Читать книгу Her Highland Boss: The Earl's Convenient Wife / In the Boss's Castle / Her Hot Highland Doc - Marion Lennox - Страница 11

CHAPTER FIVE

MIDNIGHT. THE WITCHING HOUR. Normally Jeanie was so tired that the witches could do what they liked; she couldn’t give a toss. Tonight the witches were all in her head, and they were giving her the hardest time of her life.

‘You idiot. You king-size madwoman. To walk back into the McBride realm...’

Shut up, she told her witches, but they were ranting and she lay in the narrow cot in Maggie’s tiny attic and held her hands to her ears and thought she was going mad.

Something hit the window.

That’ll be more witches trying to get in, she told herself and buried her head under the pillow.

Something else hit the window. It sounded like a shower of gravel.

Rory used to do this, so many years ago, when he wanted to talk to her and her father was being...her father.

The ghost of Rory? That’s all I need, she thought, but then another shower hit the window and downstairs Maggie’s Labrador hit the front door and started barking, a bark that said terrorists and stun grenades were about to launch through the windows and a dog had to do its duty. Wake up and fight, the dog was saying to everyone in the house. No, make that everyone in the village.

There was an oath from Maggie’s husband in the room under Jeanie’s, and, from the kids’ room, a child began to cry.

And she thought...

No, she didn’t want to think. This was nothing to do with her. She lay with her blanket pulled up to her nose as she heard Maggie’s husband clump down the stairs and haul the door open.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Dougal’s shout was as loud as his dog’s bark. ‘McBride... It’s McBride, isn’t it? What the hell...? You might be laird of this island, but if you think you can skulk round our property... You’ve woken the bairns. Shut up!’ The last words were a roar, directed at the dog, but it didn’t work the way Dougal intended. From under her window came a chorus of frenzied barks in response.

Uh-oh. Jeanie knew those barks. Abbot and Costello! Alasdair was here and he’d brought Eileen’s dogs for the ride.

And then it wasn’t just Maggie’s dog and Eileen’s dogs. The neighbours’ dog started up in response, and then the dogs from the next house along, and then the whole village was erupting in a mass of communal barking.

Lights were going on. Maggie’s two kids were screaming. She could hear a child start up in the house next door.

Should I stay under the pillows? Jeanie thought. It had to be the wisest course.

‘I need to speak to my wife.’ It was Alasdair, struggling to make himself heard above the din.

His wife. She needed more pillows—the pillows she had didn’t seem to be effective.

‘Jeanie?’ That was Maggie, roaring up the stairs. ‘Jeanie!’

‘I’m asleep!’

‘Jeanie, you know how much I love you, but your man’s roaring in the street and he’s woken the bairns. Either you face him or I will, and if it’s me, it won’t be pretty.’

Alasdair wasn’t roaring in the street, Jeanie thought helplessly, but everyone else was. Everyone in Duncairn would know that the Earl of Duncairn was under Maggie’s window—wanting his wife.

Everyone knew everything on this island, she thought bitterly as she hauled on jeans and a sweatshirt and headed downstairs. Why broadcast more? As if the whole mess wasn’t bad enough... She didn’t want to meet him. She did not. She’d had enough of the McBrides to last her a lifetime.

Dougal was still in the doorway, holding the dog back. He’d stopped shouting, but as she appeared he looked at her in concern. ‘You sure you want to go out there, lass?’

She glowered. ‘Maggie says I have to.’

There was a moment’s pause while they both thought about it. ‘Then better to do what Maggie says,’ he said at last. Dougal was a man of few words and he’d used most of them on Alasdair. ‘Tell him to quiet the dogs. I’ll be here waiting. Any funny business and I’m a call away. And don’t be going out there in bare feet.’

Her shoes were in the attic, two flights of stairs away. At home...at the castle...she always left a pair of wellies at the back door, but here it hadn’t been worth her unpacking.

The only Wellingtons on the doorstep were Dougal’s fishing boots.

But a girl had to do what a girl had to do. She shoved her feet into Dougal’s vast fishing wellies and went to meet her...her husband.

* * *

He’d found out where Maggie lived. That had been easy—the island boasted one slim phone book with addresses included. He hadn’t meant or wanted to wake the house but she’d told him she’d be sleeping in the attic. All he’d wanted was for her to put her head out to investigate the shower of stones, he’d signal her down and they could talk.

The plan hadn’t quite worked. Now the whole village was waiting for them to talk, and the village wasn’t happy. But as a collective, the village was interested.

‘Have you run away already, love?’ The old lady living over the road from Maggie’s was hanging out of the window with avid interest. ‘Well, it’s what we all expected. Don’t you go letting him sweet-talk you back to his castle. Just because he’s the laird... There’s generations of lairds had their way with the likes of us. Don’t you be trusting him one inch.’

She might not be trusting him, he thought, but at least she was walking towards him. She was wearing jeans, an oversize windcheater and huge fishermen’s boots. Her curls were tumbled around her face. By the light of the street lamp she looked young, vulnerable...and scared.

Heck, he wasn’t an ogre. He wasn’t even really a laird. ‘Jeanie...’

‘You’d better hush the dogs,’ she told him. ‘Why on earth did you bring them?’

‘Because when I tried to leave they started barking exactly as they’re barking now.’ He needed to be calm, but he couldn’t help the note of exasperation creeping in. ‘And your guests have already had to make do with half a shelf of whisky instead of a full one, and bought biscuits instead of home-made. What did you do with the shortbread? If the dogs keep barking, we’ll have the castle empty by morning.’

‘Does that matter?’ But she walked across to the SUV and yanked open the door. ‘Shush,’ she said. They shushed.

It was no wonder they shushed. Her tone said don’t mess with me and the dogs didn’t. She was small and cute and fierce—and the gaze she turned on him was lethal.

She glowered and then hesitated, glancing up at the lit window over the road. ‘It’s all right, Mrs McConachie, I have him... I have things under control. Sorry for the disturbance, people. You can all go back to bed now. Close your windows, nothing to see.’

‘You tell him, Jeanie,’ someone shouted, and there was general laughter and the sound of assorted dogs faded to silence again.

But she was still glowering. She was looking at him as if he were five-day-old fish that had dared infiltrate the immaculate castle refrigerators.

Speaking of food... Why not start off on neutral territory?

‘I don’t know how to make black pudding,’ he told her and her face stilled. The glare muted a little, as if something else was struggling to take its place. Okay. Keep it practical, he told himself, and he soldiered on. ‘Two of your guests, Mr and Mrs Elliot from Battersea, insist they want black pudding for their breakfast. And Ethel and Hazel want porridge.’

‘Hector and Margaret adore their black pudding,’ she said neutrally, and he thought, Excellent, this was obviously the way to lead into the conversation they had to have.

‘So how do you make it?’

‘I don’t. Mrs Stacy on the north of the island makes them for me and she gets her blood from the island butcher. I have puddings hanging in the back larder. You slice and fry at need. The shortbread’s on top of the dresser—I put it where I can’t reach it without the step stool because otherwise I’ll be the size of a house. The porridge is more complicated—you need to be careful not to make it lumpy but there are directions on the Internet. I’m sure you can manage.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Well, then...’ She stood back, hands on her hips, looking as if he was a waste of space for admitting he couldn’t make porridge. ‘That’s sad, but the guests need to find somewhere else as a base to do their hill climbing. They might as well get disgusted about their lack of black pudding and porridge tomorrow, and start looking elsewhere immediately.’

Uh-oh. This wasn’t going the way he’d planned. She looked as if she was about to turn on her heels and retreat. ‘Jeanie, there was a reason you agreed to marry me.’ He needed to get things back on a sensible course now. ‘Believe it or not, it’s still the right thing to do. It was a good decision. You can’t walk away.’

‘The decision to marry? The right thing?’

‘I believe it still is, even though...even though your reasons weren’t what I thought they were. But long-term, it still seems sensible.’

‘It did seem sensible.’ She still sounded cordial, he thought, which had to be a good sign, or at least she still seemed neutral. But then she continued: ‘But that was before I realised you think I’m a gold-digging harpy who’s spent the last three years sucking up to Eileen so I can inherit the castle. Or maybe I did know that, but it got worse. It was before you inferred I’d married twice for money, three times if you count marrying you. You thought I was a tart the first time you saw me and—’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Come off it. When Alan introduced us you looked like you’d seen lesser things crawl out of cheese. I concede the way I was dressed might have swayed you a little—’

‘A little!’ He still remembered how he’d felt as Alan had ushered her into his office. Appalled didn’t begin to cut it.

‘Alan said it was a joke,’ she told him, a hint of defensiveness suddenly behind her anger. ‘He said you were a judgemental prude, let’s give you a heart attack. He said you were expecting him to marry a tart so let’s show him one. I was embarrassed to death but Alan wanted to do it and I was naïve and I thought I was in love and I went along with it. It even seemed...funny. It wasn’t funny, I admit. It was tacky. But Alan was right. You were judgemental. You still are. Eileen kept telling me you were nice underneath but then she loved Alan, too. So now I’ve been talked into doing something against my better judgement—again. It has to stop and it’s stopping now. I’ll get the marriage annulled. That’s it. If you don’t mind, my bed’s waiting and you have oats to soak. Or not. Lumpy porridge or none at all, it’s up to you. I don’t care.’

And she turned and walked away.

Or she would have walked away if she hadn’t been wearing men’s size-thirteen Wellington boots. There was a rut in the pavement, her floppy toe caught and she lurched. She flailed wildly, fighting for balance, but she was heading for asphalt.

He caught her before she hit the ground. His arms went round her; he swung her high into his arms and steadied. For one moment he held her—he just held.

She gasped and wriggled. He set her on her feet again but for that moment...for that one long moment there’d been an almost irresistible urge to keep right on holding.

In the olden days a man could choose a mate according to his status in the tribe, he thought wryly. He could exert a bit of testosterone, show a little muscle and carry his woman back to his cave. Every single thing about that concept was wrong, but for that fleeting moment, as he held her, as he felt how warm, how slight, how yielding her body was, the urge was there, as old as time itself.

And as dumb.

But she’d felt it, too—that sudden jolt of primeval need. She steadied and backed, her hands held up as if to ward him off.

Behind them the door swung open. Dougal was obviously still watching through the window and he’d seen everything. ‘You want me to come out, love?’

‘It’s okay, Dougal.’ She sounded as if she was struggling for composure and that made two of them. ‘I...just tripped in your stupid wellies.’

‘They’re great wellies.’ That was Maggie, calling over Dougal’s shoulder. ‘They’re special ones I bought for his birthday. They cost a fortune.’

‘I think they’re nice, too,’ Alasdair added helpfully and she couldn’t help but grin. She fought to turn it back into a glower.

‘Don’t you dare make me laugh.’

‘I couldn’t.’

‘You could. Go away. I’m going to bed.’

Enough. He had to say it. ‘Jeanie, please come back to the castle,’ he said, pride disappearing as the gravity of the next few moments hit home. ‘You’re right, I’ve been a judgemental fool. I’ve spent the last few hours trawling through Eileen’s financial statements. I can see exactly what she has and hasn’t given you. I can see what a mess Alan left you in. I can see...what you’ve given Eileen.’

She stilled. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘For the last three years you’ve made this castle a home for her,’ he told her. ‘I know Eileen’s official home was in Edinburgh, and she still spent too much time in the office, trying to keep her fingers on the company’s financial affairs. But whenever she could, she’s been here. When she became ill she was here practically full-time, only returning to Edinburgh long enough to reassure me there was no need for me to keep an eye on her. I thought she was staying here because she needed to keep an eye on you. I thought this was simply another financial enterprise. But tonight I spent a little time with your guests and some rather good whisky—’

‘I didn’t leave any good stuff behind.’

‘I made an emergency dash. I spent a little time with them and they talked about why they’ve come back every year since you started running the B & B. They talked about how they and my grandmother talked about you and they talked about fun. How you and Eileen enjoyed each other’s company, but that they’d always been welcome to join you. How Eileen sat in the library like a queen every night and presided over the whisky and talked about the estate as it’s been, about my grandfather’s ancestors and hers. It seems it didn’t matter how often they heard it, they still loved it. And they talked about you, Jeanie, always in the background, always quietly careful that Eileen didn’t do too much, that she didn’t get cold, that she didn’t trip on her stupid dogs. And then I looked at the wages and saw how little you’ve been paid. And Elspeth...’

‘Who’s Elspeth?’ She sounded winded.

‘My secretary. I asked her to do some long-overdue background checks. With the information you gave me this afternoon the rest was easy to find. She tells me that, as well as almost killing you that last night in his unpaid-for sports car, Alan died in debt up to his ears. He left you committed to paying them, even though most of them were to gambling houses and casinos. But somehow you seem to have become jointly responsible. I know Eileen would have paid them off, but they were vast debts, eye-watering debts, and you refused to let her help. You declared yourself bankrupt and then you accepted a minimal wage to stay on at the castle.’

‘You have—’

‘Been learning. Yes, I have. I’ve learned that this marriage arrangement gives you one more year in the castle but that’s all it gives you. I’m still not sure why you agreed to marry me, but I’m pathetically grateful you did. Jeanie, I’m so sorry I misjudged you. Please come home.’

‘It’s not my home.’

‘It is a home, though,’ he said, gently now. ‘That’s what I didn’t get. You made it Eileen’s home and for that I can never thank you enough.’

‘I don’t want your thanks. Eileen let me stay. That was enough.’

‘And I know I don’t have the right, but I’m asking you to stay longer.’

‘But not as your wife.’

‘Legally as my wife. We both know that’s sensible.’

‘I don’t do...sensible. I’m not very good at it. I have three dumb marriages to prove it.’

‘Then do gut instinct,’ he told her. ‘Do what you think’s right. Think back to the reasons you married me in the first place.’

‘That’s blackmail again.’

‘It’s not. I know I stand to gain a fortune by this transaction. You stand to gain nothing. That’s what I hadn’t understood. But we can work things out. If the company ends up in my name, I can buy the castle from the bankruptcy trustees. I intended to buy it from you anyway, but I can arrange for you to be paid more—’

‘I don’t want anything,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t you get it? Don’t you understand that there’s nothing you can offer me that I want?’

‘You do want another year in the castle. At the end of the year—’

‘Don’t even say it,’ she told him. ‘I will not be bought.’

Silence. What else could he say?

He could fix things if she let him. Duncairn Enterprises was extensive enough to soak up the purchase of the castle at market price. He could also settle a substantial amount on Jeanie when her bankruptcy was discharged, but he knew instinctively that saying that now would count for nothing. Right now, he had enough sense to know it would make things worse.

This woman—his wife—had married for a reason. She knew the good the company did. She knew how much the castle and the company meant to Eileen. He just had to hope those reasons were still strong enough.

‘Jeanie, do you really want to get on that ferry tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘The dogs want you back at the castle. The guests want you. This does seem like cutting off your nose to spite your face. Please?’

‘So...it’s not just the porridge.’

‘Not even the black pudding.’

‘Alasdair...’

‘There’ll be no strings,’ he said and held up his hands. ‘I promise. Things will be as you imagined them when you agreed to this deal. You’ll have a year’s employment. You can use the year to sort what you want to do next and then you can walk away. There’ll be no obligation on either of our parts.’

‘No more insults?’

‘I won’t even comment on your footwear.’

She managed to smile again at that. It was faint but it was there.

And then there was silence. It was so deep and so long that Dougal opened the door again. He stood uncertainly on the doorstep. He made to say something but didn’t. The silence lengthened. Finally he was dragged inside again by Maggie.

Maggie, at least, must understand the value of silence, Alasdair thought. The last light went off inside. Even if, as Alasdair suspected, Maggie was still lurking, she was giving them the pretence that they were alone.

The night was still and warm. The numbers of nights like this on Duncairn could be counted on less than a man’s fingers. Everyone should be out tonight, he thought. The stars were hanging brilliant in the sky, as if they existed in a separate universe from the stars he struggled to see back in Edinburgh. The tide was high and he could hear the waves slapping against the harbour wall. Before dawn the harbour would be a hive of activity as the island’s fishermen set to sea, but for now the village had settled back to sleep. There was no one here but this woman, standing still and watchful.

Trying to make her mind up whether to go or stay.

‘Can I have the dogs?’ she said at last, and he blinked.

‘The dogs?’

‘At the end of the year. That’s been the thing that’s hurt most. I haven’t had time to find a job where I can keep them, and I can’t see them living in an apartment in Edinburgh with you. If I stay, I’ll have twelve months to source a job where they can come with me.’

‘You’d agree to keeping on with the marriage,’ he said, cautiously because it behoved a man to be cautious, ‘for the dogs?’

‘What other reason would there be?’

‘For the company? So Duncairn Enterprises will survive?’

‘That’s your reason, not mine. Dogs or nothing, My Lord.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

She tilted her chin. ‘I need something to hold on to,’ she said. ‘I need the dogs.’

He stared around at the two dogs with their heads hanging out of the window. Abbot was staring down at the road as if considering jumping. He wouldn’t. Alasdair had been around this dog long enough to know a three-foot jump in Abbot’s mind constituted suicide.

A moth was flying round Costello’s nose. Costello’s nose was therefore circling, too, as if he was thinking of snapping. He wouldn’t do that, either. Risk wasn’t in these two dogs’ make-up and neither was intelligence.

‘They’re dumb,’ he said, feeling dumbfounded himself.

‘I like dumb. You know where you are with dumb. Dumb doesn’t leave room for manipulation.’

‘Jeanie...’

‘Dumb or not, it’s yes or no. A year at the castle, no insults, the dogs—and respect for my privacy. The only way this can work is if you keep out of my way and I keep out of yours.’

‘We do still need to share the castle.’

‘Yes, we do,’ she agreed. ‘But you’ll be treated as a guest.’

‘You mean you’ll make the porridge?’

Her expression softened a little. ‘I kind of like making it,’ she admitted.

‘So we have a deal?’

‘No more insults?’ she demanded.

‘I can’t think of a single insult to throw.’

‘Then go home,’ she told him. ‘I’ll be there before breakfast.’

‘Won’t you come back now?’

‘Not with you,’ she said flatly. ‘I’ll follow separately, when I’m ready. From now on, Alasdair McBride, this is the way we do things. Separately or not at all.’

* * *

How was a man to sleep after that? He lay in the great four-poster bed in the opulent rooms his grandmother had done up for him during the renovation and he kept thinking...of Jeanie.

Why hadn’t his grandmother told him of her plight?

Because he’d never asked, he conceded. Eileen had known of the bad blood between the cousins. Revealing the mess Alan had left Jeanie in would have meant revealing even more appalling things of Alan than he already knew.

So she’d let him think Jeanie was a gold-digger?

No. Eileen wouldn’t have dreamed he’d think Jeanie was mercenary, he conceded, because anyone who met Jeanie would know that such a thing was impossible.

Except him. He’d met her, he’d judged her and he’d kept on judging her. He’d made the offer of marriage based on the assumption that she was out for what she could get, and he’d nearly destroyed his chances of success in doing it.

Worse, he’d hurt her. He’d hurt a woman who’d done the right thing by Eileen. A woman Eileen had loved. A woman who’d agreed to a marriage because...because he’d told her of the charities Duncairn supported? Because she could spend another year acting as a low-paid housekeeper? Because she loved two dopey dogs?

Or because she’d known Eileen would have wanted him to inherit. The realisation dawned as clear as if it were written in the stars.

She’d done it for Eileen.

Eileen had loved her and he could see why. She was a woman worthy of...

Loving?

The word was suddenly there, front and centre, and it shocked him.

Surely he was only thinking of it in relation to Eileen—but for the moment, lying back in bed in the great castle of his ancestors, he let the concept drift. Why had Eileen loved her?

Because she was kind and loyal and warm-hearted. Because she loved Eileen’s dogs—why, for heaven’s sake? Because she was small and cute and curvy and her chuckle was infectious.

There was nothing in that last thought that would have made Eileen love her, he decided, but it surely came to play in Alasdair’s mind.

When she’d almost fallen, when he’d picked her up and held her, he’d felt...he’d felt...

As if she was his wife?

And so she was, he thought, and maybe it was the vows he’d made in the kirk so few hours ago that made him feel like this. He’d thought he could make them without meaning them, but now...

She was coming back here. His wife.

And if he made one move on her, she’d run a mile. He knew it. Alan had treated her like dirt and so had he. Today he’d insulted her so deeply that she’d run. This year could only work if it was business only.

He had to act on it.

There was a whine under the bed and Abbot slunk out and put his nose on the pillow. The dogs should be sleeping in the wet room. That was where their beds were but when he’d tried to lock them in they’d whined and scratched and finally he’d relented. Were they missing Jeanie?

He relented a bit more now and made the serious mistake of scratching Abbot’s nose. Within two seconds he had two spaniels draped over his bed, squirming in ecstasy, then snuggling down and closing their eyes very firmly—We’re asleep now, don’t disturb us.

‘Dumb dogs,’ he told them but he didn’t push them off. They’d definitely be missing Jeanie, he thought, and he was starting—very strongly—to understand why.

* * *

Why was she heading back to the castle? She was out of her mind.

But she’d packed her gear back into her car and now she was halfway across the island. Halfway home?

That was what the castle felt like. Home. Except it wasn’t, she told herself. It had been her refuge after the Alan disaster. She’d allowed Eileen to talk her into staying on, but three years were three years too many. She’d fallen in love with the place. With Duncairn.

With the Duncairn estate and all it entailed?

That meant Alasdair, she reminded herself, and she most certainly hadn’t fallen in love with Alasdair. He was cold and judgemental. He’d married her for money, and he deserved nothing from her but disdain.

But he’d caught her when she’d fallen and he’d felt...he’d felt...

‘Yeah, he’d felt like any over-testosteroned male in a kilt would make you feel,’ she snapped out loud.

Her conversation with herself was nuts. She had the car windows open and she’d had to stop. Some of the scraggy, tough, highland sheep had chosen to snooze for the night in the middle of the road. They were moving but they were taking their time. Meanwhile they were looking at her curiously—listening in on her conversation? She needed someone to talk to, she decided, and the sheep would do.

‘I’m doing this for your sakes,’ she told them. ‘If I go back to the castle, he can buy it from the bankruptcy trustees at the end of the year and it’ll stay in the family.’

Maybe he’ll let me stay on as caretaker even then?

That was a good thought, but did she want to stay as housekeeper/caretaker at Duncairn for the rest of her life?

‘Yes,’ she said out loud, so savagely that the sheep nearest her window leaped back with alarm.

‘No,’ she corrected herself, but maybe that was the wrong answer, too. That was the dangerous part of her talking. That was the part of her that had chafed against being part of Rory’s family business, doing the books, cleaning the fish shop, aching to get off the island and do something exciting.

Well, she had done something exciting, she told herself bitterly. She’d met and married Alan and she’d had all the excitement a girl could want and more.

‘So it’s back in your box to you, Jeanie McBride,’ she told herself and thought briefly about her name. Jeanie McBride. She was that. She was Alan’s widow.

She was Alasdair’s wife.

‘At the end of the year I’m going back to being Jeanie Lochlan,’ she told the last sheep as it finally ambled off the road. ‘Meanwhile I’m going back to being housekeeper at Duncairn, chief cook and bottle washer for a year. I’m going back to taking no risks. The only thing that’s changed for the next twelve months is that the house has one permanent guest. That guest is Alasdair McBride but any trouble from him and he’s out on his ear.’

And you’ll kick him out how?

‘I won’t need to,’ she told the sheep. ‘I hold all the cards.

‘For a year,’ she reminded herself, wishing the sheep could talk back. ‘And for a year...well, Alasdair McBride might be the Earl of Duncairn but he’s in no position to lord it over me. For the next year I know my place, and he’d better know his.’