Читать книгу Her Highland Boss: The Earl's Convenient Wife / In the Boss's Castle / Her Hot Highland Doc - Marion Lennox - Страница 13

CHAPTER SEVEN

THEY DID GO to look for otters, and Alasdair decreed they would go to Craigie Burn. It was the best place to see otters, he told her, the furthest place on the estate from any road, a section of the burn where otters had hunted and fished for generations almost undisturbed. The tiny burnside cottage had been built by a long-ago McBride who’d fancied fishing and camping overnight in relative comfort. But at dusk and dawn the midges appeared in their hordes and the fishing McBride of yore had soon decided that the trek back to the comforts of the castle at nightfall was worth the effort. The cottage had therefore long fallen into disrepair. The roof was intact but the place was pretty much a stone shell.

Jeanie hadn’t intended telling Alasdair about Craigie Burn—but of course he knew.

‘I spent much of my childhood on the estate,’ he told her as they stowed lunch into the day pack. ‘I had the roaming of the place.’

‘Alan, too?’ she asked because she couldn’t help herself. Alan had hardly talked of his childhood—he’d hardly talked of his family.

‘My father and Alan’s father were peas in a pod,’ he said curtly. ‘They were interested in having a good time and not much else. They weren’t interested in their sons. Both our childhoods were therefore lonely but Alan thought he was lonelier here. The few times Eileen brought him here he hated it.’

He swung the pack onto his back and then appeared to check Jeanie out—as she checked the guests out before they went rambling, making sure boots were stout, clothing sensible, the wildness of the country taken into account when dressing. He gave a curt nod. ‘Good.’ The dogs were locked in the wet room. Maggie’s mam would see them walked, for if the dogs were with them the possibility of seeing otters was about zero. ‘Ready?’

‘Ready,’ she said, feeling anything but. What was she doing traipsing around the country with this man when she should be earning her keep?

But Alasdair was determined to give her a...honeymoon? Whatever it was called, it seemed she had no choice but to give in to him. She was still getting over sitting at the kitchen table the night before eating the risotto he’d prepared. It was excellent risotto, but...

But the man had her totally off balance.

They set off, down the cliff path to the rocky beach, then along the seafront, clambering over rocks, making their way to where Craigie Burn tumbled to the sea.

The going was tough, even for Jeanie, who was used to it. Alasdair, though, had no trouble. A few times he paused and turned to help her. She shook off his offer of assistance but in truth his concern made her feel...

As she had no right to feel, she told herself. She didn’t need to feel like the ‘little woman’. She’d had two marriages of being a doormat. No more.

‘Tell me about your childhood here,’ she encouraged as she struggled up one particularly rocky stretch. She asked more to take Alasdair’s attention away from her heavy breathing than out of interest—she would not admit she was struggling.

But instead of talking as he climbed, Alasdair turned and gazed out to sea. Did he sense how much she needed a breather? He’d better not, she thought. I will not admit I’m a lesser climber than he is.

But...without admitting anything...she turned and gazed out to sea with him.

‘I loved it,’ he said at last, and it had taken so long to answer she’d almost forgotten she’d asked. But his gaze was roving along the coastline, rugged, wild, amazing. ‘My father and my uncle hardly spent any time here. They hated it. My grandparents sent them to boarding school in England and they hardly came back. They both married socialites, they lived in the fast lane on my grandparents’ money and they weren’t the least bit interested in their sons. But Alan loved their lifestyle—from the time he was small he wanted to be a part of it. He loved the fancy hotels, the servants, the parties. It was only me who hated it.’

‘So you came back here.’

‘We were dumped,’ he told her. ‘Both of us. Our parents dumped us with Eileen every school holidays and she thought the castle would be good for us. Alan chafed to be able to join his parents’ lifestyle.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Maybe I was just antisocial even then, but here...’

He paused and looked around him again. A pair of eagles was soaring in the thermals. She should be used to them by now, she told herself, but every time she saw them she felt her heart swell. They were magnificent and Alasdair paused long enough for her to know he felt it, too.

‘Here was home,’ Alasdair said at last. ‘Here I could be myself. Eileen usually stayed when Alan and I were here. You saw the place before she renovated. She and my grandfather didn’t appear to notice conditions were a bit...sparse. I don’t think I noticed, either. I was too busy, exploring, fishing, trying not to think how many days I had left before I went back to school. Alan was counting off the days until he could leave. I wanted to stay for the rest of my life.’

‘You didn’t, though. You ended up based in Edinburgh. You hardly came here until...until Eileen got sick at the end.’

She was trying hard not to make her words an accusation but she didn’t get it right. It sounded harsh.

There was a long silence. ‘I didn’t mean to be accusatory,’ she ventured at last and he shook his head.

‘I know you didn’t. But I need to explain. At first I didn’t come because I was immersed in business. I took to the world of finance like a duck to water, and maybe I lost perspective on other things I loved. But then... When Eileen started spending more time here, I didn’t come because you were here.’

That was enough to give a girl pause. To make her forget to breathe for a moment. ‘Did you dislike me so much?’ she asked in a small voice and he gave an angry shrug.

‘I didn’t know you, but I knew Alan. I knew I hated him.’

‘Because?’

‘Because he was the sort of kid who pulled wings off flies. I won’t sugar coat it. My father was older than his, so my father stood to inherit the title, with me coming after him. Alan’s father resented mine and the resentment was passed on down the line. I don’t know what sort of poison was instilled in Alan when he was small but he was taught to hate me and he knew how to hurt.’

Whoa. He hadn’t talked of this before. She knew it instinctively and who knew how she knew it, but she did. What he was saying was being said to her alone—and it hurt to say it.

His eyes went to a point further along the coast, where the burn met the sea. ‘It came to a head down here,’ he told her, absently, almost as if speaking to the land rather than her. Apologising for not being back for so long? ‘I loved the otters, and I used to come down here often. One day Alan followed me. I was lying on my stomach watching the otters through field glasses. He was up on the ridge, and he’d taken my grandfather’s shotgun. He killed three otters before I reached him. He was eighteen months older than me, and much bigger, and I went for him and he hit me with the gun. I still carry the scar under my hairline. I was dazed and bleeding, and he laughed and walked back to the castle.’

‘No...’

His mouth set in a grim line. ‘Thinking back...that blow to my head... He nearly killed me. But I was twelve and he was fourteen, and I was afraid of him. I told Grandmother I’d fallen on the cliffs. Soon after that his parents decided he was old enough to join them in the resorts they stayed at, so I didn’t have to put up with him any more. I never told Eileen what happened. In retrospect, maybe I should have.’ And then he paused and looked at her. ‘But you... You loved him?’

‘No.’

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business, but these last years... Just knowing you were here in the castle was enough to keep me away.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘You shouldn’t have to apologise for your husband’s faults.’

‘But as you said, I married him.’

‘I can’t see you killing otters.’

‘Is that why you took me to look at the puffins first?’ she asked. ‘To see how I reacted?’

‘I was hardly expecting a gun.’

‘I’d guess you weren’t expecting a gun from Alan, either.’ She sighed and took a deep breath—and it wasn’t only because she needed a few deep breaths before tackling the rise in front of her. ‘Okay, I understand. Alasdair, we don’t need to go there any more. I’ll stop judging you for not spending more time with your grandmother if you stop judging me for being married to Alan. I know I’m still...tainted...but we can work around that. Deal?’

He looked at her for a long moment, seeming to take in every inch of her. And then, slowly, his face creased into a smile.

It was an awesome smile, Jeanie thought. It was dark turning to light. It lit his whole face, made his dark eyes glint with laughter, made him seem softer, more vulnerable...

A warrior exposed?

That shouldn’t be how she saw him, but suddenly it was. He was the Earl of Duncairn, and he wore armour, just as surely as his ancestors wore chain mail. His armour might be invisible but it was still there.

Telling her about the otters, telling her about Alan, had made a chink in that armour, she thought, and even though he was smiling she could see the hint of uncertainty. As if telling her had left him vulnerable and he didn’t like it.

She had a sudden vision of him as a child, here in this castle. It was wild now; it would have been wilder then. Eileen had told her she’d brought both boys here during their school holidays. Jeanie had envisaged two boys with a whole estate to explore and love.

But later Eileen had said she’d often had to leave the boys with the housekeeper when she’d had to go back to Edinburgh, and Jeanie saw that clearly now, too. A twelve-year-old boy would have been subjected to the whims and cruelty of his older cousin. It wouldn’t just have been the otters, she thought grimly. She knew Alan. There would have been countless cruelties during the years.

‘This next bit’s rough,’ Alasdair was saying and he held his hand out. ‘Let me help you.’

She looked down at his hand.

He was a McBride. He was yet another man who’d caught her at a weak moment and married her.

But the day was magic, the hill in front was tough and Alasdair was right beside her, smiling, holding out his hand.

‘If I had one more brain cell, it’d be lonely,’ she muttered out loud, to no one in particular, but Alasdair just raised his brows and kept on smiling and the sun was warm on her face and the otters were waiting, and a woman was only human after all.

She put her hand in his and she started forward again.

With Alasdair.

* * *

What followed was another magic day. Duncairn’s weather was unpredictable to say the least, but today the gods had decided to be kind—more, they’d decided to put on Scotland at her most splendid. There was just enough wind to keep the midges at bay. The sky was dotted by clouds that might or might not turn to rain, but for now the sun shone, and the water in the burn was crystal clear.

Without hesitation Alasdair led them to a ledge near the cottage, a rocky outcrop covered with a thick layer of moss. It stretched out over the burn, but a mere ten feet above, so they could lie on their stomachs and peer over the edge to see what was happening in the water below.

And for a while nothing happened. Maybe it wouldn’t, Alasdair conceded. Otters were notoriously shy. They could well have sensed their movement and darted back under cover, but for now they were content to wait.

Alasdair was more than content.

It was a strange feeling, lying on the moss-covered rock with Jeanie stretched out by his side.

His life was city-based now, mostly spent in Edinburgh but sometimes London, New York, Copenhagen, wherever the demands of his company took him. Under the terms of Eileen’s will he’d need to delegate much of that travel for the next year. He’d thought he’d miss it, but lying next to Jeanie, waiting for otters to grace them with their presence, he thought suddenly, Maybe I won’t.

What other woman had he ever met who’d lie on her stomach on a rock and not move, not say a word, and somehow exude a quality of complete restfulness? After half an hour the otters still hadn’t shown themselves. He knew from past experience that half an hour wasn’t long for these shy creatures to stay hidden, but did Jeanie know that? If she did, she didn’t mind. She lay with her chin resting on her hands, watching the water below, but her eyes were half-closed, almost contemplative.

Her hair was tumbling down around her face. A curl was blocking his view. He wanted to lift it away.

She’d been Alan’s wife.

Surely it didn’t matter. He wanted to touch...

But if he moved he’d scare the otters, and he knew...he just knew that this woman would be furious with him—not just for touching her but for spoiling what she was waiting for.

She was waiting for otters, not for him.

Right. Watch on. He managed to turn his attention back to the water rippling beneath them.

‘There...’ It was hardly a whisper. Jeanie was looking left to where a lower overhang shaded the water, and there it was, a sleek, beautiful otter slipping from the shadows, with a younger one behind.

‘Oh,’ Jeanie breathed. ‘Oh...’

She was completely unaware of him. All her attention was on the otters.

They were worth watching. They were right out from under the shadows now, slipping over the burn’s rocky bed, nosing through the sea grasses and kelp, hunting for the tiny sea creatures that lived there.

‘They eat the kelp, too,’ Jeanie whispered but Alasdair thought she was talking to herself, not to him.

‘They’re stunning,’ he whispered back. ‘Did you know their coat’s so thick not a single drop of water touches their skin?’

‘That’s why they’re hunted,’ she whispered back. ‘You will...keep protecting them? After I’ve left?’

And there it was again—reality, rearing its ugly head. At the end of this year, this castle would go to Jeanie’s creditors. He’d buy it and keep it—of course he would. He’d keep it safe. But he glanced at Jeanie and saw her expression and he thought, She’s not sure.

He’d promised—but this woman must have been given empty promises in the past.

She was resting her chin on her hands and he could see the gold band he’d placed on her finger two days ago. For a year they were required to be officially married, and officially married people wore rings.

But now... What worth was a promise? Jeanie didn’t trust him and why should she?

He glanced down at the otters, hunting now in earnest, despite the humans close by. They must sense their shadows, but they’d waited for almost an hour before resuming hunting. They’d be hungry. They’d be forced to trust.

As Jeanie had been forced to trust. She’d been put into an impossible situation. How to tell her...?

The ring...

* * *

One moment she was lying watching otters, worrying about their future, thinking would Alasdair really keep this estate? Would he keep caring for these wild creatures she’d come to love?

The next moment he’d rolled back a little and was tugging at his hand. Not his left hand, though, where she’d placed the wedding ring that meant so little. Instead he was tugging at his right hand.

At the Duncairn ring.

She’d seen this ring. It was in every one of the portraits of the McBride earls, going back in time until the names blurred and Eileen’s history lesson had started seeming little more than a roll call.

Each of those long-dead earls had worn this ring, and now it lay on Alasdair’s hand. It was a heavy gold signet, an intricate weaving, the head of an eagle embossed on a shield, with the first letters of the family crest, worn but still decipherable, under the eagle’s beak: LHV.

Loyalty, honour, valour.

Alan had mentioned this ring, not once, but often. ‘He’s a prig,’ he’d said of Alasdair. ‘And he’s younger than me. He thinks he can lord it over me just because he wears the damned ring...’

The ‘damned ring’ was being held out to her. No, not held out. Alasdair was taking her hand in his and sliding the ring onto the middle finger of her right hand. It fitted—as if it was meant to be there.

She stared down at it, stunned. So much history in one piece of jewellery... So many McBride men who’d worn this ring...

‘Wh-what do you think you’re doing?’ she stammered at last, because this didn’t make sense.

‘Pledging my troth.’

‘Huh?’ Dumb, she thought, but that was how she was feeling. Dumb. And then she thought: she shouldn’t be here. Her fragile control felt like crumbling. This man seemed as large and fierce and dangerous as the warriors he’d descended from.

Loyalty, honour, valour...

This was the McBride chieftain. He was placing a ring on her finger, and the ring took her breath away.

‘Jeanie, I have nothing else to show you I’m serious.’ In the kirk, Alasdair’s vows had been businesslike, serious, but almost...clinical. Here, now, his words sounded as if they came from the heart. ‘I’m promising you that at the end of this year of marriage I will make your life secure. As well, I will buy this castle for what it’s worth and Alan’s creditors will be paid. I’ll treat it as the last of Alan’s share of the estate. He was, after all, just as much Eileen’s grandson as I was.’

‘You don’t have to make me secure,’ she managed, still staring at the ring. ‘And Alan wasn’t worth—’

‘I’m not judging,’ he told her. ‘And I refuse to think of Alan after this. To be honest, it took courage to come here. I haven’t been back to this place since that day he hurt the otters. But I have come, to find life has moved on. But it needs faith to face it. So here’s my faith in you, and I’m hoping you can find that faith in me. At the end of the year I’ll take on this estate and I’ll care for it as Eileen would have wanted it cared for. And as I suspect you want it cared for. And I will ensure your future...’

‘I don’t want anything.’

‘I know you don’t. You don’t seem to put yourself into the equation at all, but I’m putting you there. It seems you canna keep the castle, Jeanie lass, no matter what Eileen’s will says, but you can keep the heart of it. As long as you wear this ring, this estate will be safe, our Jeanie. I promise you. Hand on this ring, I swear.’

He’d lapsed into broad Scottish, the voice of his ancestors, the voice of his people. He was lying full-length on a bed of moss over a rippling burn, he was looking at her as no man had ever looked at her, and the way he spoke... It was as if he were kneeling before a throne, head bowed, swearing fealty to his king.

Swearing fealty to...her?

‘Alasdair...’ It was hard to breathe, much less speak. She had to fight for the words. ‘There’s no need,’ she managed. ‘You don’t have to do this. Besides...’ She stared at the intricate weaving of gold on her finger and her heart failed her. ‘I’ll probably lose it in a pudding mix.’

He smiled then, but his smile was perfunctory, the gravity of the moment unchanged. ‘I know you won’t. I trust you with it, Jeanie, as you trust me with the castle.’ His hand closed over hers, folding her fingers, the ring enclosed between them. ‘I’m asking that you trust me back.’

‘I can... I can trust you without the ring.’

‘Why would you?’

‘Because...’ How to say it? There were no words.

And the truth was that until now, until this moment, she hadn’t trusted. Yes, he was Lord of Duncairn but he was just another man, like her father, like Rory, like Alan. A man to be wary of. A man who sought to control.

Was this ring another form of control? She searched for the control angle, and couldn’t find it.

She had no doubt as to the significance of this ring. She could hear it in his voice—that it meant as much to him as it had to every other earl who’d ever worn it.

Trust... He was offering it in spades.

‘I’ll give it back,’ she managed. ‘At the end of the year.’

‘You’ll give it to me when you’ve seen what I intend doing with this place,’ he told her. ‘When you see me hand the wilderness areas over to a trust to keep it safe in perpetuity. When you have total faith, Jeanie McBride, then you can give it back.’

‘I have faith now.’

‘You don’t,’ he said softly and his hold on her hand tightened. ‘You can’t. But you will.’

* * *

And then it rained.

She’d been so caught up, first with the otters and then with...well, with what she’d been caught up with, that she hadn’t noticed the clouds scudding in from the west. Now, suddenly, the sun disappeared and the first fat droplets splashed down.

And Alasdair was tugging her to her feet, smiling, as if something had been settled between them that made going forward easy.

Maybe it had.

And maybe, Jeanie thought as she scrambled with Alasdair to reach the shelter of the cottage, as she didn’t quibble about the feel of his hand still holding hers, as she fought to regain her breath and composure, maybe something had settled inside her as well.

Trust? She’d never trusted. She’d walked into this marriage blind, knowing only that circumstances once again had thrust her into making vows. But now... For some reason it was as if a weight was lifting from her shoulders, a weight she hadn’t known she was carrying.

This year could work. This year could almost be...fun? Such a word was almost nonexistent in her vocabulary. As a child of a dour, grim fisherman and then as Rory’s wife, a man under the thumb of his family, a man with limited horizons and no ambition to change, life had been hard and pretty much joyless. Life with Alan, so tantalising at first, had ended up filled with nothing but terror, and since that time she’d been subsumed with guilt, with debt, with responsibilities.

Today, though...today she’d lain in the sun and watched otters and this man had given her his ancestral ring. He’d given her trust...

And then he pushed open the cottage door and all thoughts of trust went out of the window.

She’d been in this cottage before. She’d walked this way with the dogs—it was a fair trek from the castle but at times during the past three years she’d needed the effort it required. Sometimes trekking the estate was the only way to get rid of the demons in her head, but even when she was fighting demons she still liked staying dry. On the west coast of Scotland rain came sudden and fierce. She’d walked and watched the sky—as they hadn’t today—and she’d used this cottage for shelter.

She knew it. Any furniture had long gone, the windows were open to the elements and the place seemed little more than a cave.

But today... Someone had been in here before them. The room they walked into was a combination of kitchen/living, with a hearth at one end. The hearth had always been blackened and empty, but now... It contained a massive heap of glowing coals. Firewood was stacked beside it. The stone floor in front of it had been swept of debris and a rug laid in front. With the fire at its heart, the room looked almost cosy.

She hadn’t noticed smoke from the chimney. Why?

She’d been too aware of Alasdair, that was why. Of all the stupid...

‘How on earth...?’ she managed, staring at the fire in disbelief, and Alasdair looked smug.

‘Insurance,’ he told her. ‘There’s never a day on this island when you’re guaranteed of staying dry, and I’m a cautious man. I never take risks without insurance.’ But he was frowning at the rug. ‘I didn’t ask for the rug, though. That’s a bit over the top.’

‘You think?’ Her voice was practically a squeak. ‘Who did this? Not you. Surely...’

‘You don’t think I could have loped up here before breakfast?’

‘No!’ And her tone was so adamant that he grinned.

‘That’s not a very complimentary way to talk to your liege lord.’

She told him where he could put his liege lord and his grin widened. ‘I talked to Mac about getting the fire lit,’ he confessed. ‘Mac can’t walk up here himself any more—I need to do something about gillie succession planning—but he does know a lad, who came up here and lit it for him.’

‘A lad?’ Jeanie breathed. And then she closed her eyes. ‘No.’ It was practically a groan. ‘It won’t be one lad. It’ll be two. He’ll have asked Lachlan and Hamish McDonald, two of the biggest wastrels this island’s ever known. They’re twins, they’re forty, their mother still irons their socks and they do odd jobs when they feel like it. And they gossip. Mac’s their uncle. Do you realise what you’ve done? This’ll be all over the island before we get back to the castle that you and I have lain by the fire here and...and...’

‘And what, Jeanie?’ His smile was still there but his eyes had become...watchful?

‘And nothing,’ she snapped and walked forward and grabbed the backpack from his shoulders and started to unpack. ‘We’ll eat the sandwiches I made and then we’ll go home. And why did you pack wine? If you think I could climb these crags after a drink...’

‘I could carry you.’ He sounded almost hopeful.

‘You and whose bulldozer? Get real.’ She was totally flustered, trying to haul the lunch box from the backpack, trying not to look at him. She tugged it free with a wrench and shoved it down onto the hearth.

Alasdair stooped. His hand came over hers before she could rise again and his laughter died.

‘I’m not into seduction,’ he told her. His words echoed into the stillness. ‘You’re safe, Jeanie. This fire’s here to keep us warm and dry, nothing more. I won’t touch you.’

There was a long pause. ‘I never said you’d try,’ she said at last.

‘You look like you expect it.’

She was struggling, trying to get it right, trying to explain this...panic. ‘It’s this ring,’ she said at last. She stared down at the magnificent Duncairn signet and she felt...small. Frightened? At the edge of a precipice?

But still Alasdair’s hand was over hers, warm, steady, strong. They were crouched before the fire. His face in the firelight was strong and sure.

‘The ring is simply a promise,’ he told her. ‘It’s a promise to keep the faith, to keep your faith. You needn’t fear. I’m not into taking women against their will.’

‘Not even...’ Her voice was scarcely a whisper. ‘Not even the woman you’ve taken as your wife?’

‘You’re not my wife,’ he said, evenly now. ‘We both know that this is a business relationship, despite what Hamish and Lachie may well have told the islanders. So let’s have our sandwiches, and I intend to drink at least one glass of this truly excellent wine—my grandmother kept a superb cellar. You can join me or not, but whatever you do, my Jeanie, know that seduction is off the agenda.’

* * *

Which was all very well, she thought crossly as she did what was sensible. She ate her sandwiches and she drank one glass—only one—of wine, and she thought she should have settled, but why did he have to have called her my Jeanie? And Jeanie lass?

It was merely familiar, she told herself as she cleared their debris into the backpack. Any number of the older folk on the island called her Jeanie lass. Any number of islanders referred to her as our Jeanie.

But Alasdair McBride was not a member of the island’s older folk. Nor was he really an islander.

It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

It did. It made her feel...

Scared.

‘It does seem a shame to waste the rug. Do you want a nap before we head back?’ Alasdair was watching her—and the low-life was laughing again. But not laughing out loud. It was more a glint behind his eyes, a telltale quiver of the corners of his mouth, the way his eyes met hers...

Laughter never seemed too far away. What did this man have to laugh about? she demanded of herself. Didn’t he know life was hard?

But it wasn’t hard for him. This man was the Earl of Duncairn. He could laugh at what he wanted.