Her Highland Boss. Jessica Gilmore
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dawned as clear as if it were written in the stars.
She’d done it for Eileen.
Eileen had loved her and he could see why. She was a woman worthy of...
Loving?
The word was suddenly there, front and centre, and it shocked him.
Surely he was only thinking of it in relation to Eileen—but for the moment, lying back in bed in the great castle of his ancestors, he let the concept drift. Why had Eileen loved her?
Because she was kind and loyal and warm-hearted. Because she loved Eileen’s dogs—why, for heaven’s sake? Because she was small and cute and curvy and her chuckle was infectious.
There was nothing in that last thought that would have made Eileen love her, he decided, but it surely came to play in Alasdair’s mind.
When she’d almost fallen, when he’d picked her up and held her, he’d felt...he’d felt...
As if she was his wife?
And so she was, he thought, and maybe it was the vows he’d made in the kirk so few hours ago that made him feel like this. He’d thought he could make them without meaning them, but now...
She was coming back here. His wife.
And if he made one move on her, she’d run a mile. He knew it. Alan had treated her like dirt and so had he. Today he’d insulted her so deeply that she’d run. This year could only work if it was business only.
He had to act on it.
There was a whine under the bed and Abbot slunk out and put his nose on the pillow. The dogs should be sleeping in the wet room. That was where their beds were but when he’d tried to lock them in they’d whined and scratched and finally he’d relented. Were they missing Jeanie?
He relented a bit more now and made the serious mistake of scratching Abbot’s nose. Within two seconds he had two spaniels draped over his bed, squirming in ecstasy, then snuggling down and closing their eyes very firmly—We’re asleep now, don’t disturb us.
‘Dumb dogs,’ he told them but he didn’t push them off. They’d definitely be missing Jeanie, he thought, and he was starting—very strongly—to understand why.
* * *
Why was she heading back to the castle? She was out of her mind.
But she’d packed her gear back into her car and now she was halfway across the island. Halfway home?
That was what the castle felt like. Home. Except it wasn’t, she told herself. It had been her refuge after the Alan disaster. She’d allowed Eileen to talk her into staying on, but three years were three years too many. She’d fallen in love with the place. With Duncairn.
With the Duncairn estate and all it entailed?
That meant Alasdair, she reminded herself, and she most certainly hadn’t fallen in love with Alasdair. He was cold and judgemental. He’d married her for money, and he deserved nothing from her but disdain.
But he’d caught her when she’d fallen and he’d felt...he’d felt...
‘Yeah, he’d felt like any over-testosteroned male in a kilt would make you feel,’ she snapped out loud.
Her conversation with herself was nuts. She had the car windows open and she’d had to stop. Some of the scraggy, tough, highland sheep had chosen to snooze for the night in the middle of the road. They were moving but they were taking their time. Meanwhile they were looking at her curiously—listening in on her conversation? She needed someone to talk to, she decided, and the sheep would do.
‘I’m doing this for your sakes,’ she told them. ‘If I go back to the castle, he can buy it from the bankruptcy trustees at the end of the year and it’ll stay in the family.’
Maybe he’ll let me stay on as caretaker even then?
That was a good thought, but did she want to stay as housekeeper/caretaker at Duncairn for the rest of her life?
‘Yes,’ she said out loud, so savagely that the sheep nearest her window leaped back with alarm.
‘No,’ she corrected herself, but maybe that was the wrong answer, too. That was the dangerous part of her talking. That was the part of her that had chafed against being part of Rory’s family business, doing the books, cleaning the fish shop, aching to get off the island and do something exciting.
Well, she had done something exciting, she told herself bitterly. She’d met and married Alan and she’d had all the excitement a girl could want and more.
‘So it’s back in your box to you, Jeanie McBride,’ she told herself and thought briefly about her name. Jeanie McBride. She was that. She was Alan’s widow.
She was Alasdair’s wife.
‘At the end of the year I’m going back to being Jeanie Lochlan,’ she told the last sheep as it finally ambled off the road. ‘Meanwhile I’m going back to being housekeeper at Duncairn, chief cook and bottle washer for a year. I’m going back to taking no risks. The only thing that’s changed for the next twelve months is that the house has one permanent guest. That guest is Alasdair McBride but any trouble from him and he’s out on his ear.’
And you’ll kick him out how?
‘I won’t need to,’ she told the sheep. ‘I hold all the cards.
‘For a year,’ she reminded herself, wishing the sheep could talk back. ‘And for a year...well, Alasdair McBride might be the Earl of Duncairn but he’s in no position to lord it over me. For the next year I know my place, and he’d better know his.’
ALASDAIR 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,