Master of Ben Ross Read online

  Master of Ben Ross - Lucy Gillen

  Melodie tried not to think about what John had implied: that Neil McDowell was too wrapped up in Ben Ross, the large Scottish estate, to care about a woman. She was prepared to admit that Neil had become the most important factor in her life—but she still shied away from recognizing that what she felt for him was love. If John was right, then the best solution was for her to leave. But somehow she knew her future was there at Ben Ross.

  Printed in U.S.A.

  Other Harlequin Romances by LUCY GILLEN

  1533—THE GIRL AT SMUGGLER’S REST 1553—DOCTOR TOBY

  1579—WINTER AT CRAY

  1604—THAT MAN NEXT DOOR 1627—MY BEAUTIFUL HEATHEN 1649—SWEET KATE

  1669—A TIME REMEMBERED 1683—DANGEROUS STRANGER 1711—SUMMER SEASON

  1736—THE ENCHANTED RING 1754—THE PRETTY WITCH

  1782—PAINTED WINGS

  1806—PENGELLY JADE

  1822—THE RUNAWAY BRIDE 1847—THE CHANGING YEARS

  1861—THE STAIRWAY TO ENCHANTMENT 1877—MEANS TO AN END

  1895—GLEN OF SIGHS

  1908—A TOUCH OF HONEY 1928—GENTLE TYRANT

  )930—WEB OF SILVER

  1958—ALL THE LONG SUMMER 1979—A HANQFUL OF STARS 1995—THE HUNGRY TIDE

  2012—RETURN TO DEEPWATER

  2026—THE HOUSE OF KINGDOM

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  Original hardcover edition published in 1977 by Mills & Boon Limited

  ISBN 0-373-02092-9

  Harlequin edition published August 1977

  Copyright ©1977 by Lucy Gillen. All rights reserved.

  Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher.

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  The Harlequin trademark, consisting of the word HARLEQUIN and the portrayal of a Harlequin, Is registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office.

  CHAPTER ONE

  GLEN Ross station was more or less as Melodie expected it to be, and she smiled to herself as she stepped down from the train and stood looking around her for a moment or two. The simple concrete platform ran one side only and scarcely merited the title of station, but there was also a little stone but built at one end of it and an elderly man was just emerging from the door to speak to another, younger man. If her information was correct Jamie McClure, the stationmaster cum-ticket-seller, was much more helpful and kindly than his somewhat, austere appearance suggested, and she approached him fairly confidently.

  It had been suggested that someone would meet her when she arrived, but being fairly familiar with the vagaries of British Rail she had decided to take a taxi instead in case she missed the connection. The idea of keeping a stranger waiting around for her did not appeal at all and since there was a taxi on call she might as well make use of it.

  The stationmaster was at present busy in conversation, but both men turned when she approached carrying her suitcase, and it was easy to guess that new arrivals were few and far between at Glen Ross. The younger man watched with a certain air of anticipation as she walked along the tiny platform, and made no secret of the fact that he liked what he saw, while the older one viewed her arrival with more plain curiosity.

  Melodie was not very tall, but she had enough good

  dress sense to make the most of a softly rounded figure and slim legs, and with long black hair and wide blue eyes she was pretty enough to be used to admiration without being self-conscious about it. Consequently when she put down her suitcase and hovered discreetly, it was with the confidence that she would get someone’s almost immediate attention.

  Although the older man was not impressed in the same way as his younger companion, he was nevertheless curious enough to look across at her inquiringly. The young one was quite attractive, although he was not, strictly speaking, good-looking. His features below a thick thatch of brown hair were open and friendly, and he had brown eyes that smiled when he did, and looked warm and encouraging, as if he might prove helpful should the stationmaster not be as co-operative as promised.

  ‘Oh, please, don’t let me interrupt,’ Melodie begged when their conversation ceased, but the younger man was shaking his head.

  ‘Oh no, that’s O.K., you’re not interrupting anything. I’m about through now—please go ahead.’

  His accent had a definite transatlantic twang and was not even vaguely Scottish, which surprised her, for she had already decided that he was a local, ‘ largely because of his features, she had to admit. He had what she had always thought of as a Scottish face—rugged but friendly, and rather attractive.

  ‘I understand it’s possible for me to get a taxi from here.’ She addressed herself to the older man, and he nodded.

  ‘Aye, that’s right. He disna stand in the yard, but if you’re needing him I can ring for him tae come. Would you be wantin’ me tae call him?’

  ‘Well, I have to get to Ben Ross,’ Melodie explained, ‘and it’s quite a distance, I believe.’ She gave him one of her best smiles, shamelessly seeking to get on the right side of him. ‘You must be Mr McClure?’ she guessed.

  For a moment she had the awful feeling that her efforts were going to be met with a firm snub, but then she realised that there was a faint smile barely noticeable on the dour face, and he was nodding. ‘I am that,’ he admitted, plainly puzzled by her knowledge. ‘You say you’re wantin’ to get to Ben Ross?’

  ‘That’s right.’ She was so thankful to have broken the ice that she gave him another smile. ‘I think you knew someone who lived there for a while, some years ago now. Catriona Holland—do you remember her?’

  The old man’s smile broadened and he nodded more firmly now. ‘Oh aye, I remember the lassie well I Miss Ross, she was then, o’ course. She inherited the old house when her uncle died, then married and went off to Australia—I mind her well.’ His shrewd old eyes scanned her face once more curiously. ‘You’ll be a relation, nae doubt?’

  ‘Not a relation,’ Melodic denied, ‘only a friend. I’m to stay at the lodge cottage for the next couple of months, and I’m really looking forward to it.’

  ‘Ooh aye?’ It was plain that the information surprised him, although it was difficult to imagine why, unless there was something about the place that she had not been told.

  ‘You seem—surprised, Mr McClure.’ She looked at him both anxiously and curiously. ‘Is there any reason why I shouldn’t stay at the cottage?’

  ‘Och, no, no.’ He was shaking his head again. ‘Yon’s a fine quiet and peaceful place for a holiday, though

  it’s mebbe a wee bit isolated for a young lassie like yourself.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind that!’ Melodie laughed, dismissing the problem of isolation. ‘I’m not exactly on holiday, you see, I’ll be working—at least I hope I will. My name’s Melodie Came, I’m an artist.’

  Once more the old man looked vaguely surprised, but it was evide
nt he thought it none of his business to show anything more than a polite interest. ‘Well, it’s a grand place for scenery too, and if you’re to be busy you’ll not be minding the isolation so much.’

  ‘It will make sure I work, at least,’ Melodie agreed. ‘Now if you would be so kind, Mr McClure—’

  ‘Oh aye, your taxi. If you’ll just wait a wee while, Miss Carne, I’ll get him to come and fetch you.’

  ‘Hold it!’ She had almost forgotten the young man busily stowing boxes in the boot of his car, but he was evidently still within earshot and interested in what was being said, for he put the last box in the car, then came to join them. His brown eyes were smiling at Melodie warmly and it was to her that he spoke. ‘I’m going out that way in just a minute, if I can be of any help,’ he said.

  It would be an easy solution and it was one that appealed to her, Melodie had to admit. ‘That’s very kind of you—but are you sure it isn’t taking you out of your way?’

  ‘Not in the least—I’m actually going to Ben Ross.’ ‘Oh! ‘

  She glanced at the boxes he had been putting into his car. Somehow he did not strike her as a delivery man, and he was not Neil McDowell. Her friends had described the Ben Ross estate manager as being almost blond, and this man had dark brown hair, apart from

  the fact that he wasn’t old enough—Neil McDowell should be in his mid-thirties, and this man was not much older than herself.

  ‘You may as well save the cab fare,’ the man beside her suggested, and she laughed, ready enough to fall in with the mildly joking reference to Scottish thrift.

  ‘In that case, I will—thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure!’ He offered a hand and with a smile she put hers in to it. ‘I’m John Stirling—my uncle works on the Ben Ross estate.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ His identity was clear at last, although judging by the size and opulence of the car he was driving, either it belonged to the estate or else Neil McDowell paid his men very well.

  ‘O.K.?’

  He waited for her nod of consent before lifting her case into the ,bood of the car with the boxes he had been stowing, and Melodie turned back to the little stationmaster and smiled. ‘It seems I won’t be wanting a taxi after all, Mr McClure, thank you.’ Impulsively she offered him her hand. ‘Goodbye, it’s been nice meeting you.’

  John Stirling saw her into his car and the old man was still watching curiously when they drove out on to a crunchy stone road that led steeply uphill. Looking back through the car window Melodie could see the hill continue on its way, this time sloping steeply downwards into what could be the village of Glen Ross—a collection of small cottages about a mile distant from the station.

  The road continued to rise just as steeply and she felt her heart beating faster all the time as excitement and anticipation mounted the nearer they got to Ben Ross. She looked forward to the next two months with

  growing confidence now that she was here, and it was obvious that she wasn’t going to be disappointed in Scotland. It was going to be all it was said to be if her first experience of it was a true indication.

  The scenery was breathtaking and she tried to take in everything as she was driven up the hill. She caught fleeting glimpses of distant horizons sometimes, between the trees; vistas of mountains with their heads in the mist, and broad sweeps of blue sky as a background. There were trees either side of the road, young rowans for the most part and not yet fully grown, and immediately behind and between them mass of wild roses was hung with small pink faces that peered from a tangle of green briars and leaves.

  Beyond them the ground sloped steeply in another direction, down to what looked like a rocky glen of some kind, where a river or a stream flowed around the foot of the hill and glinted and gleamed in the sunlight. The hillside itself was dotted with stunted elder and with goat-willow, and the water could be seen only as tantalising glimpses between them. What she could see looked so enchanting that she promised herself a much closer look before too long.

  ‘Did I hear you tell the stationmaster that you’re an artist?’

  John Stirling’s pleasant voice snatched her back to the present, and Melodie nodded. ‘I’m hoping to be one day,’ she told him. ‘I’m supposed to be—well, quite good, but I’m still only a beginner, and lately I haven’t been getting on very well. I’m hoping Scotland will inspire me.’

  ‘If it doesn’t, nothing will ! ‘ he assured her.

  Melodie looked out of the car window again, and could only agree with him. ‘It’s so beautiful, I can’t

  quite believe it’s true,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘It’s very like parts of Canada.’ He spoke with such confidence that she felt she could safely confirm that transatlantic accent, but before she could ask, he forestalled her by asking her about her own origins. ‘Where are you from, Miss Carne?’

  ‘From Surrey originally, but we moved as a family to Australia a couple of years ago.’

  ‘And now you’re back in the U.K.?’

  ‘Only me.’ She laughed and pulled a face, wondering why she felt she had to offer an excuse for her returning. ‘The others settled down quite happily.’

  He did not take his eyes off the road, and she thought he was not asking the question out of mere curiosity—he was interested. ‘But you weren’t happy?’ he suggested, and she laughed and shook her head.

  ‘I wasn’t exactly unhappy, just—restless. It’s a wonderful country, but I simply couldn’t settle down over there. I happened to mention at a party one evening that I’d like to go back—come back, and some friends of mine suggested I had a couple of months up here in Scotland to see if I could get back to working the way I used to.’

  John Stirling smiled at her over his shoulder, a warm encouraging smile. ‘I warn you, this place works spells,’ he said. ‘You might find when your couple of months is up you won’t want to leave.’

  Melodie looked out at the hills in the distance, and the clouds scattered like flakes of snow in the summer blue sky and smiled. ‘I might at that,’ she agreed.

  It was something of a surprise when he sounded more serious suddenly. `Do you know Neil McDowell?’ he asked, and she shook her head.

  ‘No, I don’t know him, only about him.’ He hesitated, or so it seemed to her, as if he was in two minds about something he had to say, and she looked at him curiously. ‘Why do you ask, Mr Stirling?’

  ‘Oh—no reason!’

  His shrug and the tone of his voice were enough to put ideas into her head; discomfiting ideas that disturbed her present rather complacent satisfaction, and she continued to look at him while she sought for reasons. If there was something about Neil McDowell that she should know, she would rather learn it now, before she arrived, than have whatever it was sprung on her after she got there.

  ‘Tell me about him,’ she said, and put on her most persuasive look when he turned his head for a moment. ‘I’d like to know what I’m up against, Mr Stirling, and at the moment I have a strange feeling that I might not be as welcome as I’d hoped.’

  John Stirling made no reply for a moment or two, then he shrugged. ‘It’s nothing much,’ he confessed. ‘It’s just that I’m rather surprised that he’s having someone stay there, that’s all, though of course if his boss said you were coming there wouldn’t be much he could do about it, I guess.’ He laughed and shook his head as he glanced briefly at her, and Melodie looked at him curiously.

  ‘You mean—he doesn’t like anyone staying there?’ It was a possibility that had not occurred to her, and she viewed it with dismay.

  ‘I can’t honestly say that, because I’ve never heard his opinion on visitors,’ John Stirling admitted. ‘But he guards Ben Ross as jealously as if he really was the laird.’

  ‘That’s the Scottish equivalent of a—a lord of the manor, isn’t it?’

  He nodded. ‘The locals refer to him as the laird of Ben Ross, though I’ve always taken it as rather a joke, but—I don’t know. Maybe I�
�m wrong and they really look upon him as the laird; I guess he is to all intents and purposes, for he’s looked after the estate since the days when old man Ross was still alive, and he must feel a kind of possessive love for the place.’

  More than that, Melodie thought, from the sureness of inside knowledge. She had a letter in her handbag, and papers that would put Ben Ross completely into the hands of Neil McDowell once all the legal formalities had been completed. His former employer and benefactor had left him a wealthy man and he had at last achieved his ambition to own the old house he was so fond of by persuading the old man’s niece to sell it to him. All this she knew because Catriona Holland had entrusted her with the precious papers—but she knew nothing of the man himself, or almost nothing, and perhaps John Stirling could enlighten her. -

  ‘You know him quite well?’

  He shrugged. ‘I know him,’ he said. ‘I doubt if anyone knows him really well, he isn’t a man it’s easy to get close to, but he’s not as dour as some folks think he is either.’ He laughed and looked at her briefly. ‘Dour is a Scottish word,’ he informed her. ‘It means kind of —forbidding, stern, if you like.’

  ‘Oh dear! ‘

  It was obvious he regretted the impression he had given, and he was shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Carne, I guess maybe I’ve put you against the man before you’ve even met him, and I didn’t want to do

  that.’ He turned the car into a gateway as he spoke, then put on the brake and turned in his seat to look at her. ‘This is the lodge cottage,’ he told her. `Do I drop you off here, or shall I take you up to the house?’

  To one side of the drive, hidden by tall shrubs for some half of its height, was a small stone cottage. It looked quite homely for all it was obviously empty, and Melodie felt vaguely out of her depth for a moment or two, until she remembered that she had no way of getting into her new home, even if she wanted to.

  ‘I have to get the key from the house,’ she said, `so if you could—’

  `Nothing simpler!’ He was smiling and somehow that was very reassuring, then he started up the car again and drove between high borders of shrubs which gave glimpses of steep hillsides on either side and a loch far down in a valley, shining like a blue silk patch amid the soft drabness of heather. ‘Please don’t take me wrong about McDowell,’ John Stirling begged. ‘He isn’t as dour as he’s reputed to be, and anyway—’ he turned and smiled at her, ‘one look at you and he’ll be charmed to welcome you.’