Chapter 3

“ S naffles!” Izzy cried, sprinting pell-mell along the treacherous path after him. Bloody hell! She was going to turn an ankle if she wasn’t careful! “Come here this minute!”

But Snaffles was most definitely not listening and in fact, he was almost out of sight. All she saw was a quick glimpse of his backside before he disappeared over a rise.

Right. This was the last straw. She was not taking him for a walk ever again!

To make matters worse, the weather seemed to have suddenly taken a turn, becoming cold and wintry almost the instant she dashed under that arch of stones. The flask of hot chocolate she’d left in her car was suddenly very appealing.

From somewhere ahead came a surprised grunt and then the high-pitched sound of Snaffles’ excited yips. Oh no. What had he done now?

Puffing and blowing, she reached the rise and looked down to see a man on his back, Snaffles jumping all over him in excitement, desperately trying to plant slobbery kisses all over the man’s face. He seemed to have forgotten all about the cat now he’d found a new playmate.

Mortification stole Izzy’s breath. With a flush of embarrassment heating her cheeks, she strode over, grabbed Snaffles’ collar, and pulled him off the man.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she blurted. “He ran off before I could get hold of him. He’s friendly—well a bit too friendly, actually. ”

The man scrambled to his feet, uncoiling all six-foot-something of him, and wiped the slobber off his face with a look of disgust.

“Clearly,” he said, eyeing Snaffles who was now straining against Izzy’s hold, tail wagging furiously.

“Snaffles, sit!” Izzy commanded, her voice echoing between the large boulders that littered the hillside. The dog looked at her, then at the man, and sat down obediently. His tongue lolled out of his mouth in a pant, his tail thumping happily on the ground.

Izzy chuckled nervously. “Well, that’s one way to make an introduction. I’m Izzy by the way. Isabelle, that is. Isabelle Ross. And this unruly ruffian is Snaffles.”

The man finally smiled, a brief flash of warmth in his intense gaze. “Magnus Kerr.”

Izzy held out her hand and Magnus slowly took it. She could feel the callouses on his palm and the strength in his heavily muscled arm. A working man for sure. Snaffles yipped and made a half-hearted attempt at jumping up again but Izzy’s firm grip on his collar stopped him.

“Good to meet you, Magnus,” she said, shaking his hand and feeling relieved he wasn’t more annoyed. “And sorry again about Snaffles. He’s got a lot of energy and ran off chasing a cat.”

“A cat?” Magnus asked, looking surprised. “A striped tabby by any chance?”

“Yes! Have you seen him?”

“Aye, I did. A little while ago but he’s long gone by now.”

She blew out a breath. “Good. Hopefully he’s made his way home. ”

Magnus glanced towards the ridge where she had come running from. “Aye, as any creature of sense should be doing in this weather. What are ye doing up here?”

That was a strange question. Wasn’t it obvious she was walking her dog? Well, not her dog technically, but a dog. “Hiking,” she replied with a shrug. “Like you.”

Magnus studied her. His eyes, she noticed, were a startling shade of blue, as clear as the Highland sky on a sunny day. He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering momentarily on her brightly colored hiking boots. With a slight frown, he ran a hand through his hair—a dark mane of curls, tousled and wind-blown. His face was unshaven with a couple of days’ worth of stubble shadowing his strong jawline. He wasn’t just tall either, but broad and heavily muscled, with the kind of physique that would have him playing prop in a rugby team.

With a start, she realized he was deliciously attractive, even if he was wearing some very strange gear. Rather than hiking attire, Magnus wore a traditional tartan-wrap-type-thing. The fabric was heavy yet draped smoothly over his broad shoulders, cascading down his back and across his torso in a graceful fall that ended at his knees. It was fastened by a brooch at his left shoulder in the shape of a bird of prey that gleamed in the weak winter sun.

And that wasn’t the most unusual thing about him. No, the prize for that had to go to the enormous sword strapped to his back.

“Whoa!” Izzy exclaimed. “What is that ?”

He glanced over his shoulder to where the hilt stuck up. “My claymore,” he said, as if walking around the Scottish Highlands with a sword strapped to your back was the most normal thing in the world.

Izzy laughed nervously. “Oh. Right. Of course it is. Aren’t you a bit strangely dressed for hiking?”

“I’m not...hiking.” His eyes swept away from Izzy and back towards the rocky ridge.

Snaffles, bored with their conversation, began nosing about nearby, his tail wagging as he sniffed here and there among the rocks and heather.

Izzy followed Magnus’s gaze. “Um...are you expecting company?”

“Did ye see a band of men as ye came up here?”

“No. Why?”

Instead of answering, he knelt in the mud and began examining the ground, eyes darting every which way, as though searching for something. After a moment, he got up, moved off a little way, and did the same thing.

Izzy watched him, bemused. “What are you doing?”

“Searching for tracks. Although now all I can see are pawprints. Yer hound has ruined the trail.” He growled low in his chest. “Damnation.”

“Um, are you a hunter or something?” Izzy asked, trying to figure out this strange man.

He paused and looked up at her. “Aye, something like that.”

Curiosity piqued, she moved closer, mindful of Snaffles who had now found a new interesting scent on the other side of the path and was digging furiously.

“What are you hunting?”

“Men. ”

She blinked at him, taken aback. What was that supposed to mean? Who hunted men? Was he police? A mountain rescuer? But to her knowledge, neither of those carried a damned sword!

“I didn’t see any men on my way up,” she said finally. “If it helps.”

His gaze flickered back to her—those intense blue eyes seeming to look right through her. “From which direction did ye come?”

“I parked up at Marris Head and took the westward trail.”

“The westward trail,” he muttered under his breath. “So they didnae go that way.” He began scanning the ground again before giving a frustrated sigh. “It’s no good. The trail is too churned up.” He gazed out towards the south, sunlight reflecting in his blue eyes. “Where are ye?” he muttered, so softly she barely heard him. “I will find ye.”

This was all getting strange. Well, strang er . Today had not been exactly normal before she met Magnus. First Irene MacAskill, then a cat appearing out of nowhere, then Snaffles deciding he’d had quite enough of doing what he was told for one day, thank you very much. Yes, today was turning out to be very strange indeed.

“Okay, it was great meeting you,” she said, although she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. “Sorry again about Snaffles. We’ll leave you to your...er...hunting. Snaffles! Here, boy!”

But Snaffles did not obey. He was sniffing furiously amidst the tussocks of grass.

Izzy ground her teeth. “Fine. The leash it is. ”

She took a few steps but Magnus held up a hand to stop her. “Wait.”

“For what? He’s just smelled a rabbit, that’s all.”

“I’m not so sure.” Magnus walked slowly towards where Snaffles was sniffing. “What is it, lad?”

Snaffles glanced at Magnus, wagged his tail, and then set off into the grass at a fast walk. Magnus hurried after him.

“Where are you going?” Izzy called, but Magnus was already weaving off among the heather, Snaffles leading the way with his tail high in the air. “You can’t just go off with my dog!”

Magnus stopped abruptly, looking down at Snaffles as he sniffed at something on the ground.

Izzy puffed her way over to them. “Now you listen here—”

Magnus ignored her, knelt, and began examining the ground. His eyes narrowed in concentration and his lips moved slightly, as though muttering to himself. After a moment, he reached out and picked something up.

Izzy moved up next to him so she could see what he—or rather Snaffles—had found. It was a piece of dark-colored cloth that might have been torn from a jacket. It looked unremarkable to her but Magnus was staring at it intently.

“Um...is that important?”

“It’s from one of their tunics,” Magnus replied. “And Snaffles found it. I didnae realize yer dog was a tracker.”

“Neither did I,” Izzy murmured, raising a sardonic eyebrow. “He’s full of surprises.”

Snaffles, looking enormously pleased with himself, barked at Magnus excitedly. A brief smile flashed across the big man’s face, transforming his features from good-looking to positively devastating. “Aye, lad. Ye’ve done well. Now, can ye do even better? Do ye think ye could follow the scent of this?”

He held the scrap of cloth out to Snaffles who sniffed it for a long time then stuck his nose to the ground, scenting around a little before setting off through the grass once more.

“Ha!” Magnus cried. “He’s found the trail!”

Before Izzy could reply, he set off after the dog, his long strides eating up the ground. Izzy planted her hands on her hips. Alright. She’d had just about enough of this. There was no way she was going traipsing over the moors following Snaffles like he was some kind of bloodhound. Knowing him, he’d just smelled something disgusting he wanted to roll in.

“Stop right there!” she yelled, hurrying after Magnus. “Where do you think you’re going with my dog?”

She caught up with him and grabbed his arm. He spun to face her and she was suddenly faced with all six-foot-and-more of him so close she could smell his sweat-and-sky scent.

His gaze was intense, like a flame burning in deep ice. “I’m sorry, lass, but I need to find those men. Snaffles might be able to help me.”

Izzy blinked, her pulse racing at the proximity of him. She was aware of the warmth of his arm under her grip, the firmness of his muscles and the intensity of his stare. She released his arm and stepped back.

“So you’ve already said. But I need to get back to my car. ”

Up ahead, Snaffles had stopped and was looking back at them as if wondering why they were no longer following. Magnus glanced at the dog and then back to her. He scrubbed a hand through his dark curls before speaking again.

“All right. How about we make a bargain? Ye allow Snaffles to follow the scent only until I find footprints again and can follow the trail on my own. Then I’ll escort ye safely back to yer carriage. Would that be agreeable?”

“Why?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Who are these men and why do you need to find them so badly?” And who the hell are you, wearing a tartan dress and carrying a sword?

Magnus rubbed his stubbled chin with one big hand. “Let’s just say that finding them will help many people. Ye will just have to trust me. Can ye do that?”

Izzy found herself staring into his eyes. Although she had no reason to trust him, she found that she did. Perhaps it was because Snaffles had taken to him immediately and seemed so relaxed in his company. Or perhaps it was because she found him intriguing and attractive at the same time. Or perhaps—and this was the most likely reason—it was because she was a complete and utter idiot.

“What do ye say, Isabelle?” he asked in his deep voice.

He held out his hand to her, an appeal in his deep blue eyes. The wind gusted, stirring the rough grass of the moorland and ruffling Magnus’s thick hair as he awaited her answer. Izzy found herself staring at him, her mind churning with thoughts and feelings she’d rather not examine too closely .

“Alright,” she heard herself say, not quite sure where the word had come from. She slipped her small hand into his large one and shook it, sealing their bargain. “Agreed. But I expect a full escort back to my car once you’ve found your trail again.”

Magnus’s grip tightened around hers, a brilliant smile lighting up his face. At the sight, a tingle went right through her. “Agreed.”

With that, they set off following Snaffles who resumed his tracking, nose scanning the ground and tail wagging in excitement.

Despite her previous irritation, as they began trekking across the rough, wintry moors and ridges, Izzy was startled to discover she was actually enjoying herself. Eh? What? Well, she supposed she had come out here to escape work stress hadn’t she? And if nothing else, this little jaunt was certainly taking her mind off work.

MAGNUS TRIED TO PUT today’s strange events from his mind, and focus on following the dog. Snaffles. Really? What kind of name was that for a hunting hound? And in fact, what kind of noblewoman—for surely that is what Isabelle Ross must be—kept a hound like Snaffles anyway? He was big, unruly, slobbery and about as far away from a genteel lapdog as you could get.

Still, if he helped Magnus find the trail, Snaffles could be a prize milk-cow for all he cared. Finally, after all this time, he had a chance of catching up with his quarry. The outlaws had been clever in coming into the Dragon’s Back. It was a maze of boulder-strewn peaks and treacherous trails: easy to get into, not so easy to find a safe way out again.

Which begged the question: what was Isabelle doing out here alone?

He glanced over his shoulder. She was following close behind, picking her way with care over the rocky ground. Her strange attire only emphasized his assumption that she was an eccentric noblewoman—English by her accent. Certainly her bright yellow boots and long coat over a pair of blue trews were like nothing he was used to, but then he didn’t have much experience with noblewomen—particularly English ones.

Her raven hair was pinned haphazardly up, strands escaping to frame her face, and the way she strode along behind him suggested she was used to walking, even though she’d freely admitted that she had a carriage somewhere nearby. Aye, an eccentric noblewoman indeed. She came abreast of him and they walked side by side for a while in silence.

“Ye seem at ease up here, lass,” he finally said. “Not many take to the Dragon’s Back. It isnae exactly a hospitable place.”

She glanced at him, her hazel eyes reflecting the weak sunlight, and shrugged. “I come here as often as I can. It might not be hospitable but it’s a great place to blow away the cobwebs after a bad week. And besides, it tires Snaffles out. Never a bad thing.”

“I imagine not,” he said with a smile. She had such a strange way of talking, so straightforward and honest, not like any noblewoman he’d ever encountered. “Do ye not fear becoming lost?”

She snorted. “Hardly! There are way-markers every mile or so along the trails and I’ve got my GPS on my phone. I think you’d have to work pretty hard to get lost these days.”

He didn’t reply, not sure what she was talking about. Silence fell again.

“So, this thing you’re doing,” she said after a while. “Tracking these people. What is it for? A Mountain Rescue training exercise?”

Magnus’s gaze followed Snaffles, who was sniffing at a patch of heather with an almost obsessive concentration. He didn’t know what Isabelle meant but if she thought it was some kind of training mission he was on, all the better. “Something like that,” he muttered.

Isabelle seemed to accept this answer and nodded, squinting against the wind as they walked.

A yelp from Snaffles drew their attention. The dog had scampered ahead and was now pawing excitedly at a clump of earth, his tail wagging so fast it was a blur.

Magnus hurried over and knelt next to the source of Snaffles’ interest—a heap of nubby chicken bones and a set of footprints pressed into the mud. He picked up one of the bones, eyeing it curiously. It was gnawed clean, devoid of any lingering meat or soft tissue; whoever had discarded it had made sure to get every morsel. The footprints left behind were man-sized, and as he scouted around the area, he found more. The ground here had become softer, changing from pebbles and rock to heather-covered peat and the path the outlaws had taken led off into the distance, clearly delineated in the thick soil.

Isabelle crouched next to him. “So that’s it? That’s the trail you’re looking for?”

Magnus rose and walked carefully alongside the footprints. The trail was clear for all to see in the mud and no effort had been made to hide it. The outlaws were either overconfident or careless—either of which improved Magnus’s chances.

“Aye,” he muttered, raising his gaze to stare out over the humped and pitted landscape. How far ahead were they? A few hours? A day? “This is the trail I’ve been searching for.”

I’m coming , he thought. So ye’d better sleep with one eye open.

“Great,” Isabelle said brightly. “In that case, I think Snaffles and I have kept our part of the bargain.” She turned and pointed the other way. “Like I said, my car is that way at Marris Head. Snaffles! Come on! Time to go home!”

The dog gave an excited yip and bounded up to his mistress, gamboling around her feet like an overgrown pup. Magnus was struck again by what an odd pairing they were. In his experience of noblewomen—limited as it was—they preferred petite little hounds that could sit on their laps. If Snaffles tried to sit on anyone’s lap they’d likely be crushed. And he was an ugly thing with his big head, massive shoulders, and wobbly jowls from which drool seemed to constantly drip. Aye, a strange companion for a lady, but then Isabelle Ross was a strange lady. In an odd sort of way, the woman and the hound suited each other .

Magnus shook his head, unsure where such thoughts came from. He glanced once more at the outlaws’ trail and then at Isabelle. She and the hound were both watching him expectantly, heads cocked to the side in mirror images of each other.

A promise was a promise, after all.

“Aye,” he said gruffly. “I know the way to Marris Head. I’ll take ye to yer carriage as agreed.” He gave a short bow and then held out his arm like a courtier, a faint smile quirking his lips. “If ye would accompany me, my lady?”

Isabelle laughed. Then she inclined her head and placed her hand on his arm. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

A tingle walked up Magnus’s arm. It was only the lightest of touches, her hand weighing no more than a feather really, but it sent a shiver across his skin all the same.

He swallowed thickly to regain his composure. “All right then, let’s be off.”

They set off arm in arm as though they were some noble lord and lady out for a stroll with their hound. Although he’d meant the gesture teasingly, Magnus found that he liked having Isabelle’s hand on his arm. There was something about this odd noblewoman that had him glancing constantly at her as they walked. Where was her husband? And how would he react to seeing Magnus escorting his wife like this? If he knew noblemen, not well at all.

Snaffles bounded up to his mistress, demanding her attention and Isabelle removed her hand from Magnus’s arm in order to scratch the beast behind the ears. He felt a flare of disappointment .

Fool, he scolded himself. Get her back to her carriage and then be on your way.

The earth beneath their feet turned from yielding peat to tussocky grass as they moved away from the outlaws’ trail and towards where she’d left her carriage—along with the servants and horses who pulled it, no doubt.

Finally, Marris Head came into view. It had once been a small settlement, complete with wooden chapel, but the poor farming and unpredictable weather in the Dragon’s Back meant it had long since been abandoned. Now only the stone foundations of some of the buildings remained amongst the wild, windswept land around it. A single track led from the ruins across the moors to the larger settlements nearby.

“Here we are, lass,” Magnus said as they crossed the boundary and made their way among the ruins. “Marris Head. Where is yer carriage?”

Isabelle halted, her hazel eyes scanning the landscape. The wind tugged at her coat and sent a cloud of her dark hair into fine disarray. A frown creased her smooth brow as she spun on her heel, scanning the jagged landscape that stretched from the ruins of Marris Head to the distant horizon.

“Um...I...where?” she murmured, her forehead furrowed in confusion.

Magnus watched as she moved among the remnants of the settlement. Her boots rustled the grass and strands of her hair blew in the wind. Snaffles trailed behind her, his tail drooping slightly as he sensed her distress .

“I don’t believe it!” she cried, spinning to face him. “This has got to be some kind of joke!”

Magnus cocked his head at her plaintive cry. “What is it, lass?”

“It’s not here! My car has been stolen!”