Her Highland Boss

No. Eileen wouldn’t have dreamed he’d think Jeanie was mercenary, he conceded, because anyone who met Jeanie would know that such a thing was impossible.

Except him. He’d met her, he’d judged her and he’d kept on judging her. He’d made the offer of marriage based on the assumption that she was out for what she could get, and he’d nearly destroyed his chances of success in doing it.

Worse, he’d hurt her. He’d hurt a woman who’d done the right thing by Eileen. A woman Eileen had loved. A woman who’d agreed to a marriage because...because he’d told her of the charities Duncairn supported? Because she could spend another year acting as a low-paid housekeeper? Because she loved two dopey dogs?

Or because she’d known Eileen would have wanted him to inherit. The realisation 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.’

CHAPTER SIX

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, he thought, checking the tables at a glance. Black pudding. Omelettes!

Jeanie must be home.

And almost as he thought it, there she was, bustling in from the kitchen, apron over her jeans, her curls tied into a bouncy ponytail, her face fixed into a hostess-like beam of welcome.

‘Good morning, My Lord. Your table is the one by the window. It has a fine view but the morning papers are beside it if you prefer a broader outlook. Can I fetch you coffee while you decide what you’d like for your breakfast?’

So this was the way it would be. Guest and hostess. Even the dogs hadn’t stirred in welcome. Jeanie was home. They had no need of him.

Things were back to normal?

‘I just need toast.’

‘Surely not. We have eggs and bacon, sausages, porridge, black pudding, omelettes, pancakes, griddle cakes...whatever you want, My Lord, I can supply it. Within reason, of course.’ And she pressed a menu into his hands and retreated to the kitchen.

* * *

He ate porridge. No lumps. Excellent.

He felt...extraneous. Would he be served like this for the entire year? He’d go nuts.

But he sat and read his paper until all the guests had departed, off to tramp the moors or climb the crags or whatever it was that guests did during their stay. The American couple departed for good, for which he was thankful. The rest were staying at least another night. Jeanie was obviously supplying picnic baskets and seeing each guest off on their day’s adventures. He waited a few moments after the last farewell to give her time to catch her breath, and then headed to the kitchen to find her.

She was elbow deep in suds in front of the sink. Washed pots and pans were stacked up to one side. He took a dishcloth and started to dry.

‘There’s no need to be doing that.’ She must have heard him come in but she didn’t turn to look at him. ‘Put the dishcloth down. This is my territory.’

‘This year’s a mutual business deal. We work together.’

‘You’ve got your company’s work to be doing. There’s a spare room beyond the ones you’re using—your grandmother set it up as a small, private library for her own use. It has a fine view of the sea. We’ll need to see if the Internet reaches there—if not you can get a router in town. Hamish McEwan runs the electrical store in Duncairn. He’ll come out if I call him.’

Business. Her voice was clipped and efficient.

She still hadn’t looked at him.

‘We need to organise more than my office,’ he told her. ‘For a start, we need a cleaning lady.’

‘We do not!’ She sounded offended. ‘What could be wrong with my cleaning?’

‘How many days a year do you take guests?’

‘Three-sixty-five.’ She said it with pride and scrubbed the pan she was working on a bit harder.

‘And you do all the welcoming, the cooking, the cleaning, the bed-making...’

‘What else would I do?’

‘Enjoy yourself?’

‘I like cleaning.’

‘Jeanie?’

‘Yes.’

‘That pan is so shiny you can see your face in it. It’s time you stopped scrubbing.’

There were no more dishes. He could see her dilemma. She needed to stop scrubbing, but that would mean turning—to face him?

He lifted the pan from her hands, set it down and took her wet hands in his.

‘Jeanie...’

‘Don’t,’ she managed and tugged back but he didn’t let her go.

‘Jeanie, I’ve just been on the phone to Maggie.’

She stilled. ‘Why?’

‘To talk to her about you. You didn’t tell her you were coming back here. She thought you’d gone to the ferry.’

He didn’t tell her what a heart-sink moment that had been. She didn’t need emotion getting in the way of what he had to say now.

‘I thought I’d ring her this morning.’ She sounded defensive. ‘I thought... To be honest, when I left Maggie’s I wasn’t sure where I was going. I headed out near the ferry terminal and sat and looked over the cliffs for a while. I wasn’t sure if I should change my mind.’ She looked down at their linked hands. ‘I’m still not sure if I should.’

‘You promised me you’d come back.’

‘I stood in the kirk and wed you, too,’ she said sharply. ‘Somewhere along my life I’ve learned that promises are made to be broken.’

‘I won’t break mine.’

‘Till death do us part?’

‘I’ll rethink that in a year.’

‘You have to be kidding.’ She wrenched her hands back with a jerk. ‘It’s rethought now. Promises mean nothing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have beds to make, a castle to dust, dogs to walk, then the forecourt to mow. You go back to sorting your electrics.’

‘Jeanie, it’s the first day of our honeymoon.’

‘Do you not realise I’m over honeymoons?’ She grabbed the pan he’d just taken from her and slammed it down on the bottom shelf so hard it bounced. ‘What were you thinking? A jaunt to a six-star hotel with a casino on the side? Been there, done that.’

‘I thought I’d take you out to see the puffins.’

And that shocked her. She straightened. Stared at him. Stared at him some more. ‘Sorry?’

‘Have you seen the puffins this year?’

‘I... No.’

‘Neither have I. I haven’t seen the puffins since my grandfather died, and I miss them. According to Dougal, they’re still there, but only just. You know they take off midsummer? Their breeding season’s almost done so they’ll be leaving any minute. The sea’s so calm today it’s like a lake. You have all the ingredients for a picnic right here and Dougal says we can use his Mary-Jane.’

‘Dougal will lend you his boat?’

‘It’s not his fishing boat. It’s just a runabout.’

‘I know that, but still...he won’t even trust Maggie with his boat.’

‘Maybe I come with better insurance than Maggie.’

‘Do you even know how to handle a boat?’

‘I know how to handle a boat.’

She stared at him, incredulous, and then shook her head. ‘It’s a crazy idea. As I said, I have beds—’

‘Beds to make. And dusting and dog-walking and grass to mow.’ He raised his fingers and started ticking things off. ‘First, beds and general housework. Maggie’s mam is already on her way here, bringing a friend for company. They’ll clean and cook a storm. They’re bringing Maggie’s dog, too, who Maggie assures me keeps Abbot and Costello from fretting. They’ll walk all the dogs. Maggie’s uncle is bringing up the rear. He’ll do the mowing, help Mac check the cattle, do anything on the list you leave him. He’ll be here in an hour but we should be gone by then. Our boat’s waiting. Now, can I help you pack lunch?’

‘No! This is crazy.’

‘It’s the day after your wedding. It’s not crazy at all.’

‘The wedding was a formality. I told you, I don’t do honeymoons.’

‘Or six-star hotels, or casinos. I suspected not. I also thought that if I whisked you off the island you might never come back. But, Jeanie, you do need a holiday. Three years without a break. I don’t know what Eileen was thinking.’

‘She knew I wouldn’t take one.’

‘Because you’re afraid?’ he said gently. He didn’t move to touch her. In truth, he badly wanted to but she was so close to running... ‘Because you’ve ventured forth twice and been burned both times? I know you agreed to marry so I could inherit, but there’s also a part of you that wants another year of safe. Jeanie, don’t you want to see the puffins?’

‘I...’

‘Come with me, Jeanie,’ he said and he couldn’t help himself then, he did reach out to her. He touched her cheek, a feather-light touch, a trace of finger against skin, and why it had the power to make him feel...make him feel...

As if the next two minutes were important. Really important. Would she pull away and tell him to get lost, or would she finally cut herself some slack? Come play with him...

‘I shouldn’t,’ she whispered, but she didn’t pull back.

‘When did you last see puffins?’

She didn’t reply. He let his hand fall, though it took effort. He wanted to keep touching. He wanted to take that look of fear from her face.

What had they done to her? he wondered. Nice, safe Rory, and low-life Alan...

There was spirit in this woman and somehow it had been crushed.

And then he thought of the slap and he thought, No, it hadn’t quite been crushed. Jeanie was still under there.

‘Not since I was a little girl,’ she admitted. ‘With my mam. Rory’s uncle took us out to see them.’

‘Just the once?’

‘I... Yes. He took tourists, you see. There were never places—or time—to take us.’

What about your own dad? he wanted to ask. Jeanie’s father was a fisherman. He’d had his own boat. Yes, it was almost two hours out to the isolated isles, the massive crags where the puffins nested, but people came from all over the world to see them. To live here and not see...

His own grandparents had taken him out every summer. When he’d turned sixteen they’d given him a boat, made sure he had the best instruction, and then they’d trusted him. When his grandfather had died he’d taken Eileen out there to scatter his ashes.

‘Come with me,’ he said now, gently, and she looked up at him and he could see sense and desire warring behind her eyes.

‘It’s not a honeymoon.’

‘It’s a day trip. You need a holiday so I’m organising a series of day trips.’

‘More than one!’

‘You deserve a month off. More. I know you won’t take that. You don’t trust me and we’re forced to stay together and you don’t want that, but for now...you’ve given me an amazing gift, Jeanie Lochlan. Allow me to give you something in return.’

She compressed her lips and stared up at him, trying to read his face.

‘Are you safe to operate a boat out there?’ she demanded at last.

‘You know Dougal. Do you think he’d lend me the Mary-Jane if I wasn’t safe?’

Dougal’s uncle had taught him how to handle himself at sea. Once upon a time this island had been his second home, his refuge when life with his parents got too bad, and sailing had become his passion.

‘He wouldn’t,’ Jeanie conceded. ‘So we’re going alone?’

‘Yes.’ He would have asked Dougal to take them if it would have made Jeanie feel safer but this weather was so good every fisherman worth his salt was putting to sea today. ‘You can trust me, Jeanie. We’re interested in puffins, that’s all.’

‘But when you touch me, I feel...’

And there it was, out in the open. This thing between them.

‘If we’re to survive these twelve months, we need to avoid personal attraction,’ he told her.

Her face stilled. ‘You feel it, too.’

Of course I do. He wanted to shout it, but the wariness in her eyes was enough to give a man pause. That and reason. Hell, all they needed was a hot affair, a passionate few weeks, a massive split, and this whole arrangement would be blown out of the water. Even he had the sense to see hormones needed to take a back seat.

‘Jeanie, this whole year is about being sensible. You’re an attractive woman...’

She snorted.

‘With a great smile and a big heart,’ he continued. ‘And if you put a single woman and a single man together for a year, then it’s inevitable that sparks will fly. But we’re both old enough and sensible enough to know how to douse those sparks.’

‘So that’s what we’re doing for the next twelve months. Dousing sparks?’ She ventured a smile. ‘So do I pack the fire extinguisher today?’

‘If we feel the smallest spark, we hit the water. The water temperature around here is barely above freezing. That should do it. Will you come?’

There was a moment’s hesitation and then: ‘Foolish or not, I never could resist a puffin,’ she told him. ‘My only stipulation is that you don’t wear a kilt. Because sparks are all very well, Alasdair McBride, but you put a kilt on that body and sparks could well turn into a wildfire.’

He was free to make of that as he willed. She turned away, grabbed a picnic basket and started to pack.

* * *

He couldn’t just manage a boat; he was one with the thing.

Jeanie had been in enough boats with enough men—she’d even worked as crew on Rory’s fishing trawler—to recognise a seaman when she saw one.

Who could have guessed this smooth, suave businessman from Edinburgh, this kilted lord of all he surveyed at Duncairn, was a man who seemed almost as at home at sea as the fishermen who worked the island’s waters.

The Mary-Jane was tied at the harbour wharf when they arrived, with a note from Dougal to Alasdair taped to the bollard.

Keep in radio contact and keep her safe. And I don’t mean the boat.

Alasdair had grinned, leaped lightly onto the deck and turned to help Jeanie down. She’d ignored his hand and climbed down herself—a woman had some pride. And she was being very wary of sparks.

The Mary-Jane was a sturdy cabin cruiser, built to take emergency supplies out to a broken-down fishing trawler, or as a general harbour runabout. She was tough and serviceable—but so was the man at the helm. He was wearing faded trousers, heavy boots and an ancient sweater. He hadn’t shaved this morning. He was looking...

Don’t think about how he looks, she told herself fiercely, so instead she concentrated on watching him handle the boat. The Duncairn bar was tricky. You had to know your way, but Alasdair did, steering towards the right channel, then pausing, waiting, watching the sea on the far side, judging the perfect time to cross and then nailing it so they cruised across the bar as if they’d been crossing a lake.

And as they entered open water Jeanie found herself relaxing. How long since she’d done this? Taken a day just for her? Had someone think about her?

He wanted to see the puffins himself, she told herself, but a voice inside her head corrected her.

He didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to bring me. He’s doing it because I need a break.

It was a seductive thought all by itself.

And the day was seductive. The sun was warm on her face. Alasdair adjusted his course so they were facing into the waves, so she hardly felt the swell—but she did feel the power of the sea beneath them, and she watched Alasdair and she thought, There’s power there, too.

He didn’t talk. Maybe he thought she needed silence. She did and she was grateful. She sat and let the day, the sea, the sun soak into her.

This was as if something momentous had happened. This was as if she’d walked through a long, long tunnel and emerged to the other side.

Was it just because she’d taken the day off? Or was it that she’d set her future for the next twelve months, and for the next year she was safe?

It should be both, but she knew it wasn’t. It was strange but sitting here in the sun, watching Alasdair, she had an almost overwhelming sense that she could let down her guard, lose the rigid control she’d held herself under since the appalling tragedy of Alan, let herself be just...Jeanie.

She’d lost who she was. Somewhere along the way she’d been subsumed. Jeffrey’s daughter, Rory’s girlfriend and wife, then Alan’s woman. Then bankrupt, with half the world seeming to be after her for money owed.

Then Eileen’s housekeeper.

She loved being the housekeeper at Duncairn but the role had enveloped her. It was all she was.

But today she wasn’t a housekeeper. She wasn’t any of her former selves. Today she was out on the open sea, with a man at the helm who was...

Her husband?

There was nothing prescribed for her today except that she enjoy herself, and suddenly who could resist? She found herself smiling. Smiling and smiling.

‘A joke?’ Alasdair asked softly, and she turned her full beam onto him.

‘No joke. I’ve just remembered why I love this place. I haven’t been to sea for so long. And the puffins... I can’t remember. How far out?’

‘You mean, are we there yet?’ He grinned back and it was a grin to make a girl open her eyes a little wider. It was a killer grin. ‘Isn’t that what every kid in the back seat asks?’