Her Highland Boss

‘That’s what I feel like—a kid in the back seat.’ And then she looked ahead to the granite rock needles that seemed to burst from the ocean floor, isolated in their grandeur. ‘No, I don’t,’ she corrected herself. ‘I feel like I’m a front-seat passenger. It’s one of these rocks, isn’t it, where the puffins are found?’

‘The biggest one at the back. The smaller ones are simply rock but the back one has a landmass where they can burrow for nests. They won’t nest anywhere humans can reach. It means we can’t land.’

‘We’d need a pretty long rope ladder,’ Jeanie breathed, looking at the sheer rock face in awe. And then she forgot to breathe... ‘Oh-h-h.’

It was a long note of discovery. It was a note of awe.

For Alasdair had manoeuvred the boat through a gap in the island rock face and emerged to a bay of calm water. The water was steel grey, fathoms deep, and it was a mass of...

Puffins. Puffins!

Alasdair cut the motor to just enough power to keep clear of the cliffs. The motor was muted to almost nothing.

The puffins were everywhere, dotted over the sea as if someone had sprinkled confetti—only this confetti was made up of birds, duck-sized but fatter, black and white with extraordinary bright orange bills; puffins that looked exactly like the ones Jeanie had seen in so many magazines, on so many posters, but only ever once in real life and that so long ago it seemed like a dream.

Comical, cute—beautiful.

‘They have fish,’ she breathed. ‘That one has... It must be at least three fish. More. Oh, my...I’d forgotten. There’s another. And another. Why don’t they just swallow them all at once?’

‘Savouring the pleasure?’ Alasdair said, smiling just as Aladdin’s genie might have done in the ancient fairy tale. Granting what he knew was a wish...

‘You look like a benevolent Santa,’ Jeanie told him and he raised his brows.

‘Is that an accusation?’

‘I... No.’ Because it wasn’t. It was just a statement.

Though he didn’t actually look like Santa, Jeanie conceded. This was no fat, jolly old man.

Though she didn’t need to be told that. His skill at the wheel was self-evident.

Sex on legs...

The description hit her with a jolt, and with it came a shaft of pure fear. Because that had been how she’d once thought of Alan.

Life with Rory had been...safe. He’d lived and dreamed fishing and would never have left the island. He was content to do things as his father and grandfather had done before him. His mother cooked and cleaned and was seemingly content, so he didn’t see that Jeanie could possibly want more.

He was a good man, solid and dependable, and his death had left Jeanie devastated. But two years later Alan had blasted himself into her life. She’d met him and she’d thought...

Yep, sex on legs.

More. She’d thought he was everything Rory hadn’t been. He was exciting, adventurous, willing and wanting to try everything life had to offer. He’d taken her off the island and exposed her to a life that...

That she never wanted to go back to. A life that was shallow, mercenary, dangerous—even cruel.

Alan was a McBride, just as this man was.

Sex on legs? Get a grip, she told herself. Have you learned nothing? The only one who’ll keep yourself safe is yourself.

But she didn’t want to be safe, a little voice whispered, and she looked at Alasdair and she could see the little voice’s reasoning but she wasn’t going there. She wasn’t.

‘If you want to know the truth, I read about them last night,’ Alasdair told her. He was watching the puffins—thankfully. How much emotion could he read in her face? ‘They can carry up to ten small fish in their beaks at a time. It’s a huge genetic advantage—they don’t waste energy swallowing and regurgitating, and they can carry up to ten fish back to their burrows. Did you know their burrows can be up to two feet deep? And those beaks are only bright orange in the breeding season. They’ll shed the colour soon and go back to being drab and ordinary.’

‘They could never be ordinary,’ she managed, turning to watch a puffin floating by the boat with...how many fish in its beak? Five. She got five.

She was concentrating fiercely on counting. Alasdair was still talking...and he usually didn’t talk. He’d swotted up for today, she thought. Was finding out how many fish a puffin could hold a seduction technique?

The thought made her smile. No, she decided, and it settled her. He was taking her out today simply to be nice. He wasn’t interested in her, or, if he was, it’d be a mere momentary fancy, as Alan’s had been.

So get yourself back to basics, she told herself. Eileen had offered Alan money to marry her. She knew that now. The knowledge had made her feel sick, and here was another man who’d been paid to marry her.

Sex on legs? Not so much. He was a husband who was hers because of money.

Hold that thought.

‘Will we eat lunch here?’ she asked, suddenly brisk, unwinding herself from the back seat on the boat and heading for the picnic basket. ‘Can you throw down anchor or should we eat on the way back?’

‘We have time to eat here.’ He was watching her, his brows a question. ‘Jeanie, how badly did Alan hurt you?’

‘I have sandwiches and quiche and salad and boiled eggs. I also have brownies and apples. There’s beer, wine or soda. Take your pick.’

‘You mean you’re not going to tell me?’

‘Past history. Moving on...’

‘I won’t hurt you.’

‘I know you won’t,’ she said briskly. ‘Because I won’t let you. This is a business arrangement, Alasdair, nothing more.’

‘And today?’

‘Is my payment for past services.’ She was finding it hard to keep her voice even but she was trying. ‘You’ve offered and I’ve accepted. It’s wonderful—no, it’s magic—to be eating lunch among the puffins. It’s a gift. I’m very, very grateful but I’m grateful as an employee’s grateful to her boss for a day off. Nothing more.’

‘It’s not a day off. It’s a week almost completely off and then I’m halving your duties for double the wages.’

Whoa? Double wages?

She should refuse, she thought, but then...why not just be a grateful employee? That was what she was, after all.

‘Excellent,’ she said and passed the sandwiches. ‘Take a sandwich—sir.’

* * *

Employer/employee. That was a relationship that’d work, he thought, and it was fine with him—wasn’t it?

He was grateful to Jeanie. She’d agreed to marry him, and in doing so she’d saved the estate. More, she’d made Eileen’s last years happy. He was doing what he could to show he was grateful and she was accepting with pleasure.

It should be enough.

Their puffin expedition was magic. For Alasdair, who’d seen them so often in the past, they should feel almost commonplace, but in watching Jeanie watch them he was seeing them afresh. They were amazing creatures—and Jeanie’s reaction was magic.

She tried hard to be prosaic, he thought. Her reactions to him were down-to-earth and practical, and she tried to tone down her reactions to the birds, but he watched her face, he watched the awe as she saw the birds dive and come up with beaks stuffed with rows of silver fish, he watched her turn her face to the sun and he thought, Here was a woman who’d missed out on the joy of life until now.

It was a joy to be able to share.

They returned to the castle late afternoon to find all the tasks done, the castle spotless, the grass mowed, the cattle tended. Jeanie entered the amazing great hall and looked up at the newly washed leadlight, the carpets beaten, the great oak balustrades polished, and he thought he detected the glimmer of tears.

But she said nothing, just gave a brisk nod and headed for her kitchen.

The baking was done. A Victoria sponge filled with strawberries and cream and a basket of chocolate brownies were sitting on the bench. Jeanie stared at them blankly.

‘What am I going to do now?’ she demanded.

‘Eat them,’ Alasdair said promptly. ‘Where’s a knife?’

‘Don’t you dare cut the sponge. The guests can have it for supper. You can have what’s left.’

‘Aren’t I a guest?’

‘Okay, you can have some for supper,’ she conceded. ‘But not first slice.’

‘Because?’

‘Because you’re the man in the middle. Guest without privileges.’

‘Guest with brownie,’ he retorted and bit into a still-warm cookie. ‘So tomorrow...otters?’

‘What do you mean, otters?’

‘I mean Maggie’s mam and her friends are hired to come every weekday until I tell them not, and I haven’t seen the Duncairn otters for years. They used to live in the burns running into the bay. I thought we could take a picnic down there and see if we can see them. Meanwhile I’m off to work now, Jeanie. You can go put your feet up, read a book, do whatever you want, whatever you haven’t been able to do for the last few years. I’ll see you at dinner.’

‘Guests eat out,’ she said blankly, but he shook his head.

‘Sorry, Jeanie, but as you said, I’m the man in the middle. I’m a guest, but I’m also Lord of this castle. I’m also, for better or for worse, your husband.’

‘There was nothing in the marriage contract about me feeding you.’

‘That’s why I’m feeding you,’ he told her and at the look on her face he grinned. ‘And no, I’m not about to whisk you off to a Michelin-ranked restaurant, even if such a thing existed on Duncairn, but Maggie’s mam has brought me the ingredients for a very good risotto and risotto is one of the few things in the world I’m good at. So tonight I’m cooking.’

‘I don’t want—’

‘There are lots of things we don’t want,’ he said, gentling now. ‘This situation is absurd but there’s nothing for it but for us both to make the most of it. Risotto or nothing, Jeanie.’

She stared at him for a long moment and then, finally, she gave a brisk nod. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Good. I...I’ll eat your risotto and thank you for it. And thank you for today. Now I’ll...I’ll...go do a stocktake of...of the whisky. There’s all the new stuff you’ve bought. I keep a ledger. Call me when dinner’s ready...sir...’

‘Alasdair,’ he snapped.

‘Alasdair,’ she conceded. ‘Call me when dinner’s ready. And thank you.’

She fled and he stood staring after her.

She was accepting his help. It should be enough.

Only it wasn’t.

* * *

She felt weird. Discombobulated. Thoroughly disoriented. For the first time in over three years she had nothing to do.

Except think of the day that had just been.

Except think of Alasdair?

He was her husband. She should be used to having husbands by now. He was nothing different.

Except he was. He’d spent today working for nothing except her enjoyment.

He’d seen puffins many times before—the way he looked at them told her that. He also had work to do. She’d heard him at the computer almost all the time he’d been here. She’d heard the insistent ring of his telephone. Alasdair McBride was the head of a gigantic web of financial enterprises, and one look at the Internet had told her just how powerful that web was.

He’d spent the day making her happy.

‘Because I agreed to keep our bargain,’ she told herself. ‘I’m saving his butt.

‘The best way for him to keep his butt safe is for him to keep a low profile.’ The dogs, well-fed and exercised, were sprawled in front of the kitchen range. They were fast asleep but she needed someone—anyone—to talk to. ‘He must know that, and yet he risked it...

‘To make me happy?’ She thought of Rory doing such a thing. Rory was always too tired, she conceded. He had long spells at sea and when he was home he wanted his armchair and the telly. He’d taken time to spend with her before they were married but afterwards...it was as if he no longer had to bother.

And Alan? That was the same thing multiplied by a million. Pounds. He’d had well over a million reasons to marry her but when he had what he wanted, she was nothing.

And Alasdair? He, too, had more than a million reasons to marry her, she thought, way more, but she’d agreed to his deal. He’d had no reason to spend today with her.

‘Maybe he thinks I’ll back out,’ she told the dogs but she knew it wasn’t that.

Or maybe it was that she hoped it wasn’t that.

‘And that’s just your stupid romantic streak,’ she told herself crossly. ‘And, Jeanie Lochlan, it’s more than time you were over that nonsense.’

Her discussion with herself was interrupted by her phone. Maggie, she thought, and sure enough her friend was on the line, and Maggie was almost bursting with curiosity.

‘How did it go? Oh, Jeanie, isn’t he gorgeous? I watched you go out through the entrance with the field glasses—I imagine half the village did. Six hours you were out. Six hours by yourself with the man! And the amount he’s given Dougal for the Mary-Jane, and what he’s paying Mam and her friends... Jeanie, what are you doing not being in bed with your husband right now?’

She took a deep breath at that. ‘He’s not my real husband,’ she managed but Maggie snorted.

‘You could have fooled me. And Mam says he was just lovely on the phone and he’s thanked her for the sponge cake and the brownies as though she wasn’t even paid for them, and he’s organised her to go back tomorrow and he says he’s taking you to see otters. Otters! You know the old cottage down by the Craigie Burn? There’s otters down there, I’m sure of it. You could light a fire and—’

‘Maggie!’

‘It’s just a suggestion. Jeanie, you married the man and if you aren’t in bed with him already you should be. Oh, Jeanie, I know he’s not like Alan, I know it.’

‘You’ve hardly met him.’

‘The way he said his vows...’

‘We were both lying and you know it.’

‘I don’t know it,’ Maggie said stoutly. ‘You went home last night, didn’t you? One night married, three hundred and sixty-four to go—or should I multiply that by fifty years? Jeanie, do yourself a favour and go for it. Go for him.’

‘Why would I?’

There was a moment’s silence while Maggie collected her answer. One of the guest’s cars was approaching. Jeanie could see it through the kitchen window. She took a plate and started arranging brownies. This was her job, she told herself. Her life.

‘Because he can afford—’ Maggie started but Jeanie cut her off before she could finish.

‘He can afford anything he wants,’ she conceded. ‘But that’s thanks to me. I told you how Eileen’s will works. He gets to keep his fortune and I...I get to keep my independence. That’s the way I want it, Maggie, and that’s the way it’s going to be.’

‘But you will go to see the otters tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ she said, sounding goaded. Which was how she felt, she conceded. She’d been backed into a corner, and she wasn’t at all sure she could extricate herself.

By keeping busy, she told herself, taking the brownies off the plate and rearranging them more...artistically.

One day down, three hundred and sixty-four to go.

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