Her Highland Boss. Jessica Gilmore
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lose the castle. Alan had gambled it away.
And he’d gambled more than the castle away. Jeanie... He’d gambled with her life.
‘Hi, there.’ The young man was clearly American, and he was impervious to the fact that Alasdair’s gaze was still following Jeanie’s car. He flicked the boot open and pointed to the baggage, then turned back to his partner. ‘This looks cool,’ he told her. ‘And check out the doorman. Great touch.’ And he tossed the car keys to Alasdair, who was so stunned that he actually caught them.
‘This is just what we ordered—real Scotland,’ he continued. ‘Wow, look at those ruins down by the sea. You can put them on the Internet, honey. And check out the battlements. I’ve half a mind to put in an offer for the place, doorman and all. But first, my love, let’s check out this whisky.’ He glanced back at Alasdair. ‘What are you waiting for, man? We need our bags straight away.’
‘Carry your own bags,’ Alasdair snapped. ‘I don’t work in this place. I own it.’
Only he didn’t.
* * *
‘As far as short marriages go, this must be a record.’
Down in the village, Maggie had chosen a top-of-the-range bottle from Jeanie’s crates and had poured two whiskies. They were sitting at Maggie’s kitchen table, surrounded by the clutter of Maggie’s kids, Maggie’s fisherman husband and the detritus of a busy family. The ancient stove was giving out gentle warmth but Jeanie couldn’t stop shaking. Maggie’s hug had made her feel better, the whisky should be helping, but she had a way to go before shock lessened.
‘So the marriage lasted less than an hour,’ Maggie continued. ‘I’m guessing...not consummated?’
‘Maggie!’
‘Just asking.’ Maggie grinned and raised her glass. ‘You might need to declare that to get an annulment—or am I thinking of the bad old days when they checked the sheets?’
‘I can hardly get a doctor to declare me a virgin,’ Jeanie retorted, and Maggie’s smile broadened. But behind her smile Jeanie could see concern. Real concern.
‘So what happened? Did he come on too fast? Is he a brute? Tell me.’
If only, Jeanie thought, and suddenly, weirdly, she was thinking of her mother. Heather Lochlan had died when Jeanie was sixteen and Jeanie still missed her with an ache that would never fade.
‘He’s not a brute. He’s just...a businessman.’ She buried her face in her hands. ‘Mam would never have let me get myself into this mess,’ she whispered. ‘Three husbands... Three disasters.’
‘Your mam knew Rory,’ Maggie retorted. ‘Rory was no disaster. Your mam would have danced at your wedding.’
She well might have, Jeanie thought. Rory had been an islander, born and bred. He’d been older than Jeanie by ten years, and he’d followed his father and his grandfather’s way to the sea. He’d been gentle, predictable, safe. All the things Jeanie’s dad wasn’t.
She’d been a mere sixteen when her dad had taken control of her life.
Her mam’s death had been sudden and shocking, and Jeanie’s dad had turned to drink to cope. He’d also pulled Jeanie out of school. ‘Sixteen is well old enough to do the housework for me. I’m wasting no more of my money.’
She’d been gutted, but then Rory had stepped in, and amazingly he’d stood up to her father. ‘We’ll marry,’ he’d told her. ‘You can work in the fish shop rather than drudge for your father. You can live with my mam and dad.’
Safe... That was what Rory was. She’d thought she loved him, but...
But working in the fish shop, doing an online accountancy course because she ached to do something other than serve fish and clean, waiting for the times Rory came home from sea, fitting in with Rory’s life...sometimes she’d dreamed...
It had never come to a point where she’d chafed against the bonds of loving, for Rory had drowned. She’d grieved for him, honestly and openly, but she knew she should never have married him. Safety wasn’t grounds for a marriage. She’d found a part-time job with the island solicitor, and she’d begun to think she might see London. Maybe even save for a cruise...
But it had been so hard to save. She’d still been cleaning for her in-laws. She’d been earning practically nothing. Dreams had seemed just that—dreams. And then Eileen had come and offered her a job, acting as her assistant whenever she was on the island. And with Eileen...Alan.
Life had been grey and drab and dreary and he’d lit up everything around him. But...
There was that but again.
‘Mam would have told me not to be a fool,’ she told Maggie. ‘Maybe even with Rory. Definitely with Alan and even more definitely with this one.’
‘Maybe, but a girl has to follow her heart.’
‘My heart doesn’t make sense. I married Rory for safety. I married Alan for excitement. I married...this one...so he could keep his inheritance. None of them are the basis for any sort of marriage. It’s time I grew up and accepted it.’
‘So what will you do now?’ Maggie was watching her friend with concern.
‘I’m leaving the island. I never should have come back after Alan’s death. I was just...so homesick and battered, and Eileen was kind.’ She took a deep breath. ‘No matter. I’ve enough money to tide me over for a few weeks and there are always bookkeeping jobs.’ She raised her whisky to her friend. ‘Here’s to an unmarried future,’ she said.
‘Och,’ Maggie exclaimed, startled. ‘You can’t expect me to drink to that.’
‘Then here’s to an unmarried Jeanie Lochlan,’ Jeanie told her. ‘Here’s to just me and that’s how it should be. I’m on my own and I’m not looking back.’
* * *
Alasdair was not on his own. He was surrounded by eight irate guests and two hungry dogs. Where did Jeanie keep the dog food? He had no idea.
He’d stayed in the castle off and on when his grandmother was ill, and after his grandmother’s funeral. During that time the castle had been full of women and casseroles and offers of help. Since that time, though, he’d been back in Edinburgh, frantically trying to tie up loose ends so he could stay on the island for twelve months. He’d arrived this morning via helicopter, but the helicopter was long gone.
He was stuck here for the night, and the castle was full, not with offers of help, but with eight guests who all wanted attention.
‘Where’s the whisky, fella? We only came for the whisky.’ That was the American, growing more and more irate.
‘Jeanie has shortbread.’ That was the shorter of two elderly women in hiking gear. ‘I’m Ethel, and Hazel and I have been here a week now. We know she made it, a big tin. Hazel and I ate three pieces each last night, and we’re looking forward to more. If you could just find it... Oh, and Hazel needs a hot-water bottle. Her bunion’s playing up. I told her she should have seen the doctor before she came but would she listen? She’s ready for a drop of whisky, too. When did you say Jeanie would be back?’
He’d assumed Jeanie had some help. Someone other than just her. These people were acting as if Jeanie were their personal servant. What the...?
‘I’ll ring the village and get whisky delivered,’ he said and the American fixed him with a death stare.
‘That’s not good enough, man. It should be here now.’
‘We’ve had a problem.’
‘Is something the matter with Jeanie?’ The lady called Ethel switched to concern, closely followed by visions of disaster. ‘Where is she? And the whisky? You’ve lost it? Were you robbed? Is Jeanie hurt? Oh, she’s such