big black horse as if he was part of it. He wore no shirt and the

upper part of his lean, muscular body was deeply tanned. His tawny

hair gleamed in the sunlight like a bronze helmet. For one helpless

moment, Christina registered the almost magnetic appeal of his sheer

masculinity, and then she was running up the beach, her feet sliding

in the softer sand, intent only on reaching the comparative sanctuary

of the garden beyond.

He was following her, she realised with a sense of desperation,

redoubling her efforts. She slipped, wrenching her ankle with a force

that brought a cry of pain from her lips, and sank down on to the sand

in a huddle of misery, nursing her injured foot.

Devlin Brandon brought his horse to a sliding, snorting standstill and

swung himself lithely from its back. He looped the reins loosely over

his arm and approached Christina on foot.

'Are you quite insane?'

She did not have to look at him to know he was blazingly angry. She

was angry with herself. What a fool she had been to run away like

that! She had simply given way to the sort of childish impulse that

should have been behind her for ever. Her only excuse was her total

reluctance to face him again, and now she could not even remove

herself from the scene with dignity.

She tried awkwardly to stand, but collapsed wincing as soon

as

she tried to put any weight on her ankle.

Devlin Brandon hooked the reins over a substantial piece of

driftwood and squatted beside her. She kept her

1 eyes resolutely

down as his fingers explored her ankle, trying not to flinch from their

warmth on her skin. Even the most impersonal touch was disturbing,

she thought with dismay. 'I shall be all right in a minute,' she told him

frigidly.

'I'm glad you think so.' He got up dusting the sand j from his hands.

'That ankle is beginning to swell—I think; you've sprained it slightly.

Anyway, it needs a cold water bandage. I'll take you along to the

cabin and fix it up.'

'No!.' She was shocked by her own vehemence. 'I—

I

mean—thank you. It's very kind, but I really will be fine. If I can just

rest here for a few minutes.'

'Stubborn little bitch, aren't you?' he said almost conversationally. 'I

know it must be gall and wormwood to you to be beholden to me

again, but you have very little choice. And I promise to confine my

interest in your somewhat underdeveloped body to your ankle, if

that's what's worrying you.'

She gasped with fury. As his hand reached out to help her up, she bent

her head swiftly and sank her teeth into it. He swore and snatched his

hand away examining the bright red crescent of marks in his flesh.

Christina sat quite still, numb with horror. What had possessed her to

do that? she wondered. No matter how barbed his remarks, such

behaviour was unforgivable. She glanced up at him, words of

apology trembling on her lips, and saw that he was smiling.

'So you bite,' he remarked laconically. 'What a pity it had to be in

temper.'

The apology shrivelled unsaid and her face flamed. 'You —you ' she

began chokingly.

'Swine?' he supplied kindly. 'Bastard? Sticks and stones, my child.

And don't let's play name-calling. For one thing, I'd probably win,

and for another it's a boring game for grown-ups. I'll teach you some

much better ones—when your ankle's better.'

'You'll teach me nothing!'

'Not even some manners?' Before she could prevent him, he had

picked her up bodily and carried her over to where his horse stood

patiently waiting. 'This is the second time I've had to come to your

assistance, and I can't say your gratitude has been exactly

overwhelming.'

He tossed her up into the saddle and gave his bitten hand a pained

look before untying the horse and mounting behind her. They began

to move off along the beach. Christina sat rigidly upright. She tried to

concentrate on her throbbing ankle in an effort to ignore his

proximity, but it was impossible. Although he made no attempt to

touch her, his arms were round her nevertheless, holding the reins,

and his warm body was only an inch or two from hers. If she relaxed

even for a moment, there would be actual physical contact between

them, and she knew with utter conviction that for her own peace of

mind that was something die had to avoid at all costs. She shrank

inwardly at the thought. It was shameful that she could feel like this

with a man she disliked as much as she did Devlin Brandon. And it

was doubly shameful when he had made it abundantly clear that her

unwilling physical attraction was not reciprocated. What had he

called her? Underdeveloped? Her face burned again.

They were rounding a small headland now, leaving the bay below the

house behind them. Another long expanse of beach faced them and

on the far side of it Christina could see a building—a large, rambling

single-storey shack, under the shelter of the cliff. Beyond this, a small

rather primitive jetty extended into the water, but there was nothing

primitive about the sleek lines of the boat tied up at it. It was a large

powerful-looking cabin cruiser, the paintwork spotless and gleaming.

As- they approached Christina could make out the name painted on

the hull,
Moon Maiden.

She was not used to horses and she felt jolted and shaken by her

unexpected ride. Her ankle too was hurting, quite badly now, and she

was almost thankful when Devlin dismounted and lifted her out of the

saddle. He slapped the horse on its rear and it threw up its head and

cantered off up a path leading away from the shore.

'Why did you do that?' Christina tried her foot gingerly to the ground.

'The horse is stabled at Archangel,' he said. 'It knows its own way

home and Marc will see to it for me.'

'I see,' she said, but she didn't. He didn't live at

Archangel—presumably this shack was the beach house Theo

mentioned—yet he appeared to have the run of the place andjris' pick

of the livestock. And the thought came unbidden to her mind—did he

have the pick of the women there too?

'Can you walk?' For a moment he watched her tentative efforts, .then

swept her up into his arms and walked with her up the rickety wooden

steps to the door.

Her instinct was to struggle, but reason prevailed and she remained

silent and passive in his embrace. Her first confused impressions

were of a big room, cluttered but essentially clean with a scrubbed

board floor enlivened by a few brightly coloured rugs. There was a

long low studio couch heaped with cushions, and to her surprise, at

the far end of the room, under a row of windows she noticed a

serviceable-looking work bench holding some strange bulky objects

covered by cloths.

She was so intrigued that she did not notice he had carried her

through a doorway into the bedroom, and by then it was too late to

protest. He grinned maliciously as if he could read her thoughts as he

dumped her unceremoniously on the bed.

She stared back defiantly, daring him to say anything edged, and after

a minute he vanished, presumably to fetch water and a bandage.

Christina studied her ankle. The bruise was coming up already and it

was quite' swollen. It was a relief, if she was honest, to lie on the bed

and not have to risk standing on it, but she would much have

preferred to have been on her own bed at Archangel. Restlessly she

looked round the room. It was not as large as the living room, and she

guessed the whole shack had originally only contained one room and

that this one had been devised by throwing up a simple partition. A

beaded curtain hung over the doorway. The furniture was simple in

the extreme, much of it looking as if it had been knocked together by

hand. There were a number of bookshelves all solidly filled and, of

course, the bed on which she was lying. A double bed.

She was still registering the implications of this when Devlin returned

carrying a bowl of water and a first aid box.

'Roll up the leg of your pants,' he ordered, setting the bowl down on

the floor beside the bed and pulling forward a wooden stool to sit on.

'Hurry up,' he added impatiently as she hesitated. 'Or I'll do it.'

Hastily she complied, aware of his sardonic grin.

'You really meant it when you said you didn't like being touched,' he

commented when the task was completed. 'I'm afraid you'll just have

to grit your teeth and bear it for a moment or two. There's no way I

can get a cold compress on that ankle without touching you.'

She had to grit her teeth right enough, but not for the reason he

supposed. He was gentle, but the fixing of the pad soaked with cold

water and subsequent bandaging were not among her most

comfortable experiences. Yet when it was over, her ankle felt better

almost at once under the firm strapping.

'Thank you,' she said awkwardly.

'That must have hurt more than the sprain itself.' The silver-grey eyes

mocked at her, and she flushed defensively. Devlin held out his hand.

'Try and stand on it.'

She accepted his assistance and got to her feet. It still hurt, but it

would bear her weight with the support of the strapping he had put

round it.

'It's fine.' She moistened her lips. 'I—I'd better be going.'

'Just as you please.' He turned towards the doorway. 'There's some

coffee on the stove if you'd like some.'

'I'd better not—I may have been missed by now.'

Eyebrows raised, he glanced down at the watch on his wrist. 'At this

hour? You've got to be joking. But run away, if it makes you feel

better.'

'It's not that,' she began stiffly, but he cut in.

'What else is it, then? Would it reassure your maidenly scruples if I

swore a solemn oath that I have no designs on your spotless virtue?'

Her colour heightened. 'I never imagined for one moment..

'And a pure mind along with everything else. Doesn't being -perfect

all the time become rather—restricting, Christy, my sweet?'

She glared at him. 'You twist everything I say,' she accused

recklessly. 'And my name is Christina.'

'Most of the time it is, I agree.' His eyes went over her with a slow,

comprehensive appreciation that made her feel warm and oddly

breathless. 'All very sweet and proper and slightly old-fashioned. But

when you're sandy and bare foot, and your hair's all tangled because

you've just climbed off my bed—then you're Christy.'

'How—how dare you!' Her voice shook.

'You'll find I dare a great many things,' he said coolly. 'There's a spare

comb in that top drawer over there, if you want one. I'm going to see