Читать книгу Her Highland Boss: The Earl's Convenient Wife / In the Boss's Castle / Her Hot Highland Doc - Marion Lennox - Страница 12
ОглавлениеALASDAIR WOKE AT DAWN to find the dogs had deserted him. That had to be a good sign, he told himself, but he hadn’t heard Jeanie return.
His room was on the ocean side of the castle. The massive stone walls would mean the sound of a car approaching from the land side wouldn’t have woken him.
That didn’t mean she was here, though.
He wanted—badly—to find out. The future of Duncairn rested on the outcome of the next few minutes but for some reason he couldn’t bear to know.
He opened his laptop. He didn’t even know if she’d returned but it paid a man to be prepared.
It paid a man to hope?
By eight o’clock he’d formed a plan of action. He’d made a couple of phone calls. He’d done some solid work, but the silence in the castle was starting to do his head in. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He dressed and headed down the great staircase, listening for noise—listening for Jeanie?
He pushed open the door to the dining room and was met by...normal. Normal?
He’d been in this room often but this morning it was as if he were seeing it for the first time. Maybe it was because last night he’d almost lost it—or maybe it was because this morning it was the setting for Jeanie. Or he hoped it was.
Regardless, it was some setting. The castle after Eileen’s amazing restoration was truly luxurious, but Eileen—and Jeanie, her right-hand assistant—had never lost sight of the heart of the place. That heart was displayed right here. The massive stone fireplace took half a wall. A fire blazed in the hearth, a small fire by castle standards but the weather was warm and the flame was there mostly to form a heart—and maybe to form a setting for the dogs, who lay sprawled in front of it. Huge wooden beams soared above. The vast rug on the floor was an ancient design, muted yet glorious, and matching the worn floorboards to perfection.
There were guests at four of the small tables, the guests he’d given whisky to last night. They gave him polite smiles and went back to their breakfast.
Porridge, he thought, checking the tables at a glance. Black pudding. Omelettes!
Jeanie must be home.
And almost as he thought it, there she was, bustling in from the kitchen, apron over her jeans, her curls tied into a bouncy ponytail, her face fixed into a hostess-like beam of welcome.
‘Good morning, My Lord. Your table is the one by the window. It has a fine view but the morning papers are beside it if you prefer a broader outlook. Can I fetch you coffee while you decide what you’d like for your breakfast?’
So this was the way it would be. Guest and hostess. Even the dogs hadn’t stirred in welcome. Jeanie was home. They had no need of him.
Things were back to normal?
‘I just need toast.’
‘Surely not. We have eggs and bacon, sausages, porridge, black pudding, omelettes, pancakes, griddle cakes...whatever you want, My Lord, I can supply it. Within reason, of course.’ And she pressed a menu into his hands and retreated to the kitchen.
* * *
He ate porridge. No lumps. Excellent.
He felt...extraneous. Would he be served like this for the entire year? He’d go nuts.
But he sat and read his paper until all the guests had departed, off to tramp the moors or climb the crags or whatever it was that guests did during their stay. The American couple departed for good, for which he was thankful. The rest were staying at least another night. Jeanie was obviously supplying picnic baskets and seeing each guest off on their day’s adventures. He waited a few moments after the last farewell to give her time to catch her breath, and then headed to the kitchen to find her.
She was elbow deep in suds in front of the sink. Washed pots and pans were stacked up to one side. He took a dishcloth and started to dry.
‘There’s no need to be doing that.’ She must have heard him come in but she didn’t turn to look at him. ‘Put the dishcloth down. This is my territory.’
‘This year’s a mutual business deal. We work together.’
‘You’ve got your company’s work to be doing. There’s a spare room beyond the ones you’re using—your grandmother set it up as a small, private library for her own use. It has a fine view of the sea. We’ll need to see if the Internet reaches there—if not you can get a router in town. Hamish McEwan runs the electrical store in Duncairn. He’ll come out if I call him.’
Business. Her voice was clipped and efficient.
She still hadn’t looked at him.
‘We need to organise more than my office,’ he told her. ‘For a start, we need a cleaning lady.’
‘We do not!’ She sounded offended. ‘What could be wrong with my cleaning?’
‘How many days a year do you take guests?’
‘Three-sixty-five.’ She said it with pride and scrubbed the pan she was working on a bit harder.
‘And you do all the welcoming, the cooking, the cleaning, the bed-making...’
‘What else would I do?’
‘Enjoy yourself?’
‘I like cleaning.’
‘Jeanie?’
‘Yes.’
‘That pan is so shiny you can see your face in it. It’s time you stopped scrubbing.’
There were no more dishes. He could see her dilemma. She needed to stop scrubbing, but that would mean turning—to face him?
He lifted the pan from her hands, set it down and took her wet hands in his.
‘Jeanie...’
‘Don’t,’ she managed and tugged back but he didn’t let her go.
‘Jeanie, I’ve just been on the phone to Maggie.’
She stilled. ‘Why?’
‘To talk to her about you. You didn’t tell her you were coming back here. She thought you’d gone to the ferry.’
He didn’t tell her what a heart-sink moment that had been. She didn’t need emotion getting in the way of what he had to say now.
‘I thought I’d ring her this morning.’ She sounded defensive. ‘I thought... To be honest, when I left Maggie’s I wasn’t sure where I was going. I headed out near the ferry terminal and sat and looked over the cliffs for a while. I wasn’t sure if I should change my mind.’ She looked down at their linked hands. ‘I’m still not sure if I should.’
‘You promised me you’d come back.’
‘I stood in the kirk and wed you, too,’ she said sharply. ‘Somewhere along my life I’ve learned that promises are made to be broken.’
‘I won’t break mine.’
‘Till death do us part?’
‘I’ll rethink that in a year.’
‘You have to be kidding.’ She wrenched her hands back with a jerk. ‘It’s rethought now. Promises mean nothing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have beds to make, a castle to dust, dogs to walk, then the forecourt to mow. You go back to sorting your electrics.’
‘Jeanie, it’s the first day of our honeymoon.’
‘Do you not realise I’m over honeymoons?’ She grabbed the pan he’d just taken from her and slammed it down on the bottom shelf so hard it bounced. ‘What were you thinking? A jaunt to a six-star hotel with a casino on the side? Been there, done that.’
‘I thought I’d take you out to see the puffins.’
And that shocked her. She straightened. Stared at him. Stared at him some more. ‘Sorry?’
‘Have you seen the puffins this year?’
‘I... No.’
‘Neither have I. I haven’t seen the puffins since my grandfather died, and I miss them. According to Dougal, they’re still there, but only just. You know they take off midsummer? Their breeding season’s almost done so they’ll be leaving any minute. The sea’s so calm today it’s like a lake. You have all the ingredients for a picnic right here and Dougal says we can use his Mary-Jane.’
‘Dougal will lend you his boat?’
‘It’s not his fishing boat. It’s just a runabout.’
‘I know that, but still...he won’t even trust Maggie with his boat.’
‘Maybe I come with better insurance than Maggie.’
‘Do you even know how to handle a boat?’
‘I know how to handle a boat.’
She stared at him, incredulous, and then shook her head. ‘It’s a crazy idea. As I said, I have beds—’
‘Beds to make. And dusting and dog-walking and grass to mow.’ He raised his fingers and started ticking things off. ‘First, beds and general housework. Maggie’s mam is already on her way here, bringing a friend for company. They’ll clean and cook a storm. They’re bringing Maggie’s dog, too, who Maggie assures me keeps Abbot and Costello from fretting. They’ll walk all the dogs. Maggie’s uncle is bringing up the rear. He’ll do the mowing, help Mac check the cattle, do anything on the list you leave him. He’ll be here in an hour but we should be gone by then. Our boat’s waiting. Now, can I help you pack lunch?’
‘No! This is crazy.’
‘It’s the day after your wedding. It’s not crazy at all.’
‘The wedding was a formality. I told you, I don’t do honeymoons.’
‘Or six-star hotels, or casinos. I suspected not. I also thought that if I whisked you off the island you might never come back. But, Jeanie, you do need a holiday. Three years without a break. I don’t know what Eileen was thinking.’
‘She knew I wouldn’t take one.’
‘Because you’re afraid?’ he said gently. He didn’t move to touch her. In truth, he badly wanted to but she was so close to running... ‘Because you’ve ventured forth twice and been burned both times? I know you agreed to marry so I could inherit, but there’s also a part of you that wants another year of safe. Jeanie, don’t you want to see the puffins?’
‘I...’
‘Come with me, Jeanie,’ he said and he couldn’t help himself then, he did reach out to her. He touched her cheek, a feather-light touch, a trace of finger against skin, and why it had the power to make him feel...make him feel...
As if the next two minutes were important. Really important. Would she pull away and tell him to get lost, or would she finally cut herself some slack? Come play with him...
‘I shouldn’t,’ she whispered, but she didn’t pull back.
‘When did you last see puffins?’
She didn’t reply. He let his hand fall, though it took effort. He wanted to keep touching. He wanted to take that look of fear from her face.
What had they done to her? he wondered. Nice, safe Rory, and low-life Alan...
There was spirit in this woman and somehow it had been crushed.
And then he thought of the slap and he thought, No, it hadn’t quite been crushed. Jeanie was still under there.
‘Not since I was a little girl,’ she admitted. ‘With my mam. Rory’s uncle took us out to see them.’
‘Just the once?’
‘I... Yes. He took tourists, you see. There were never places—or time—to take us.’
What about your own dad? he wanted to ask. Jeanie’s father was a fisherman. He’d had his own boat. Yes, it was almost two hours out to the isolated isles, the massive crags where the puffins nested, but people came from all over the world to see them. To live here and not see...
His own grandparents had taken him out every summer. When he’d turned sixteen they’d given him a boat, made sure he had the best instruction, and then they’d trusted him. When his grandfather had died he’d taken Eileen out there to scatter his ashes.
‘Come with me,’ he said now, gently, and she looked up at him and he could see sense and desire warring behind her eyes.
‘It’s not a honeymoon.’
‘It’s a day trip. You need a holiday so I’m organising a series of day trips.’
‘More than one!’
‘You deserve a month off. More. I know you won’t take that. You don’t trust me and we’re forced to stay together and you don’t want that, but for now...you’ve given me an amazing gift, Jeanie Lochlan. Allow me to give you something in return.’
She compressed her lips and stared up at him, trying to read his face.
‘Are you safe to operate a boat out there?’ she demanded at last.
‘You know Dougal. Do you think he’d lend me the Mary-Jane if I wasn’t safe?’
Dougal’s uncle had taught him how to handle himself at sea. Once upon a time this island had been his second home, his refuge when life with his parents got too bad, and sailing had become his passion.
‘He wouldn’t,’ Jeanie conceded. ‘So we’re going alone?’
‘Yes.’ He would have asked Dougal to take them if it would have made Jeanie feel safer but this weather was so good every fisherman worth his salt was putting to sea today. ‘You can trust me, Jeanie. We’re interested in puffins, that’s all.’
‘But when you touch me, I feel...’
And there it was, out in the open. This thing between them.
‘If we’re to survive these twelve months, we need to avoid personal attraction,’ he told her.
Her face stilled. ‘You feel it, too.’
Of course I do. He wanted to shout it, but the wariness in her eyes was enough to give a man pause. That and reason. Hell, all they needed was a hot affair, a passionate few weeks, a massive split, and this whole arrangement would be blown out of the water. Even he had the sense to see hormones needed to take a back seat.
‘Jeanie, this whole year is about being sensible. You’re an attractive woman...’
She snorted.
‘With a great smile and a big heart,’ he continued. ‘And if you put a single woman and a single man together for a year, then it’s inevitable that sparks will fly. But we’re both old enough and sensible enough to know how to douse those sparks.’
‘So that’s what we’re doing for the next twelve months. Dousing sparks?’ She ventured a smile. ‘So do I pack the fire extinguisher today?’
‘If we feel the smallest spark, we hit the water. The water temperature around here is barely above freezing. That should do it. Will you come?’
There was a moment’s hesitation and then: ‘Foolish or not, I never could resist a puffin,’ she told him. ‘My only stipulation is that you don’t wear a kilt. Because sparks are all very well, Alasdair McBride, but you put a kilt on that body and sparks could well turn into a wildfire.’
He was free to make of that as he willed. She turned away, grabbed a picnic basket and started to pack.
* * *
He couldn’t just manage a boat; he was one with the thing.
Jeanie had been in enough boats with enough men—she’d even worked as crew on Rory’s fishing trawler—to recognise a seaman when she saw one.
Who could have guessed this smooth, suave businessman from Edinburgh, this kilted lord of all he surveyed at Duncairn, was a man who seemed almost as at home at sea as the fishermen who worked the island’s waters.
The Mary-Jane was tied at the harbour wharf when they arrived, with a note from Dougal to Alasdair taped to the bollard.
Keep in radio contact and keep her safe. And I don’t mean the boat.
Alasdair had grinned, leaped lightly onto the deck and turned to help Jeanie down. She’d ignored his hand and climbed down herself—a woman had some pride. And she was being very wary of sparks.
The Mary-Jane was a sturdy cabin cruiser, built to take emergency supplies out to a broken-down fishing trawler, or as a general harbour runabout. She was tough and serviceable—but so was the man at the helm. He was wearing faded trousers, heavy boots and an ancient sweater. He hadn’t shaved this morning. He was looking...
Don’t think about how he looks, she told herself fiercely, so instead she concentrated on watching him handle the boat. The Duncairn bar was tricky. You had to know your way, but Alasdair did, steering towards the right channel, then pausing, waiting, watching the sea on the far side, judging the perfect time to cross and then nailing it so they cruised across the bar as if they’d been crossing a lake.
And as they entered open water Jeanie found herself relaxing. How long since she’d done this? Taken a day just for her? Had someone think about her?
He wanted to see the puffins himself, she told herself, but a voice inside her head corrected her.
He didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to bring me. He’s doing it because I need a break.
It was a seductive thought all by itself.
And the day was seductive. The sun was warm on her face. Alasdair adjusted his course so they were facing into the waves, so she hardly felt the swell—but she did feel the power of the sea beneath them, and she watched Alasdair and she thought, There’s power there, too.
He didn’t talk. Maybe he thought she needed silence. She did and she was grateful. She sat and let the day, the sea, the sun soak into her.
This was as if something momentous had happened. This was as if she’d walked through a long, long tunnel and emerged to the other side.
Was it just because she’d taken the day off? Or was it that she’d set her future for the next twelve months, and for the next year she was safe?
It should be both, but she knew it wasn’t. It was strange but sitting here in the sun, watching Alasdair, she had an almost overwhelming sense that she could let down her guard, lose the rigid control she’d held herself under since the appalling tragedy of Alan, let herself be just...Jeanie.
She’d lost who she was. Somewhere along the way she’d been subsumed. Jeffrey’s daughter, Rory’s girlfriend and wife, then Alan’s woman. Then bankrupt, with half the world seeming to be after her for money owed.
Then Eileen’s housekeeper.
She loved being the housekeeper at Duncairn but the role had enveloped her. It was all she was.
But today she wasn’t a housekeeper. She wasn’t any of her former selves. Today she was out on the open sea, with a man at the helm who was...
Her husband?
There was nothing prescribed for her today except that she enjoy herself, and suddenly who could resist? She found herself smiling. Smiling and smiling.
‘A joke?’ Alasdair asked softly, and she turned her full beam onto him.
‘No joke. I’ve just remembered why I love this place. I haven’t been to sea for so long. And the puffins... I can’t remember. How far out?’
‘You mean, are we there yet?’ He grinned back and it was a grin to make a girl open her eyes a little wider. It was a killer grin. ‘Isn’t that what every kid in the back seat asks?’
‘That’s what I feel like—a kid in the back seat.’ And then she looked ahead to the granite rock needles that seemed to burst from the ocean floor, isolated in their grandeur. ‘No, I don’t,’ she corrected herself. ‘I feel like I’m a front-seat passenger. It’s one of these rocks, isn’t it, where the puffins are found?’
‘The biggest one at the back. The smaller ones are simply rock but the back one has a landmass where they can burrow for nests. They won’t nest anywhere humans can reach. It means we can’t land.’
‘We’d need a pretty long rope ladder,’ Jeanie breathed, looking at the sheer rock face in awe. And then she forgot to breathe... ‘Oh-h-h.’
It was a long note of discovery. It was a note of awe.
For Alasdair had manoeuvred the boat through a gap in the island rock face and emerged to a bay of calm water. The water was steel grey, fathoms deep, and it was a mass of...
Puffins. Puffins!
Alasdair cut the motor to just enough power to keep clear of the cliffs. The motor was muted to almost nothing.
The puffins were everywhere, dotted over the sea as if someone had sprinkled confetti—only this confetti was made up of birds, duck-sized but fatter, black and white with extraordinary bright orange bills; puffins that looked exactly like the ones Jeanie had seen in so many magazines, on so many posters, but only ever once in real life and that so long ago it seemed like a dream.
Comical, cute—beautiful.
‘They have fish,’ she breathed. ‘That one has... It must be at least three fish. More. Oh, my...I’d forgotten. There’s another. And another. Why don’t they just swallow them all at once?’
‘Savouring the pleasure?’ Alasdair said, smiling just as Aladdin’s genie might have done in the ancient fairy tale. Granting what he knew was a wish...
‘You look like a benevolent Santa,’ Jeanie told him and he raised his brows.
‘Is that an accusation?’
‘I... No.’ Because it wasn’t. It was just a statement.
Though he didn’t actually look like Santa, Jeanie conceded. This was no fat, jolly old man.
Though she didn’t need to be told that. His skill at the wheel was self-evident.
Sex on legs...
The description hit her with a jolt, and with it came a shaft of pure fear. Because that had been how she’d once thought of Alan.
Life with Rory had been...safe. He’d lived and dreamed fishing and would never have left the island. He was content to do things as his father and grandfather had done before him. His mother cooked and cleaned and was seemingly content, so he didn’t see that Jeanie could possibly want more.
He was a good man, solid and dependable, and his death had left Jeanie devastated. But two years later Alan had blasted himself into her life. She’d met him and she’d thought...
Yep, sex on legs.
More. She’d thought he was everything Rory hadn’t been. He was exciting, adventurous, willing and wanting to try everything life had to offer. He’d taken her off the island and exposed her to a life that...
That she never wanted to go back to. A life that was shallow, mercenary, dangerous—even cruel.
Alan was a McBride, just as this man was.
Sex on legs? Get a grip, she told herself. Have you learned nothing? The only one who’ll keep yourself safe is yourself.
But she didn’t want to be safe, a little voice whispered, and she looked at Alasdair and she could see the little voice’s reasoning but she wasn’t going there. She wasn’t.
‘If you want to know the truth, I read about them last night,’ Alasdair told her. He was watching the puffins—thankfully. How much emotion could he read in her face? ‘They can carry up to ten small fish in their beaks at a time. It’s a huge genetic advantage—they don’t waste energy swallowing and regurgitating, and they can carry up to ten fish back to their burrows. Did you know their burrows can be up to two feet deep? And those beaks are only bright orange in the breeding season. They’ll shed the colour soon and go back to being drab and ordinary.’
‘They could never be ordinary,’ she managed, turning to watch a puffin floating by the boat with...how many fish in its beak? Five. She got five.
She was concentrating fiercely on counting. Alasdair was still talking...and he usually didn’t talk. He’d swotted up for today, she thought. Was finding out how many fish a puffin could hold a seduction technique?
The thought made her smile. No, she decided, and it settled her. He was taking her out today simply to be nice. He wasn’t interested in her, or, if he was, it’d be a mere momentary fancy, as Alan’s had been.
So get yourself back to basics, she told herself. Eileen had offered Alan money to marry her. She knew that now. The knowledge had made her feel sick, and here was another man who’d been paid to marry her.
Sex on legs? Not so much. He was a husband who was hers because of money.
Hold that thought.
‘Will we eat lunch here?’ she asked, suddenly brisk, unwinding herself from the back seat on the boat and heading for the picnic basket. ‘Can you throw down anchor or should we eat on the way back?’
‘We have time to eat here.’ He was watching her, his brows a question. ‘Jeanie, how badly did Alan hurt you?’
‘I have sandwiches and quiche and salad and boiled eggs. I also have brownies and apples. There’s beer, wine or soda. Take your pick.’
‘You mean you’re not going to tell me?’
‘Past history. Moving on...’
‘I won’t hurt you.’
‘I know you won’t,’ she said briskly. ‘Because I won’t let you. This is a business arrangement, Alasdair, nothing more.’
‘And today?’
‘Is my payment for past services.’ She was finding it hard to keep her voice even but she was trying. ‘You’ve offered and I’ve accepted. It’s wonderful—no, it’s magic—to be eating lunch among the puffins. It’s a gift. I’m very, very grateful but I’m grateful as an employee’s grateful to her boss for a day off. Nothing more.’
‘It’s not a day off. It’s a week almost completely off and then I’m halving your duties for double the wages.’
Whoa? Double wages?
She should refuse, she thought, but then...why not just be a grateful employee? That was what she was, after all.
‘Excellent,’ she said and passed the sandwiches. ‘Take a sandwich—sir.’
* * *
Employer/employee. That was a relationship that’d work, he thought, and it was fine with him—wasn’t it?
He was grateful to Jeanie. She’d agreed to marry him, and in doing so she’d saved the estate. More, she’d made Eileen’s last years happy. He was doing what he could to show he was grateful and she was accepting with pleasure.
It should be enough.
Their puffin expedition was magic. For Alasdair, who’d seen them so often in the past, they should feel almost commonplace, but in watching Jeanie watch them he was seeing them afresh. They were amazing creatures—and Jeanie’s reaction was magic.
She tried hard to be prosaic, he thought. Her reactions to him were down-to-earth and practical, and she tried to tone down her reactions to the birds, but he watched her face, he watched the awe as she saw the birds dive and come up with beaks stuffed with rows of silver fish, he watched her turn her face to the sun and he thought, Here was a woman who’d missed out on the joy of life until now.
It was a joy to be able to share.
They returned to the castle late afternoon to find all the tasks done, the castle spotless, the grass mowed, the cattle tended. Jeanie entered the amazing great hall and looked up at the newly washed leadlight, the carpets beaten, the great oak balustrades polished, and he thought he detected the glimmer of tears.
But she said nothing, just gave a brisk nod and headed for her kitchen.
The baking was done. A Victoria sponge filled with strawberries and cream and a basket of chocolate brownies were sitting on the bench. Jeanie stared at them blankly.
‘What am I going to do now?’ she demanded.
‘Eat them,’ Alasdair said promptly. ‘Where’s a knife?’
‘Don’t you dare cut the sponge. The guests can have it for supper. You can have what’s left.’
‘Aren’t I a guest?’
‘Okay, you can have some for supper,’ she conceded. ‘But not first slice.’
‘Because?’
‘Because you’re the man in the middle. Guest without privileges.’
‘Guest with brownie,’ he retorted and bit into a still-warm cookie. ‘So tomorrow...otters?’
‘What do you mean, otters?’
‘I mean Maggie’s mam and her friends are hired to come every weekday until I tell them not, and I haven’t seen the Duncairn otters for years. They used to live in the burns running into the bay. I thought we could take a picnic down there and see if we can see them. Meanwhile I’m off to work now, Jeanie. You can go put your feet up, read a book, do whatever you want, whatever you haven’t been able to do for the last few years. I’ll see you at dinner.’
‘Guests eat out,’ she said blankly, but he shook his head.
‘Sorry, Jeanie, but as you said, I’m the man in the middle. I’m a guest, but I’m also Lord of this castle. I’m also, for better or for worse, your husband.’
‘There was nothing in the marriage contract about me feeding you.’
‘That’s why I’m feeding you,’ he told her and at the look on her face he grinned. ‘And no, I’m not about to whisk you off to a Michelin-ranked restaurant, even if such a thing existed on Duncairn, but Maggie’s mam has brought me the ingredients for a very good risotto and risotto is one of the few things in the world I’m good at. So tonight I’m cooking.’
‘I don’t want—’
‘There are lots of things we don’t want,’ he said, gentling now. ‘This situation is absurd but there’s nothing for it but for us both to make the most of it. Risotto or nothing, Jeanie.’
She stared at him for a long moment and then, finally, she gave a brisk nod. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Good. I...I’ll eat your risotto and thank you for it. And thank you for today. Now I’ll...I’ll...go do a stocktake of...of the whisky. There’s all the new stuff you’ve bought. I keep a ledger. Call me when dinner’s ready...sir...’
‘Alasdair,’ he snapped.
‘Alasdair,’ she conceded. ‘Call me when dinner’s ready. And thank you.’
She fled and he stood staring after her.
She was accepting his help. It should be enough.
Only it wasn’t.
* * *
She felt weird. Discombobulated. Thoroughly disoriented. For the first time in over three years she had nothing to do.
Except think of the day that had just been.
Except think of Alasdair?
He was her husband. She should be used to having husbands by now. He was nothing different.
Except he was. He’d spent today working for nothing except her enjoyment.
He’d seen puffins many times before—the way he looked at them told her that. He also had work to do. She’d heard him at the computer almost all the time he’d been here. She’d heard the insistent ring of his telephone. Alasdair McBride was the head of a gigantic web of financial enterprises, and one look at the Internet had told her just how powerful that web was.
He’d spent the day making her happy.
‘Because I agreed to keep our bargain,’ she told herself. ‘I’m saving his butt.
‘The best way for him to keep his butt safe is for him to keep a low profile.’ The dogs, well-fed and exercised, were sprawled in front of the kitchen range. They were fast asleep but she needed someone—anyone—to talk to. ‘He must know that, and yet he risked it...
‘To make me happy?’ She thought of Rory doing such a thing. Rory was always too tired, she conceded. He had long spells at sea and when he was home he wanted his armchair and the telly. He’d taken time to spend with her before they were married but afterwards...it was as if he no longer had to bother.
And Alan? That was the same thing multiplied by a million. Pounds. He’d had well over a million reasons to marry her but when he had what he wanted, she was nothing.
And Alasdair? He, too, had more than a million reasons to marry her, she thought, way more, but she’d agreed to his deal. He’d had no reason to spend today with her.
‘Maybe he thinks I’ll back out,’ she told the dogs but she knew it wasn’t that.
Or maybe it was that she hoped it wasn’t that.
‘And that’s just your stupid romantic streak,’ she told herself crossly. ‘And, Jeanie Lochlan, it’s more than time you were over that nonsense.’
Her discussion with herself was interrupted by her phone. Maggie, she thought, and sure enough her friend was on the line, and Maggie was almost bursting with curiosity.
‘How did it go? Oh, Jeanie, isn’t he gorgeous? I watched you go out through the entrance with the field glasses—I imagine half the village did. Six hours you were out. Six hours by yourself with the man! And the amount he’s given Dougal for the Mary-Jane, and what he’s paying Mam and her friends... Jeanie, what are you doing not being in bed with your husband right now?’
She took a deep breath at that. ‘He’s not my real husband,’ she managed but Maggie snorted.
‘You could have fooled me. And Mam says he was just lovely on the phone and he’s thanked her for the sponge cake and the brownies as though she wasn’t even paid for them, and he’s organised her to go back tomorrow and he says he’s taking you to see otters. Otters! You know the old cottage down by the Craigie Burn? There’s otters down there, I’m sure of it. You could light a fire and—’
‘Maggie!’
‘It’s just a suggestion. Jeanie, you married the man and if you aren’t in bed with him already you should be. Oh, Jeanie, I know he’s not like Alan, I know it.’
‘You’ve hardly met him.’
‘The way he said his vows...’
‘We were both lying and you know it.’
‘I don’t know it,’ Maggie said stoutly. ‘You went home last night, didn’t you? One night married, three hundred and sixty-four to go—or should I multiply that by fifty years? Jeanie, do yourself a favour and go for it. Go for him.’
‘Why would I?’
There was a moment’s silence while Maggie collected her answer. One of the guest’s cars was approaching. Jeanie could see it through the kitchen window. She took a plate and started arranging brownies. This was her job, she told herself. Her life.
‘Because he can afford—’ Maggie started but Jeanie cut her off before she could finish.
‘He can afford anything he wants,’ she conceded. ‘But that’s thanks to me. I told you how Eileen’s will works. He gets to keep his fortune and I...I get to keep my independence. That’s the way I want it, Maggie, and that’s the way it’s going to be.’
‘But you will go to see the otters tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ she said, sounding goaded. Which was how she felt, she conceded. She’d been backed into a corner, and she wasn’t at all sure she could extricate herself.
By keeping busy, she told herself, taking the brownies off the plate and rearranging them more...artistically.
One day down, three hundred and sixty-four to go.
