Her Highland Boss. Jessica Gilmore
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out the goods before purchase.’
‘It seems I should.’ He was striding beside her. What did he think he was doing? Abandoning the SUV and hiking all the way to the castle?
‘I have guests booked in at four this afternoon,’ she hissed. ‘They’ll be coming round that bend. Your car is blocking the way.’
‘You mean it’s blocking your profits?’
Profits. She stopped mid-stride and closed her eyes. She counted to ten and then another ten. She tried to do a bit of deep breathing. Her fingers clenched and re-clenched.
Nothing was working. She opened her eyes and he was still looking at her as if she was tainted goods, a bad smell. He’d married someone he loathed.
Someone who married for profit... Of all the things she’d ever been accused of...
She smacked him.
* * *
She’d never smacked a man in her life. She’d never smacked anyone. She was a woman who used Kindly Mousers and carried the captured mice half a mile to release them. She swore they beat her back to the castle but still she kept trying. She caught spiders and put them outside. She put up with dogs under her bed because they looked so sad when she put them in the wet room.
But she had indeed smacked him.
She’d left a mark. No!
Her hands went to her own face. She wanted to sink into the ground. She wanted to run. Of all the stupid, senseless things she’d done in her life, this was the worst. She’d married a man who made her so mad she’d hit him.
She’d mopped up after Rory’s fish for years. She’d watched his telly. She’d coped with the meagre amount he’d allowed her for housekeeping—and she’d never once complained.
And Alan... She thought of the way he’d treated her and still... She’d never once even considered hitting.
But now... What was she thinking? Of all the stupid, dumb mistakes, to put herself in a situation where she’d ended up violent...
Well, then...
Well, then what? A lesser woman might have burst into tears but not Jeanie. She wasn’t about to show this man tears, no matter how desperate things were.
Move on, she told herself, forcing herself to think past the surge of white-hot anger. Get a grip, woman. Get yourself out of this mess, the fastest way you can. But first...
She’d smacked him and the action was indefensible. Do what comes next, she told herself. Apologise.
‘I’m sorry.’ Somehow she got it out. He was staring at her as if she’d grown two heads, and who could blame him? How many times had the Lord of Castle Duncairn been slapped?
Not often enough, a tiny voice whispered, but she wasn’t going there. No violence, not ever. Had she learned nothing?
‘I’m very sorry,’ she made herself repeat. ‘That was inexcusable. No matter what you said, I should never, ever have hit you. I hope... I hope it doesn’t hurt.’
‘Hurt?’ He was still eyeing her with incredulity. ‘You hit me and ask if it hurts? If I say no, will you do it again?’ And it was almost as if he was goading her.
She stared at him, but her stare was blind.
‘I won’t...hit you.’
‘What have I possibly said to deserve that?’
‘You judged me.’
‘I did. Tell me what’s wrong about my judgement.’
‘You want the truth?’
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ he said wearily and her hand itched again.
Enough. No more. Say it and get out.
He wanted the truth? He wanted something he didn’t know? She took a deep breath and steadied.
Let him have it, then, she told herself. After all, the only casualty was her pride, and surely she ought to be over pride by now.
‘Okay, then.’ She was feeling ill, cold and empty. She hated what she was about to say. She hated everything that went with it.
But he was her husband, she thought bitterly. For now. For better or for worse she’d made the vows. The marriage would need to be annulled and fast, but meanwhile the truth was there for the telling. Pride had to take a back seat.
‘I make no profit. I won’t inherit the castle, no matter how married I am,’ she told him. ‘Believe it or not, I did this for you—or for your inheritance, for the Duncairn legacy Eileen cared so much about. But if I can’t see you without wanting to hit out, then it’s over. No lies are worth it, no false vows, no inheritance, nothing. I’ve tried my best but it’s done.’
Done? The world stilled.
It was a perfect summer’s day, a day for soaking in every ounce of pleasure in preparation for the bleak winter that lay ahead. But there was no pleasure here. There was only a man and a woman, and a chasm between them a mile deep.
Done.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked at last.
‘I mean even if we managed to stay married for a year, I can’t inherit,’ she told him, in a dead, cold voice she scarcely recognised. ‘I’ve checked with two lawyers and they both tell me the same thing. Alan left me with massive debts. For the year after his death I tried every way I could to figure some way to repay them but in the end there was only one thing to do. I had myself declared bankrupt.’
‘Bankrupt?’ He sounded incredulous. Did he still think she was lying? She didn’t care, she decided. She was so tired she wanted to sink.
‘That was almost three years ago,’ she forced herself to continue. ‘But bankruptcy lasts for three years and the lawyers’ opinions are absolute. Because Eileen died within the three-year period, any inheritance I receive, no matter when I receive it, becomes part of my assets. It reverts to the bankruptcy trustees to be distributed between Alan’s creditors. The fact that most of those creditors are any form of low-life you care to name is irrelevant. So that’s it—the only one who stood to gain from this marriage was you. I agreed to marry you because I knew Eileen would hate the estate to be lost, but now... Alasdair, I should never have agreed in the first place. I’m sick of being judged. I’m tired to death of being a McBride, and if it’s driving me to hitting, then I need to call it quits. I did this for Eileen but the price is too high. Enough.’
She took off her shoes, then wheeled and started walking.
Where was a spacecraft when she needed one? ‘Beam me up, Scotty...’ What she’d give to say those words.
Her feet wouldn’t go fast enough.
‘Jeanie...’ he called at last but she didn’t even slow.
‘Take your car home,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘The agreement’s off. Everything’s off. I’ll see a lawyer and get the marriage annulled—I’ll do whatever I need to do. I’d agreed to look after the castle for the next few weeks but that’s off, too. So sue me. You can be part of my creditor list. I’ll camp in Maggie’s attic tonight and I’m on the first ferry out of here tomorrow.’
‘You can’t,’ he threw after her, sounding stunned, but she still didn’t turn. She didn’t dare.
‘Watch me. When I reach the stage where I hit out, I know enough is enough. I’ve been enough of a fool for one lifetime. Foolish stops now.’
THERE WAS ONE advantage to living on an island—there were only two ferries a day. Actually it was usually a disadvantage,