The Heir of the Castle. Scarlet Wilson
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same as all the rest.
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What was wrong with this guy? Ever since he’d picked her up at the train station he’d acted as if she’d jabbed him with a hot poker.
She had no idea what his role was here. It was a shame, because if he could actually wipe the permanent frown off his face, he would be attractive. And not just a little attractive. The kind of guy you spotted at the other side of a room and made your heart beat faster kind of attractive.
When she’d spotted him at the station she’d almost turned around to look for the film camera. Were they shooting a new film, and he’d been brought in as the resident hunk?
She smiled to herself. His hands had been firm. Was the rest of him? It certainly looked that way—his shirt did nothing to hide the wide planes of his chest.
Mr Silent and Brooding was obviously not planning on telling her much. She was trying to push aside the fact he was impossibly tall, dark and handsome. And she was especially trying to push away the fact he’d fixed on her face with the most incredible pair of green eyes she’d ever seen. Ones that sent a little shiver down her spine.
But nothing he’d said had exactly been an answer, and now she’d finally met someone who knew Angus McLean her brain was just bursting with questions. It was her duty to her dad to find out as much as she possibly could. She followed him inside and tried to stifle the gasp in her throat.
It was the biggest entrance hall she’d ever seen, with a huge curved staircase running up either side around the oval-shaped room. These were the kind of stairs a little girl would dream of in her imaginary castle. Dream that she was walking down to meet her Prince Charming. If only.
Callan dropped his car keys into a wooden dish with a clatter.
Fat chance of that happening here.
She shook hands with a grey-haired woman with a forehead knotted in a permanent frown just like Callan’s. Maybe they were related?
‘This is Marion. She’s the housekeeper. If you need anything you’ll generally find her around the kitchen area.’
Laurie couldn’t imagine a single occasion she’d want to seek out the fearful Marion but she nodded dutifully and followed him up the stairs.
There was an old full-length portrait at the top of the stairs of a young woman in a long red dress. Something about it seemed a little odd and she stopped mid-step. Callan gave her a few seconds, then finally smiled in amusement. It was the first time today he’d looked even remotely friendly.
‘You’re the first person that’s noticed,’ he said quietly.
‘But that’s just it. I know I’ve noticed something—’ she shook her head ‘—but I don’t know what it is.’
He pointed at the portrait’s serious face. ‘It’s an optical illusion. She’s an optical illusion.’
‘But, what...how?’ She was even more confused now.
Callum pointed to the stairs. ‘It doesn’t matter which side you walk up. It always seems as if she’s looking at you.’
‘Impossible!’ She couldn’t even make sense of the words.
He folded his arms across his chest and nodded to the other flight of stairs. His face had softened slightly. He was much more handsome without the permanent frown. ‘Go on, then, I’ll wait.’
She hesitated for a second but the temptation was just too great. She could only pray he wasn’t playing some kind of joke on her. She raced down one side and halfway up the other.
Her arm rested on the ornate banister, her eyes widening. The serene young woman was staring right at her—just as she’d been on the other staircase. She lifted up her hands in exasperation. ‘But that’s impossible. How old is that painting? Did optical illusions even exist back then?’
A cheeky grin flashed across his face. ‘Did rainbows?’
She felt the colour flood into her cheeks and a flare of annoyance. Of course. Nature’s greatest optical illusion. Now she felt like a prize idiot. Something tightened in her stomach.
She hated anyone thinking she was dumb. The only real joy in being a lawyer was the recognition that most people assumed you had to be smart to do the job in the first place.
But Callan didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment. He was looking at the painting again. ‘Angus liked to have fun. Once he discovered the painting he was determined to own it. It’s nearly two hundred years old. He put it there as a talking point.’ There was obvious affection in his voice and it irritated her even more.
Who was this guy? He’d already told her he’d spent some time living here. But why?
Why would Angus McLean take in a stranger, but ignore the six children that he had? It didn’t make sense.
All of a sudden she was tired and hungry. The long hours of work and travelling had caught up with her and all she wanted to do was lie down—preferably in her bed in London, not in some strange castle in Scotland.
‘Nice to know he had a sense of humour,’ she muttered under her breath as she brushed past him.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ snapped Callan.
She took a deep breath and turned to face him. ‘It means I’m tired, Callan. I’ve been travelling for hours.’ She lifted her hands in exasperation. ‘And it also means I’ve just found out about a family that’s apparently mine.’ She cringed as some of the relatives walked past downstairs, talking at the tops of their voices about the value of the antiques.
She looked Callan square in the eye. If she weren’t so tired she might have been unnerved. Up close, Callan’s eyes were even more mesmerising than she’d first suspected and she could see the tiny lines around the corners. He was tired too.
She took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t know Angus McLean, but, just so you know, you might have him up on some sort of pedestal—but I don’t. I’m not impressed by a man who lived in this—’ she spun around ‘—and spent his life ignoring his six children.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Nice to see he got his priorities in order.’
CHAPTER TWO
JUST WHEN, FOR the tiniest second, he thought one of Angus’s relatives might not be quite as bad as the rest, she came out with something like that.
Callan felt a chill course over his body as he swept past her and along the corridor. ‘You’re right. You didn’t know Angus. And you have absolutely no right to comment.’ His blood was boiling as he flung open the door to her room. ‘Here’s your room.’ He stopped as she stepped through the doorway. Her head was facing his chest, only inches away from his. All it would take was one little step to close the distance between them.
It didn’t matter to him how attractive she was. It didn’t matter that he’d noticed her curves at the railway station, or the way she kept flicking back her long shiny brown curls. All that mattered to him was the fact she’d said something he didn’t like about the old man that he loved.
But Laurie Jenkins was having none of it. She folded her arms across her chest again. ‘That’s just the thing, Callan. I do have a right to comment—because, apparently, I’m family.’ She let the words hang in the air as she walked past him into the room.
Callan’s blood was about to reach the point of eruption.
The very thing that knotted his stomach. Family. And the fact he wasn’t.
He still hadn’t got over the fact Angus McLean had six children he’d never once mentioned. The reality was he was still hoping it wasn’t true—that someone would give him a nudge and he’d wake up from this nightmare.
Nothing about this seemed right. Angus had been the perennial bachelor, even in old age. Why