The flight was long and the woman in the next seat a pain in the arse. Shane thanked every god she’d heard of—and made a mental note that if there was any she hadn’t heard of she’d thank them as well—that she was in an aisle seat and had her noise blocking headphones on instead of the ones the airline had given her.

Even though she’d sprung for business class—and in effect she had her own personal space—the woman was a walking, talking annoyance, and much too close. Every time Shane put up the privacy screen—surely an indication that she didn’t want to be sociable—the woman pushed it down again and began to make inane comments. She even burbled on about Shane’s top and how she would go to the same shop to buy one. As it was a plain white tee, Shane decided the woman talked about any old thing because she was lonely or scared.

For a brief second she did feel a pang of sympathy. Terror was a horrible thing to experience alone. Then the woman asked for a double gin and knocked it back in one go, and Shane’s sympathy disappeared as fast as the gin. She remembered she’d noticed her in the lounge, drinking glass after glass of the champagne on offer like a lush in a desert. This had happened both back in Australia and when they’d transferred planes in Hong Kong. Shane heard her tell anyone who would listen she hated to fly.

That wasn’t something that bothered Shane. She loved it.

“Would you like a drink, madam?” The cabin crew member smiled at Shane as she offered a selection of beverages.

“Gin and tonic please,” the woman in the next seat said, interrupting the girl rather rudely, Shane thought. It seemed the crew member thought the same.

“One moment, madam, I’ll get to you when I’ve served this lady.” She turned back to Shane and briefly raised her eyebrows.

“Water, please, I hate being dehydrated, and too much alcohol does that to me.”

The other passenger snorted. “Helps me sleep.”

Oh if only. Shane took her water and sat back in her seat again. The other passenger took her gin and tonic and looked over at Shane.

“You’re only young once, love. Enjoy yourself.”

“I do, thank you.” Shane did her best to be civil, but also show she wasn’t interested in chatting. It didn’t work. In the end, after several more exchanges of banalities, Shane did something she’d never thought herself capable of. Total rudeness. She shoved the opaque screen upward and heard it click. Then she said good night very firmly and ignored the injured hiss from the other side. It was that or find a policeman waiting to arrest her as she disembarked, on the charge of causing a disturbance on an aircraft.

That would make my brothers think they were right to worry. I’d never get out without a chaperone ever again.

The drone of the engines should have been enough of a constant background noise to lull Shane to sleep. Usually she was one of those people her mum said could sleep standing up and she never had problems dropping off, even after that time. Except now. Maybe it was the thought of what she needed to do, but as she stretched out on her flat bed and tucked the airline blanket around her, Shane couldn’t even doze. Her mind jumped from one thought to another like a fly dodging a swatter, and she almost sat up, flicked down the privacy shield and demanded the woman on the other side annoy her once more.

That thought was enough to make her punch the tiny pillow into a heap, wish it was a certain, luckily now deceased man’s face, roll onto her side and fall into an uneasy sleep. Her dreams were elusive and she woke up a couple of hours later with gritty eyes and feeling like she’d not slept for a week. Which, she thought with hindsight, wasn’t far wrong. It was one thing knowing she needed to go to Scotland and find out for herself how someone was faring, another to actually persuade her brothers she knew what she was doing. Especially as she wasn’t really sure she did. Her brothers were more than loving watch dogs. They cared for her. It was only the knowledge of just how much they cared and how they had put their lives on the line on her behalf that kept her from railing against their constant attention.

No wonder she hadn’t told them about her trip until it was all booked and paid for. Even then they’d argued the toss and demanded she take one of them with her. It was only when she told them it was something she had to do for herself, to lay the demons to rest and move on that they’d agreed. Albeit with the proviso she keep in touch with one of them at every stage of her journey.

My phone bill is going to be astronomical. Ah well, it should be worth it. I hope.

The fasten seatbelt sign flashed on and off like a demented flea, and the huge aircraft dropped and swayed as it hit turbulence. Never one for enjoying the fairground rides that bounced you up and down, Shane gave up any thought of sleeping and reached for her bottle of water. Why on earth had she chosen February for her trip? Hot as Hades at home and cold as the arctic in Scotland, if the weather forecasts were to be believed. However once she’d been sure where her quarry was and she had enough money to see her comfortably through her trip, Shane hadn’t wanted to wait.

So here she was, however many thousands of feet in the air and wondering how the hell her visit would end. She put her headphones back on again and turned on one of the allegedly soothing music channels. Mind numbing and bland.

It could have been a minute or an hour before the seat belt sign flashed off again. Shane had no idea. She’d been so lost in her worst case scenario thoughts and about to scream ‘turn around, I’ve changed my mind’. What if the woman wouldn’t speak to her? What if she wanted to sue her brothers or something? Okay, they had actually helped the woman, but who knew how the whole sorry state of affairs had affected her.

I must stop thinking of her as just her. Jess. Jess Sutherland—the woman who her ex-boyfriend had abused after she, Shane, had escaped his clutches. The woman her brothers had found bound and blindfold and subsequently rescued, whilst arranging for the demise of the arsehole they’d both trusted. The woman who’d left Australia and got away from all the furor, whilst Shane had had to brazen it out.

That had been fun—not. Thank heavens for brothers.

She wondered what the woman was really like. She’d seen a very blurry photo on one of the popular social media sites and reckoned she looked sane and sensible and not one to be taken in by a dickhead. But then she’d thought that about herself as well, hadn’t she? Pete had taken both of them in. Made them think he was a sane and respected member of the community, albeit with a good dose of kink. Anyone with even the minimal knowledge of the BDSM community would have seen straight through him. Sadly, the only insight Shane had was a few fumbling—and gentle—blindfold and bondage sessions, her own imagination and some hot and sexy books. She’d been a lamb to the slaughter.

The kink hadn’t bothered Shane. Truth be told, she rather enjoyed the sweet sting of pain that then morphed into pleasure. Her brothers had accidently introduced her to the lifestyle. She’d seen one of them with a girlfriend bound and blindfolded, his cock in her mouth, and her other brother arse deep in the woman and had had to give herself a large dose of self help afterwards. Later it had occurred to her to wonder why it hadn’t either repelled her or scared her to death. Even then she’d know that given the chance, it would be for her.

A few days later, she’d come across one of them wielding a crop on the arse of the same woman, and the other attaching nipple clamps to the woman’s pendulous breasts. Instead of being disgusted, she’d known straight away she was interested.

Shane squirmed in her seat. Stop it now. You’ve hours to go ‘til you get off the plane, and self help in the loo is not the thing to do. Or in the seat for that matter. However, try as she might, she couldn’t help reliving the past in her mind.

When she’d met Pete, Shane had thought she’d found her perfect Sir. Right until that last time when he’d changed into a sadistic, unpleasant and definitely un-Dom-like monster. He’d ignored safe words and all things consensual and had left Shane tied up and blindfold for hours while he jerked off to her pleas to be let free. Until then, she’d wanted to learn more.

For a while she’d closed off her true self, until she was able to believe he was no Dom, just a wannabe and an abuser, and she understood and accepted a true BDSM relationship would be nothing like that. However, over the years she’d lost interest, because there was no one she wanted to please in that way.

Mind you, there had been one guy who she could have subbed for, but as a friend of her brothers and ten years older than her, he hadn’t shown any interest in Shane. She didn’t even know if he was interested in kink like her brothers, but to Shane’s admittedly limited knowledge, he sure looked every inch the Dom. He’d made her pussy wet every time he’d looked at her, even when it was in irritation.

Shane got up and went to the galley for a glass of juice and a chocolate bar. She glanced at her watch—which she’d changed to UK time—and realized they’d be landing in Heathrow in a few hours. Then after the shuttle to Glasgow, she’d need to plot just what she was going to do next. A few hours well spent on the Internet had given her an address for the unknown Jess—a castle no less. And if her research was correct, one that housed a private BDSM club. It seemed a strange address for someone who’d been abused so badly, but then maybe she was over everything and had rejoined the lifestyle? Whatever. Shane knew she needed to find out for herself. It would be her own completion, one way or another.

Once she’d discovered exactly where the unknown Jess and the castle were, Shane had hired a car and arranged for hotel accommodation not far away. Now she was so close, she didn’t want to chicken out.

* * * *

In the end it was surprisingly easy to find where she needed to go. The guy at the car hire had supplied her with a weirdly shaped but surprisingly comfortable and easy to drive car, and assured her it had an integrated sat-nav, which was child’s play to program. She wouldn’t say that exactly, but by three-thirty she was driving out of the airport on a gloomy and chilly afternoon and along a winding road to her destination. With the heater on high—after all, she’d left thirty-five degrees sun the day before—and the radio blasting out old sixties songs, Shane was almost happy. As long as she ignored the butterflies in her tummy, and the ever present thought of what if I’m screwing up?

‘At the next junction, turn left.’ Sally the sat-nav lady was all bright cheeriness, even when Shane had gone wrong and the tinny, upbeat voice had said ‘Ooops, better turn around now’. This time Shane did as she was bade and ten minutes later, found herself ensconced in a roomy suite in a boutique hotel, which had stunning reviews for its ambience and food. It was a large, old stone house, overlooking a loch and a mountain and she reckoned the rhododendron-edged drive had been the best part of a mile long. In the summer it would look superb, at this time of the year it just looked gothic and gloomy.

Mist was rolling down the mountain, the loch looked cold and menacing and the sky was dark and heavy. No doubt it was beautiful in the sunshine, but at that moment it showed about as much welcome as you would give to a man in a ladies rest room.

“Snow forecast the morn’s morn.” The dour old man who’d brought her luggage up on an elaborate trolley essayed a smile, which showed a gap where his front teeth should be. “It’s a big bugger, so they say.”

Shane nodded as her heartbeat sped up. She’d better get a move on then. She rummaged in her bag to take out an unfamiliar note and handed him a tip. Evidently it was acceptable because he smiled and doffed his tatty tweed cap.

“Thank you, lass. I’ve to say it’s sorry we are for it being me to do this. Lachie, the doorman, is away to the dentist, and he’ll be back later.” He ambled out of the room. Shane grinned at his quaint phraseology and glanced out of the window.

The weather did look threatening. The color of the sky was a strange gunmetal gray and the clouds low. In the gathering dusk it brought up ideas of strange creatures and ghosts, ghouls and things that went bump in the night.

Stop it now. Shane gave herself a mental shake and poo-pooed her fanciful ideas. After all, it wasn’t even Halloween, so she had no excuses for paranormal thoughts. It was around sunset on a late winter’s night. Not that there was any sun.

The old man had said snow in the morn’s morn. Surely that meant the day after tomorrow? Time therefore to get over her jet lag before she did what she’d come to do. A meal, a bath then an early night with a book and a wee dram, as she’d learned to call a tot of whiskey, sounded perfect.

It was.

Three hours later, at a ridiculously early hour, Shane snuggled under the softest, warmest, duvet she’d ever encountered and switched on her Kindle. This latest BDSM love story was what wet dreams were made of. To say nothing of a juice coated pussy and damp thighs. Plus a need to make herself come. She glanced at her bullet she’d put conveniently on the bedside table and began to read.

The insistent ringing made her jump. That wasn’t in the story, surely?

Shane opened her eyes to see weak sunlight edging around the curtains, and the digital display on the bottom of the television saying ten-thirty a.m. She’d slept the clock round and more. She fumbled for the phone and picked up the receiver. Who on earth was it? She’d rung her brothers before she’d fallen asleep and wasn’t due to ring them again until that evening.

Well, ask who it is. She didn’t get a chance. As soon as she said hello, someone burst into speech.

“Missy, are you wanting breakfast? Service stops at eleven. If you’ve got that jet lag, you’ll be needing food.” It was the dentist-going Lachie, who she’d met the evening before, and who, he’d informed her, also worked the desk and the phone. The hotel was small and the staff all multi-tasked when necessary.

“Oh sh—shoot. Please. I’ll be down in ten.” Shane scrambled out of bed and had the quickest shower on record, before she dressed and dashed downstairs to beat the deadline by just over five minutes. As she thought, the dining room was empty of guests, but a cheery waitress showed no signs of annoyance at a tardy diner. It wasn’t long before Shane tucked into a full Scottish breakfast, right down to black pudding and haggis, and washed it down with strong black coffee. She sat back and looked at her empty plate. If she carried on eating that amount every day, she’d need two seats when she flew home.

The promised snow hadn’t materialized yet, and mindful of the diktat ‘the morn’s morn’, Shane thought it might well be best to suss out the landscape so to speak, and see if her quarry was at home. She couldn’t find a phone number, either for Diomhair Castle or J. Sutherland, and guessed both must be unlisted. Therefore she would need to drive over and see for herself if Jess was around. If she was and they talked, then Shane could come back to the hotel and maybe decamp into the city before the probable storm hit.

“So, what are you up to today then?” The waitress had arrived to clear the table. “If you want to see something of the area, you’d best do it today. There’s maps and guidebooks to borrow at the reception desk, and if you don’t have a British mobile, we’ll lend you one. Too expensive to use a foreign phone all the time. Tomorrow will be a sit in front of the fire and read a book day. The library is the wee room to the left of the front door, if you need something to read. Mind you with thon e-readers, it’s easy now isn’t it? We’ve generators and coal fires if the electricity goes down. Oh, don’t worry. At this time of year the snow doesn’t stand for long, and they have the lines fixed in no time, but tomorrow now? Better not be outside. You could have a spa session or something, eh?”

Shane nodded, somewhat bemused by the flow of information. “I’m going to look at your local castle, I think. It said on the net it’d been restored.”

The look on the waitress’ face was wary. “It’s private.”

“I thought there was no law of trespass?” Shane said airily. “I know I won’t be allowed inside, but surely I can go and look?”

The waitress—Katrine, her name badge read—looked dubious. “Hmm, Tuesday isn’t it? Yes, I reckon you’ll be okay to drive up and look. It’s close… Er, close by.”

Shane would swear Katrine hadn’t meant to say close at all. Closed maybe? Did it mean she knew about the club, and it was closed on a Tuesday? Maybe that would make it easier to see Jess and talk to her? Whatever. Shane made her mind up to set off as soon as she could.

“That’s great then. I’ll go into the village for souvenirs once I’m ready and do my sightseeing. I’ll be back in time for dinner, so can you book me a table for seven?” That way, she’d made sure someone knew where she was. Ever since Poisonous Pete the Plonker, as she’d dubbed him eventually, Shane had been extra careful about letting someone know her whereabouts.

She waved a thank you to Katrine and returned to her room. Once she’d seen Jess, she’d feel a whole lot better and be able to move on.

Shane scrambled into her boots and thick coat, borrowed one of the British mobile phones and went outside to the car. By the time she’d driven out of the grounds of the hotel and turned onto the route that sat-nav Sally assured her was the correct way to go, the weak sunshine had turned to a misty drizzle. Within ten minutes it became sleet that covered the road in whiteness and made it incredibly slippery. For one brief moment, Shane wondered if she should turn around and go back to the warmth and safety of the hotel. However, she reckoned she only had a few more miles to go to her destination, and there wasn’t anywhere to turn. Not only that, if the weather forecast from the hotel was correct, the next day would be a no go. Best to carry on.

A white van came out of nowhere and sped past her in the opposite direction, spraying muddy slush over her windscreen, which blocked out her view. The car swerved and for one heart-stopping, and she admitted bowel-clenching, moment, Shane was unable to see the road. She swore. The last thing she wanted was to end up in the ditch. She’d have to pay a fortune if the car was damaged, to say nothing of then trying to find her way to the hotel with a broken ankle or something. She drove on slowly but steadily and thanked the fact she’d learned to drive on muddy dirt roads as well as asphalt. Mud or sleet, Shane was of the opinion there was not a lot of difference in the slippery stakes.

However, the one problem with sleet, Shane decided ten minutes later, was that it turned to snow. Heavy fat flakes that rapidly covered the windscreen, which the wipers had a hard time to dispel. Snow wasn’t something she encountered very often. By then, she was traveling along a narrow drive, which, according to the now annoyingly cheerful Sally and a tiny discrete plaque on the gatepost, was the entrance to Diomhair, and was a private road—no trespassers. It was irritating to have to get out of the car to brush the snow off to read it, and debate on the wisdom of turning on to it. However, Shane was sure she’d read somewhere that there was no law of trespass in Scotland, even if Katrine hadn’t actually agreed with her when she’d asked the question earlier. Therefore, she ignored that bit as a warning to tourists and itinerant sales people.

Do you even get those these days? Isn’t it all telephone calls and spam emails? She was somewhat hazy on the subject and after all, this was Scotland, not Australia. How was the net around here? Her phone, as well as the one she’d borrowed from the hotel, was hovering on one bar of reception, and the radio in the car delivered very little music and almost total static.

Shane rounded a bend with care and was relieved she had done so when the back of the car fishtailed and slid into a skid. She drove into the skid with competence and corrected it. She wasn’t an outback girl for nothing, even if she did live in the city now.

Ahead, almost hidden in the gloom, she could just make out a tall, dark stone building with a turret.

A turret? Wow. It was a real castle it seemed and not some mock Victorian monstrosity. Shane hadn’t had time to research the history or even if this Jess lived in it as her private home. Was it one house or apartments? Was it offices and a health club as well? Whatever it was, it was big and imposing and austere against the white of the snow. Shane fell in love with it there and then. How fantastic to live in it in any way.

The brief information she’d found on the net had been vague in the extreme. The car lurched over some unseen object, well hidden in the snow, and Shane brought her mind back to the alleged roadway. Wool gathering wasn’t a good idea in that sort of weather. She realized she was probably driving over the verge and not on the tarmac surface. If it was even tarmac, she had no way of knowing.

With hindsight she regretted setting off from the hotel without bringing an insulated mug of tea or one of the delicious looking cookies she’d spied to sustain her. Even though she’d had that big breakfast not long before, her tummy rumbled and her mouth was dry. Apprehension or excitement? A bit of both probably.

Nevertheless, by the time she pulled up outside a big wooden door, she was shaking and it wasn’t all down to the weather and lack of food. She decided she was scared. Scared that Jess might not be there, scared she was. Scared that Jess would hate her, not be prepared to talk and leave Shane unable to find completion. Shane switched off the engine, and watched the snow fall. It better slow down soon, or she’d be hiking back. Was it quicker cross country? How dare the snow defy the weathermen and come a day too soon?

Wuss, get out of the car. Or turn on the engine and go away for good and try to enjoy a cold, wet holiday. She took a deep breath, did her coat up, pulled her hood over her head and stepped out of the vehicle. A blast of icy wind rocked her on her heels and almost took her breath away. The temperature had dropped considerably, and the snow was now so heavy her tire tracks were almost obliterated.

Shane hoped to hell someone was at home, or she’d more than likely be found in spring as a frozen corpse inside her buried car. She moved toward the castle door with her breath making white, misty spirals in the air and with snowflakes on her eyelashes. Thank goodness for contact lenses. Specs would be useless. Mind you, she patted her pocket to make sure her lenses case and her glasses were there. She’d lost too many lenses in the past and ended up half blind, not to carry specs around, annoying though it might be.

She looked at the walls of the castle and groaned. She had to get in there? Why not try something less challenging like breaking into the Royal Mint or wrestling with a croc.

Okay you can do it. Deep breath and go.

The snow was piled up higher near those forbidding walls and even though she only had a few yards to trudge through it, her jeans were soaked by the time she searched for the doorbell. To her amusement, it was an old fashioned tug rope type. Not that she felt much amused. Pissed, more like. Could they not have an ordinary bell like everyone else? It would take a giant to get a good sound from it, not a five foot something woman.

She hauled and after a second or two, heard a deep clang echo inside the building.

“Come on. Hurry up.” Shane pulled the bell again. “Please, please someone answer the bloody door.” She stamped her feet, to try and get her circulation moving faster and for the first time thought what an idiot she’d been to continue her journey to the castle once the snow started. Shane dipped her head to pull her hood farther over her head in a vain effort to keep her hair dry. Already frizz-head hair had begun, and she’d have a devil of a job with it once she got it dried again. Not for the first time, Shane wished she’d kept it short in the style she’d cut it after the arsehole experience, as she now called it. Instead, she’d let it grow, more as a way to show herself that Poisonous Pete the Plonker and his only long hair is acceptable diktat, wasn’t why it was long. The one thing she did do now—which he’d objected to—was using straighteners on it. Hence knowing that all her hard work was about to be ruined if no one answered the door.

“For fuck sake, open won’t you? What if I say open sesame? Or get on my knees and beg? Will that work?”

There was a grating noise, and a blast of heat hit her. Before Shane looked up, someone spoke.

“Open sesame won’t. But I do like the idea of you on your knees and begging. I won’t make you do it in the snow though.”

Oh, fuck and shit. I know that voice.