Читать книгу Her Highland Boss - Jessica Gilmore - Страница 10
ОглавлениеFOUR WEEKS LATER Lord Alasdair Duncan Edward McBride, Sixteenth Earl of Duncairn, stood in the same kirk where his grandmother’s funeral had taken place, waiting for his bride.
He’d wanted a register office. They both had. Jeanie was deeply uncomfortable about taking her vows in a church, but Eileen’s will had been specific. Marriage in the kirk or nothing. Jeanie had felt ill when the lawyer had spelled it out, but then she’d looked again at the list of charities supported by the Duncairn foundation, she’d thought again of the old lady she’d loved, and she’d decided God would forgive her.
‘It’s not that I don’t support dogs’ homes,’ she told Maggie Campbell, her best friend and her rock today. ‘But I feel a bit of concern for AIDS and malaria and otters as well. I’m covering all bases. Though it does seem to the world like I’m buying myself a castle with marriage.’ She hadn’t told Maggie of the debt. She’d told no one. The whole island would think this deal would be her being a canny Scot.
‘Well, no one’s judging you if you are,’ Maggie said soundly, hugging her friend and then adjusting the spray of bell heather in Jeanie’s simple blue frock. ‘Except me. I would have so loved you to be a bride.’
‘I should have worn my suit. I’m not a bride. I’m half a contract,’ Jeanie retorted, glancing at her watch and thinking five minutes to go, five minutes left when she could walk out of here. Or run. Honestly, what was she doing? Marrying another McBride?
But Maggie’s sister was a lawyer, and Maggie’s sister had read the fine print and she’d got the partners in her firm to read the fine print and then she’d drawn up a prenuptial agreement for both Jeanie and Alasdair to sign and it still seemed...sensible.
‘This is business only,’ she said aloud now, and Maggie stood back and looked at her.
‘You look far too pretty to be a business deal. Jeanie, tomorrow you’ll be the Lady of Duncairn.’
‘I... He doesn’t use the title.’ She’d tried joking about that to Alasdair. She’d even proposed using it in castle advertising but the black look on his face had had her backing right off. You didn’t joke with Lord Alasdair.
Just Alasdair. Her soon-to-be husband.
Her...lord?
‘It doesn’t stop the title being there, My Ladyship.’ Maggie bobbed a mock curtsy as she echoed Jeanie’s thoughts. ‘It’s time to go to church now, m’lady. If m’lady’s ready.’
Jeanie managed a laugh but even to her ears it sounded hollow. She glanced at her watch again. Two minutes. One.
‘Ready, set, go,’ Maggie said and propelled her to the door.
To marry.
Third-time lucky?
* * *
He was standing at the altar, waiting for his bride. He’d never thought he’d be here. Marriage was not for him.
He hadn’t always believed that, he conceded. Once upon a time he’d been head over heels in love. He’d been twenty-two, just finishing a double degree in law and commerce, eager to take on the world. Celia had been a socialite, five years his senior. She was beautiful, intelligent, a woman who knew her way around Scottish society and who knew exactly what she wanted in a marriage.
He couldn’t believe she’d wanted him. He’d been lanky, geeky, unsure, a product of cold parents and too many books, knowing little of how relationships worked. He’d been ripe for the plucking.
And Celia had plucked. When she’d agreed to marry him, he’d thought he was the luckiest man alive. What he hadn’t realised was that when she was looking at him she was seeing only his title and his inheritance.
But she’d played her part superbly. She’d held him as he’d never been held. She’d listened as he’d told her of his childhood, things he’d never told anyone. He’d had fun with her. He’d felt light and free and totally in love. Totally trusting. He’d bared his soul, he’d left himself totally exposed—and in return he’d been gutted.
For a long time he’d blamed his cousin, Alan, with his charm and charisma. Alan had arrived in Edinburgh a week before he and Celia were due to marry, ostensibly to attend his cousin’s wedding but probably to hit his grandmother for more money. He hadn’t been involved with Jeanie then. He’d had some other bimbo on his arm, but that hadn’t cramped his style. Loyalty hadn’t been in Alan’s vocabulary.
And it seemed it wasn’t in Celia’s, either.
Two days before his wedding, Alasdair had realised he’d left his briefcase at Celia’s apartment. He’d had a key so he’d dropped by early, before work. He’d knocked, but of course no one had answered.
It was no wonder they hadn’t answered. He’d walked in, and Celia had been with Alan. With, in every sense of the word.
So now he was about to marry...another of Alan’s leavings?
Don’t think of Alan now. Don’t think of Celia. He said it savagely to himself but the memory was still sour and heavy. He’d never trusted since. His personal relationships were kept far apart from his business.
But here he was again—and he was doing what Celia had intended. Wedding for money?
This woman was different, he conceded. Very different. She was petite. Curvy. She wasn’t the slightest bit elegant.
She was Alan’s widow.
But right now she didn’t look like a woman who’d attract Alan. She was wearing a simple blue frock, neat, nice. Her shoes were kitten-heeled, silver. Her soft brown curls were just brushing her shoulders. She usually wore her hair tied back or up, so maybe this was a concession to being a bride—as must be the spray of bell heather on her lapel—but they were sparse concessions.
Celia would have been the perfect bride, he thought tangentially. That morning, when he’d walked in on them both, Celia’s bridal gown had been hanging for him to see. Even years later he still had a vision of how Celia would have looked in that dress.
She wouldn’t have looked like this. Where Celia would have floated down the aisle, an ethereal vision, Jeanie was looking straight ahead, her gaze on the worn kirk floorboards rather than on him. Her friend gave her a slight push. She nodded as if confirming something in her mind—and then she stumped forward. There was no other word for it. She stumped.
A romantic bride? Not so much.
Though she was...cute, he conceded as he watched her come, and then he saw the flush of colour on her cheeks and he thought suddenly she looked...mortified?
Mortified? As if she’d been pushed into this?
It was his grandmother who’d done the forcing, he told himself. If this woman had been expecting the castle to fall into her lap with no effort, it was Eileen who’d messed with those plans, not him. This forced marriage was merely the solution to the problem.
And mortified or not, Jeanie had got what she wanted. She’d inherit her castle.
He’d had to move mountains to arrange things so he could stay on the island. He’d created a new level of management and arranged audits to ensure he hadn’t missed anything; financial dealings would run smoothly without him. He’d arranged a satellite Internet connection so he could work here. He’d had a helipad built so he could organise the company chopper to get him here fast. So he could leave fast.
Not that he could leave for more than his designated number of nights, he thought grimly. He was stuck. With this woman.
She’d reached his side. She was still staring stolidly at the floor. Could he sense...fear? He must be mistaken.
But he couldn’t help himself reacting. He touched her chin and tilted her face so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
‘I’m not an ogre.’
‘No, but—’
‘And I’m not Alan. Business only.’
She bit her lip and his suspicion of fear deepened.
Enough. There were few people to see this. Eileen’s lawyer was here to see things were done properly. The minister and the organist were essential. Jeanie’s friend Maggie completed the party. ‘I need Maggie for support,’ Jeanie had told him and it did look as if she needed the support right now. His bride was looking like a deer trapped in headlights.
He took her hands and they were shaking.
‘Jeanie...’
‘Let’s...let’s...’
‘Not if you’re not sure of me,’ he told her, gentling now, knowing this was the truth. ‘No money in the world is worth a forced marriage. If you’re afraid, if you don’t want it, then neither do I. If you don’t trust me, then walk away now.’
What was he saying? He was out of his mind. But he’d had to say it. She was shaking. Acting or not, he had to react to what he saw.
But now her chin was tilting in a gesture he was starting to recognise. She tugged her hands away and she managed a nod of decision.
‘Eileen trusted you,’ she managed. ‘And this is business. For castle, for keeps.’ She took a deep breath and turned to the minister. ‘Let’s get this over with,’ she told him. ‘Let’s get us married.’
* * *
The vows they spoke were the vows that were spoken the world over from time immemorial, between man and woman, between lovers becoming man and wife.
‘I, Alasdair Duncan Edward McBride, take thee, Jeanie Margaret McBride... To have and to hold. For richer or for poorer. In sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live.’
He wished—fiercely—that his grandmother hadn’t insisted on a kirk. The minister was old and faded, wearing Wellingtons under his well-worn cassock. He was watching them with kindly eyes, encouraging them, treating them as fresh-faced lovers.
For as long as we both shall live...
In his head he corrected himself.
For twelve months and I’m out of here.
* * *
For as long as we both shall live...
The words were hard to say. She had to fight to get her tongue around them.
It should be getting easier to say the words she knew were just words.
The past two times, she’d meant them. She really had.
They were nonsense.
Stupidly she felt tears pricking at the backs of her eyelids and she blinked them back with a fierceness born of an iron determination. She would not show this man weakness. She would not be weak. This was nothing more than a sensible proposition forced on her by a crazy will.
You understand why I’m doing it, she demanded silently of the absent Eileen. You thought you’d force us to become family. Instead we’re doing what we must. You can’t force people to love.
She’d tried, oh, she’d tried, but suddenly she was remembering that last appalling night with Alan.
‘Do you think I’d have married you if my grandmother hadn’t paid through the nose?’
Eileen was doing the same thing now, she thought bleakly. She was paying through the nose.
But I’m doing it for the right reasons. Surely? She looked firmly ahead. Alasdair’s body was brushing hers. In his full highland regalia he looked...imposing. Magnificent. Frightening.
She would not be frightened of this man, she told herself. She would not. She’d marry, she’d get on with her life and then she’d walk away.
For as long as we both shall live...
Somehow she made herself say the words. How easy they’d been when she’d meant them but then they’d turned out to be meaningless. Now, when they were meaningless to start with, it felt as if something were dying within.
‘You may kiss the bride,’ the minister was saying and she felt like shaking her head, turning and running. But the old man was beaming, and Alasdair was taking her hands again. The new ring lay stark against her work-worn fingers.
Alasdair’s strong, lean hands now sported a wedding band. Married.
‘You may kiss the bride...’
He smiled down at her—for the sake of the kindly old minister marrying them? Surely that was it, but, even so, her heart did a back flip. What if this was real? her treacherous heart said. What if this man really loved...?
Get over it. It’s business.
But people were watching. People were waiting. Alasdair was smiling, holding her hands, ready to do what was right.
Kiss the bride.
Right. She took a deep breath and raised her face to his.
‘Think of it like going to the dentist,’ Alasdair whispered, for her ears alone, and she stared up at him and his smile widened.
And she couldn’t help herself. This was ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous. Jeanie Lochlan marrying the Earl of Duncairn. For a castle.
She found herself chuckling. It was so ridiculous she could do it. She returned the grip on his hands and she even stood on tiptoe so he could reach her.
His mouth lowered onto hers—and he kissed her.
* * *
If only she hadn’t chuckled. Up until then it had been fine. Business only. He could do this. He could marry her, he could keep his distance, he could fulfil the letter of the deal and he could walk away at the end of twelve months feeling nothing. He intended to feel nothing.
But that meant he had to stay impervious to what she was; to who she was. He couldn’t think of her as his wife at all.
But then she chuckled and something happened.
The old kirk. The beaming minister. The sense of history in this place.
This woman standing beside him.
She was in this for profit, he told himself. She was sure of what she wanted and how she was going to get it. She was Alan’s ex-wife and he’d seen how much the pair of them had cost Eileen. He wanted nothing to do with her.
But she was standing before him and he’d felt her fear. He’d felt the effort it had cost her to turn to the minister and say those vows out loud.
And now she’d chuckled.
She was small and curvy and dressed in a simple yet very pretty frock, with white lace collar, tiny lace shoulder puffs and a wide, flouncy skirt cinched in at her tiny waist. She was wearing bell heather on her lapel.
She was chuckling.
And he thought, She’s enchanting. And then the thought flooded from nowhere.
She’s my wife.
It hit him just as his mouth touched hers. The knowledge was as if a floodgate had opened. This woman...
His wife...
He kissed her.
* * *
She’d been expecting...what? A cursory brushing of lips against lips? Or less. He could have done this without actually touching her. That would have been better, she thought. An air kiss. No one here expected any more.
She didn’t get an air kiss. He’d released her hands. He put his hands on her waist and he lifted her so her mouth was level with his.
He kissed her.
It was a true wedding kiss, a lordly kiss, the kiss of the Lord of Duncairn claiming his bride. It was a kiss with strength and heat and passion. It was a kiss that blew her fragile defences to smithereens.
She shouldn’t respond. She shouldn’t! They were in a kirk, for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t seemly. This was a business arrangement, a marriage of convenience, and he had no right...
And then her mind shut down, just like that.
She’d never been kissed like this. She’d never felt like this.
Fire...
His mouth was plundering hers. She was raised right off her feet. She was totally out of control and there was nothing she could do but submit.
And respond? Maybe she had no choice. Maybe that was the only option because that was what her body was doing. It was responding and responding and responding.
How could it not? This was like an electric charge, a high-voltage jolt that had her locked to him and there was no escape. Not that she wanted to escape. The fire coursing through her body had her feeling...
Here was her home? Here was her heart?
This was nonsense. Crazy. Their tiny audience was laughing and cheering and she fought to bring them into focus. She fought desperately to gather herself, regain some decorum, and maybe Alasdair felt it because finally, finally he set her on her feet. But his dark eyes gleamed at her, and behind that smile was a promise.
This man was her husband. The knowledge was terrifying but suddenly it was also exhilarating. Where were smelling salts when a girl needed them? she thought wildly, and she took a deep, steadying breath and turned resolutely back to the minister. Get this over with, she pleaded silently, and let me get out of here.
But the Reverend Angus McConachie was not finished. He was beaming at her as a father might beam at a favourite daughter. In fact, the Reverend Angus had baptised her, had buried her mother, had caught her and her friends stealing strawberries from his vegetable patch, had been there for all her life. She’d tried to explain to him what this wedding was about but she doubted he’d listened. He saw what he wanted to see, the Reverend Angus, and his next words confirmed it.
‘Before I let you go...’ he was beaming as if he’d personally played matchmaker, and happy families was just beginning ‘...I wish to say a few words. I’ve known our Jeanie since the time she turned from a twinkle in her father’s eye into a pretty wee bairn. I’ve watched her grow into the fine young woman she is today. I know the Lady Eileen felt the same pleasure and pride in her that I do, and I feel the Lady Eileen is looking down right now, giving these two her blessing.’
Okay, Jeanie thought. That’ll do. Stop now. But this was the Reverend Angus and she knew he wouldn’t.
‘But it’s been my sorrow to see the tragedies that have befallen our Jeanie,’ the minister continued, his beam dipping for a moment. ‘She was devoted to her Rory from the time she was a wee lass, she was a fine wife and when the marriage ended in tragedy we were all heartbroken for her. That she was brave enough to try again with her Alan was a testament to her courage—and, dare I say, it was also a testament to the Lady Eileen’s encouragement? I dare say there’s not an islander on Duncairn whose heart didn’t break with her when she came home after such trouble.’
‘Angus...’ Jeanie hissed, appalled, but Angus’s beam was back on high and there was no stopping him.
‘And now it’s three,’ he said happily. ‘Third-time lucky. I hear the Lady Eileen has her fingers in the pie this time, too, but she assured me before she died that this one would be a happy ever after.’
‘She told you?’ Alasdair asked, sounding incredulous.
‘She was a conniving lass, your grandmother.’ Angus beamed some more. ‘And here it is, the results of that conniving, and the islanders couldn’t be happier for you. Jeanie, lass, may third time be more than lucky. May your third time be forever.’
* * *
Somehow they made it outside, to the steps of the kirk. The church sat on the headland looking over Duncairn Bay. The sun was shining. The fishing fleet was out, but a few smaller boats were tied on swing moorings. Gulls were wheeling overhead, the church grounds were a mass of wild honeysuckle and roses, and the photographer for the island’s monthly newsletter was asking them to look their way.
‘Smile for the camera... You look so handsome, the pair of you.’
This would make the front cover of the Duncairn Chronicle, she knew—Local Lass Weds Heir to Duncairn.
Her father would be down in the pub now, she thought, already drinking in anticipation of profits he’d think he could wheedle from her.
‘This is the third time?’ Alasdair sounded incredulous.
‘So?’ Her smile was rigidly determined. Alasdair’s arm was around her waist, as befitted the standard newlywed couple, but his arm felt like steel. There was not a trace of warmth in it.
‘I assumed Alan was the only—’
‘You didn’t ask,’ she snapped. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Hell, of course it matters. Did you make money from the first one, too?’
Enough. She put her hand behind her and hauled his arm away from her waist. She was still rigidly smiling but she was having trouble...it could so easily turn to rictus.
‘Thanks, Susan,’ she called to the photographer. ‘We’re done. Thanks, everyone, for coming. We need to get back to the castle. We have guests arriving.’
‘No honeymoon?’ Susan, the photographer, demanded. ‘Why don’t you go somewhere beautiful?’
‘Duncairn is beautiful.’
‘She won’t even close the castle to guests for a few days,’ Maggie said and Jeanie gritted her teeth and pushed the smile a bit harder.
‘It’s business as usual,’ she told them. ‘After all, this is the third time I’ve married. I’m thinking the romance has worn off by now. It’s time to get back to work.’
* * *
Alasdair drove them back to the castle. He’d bought an expensive SUV—brand-new. It had been delivered via the ferry, last week before Alasdair had arrived. Alasdair himself had arrived by helicopter this morning, a fact that made Jeanie feel as if things were happening far too fast—as if things were out of her control. She’d been circling the SUV all week, feeling more and more nervous.
She wasn’t a ‘luxury-car type’. She wasn’t the type to marry a man who arrived by helicopter. But she had to get used to it, she told herself, and she’d driven the thing down to the kirk feeling...absurd.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ Maggie had declared. ‘And he’s said you can drive it? Fabulous. You can share.’
‘This marriage isn’t about sharing, and my little banger is twenty years old. She’s done me proud and she’ll keep doing me proud.’
‘Och, but I can see you sitting up beside your husband in this, looking every inch the lady.’ Maggie had laughed and she’d almost got a swipe to the back of her head for her pains.
But now... She was doing exactly that, Jeanie thought. She was sitting primly in the front passenger seat with her hands folded on her lap. She was staring straight ahead and beside her was...her husband.
‘Third time...’
It was the first time he’d spoken to her out of the hearing of their guests. As an opening to a marriage it was hardly encouraging.
‘Um...’ Jeanie wasn’t too sure where to go.
‘You’ve been married three times.’ His mind was obviously in a repetitive loop, one that he didn’t like a bit. His hands were clenched white on the steering wheel. He was going too fast for this road.
‘Cattle and sheep have the right of way here,’ she reminded him. ‘And the cattle are tough wee beasties. You round a bend too fast and you’ll have a horn through your windscreen.’
‘We’re not talking about cattle.’
‘Right,’ she said and subsided. His car. His problem.
‘Three...’ he said again and she risked a glance at his face. Grim as death. As if she’d conned him?
‘Okay, as of today, I’ve been married three times.’
He was keeping his temper under control but she could feel the pressure building.
‘Did my grandmother know?’ His incredulity was like a flame held to a wick of an already ticking bomb.
But if he thought he had sole rights to anger, he had another thought coming. As if she’d deceive Eileen...
‘Of course she knew. Eileen knew everything about me. I...loved her.’
And the look he threw her was so filled with scorn she flinched and clenched her hands in her lap and looked the other way.
Silence. Silence, silence and more silence. Maybe that’s what this marriage will be all about, she thought bleakly. One roof, but strangers. Silence, with undercurrents of...hatred? That was what it felt like. As if the man beside her hated her.
‘Was he rich, too?’ Alasdair asked and enough was enough.
‘Stop.’
‘What...?’
‘Stop the car this instant.’
‘Why should I?’
But they were rounding a tight bend, where even Alasdair had to slow. She unclipped her seat belt and pushed her door wide. ‘Stop now because I’m getting out, whether you’ve stopped or not. Three, two...’
He jammed on the brakes and she was out of the door before they were completely still.
He climbed out after her. ‘What the...?’
‘I’m walking,’ she told him. ‘I don’t do dinner for guests but seeing you live at the castle now you can have the run of the kitchen. Make yourself what you like. Have a happy marriage, Alasdair McBride. Your dislike of me means we need to be as far apart as we can, so we might as well start now.’
And she turned and started stomping down the road.
* * *
She could do this. It was only three miles, and if there was one thing Jeanie had learned to do over the years, it was walk. She loved this country. She loved the wildness of it, the sheer natural beauty. She knew every nook and cranny of the island. She knew the wild creatures. The sheep hardly startled at her coming and she knew each of the highland cattle by name.
But she was currently wearing a floaty dress and heels. Not stilettos, she conceded, thanking her lucky stars, but they were kitten heels and she wasn’t accustomed to kitten heels.
Maybe when Alasdair was out of sight she’d slip them off and walk barefoot.
Ouch.
Nevertheless, a girl had some pride. She’d made her bed and she needed to lie on it. Or walk.
She walked. There was no sound of an engine behind her but she wasn’t looking back.
And then a hand landed on her shoulder and she almost yelped. Almost. A girl had some pride.
‘Don’t,’ she managed and pulled away to keep stomping. And then she asked, because she couldn’t help herself, ‘Where did you learn to walk like a cat?’
‘Deerstalking. As a kid. My grandpa gave me a camera for my eighth birthday.’
‘You mean you don’t have fifty sets of antlers on your sitting-room walls back in Edinburgh?’ She was still stomping.
‘Nary an antler. Jeanie—’
‘Mrs McBride to you.’
‘Lady Jean,’ he said and she stopped dead and closed her eyes. Lady Jean...
Her dad would be cock-a-hoop. He’d be drunk by now, she thought, boasting to all and sundry that his girl was now lady of the island.
His girl.
Rory... She’d never been her father’s girl, but Rory used to call her that.
‘My lass. My sweet island lassie, my good luck charm, the love of my life...’
That this man could possibly infer she’d married for money...
‘Go away,’ she breathed. ‘Leave me be and take your title and your stupid, cruel misconceptions with you.’
And she started walking again.
To her fury he fell in beside her.
‘Go away.’
‘We need to talk.’
‘Your car’s on a blind bend.’
‘This is my land.’
‘Your land?’
There was a moment’s loaded pause. She didn’t stop walking.
‘Okay, your land,’ he conceded at last. ‘The access road’s on the castle title. As of marrying, as of today, it’s yours.’
‘You get the entire Duncairn company. Does that mean you’re a bigger fortune hunter than me?’
‘I guess it does,’ he said. ‘But at least my motive is pure. How much of Alan’s money do you have left?’
And there was another statement to take her breath away. She was finding it hard to breathe. Really hard.
Time for some home truths? More than time. She didn’t want sympathy, but this...
‘You’d think,’ she managed, slowly, because each word was costing an almost superhuman effort, ‘that you’d have done some homework on your intended bride. This is a business deal. If you’re buying, Alasdair McBride, surely you should have checked out the goods before purchase.’
‘It seems I should.’ He was striding beside her. What did he think he was doing? Abandoning the SUV and hiking all the way to the castle?
‘I have guests booked in at four this afternoon,’ she hissed. ‘They’ll be coming round that bend. Your car is blocking the way.’
‘You mean it’s blocking your profits?’
Profits. She stopped mid-stride and closed her eyes. She counted to ten and then another ten. She tried to do a bit of deep breathing. Her fingers clenched and re-clenched.
Nothing was working. She opened her eyes and he was still looking at her as if she was tainted goods, a bad smell. He’d married someone he loathed.
Someone who married for profit... Of all the things she’d ever been accused of...
She smacked him.
* * *
She’d never smacked a man in her life. She’d never smacked anyone. She was a woman who used Kindly Mousers and carried the captured mice half a mile to release them. She swore they beat her back to the castle but still she kept trying. She caught spiders and put them outside. She put up with dogs under her bed because they looked so sad when she put them in the wet room.
But she had indeed smacked him.
She’d left a mark. No!
Her hands went to her own face. She wanted to sink into the ground. She wanted to run. Of all the stupid, senseless things she’d done in her life, this was the worst. She’d married a man who made her so mad she’d hit him.
She’d mopped up after Rory’s fish for years. She’d watched his telly. She’d coped with the meagre amount he’d allowed her for housekeeping—and she’d never once complained.
And Alan... She thought of the way he’d treated her and still... She’d never once even considered hitting.
But now... What was she thinking? Of all the stupid, dumb mistakes, to put herself in a situation where she’d ended up violent...
Well, then...
Well, then what? A lesser woman might have burst into tears but not Jeanie. She wasn’t about to show this man tears, no matter how desperate things were.
Move on, she told herself, forcing herself to think past the surge of white-hot anger. Get a grip, woman. Get yourself out of this mess, the fastest way you can. But first...
She’d smacked him and the action was indefensible. Do what comes next, she told herself. Apologise.
‘I’m sorry.’ Somehow she got it out. He was staring at her as if she’d grown two heads, and who could blame him? How many times had the Lord of Castle Duncairn been slapped?
Not often enough, a tiny voice whispered, but she wasn’t going there. No violence, not ever. Had she learned nothing?
‘I’m very sorry,’ she made herself repeat. ‘That was inexcusable. No matter what you said, I should never, ever have hit you. I hope... I hope it doesn’t hurt.’
‘Hurt?’ He was still eyeing her with incredulity. ‘You hit me and ask if it hurts? If I say no, will you do it again?’ And it was almost as if he was goading her.
She stared at him, but her stare was blind.
‘I won’t...hit you.’
‘What have I possibly said to deserve that?’
‘You judged me.’
‘I did. Tell me what’s wrong about my judgement.’
‘You want the truth?’
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ he said wearily and her hand itched again.
Enough. No more. Say it and get out.
He wanted the truth? He wanted something he didn’t know? She took a deep breath and steadied.
Let him have it, then, she told herself. After all, the only casualty was her pride, and surely she ought to be over pride by now.
‘Okay, then.’ She was feeling ill, cold and empty. She hated what she was about to say. She hated everything that went with it.
But he was her husband, she thought bitterly. For now. For better or for worse she’d made the vows. The marriage would need to be annulled and fast, but meanwhile the truth was there for the telling. Pride had to take a back seat.
‘I make no profit. I won’t inherit the castle, no matter how married I am,’ she told him. ‘Believe it or not, I did this for you—or for your inheritance, for the Duncairn legacy Eileen cared so much about. But if I can’t see you without wanting to hit out, then it’s over. No lies are worth it, no false vows, no inheritance, nothing. I’ve tried my best but it’s done.’
Done? The world stilled.
It was a perfect summer’s day, a day for soaking in every ounce of pleasure in preparation for the bleak winter that lay ahead. But there was no pleasure here. There was only a man and a woman, and a chasm between them a mile deep.
Done.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked at last.
‘I mean even if we managed to stay married for a year, I can’t inherit,’ she told him, in a dead, cold voice she scarcely recognised. ‘I’ve checked with two lawyers and they both tell me the same thing. Alan left me with massive debts. For the year after his death I tried every way I could to figure some way to repay them but in the end there was only one thing to do. I had myself declared bankrupt.’
‘Bankrupt?’ He sounded incredulous. Did he still think she was lying? She didn’t care, she decided. She was so tired she wanted to sink.
‘That was almost three years ago,’ she forced herself to continue. ‘But bankruptcy lasts for three years and the lawyers’ opinions are absolute. Because Eileen died within the three-year period, any inheritance I receive, no matter when I receive it, becomes part of my assets. It reverts to the bankruptcy trustees to be distributed between Alan’s creditors. The fact that most of those creditors are any form of low-life you care to name is irrelevant. So that’s it—the only one who stood to gain from this marriage was you. I agreed to marry you because I knew Eileen would hate the estate to be lost, but now... Alasdair, I should never have agreed in the first place. I’m sick of being judged. I’m tired to death of being a McBride, and if it’s driving me to hitting, then I need to call it quits. I did this for Eileen but the price is too high. Enough.’
She took off her shoes, then wheeled and started walking.
Where was a spacecraft when she needed one? ‘Beam me up, Scotty...’ What she’d give to say those words.
Her feet wouldn’t go fast enough.
‘Jeanie...’ he called at last but she didn’t even slow.
‘Take your car home,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘The agreement’s off. Everything’s off. I’ll see a lawyer and get the marriage annulled—I’ll do whatever I need to do. I’d agreed to look after the castle for the next few weeks but that’s off, too. So sue me. You can be part of my creditor list. I’ll camp in Maggie’s attic tonight and I’m on the first ferry out of here tomorrow.’
‘You can’t,’ he threw after her, sounding stunned, but she still didn’t turn. She didn’t dare.
‘Watch me. When I reach the stage where I hit out, I know enough is enough. I’ve been enough of a fool for one lifetime. Foolish stops now.’
