An Enigmatic Man. Carole Mortimer

mouth felt suddenly dry, every bone and muscle in her body tense with the shock of confrontation, wide gaze held in the hypnotic effect of those steely canine eyes.

      And all the time the gigantic beast kept up that low growl that closely resembled the threat of thunder.

      ‘What is it, Merlin?’ prompted a disembodied voice.

      If Crys had been rigid with shock before, she suddenly felt icy tentacles of fear gliding down her back. She had always wondered what was meant by a ‘cold sweat’—now she knew!

      Where had that voice come from? There was no one else here in this swirling fog but herself and this ferocious-looking dog, and yet she had definitely heard a voice. Male, she thought. Although it had been slightly muffled, so it was difficult to be sure.

      What did it matter whether the voice had belonged to a male or female—as long as it had been a voice! At the moment she felt very much in need of the presence of another human being.

      If it had been human…

      Get a grip, Crys, she instantly instructed herself impatiently. Okay, so it was creepy here, with the swirling fog surrounding her and that towering monstrosity behind her, and the Hound of the Baskervilles standing in front of her, barring her way, but that was no reason to simply give in to the panic and turn and run!

      Yes, it was!

      Any minute now this huge beast might tire of just growling and launch itself at her, huge jaws slavering as it ripped and tore at the delicate skin of her throat. She—

      ‘I’m warning you now, Merlin, that if you follow any more rabbits down their holes I’m not coming after you and digging you out again.’ The disembodied voice came hollowly through the fog a second time.

      It was a man! He was somewhere close at hand too, Crys was sure. Close enough to save her from this wild dog, she hoped.

      ‘Help!’

      Wonderful—her lips were so numbed that the cry barely came out as a squeak! Although it was enough to turn that low rumbling growl into a full-throated warning of intent. The dog was clearly preparing to leap for her unprotected throat!

      ‘Help!’ Her second cry was louder. Loud enough to be heard, she prayed silently—because she really didn’t hold out much hope for the dog’s continued stillness!

      ‘Damn it, Merlin, I— What on earth—? Down, Merlin,’ the man called impatiently, and the dog’s snarl instantly changed to a muted growl.

      Crys’s scream had cut across the man’s initial remark as a head suddenly appeared out of the ground about ten feet away from her: a dark, shaggy head, with a beard of several days’ growth covering the lower half of a face only alleviated by the fierceness of dark green eyes glittering brightly through the gloom of the fog.

      But at least the dog had taken heed of his master, falling back on his haunches now, even its growling having come to a stop—although its gaze remained fixed on Crys’s slightest move. Waiting, no doubt, for his master to give the order to attack!

      But she had no intention of moving. She hadn’t been able to do more than stare since that body had appeared out of the ground!

      Maybe this was Dracula’s castle, after all. Maybe—

      Her eyes widened apprehensively as the man used a spade to lever himself easily out of what appeared to be a hole in the ground. A hole about six feet long, three feet wide, and she had no idea how deep…!

      Her vision moved to the man’s feet as he straightened, then travelled up the long length of his legs, in what appeared to be black denims, and over a broad chest and muscular arms in a thick black jumper. He had darkly waving hair growing long onto his shoulders, and of course the dark growth of beard that concealed his face. Except for those piercing green eyes.

      The man seemed huge, several inches over six feet, the powerful force of his muscled body as tensed for action as his dog’s had been seconds ago.

      In fact, now that Crys could clearly see him, she wasn’t sure if the dog wasn’t a safer bet!

      She moistened dry lips, willing herself to remain calm. ‘Hello,’ she managed huskily.

      The hard mouth tilted sideways, hinting at the scorn with which the man welcomed her greeting. “‘Hello”?’ he returned scathingly.

      Crys was still badly shaken, first from the encounter with the dog, and then the sudden appearance of this man almost as if from nowhere. But that didn’t mean she was a complete quivering wreck!

      ‘What were you doing in there?’ She indicated the hole. It was January, so too late for digging the garden over, and also too early for planting out. Besides, from the size and depth of the hole…!

      Dark brows rose over his glittering green eyes. ‘What do you think I was doing?’

      Despite his dishevelled state, the untidiness of his hair and growth of beard, the man had an educated voice. In fact under other circumstances it might have been quite a pleasant voice.

      Under other circumstances…

      Crys gave a slight shiver as she glanced over at the hole he appeared to have been digging. ‘I have no idea,’ she answered guardedly.

      The man didn’t actually appear to have moved, and yet somehow he suddenly looked tenser than ever, the spade in his hand slightly threatening. ‘Take a guess,’ he challenged hardly.

      Crys swallowed hard. This was ridiculous. She simply wanted directions to Sam Barton’s house, not to indulge in verbal games with a complete stranger. A dangerous-looking one, at that.

      ‘Look, I’m really sorry to have bothered you—’

      ‘You bother Merlin more than you do me,’ the man dismissed coldly.

      ‘Merlin…? Oh, you mean the dog,’ she realised belatedly. The huge beast was sitting at its master’s feet now, but still watching her every move. At the mention of his name he began that low growling once again…

      The man gave a humourless smile. ‘He isn’t too keen on being called that.’

      Crys blinked. ‘But I thought you said Merlin was his name?’ She frowned her puzzlement.

      ‘It is.’ The man nodded tersely. ‘I was referring to your reference to his species.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘You and I both know what he is,’ the man cut in impatiently. ‘Merlin is the one who has doubts, and I think it better if we humour him—don’t you?’

      Crys glanced down at the slavering animal. ‘Exactly what sort of…what breed is he?’ she amended, opting on the side of caution. After all, Merlin had only just stopped growling again.

      ‘Irish Wolfhound,’ the man supplied. ‘Now, I’m sure it’s been very pleasant passing the time of day with you—’ his tone implied otherwise ‘—but, as you can no doubt see, I have a grave to finish digging. So if you wouldn’t mind—’

      ‘It really is a grave?’ she gasped, her grey gaze once again wide with apprehension. The damp of the fog seemed to have seeped into her very bones and she gave a slight shiver.

      Good heavens, perhaps she really had stumbled on Dracula’s castle, after all? Although she’d thought vampires only came out at night. Well, the heaviness of the damp fog hardly made it daylight, did it? She had been driving with her headlights on for the last two hours!

      ‘Who—er, I mean, what—?’ Crys began to take small steps backwards even as she formulated the question, positive that if she attempted to run the dog would have her down on the ground in seconds. The hound was obviously completely obedient to his master. A master who seemed more menacing by the second…

      Not that he had looked particularly inviting in the first place. How to make a dignified exit? That was the problem.