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CHAPTER ONE

MARRY...

There was deathly silence in the magnificent library of the ancient castle of Duncairn. In specially built niches round the walls were the bottles of whisky Jeanie had scraped to afford. Weirdly, that was what she was focusing on. What a waste. How much whisky could she fit in a suitcase?

How many scores of fruitcakes would they make? There was no way she was leaving them behind. For him. For her prospective bridegroom?

What a joke.

She’d been clinging to the hope that she might keep her job. She knew the Lord of Duncairn didn’t like her, but she’d worked hard to give Duncairn Castle the reputation for hospitality it now enjoyed.

It didn’t matter. Her efforts were for nothing. This crazy will meant she was out on her ear.

‘This must be a joke.’ Alasdair McBride, the sixteenth Earl of Duncairn, sounded appalled. It was no wonder. She stood to lose her job. Alasdair stood to lose his...fiefdom?

‘A last will and testament is never a joke.’ Edward McCraig, of the prestigious law firm McCraig, McCraig & McFerry, had made the long journey from Edinburgh to be at today’s funeral for Eileen McBride—Alasdair’s grandmother and Jeanie’s employer. He’d sat behind Jeanie in the Duncairn Kirk and listened to the eulogies with an air of supressed impatience. He wished to catch the last ferry back to the mainland. He was now seated in one of the library’s opulent chairs, reading the old lady’s wishes to her only surviving grandson—and to the live-in help.

He shuffled his papers and pushed his glasses further down his nose, looking at neither of them. Crazy or not, Eileen’s will clearly made him uncomfortable.

Jeanie looked at Alasdair and then looked away. This might be a mess, but it had little to do with her, she decided. She went back to counting whisky bottles. Maybe three suitcases? She only had one, but there were crates in the castle cellars. If she was brave enough to face the dark and the spiders...

Could you sell whisky online?

She glanced back at Alasdair and found his gaze was following hers, along the line of whisky. With an oath—a mixture of fury and shock—he took three glasses from the sideboard and poured.

Soda-sized whiskies.

The lawyer shook his head but Jeanie took hers with gratitude. The will had been a nasty shock. It was excellent whisky and she couldn’t take it all with her.

But it did need to be treated with respect. As the whisky hit home she choked and sank onto one of the magnificent down-filled sofas. A cloud of dog hair rose around her. She really had to do something about Eileen’s dogs.

Or not. This will said they were no longer her problem. She’d have to leave the island. She couldn’t take the dogs and she loved them. This castle might be over-the-top opulent, but she loved it, too. She felt...befuddled.

‘So how do we get around this?’ Clearly the whisky wasn’t having the same effect on Alasdair that it was on her. His glass was almost empty. She looked at him in awe. Actually she’d been looking sideways at Alasdair all afternoon. Well, why not? He might be arrogant, he might have despised her from the first time he’d met her, but he’d always been worth looking at.

Alasdair McBride was thirty-seven years old, and he was what Jeanie’s granny would have described as a man to be reckoned with. Although he didn’t use it, his hereditary title fitted him magnificently, especially today. In honour of his grandmother’s funeral he was wearing full highland regalia, and he looked awesome.

Jeanie always had had a weakness for a man in a kilt, and the Duncairn tartan was gorgeous. Okay, the Earl of Duncairn was gorgeous, she conceded. Six foot two in his stockinged feet, with jet-black hair and the striking bone structure and strength of the warrior race he’d so clearly descended from, Alasdair McBride was a man to make every eye in the room turn to him. The fact that he controlled the massive Duncairn financial empire only added to his aura of power, but he needed no such addition to look what he was—a man in control of his world.

Except...now he wasn’t. His grandmother’s will had just pulled the rug from under his feet.

And hers. Marry? So much for her quiet life as the Duncairn housekeeper.

‘You can’t get around it,’ the lawyer was saying. ‘The will is inviolate.’

‘Do you think...?’ She was testing her voice for the first time since the bombshell had landed. ‘Do you think that Eileen might possibly have been...have been...?’

‘Lady McBride was in full possession of her senses.’ The lawyer cast her a cautious look as if he was expecting her to disintegrate into hysterics. ‘My client understood her will was slightly...unusual...so she took steps to see that it couldn’t be overturned. She arranged a certificate of medical competency, dated the same day she made the will.’

Alasdair drained the rest of his whisky and poured another, then spun to look out of the great bay window looking over the sea.

It was a magnificent window. A few highland cattle grazed peacefully in the late-summer sun, just beyond the ha-ha. Further on, past rock-strewn burns and craggy hills, were the remnants of a vast medieval fortress on the shoreline. Two eagles were soaring effortlessly in the thermals. If he used binoculars, he might even see otters in the burns running into the sea, Jeanie thought. Or deer. Or...

Or her mind was wandering. She put her glass down, glanced at Alasdair’s broad back and felt a twist of real sympathy. Eileen had been good to her already, and in death she owed her nothing. Alasdair’s loss, however, was appalling. She might not like the man, but he hadn’t deserved this.

Oh, Eileen, what were you thinking? she demanded wordlessly of her deceased employer—but there was nothing Jeanie could do.

‘I guess that’s it, then,’ she managed, addressing herself to the lawyer. ‘How long do I have before you want me out?’

‘There’s no rush,’ the lawyer told her. ‘It’ll take a while to get the place ready for sale.’

‘Do you want me to keep trading? I have guests booked until the end of next month.’

‘That would be excellent. We may arrange for you to stay even longer. It’d be best if we could sell it as a going concern.’

‘No!’ The explosion was so fierce it almost rocked the room. Alasdair turned from the window and slammed his glass onto the coffee table so hard it shattered. He didn’t seem to notice.

‘It can’t happen.’ Alasdair’s voice lowered, no longer explosive but cold and hard and sure. ‘My family’s entire history, sold to fund...dogs’ homes?’

‘It’s a worthy cause,’ the lawyer ventured but Alasdair wasn’t listening.

‘This castle is the least of it,’ he snapped. ‘Duncairn is one of the largest financial empires in Europe. Do you know how much our organisation gives to charity each year? Sold, it could give every lost dog in Europe a personal attendant and gold-plated dog bowl for the rest of its life, but then it’s gone. Maintained, we can do good—we are doing good. This will is crazy. I’ll channel every penny of profit into dog care for the next ten years if I must, but to give it away...’

‘I understand it would mean the end of your career—’ the lawyer ventured but he was cut off.

‘It’s not the end of my career.’

If Lord Alasdair had had another glass, Jeanie was sure it’d have gone the way of the first.

‘Do you know how many corporations would employ me? I have the qualifications and the skills to start again, but to haul apart my family inheritance on a stupid whim?’

‘The thing is,’ the lawyer said apologetically, ‘I don’t think it was a whim. Your grandmother felt your cousin treated his wife very badly and she wished to atone...’

‘Here it is again. It all comes back to my wastrel cousin.’ Alasdair spun around and stared at Jeanie with a look that was pretty much all contempt. ‘You married him.’

‘There’s no need to bring Alan into this.’

‘Isn’t there? Eileen spent her life papering over his faults. She was blind to the fact that he was a liar and a thief, and that blind side’s obviously extended to you. What was she on about? Marry Alan’s widow? You? I’d rather walk on hot coals. You’re the housekeeper here—nothing more. Marry anyone you like, but leave me alone.’

Her sympathy faded to nothing. ‘Anyone I like?’ she retorted. ‘Wow. Thank you kindly, sir. As a proposal, that takes some beating.’

‘It’s the only proposal you’re likely to get.’

‘Then isn’t it lucky I don’t want one?’

He swore and turned again to the window. Jeanie’s brief spurt of anger faded and she returned to shock.

Marriage...? To Alasdair? What were you thinking, Eileen? she demanded again of the departed Lady McBride.

Was she thinking the same as when she’d coerced Alan into marrying Jeanie? At least it was out in the open this time, she conceded. At least all the cards were on the table. The will spelt it out with startling clarity. It was an order to Alasdair. Marry Jeanie, collect your inheritance, the only cost—one year of marriage. If not, inherit nothing.

Oh, Eileen.

‘I believe the time for angry words is not now.’ The lawyer was clearing his papers into a neat pile, ready to depart, but his dry, lawyer’s voice was sounding a warning. ‘You need to be quite clear before you make rash decisions. I understand that emotions are...high...at the moment, but think about it. Neither of you are married. My Lord, if you marry Mrs McBride, then you keep almost the entire estate. Mrs McBride, if you marry His Lordship, in twelve months you get to keep the castle. That’s a substantial amount to be throwing away because you can’t get on.’

‘The castle belongs to my family,’ Alasdair snapped. ‘It has nothing to do with this woman.’

‘Your grandmother treated Jeanie as part of your family.’

‘She’s not. She’s just as bad as—’

‘My Lord, I’d implore you not to do—or say—anything in haste,’ the lawyer interrupted. ‘Including making statements that may inflame the situation. I suggest you take a couple of days and think about it.’

A couple of days? He had to be kidding, Jeanie thought. There was only one decision to be made in the face of this craziness, and she’d made it. She looked at Alasdair’s broad back, at his highland kilt, at the size of him—he was practically blocking the window. She looked at the tense set of his shoulders. She could almost taste his rage and his frustration.

Get this over with, she told herself, and she gave herself a fraction of a second to feel sorry for him again. No more, though. Protect yourself, she scolded. Get out of here fast.

‘Alasdair doesn’t want to marry me and why should he?’ she asked the lawyer. ‘And I surely don’t want to marry him. Eileen was a sweetheart but she was also a conniving matriarch. She liked pulling the strings but sometimes...sometimes she couldn’t see that the cost was impossibly high. I’ve married one of her grandsons. I’m not marrying another and that’s an end to it. Thank you for coming, sir. Should I ring for the taxi to collect you, in, say, fifteen minutes?’

‘That would be excellent. Thank you. You’ve been an excellent housekeeper to Duncairn, Mrs McBride. Eileen was very fond of you.’

‘I know she was, and I loved her, too,’ Jeanie said. ‘But sometimes...’ She glanced again at Alasdair. ‘Well, the family has always been known for its arrogance. The McBrides have been ordering the lives of Duncairn islanders for generations, but this time Eileen’s taken it a step too far. I guess the Duncairn ascendancy is now in freefall but there’s nothing I can do about it. Good afternoon, gentlemen.’

And she walked out and closed the door behind her.

* * *

She was gone. Thankfully. Alasdair was left with the lawyer.

Silence, silence and more silence. The lawyer was giving him space, Alasdair thought, and he should be grateful.

He wasn’t.

His thoughts went back to his grandfather, an astute old man whose trust in his wife had been absolute. He’d run the Duncairn financial empire with an iron fist. Deeply disappointed in his two sons—Alasdair’s and Alan’s respective fathers—the old man had left control of the entire estate in the hands of Eileen.

‘By the time you die I hope our sons have learned financial sense,’ he’d told her. ‘You can decide who is best to take over.’

But neither of his sons had shown the least interest in the estate, apart from persuading Eileen to give them more money. They’d predeceased their mother, one in a skiing accident, one from a heart attack, probably caused by spending his life in Michelin-starred restaurants.

No matter. That was history. Eileen had come from a long line of thrifty Scots, and in Alasdair she’d found a family member who shared her business acumen and more.

As they’d turned the company into the massive empire it now was, Alasdair had tried to talk his grandmother into making it a public entity, making it safe if anything had happened to either of them. She’d refused. ‘I trust you,’ she’d told him but she’d maintained total ownership.

And now this...

‘Surely it’s illegal,’ he said, feeling bone weary.

‘What could be illegal?’

‘Coercing us into marriage.’

‘There’s no coercion. The way your grandmother worded it...

‘You helped her word it.’

‘Mr Duncan McGrath, the firm’s most senior lawyer, helped her draft it, to make sure there were no legal loopholes.’ The lawyer was suddenly stern. ‘She was very clear what she wanted. The will states that the entire financial empire plus any other assets she owns are to be liquidated and left in equal parts to a large number of canine charities. As an aside, she states that the only way the intentions of the will can be set aside is if you and Mrs McBride marry.’

‘That woman is not a McBride.’

‘She’s Mrs McBride,’ the lawyer repeated sternly. ‘You know that she is. Your grandmother loved her and treated her as family, and your grandmother wanted to cement that relationship. The bequest to the canine charities can only be set aside if, within a month of her death, you and Mrs Jeanie McBride are legally married. To each other.’

‘We both know that’s crazy. Even...Mrs McBride...didn’t consider it for a moment.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, the feeling of exhaustion intensifying. ‘It’s blackmail.’

‘It’s not blackmail. The will is set up so that in the—admittedly unlikely—event that you marry, your grandmother provides for you as a family.’

‘And if we’re not?’

‘Then she’s done what any lonely old woman in her situation might do. She’s left her fortune to dogs’ homes.’

‘So if we contest...’

‘I’ve taken advice, sir. I was...astounded at the terms of the will myself, so I took the liberty to sound out a number of my colleagues. Legal advice is unanimous that the will stands.’

More silence. Alasdair reached for his whisky and discovered what he’d done. The table was covered with broken glass. He needed to call someone to clean it up.

Mrs McBride? Jeanie.

His cousin’s wife had operated this place as a bed and breakfast for the past three years. As cook, housekeeper and hostess, she’d done a decent job, he’d had to concede. ‘You should see how it is now,’ his grandmother had told him, beaming. ‘Jeanie’s the best thing that’s happened to this family.’

That wasn’t true. Even though he conceded she’d looked after this place well, it was by her first actions he’d judged her. As Alan’s wife. She’d run wild with his cousin and she’d been beside him when he’d died. Together she and Alan had broken Eileen’s heart, but Eileen had never been prepared to cut her loose.

Marrying Alan had branded her, he conceded, but that brand was justified. Any fool could have seen the crazy lifestyle his cousin had been living was ruinous. The money she and Alan had thrown round... That was why she was still looking after the castle, in the hope of inheriting something more. He was sure of it. For an impoverished island lass, the McBride fortune must seem seductive, to say the least.

Seduction... By money?

If she’d married for money once before...

His mind was suddenly off on a crazy tangent that made him feel ill.

Marriage... But what was the alternative?

‘So what if we did marry?’ he demanded at last, goaded into saying it.

‘Then everything reverts to how it’s been,’ the lawyer told him. He was watching him cautiously now, as if he half expected Alasdair to lob whisky at him. ‘If you and Mrs McBride marry and stay married for a period of no less than one year, you’ll legally own the Duncairn empire with all it entails, with the exception of the castle itself. Mrs McBride will own that.’

‘Just this castle?’

‘And the small parcel of land on the same title. Yes. They’re the terms of the will.’

‘Does she have a clue how much this place costs to maintain? What she gets with the bed and breakfast guests couldn’t begin to touch it. And without the surrounding land...’

‘I’d imagine Mrs McBride could sell,’ the lawyer said, placing his papers back in his briefcase. ‘Maybe to you, if you wish to continue the Duncairn lineage. But right now, that’s immaterial. If you don’t marry her, the castle will be part of the whole estate to be sold as one. Mrs McBride needs to consider her future with care, but maintenance of the castle is immaterial unless you marry.’

And there was the only glimmer of light in this whole impossible situation. If he didn’t inherit, neither would she. It’d be great to be finally shot of her.

He didn’t need this inheritance. He didn’t. If he walked away from this mess, he could get a job tomorrow. There were any number of corporations that’d take his expertise.

But to walk away from Duncairn? His ancestral home...

And the company. So many people... He thought of the firm most likely to buy if he no longer had control and he felt ill. They’d merge. All his senior management... All his junior staff... Scotland was struggling after the global financial crisis anyway. How could they get new jobs?

They couldn’t, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Unless...unless...

‘She has been married before,’ he said slowly, thinking aloud. He didn’t like the woman one bit. He didn’t trust her, but if he was careful... Initial revulsion was starting to give way to sense. ‘She married my cousin so I’m assuming money’s important to her. I guess—if it got me out of this mess, I might be prepared to marry. In name only,’ he added hastily. ‘As a business deal.’

Marriage... The idea made him feel ill. But Lords of Duncairn had married for convenience before, he reminded himself. They’d married heiresses to build the family fortunes. They’d done what had to be done to keep the estate safe.

And the lawyer was permitting himself a dry smile, as if his client was now talking like a sensible man. ‘I’ve considered that option,’ he told him. ‘It would meet the requirements of the bequest—as long as you lived together.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Lady Eileen was very sure of what she wanted. She has...all eventualities covered.’

He exhaled and took a while to breathe again. Eventualities... ‘Explain.’

‘You and Mrs McBride would need to live in the same residence for a period of at least one year before the estate can be settled. However, Lady Eileen was not unreasonable. She acknowledges that in the course of your business you do need to travel, so she’s made allowances. Those allowances are restrictive, however. In the twelve months from the time of your marriage there’s an allowance for no more than thirty nights spent apart.’

Alasdair said nothing. He couldn’t think what to say.

He’d loved his grandmother. None of what he was thinking right now had any bearing on that love. If he had her in front of him...

‘She’s also taken steps to ensure that this arrangement was kept.’ The lawyer coughed apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, but you would need to keep to...the intent of the will.’

‘You mean she’d have us watched?’

‘There are funds set aside to ensure the terms are being adhered to.’

He stared at the lawyer in horror. ‘You’re out of your mind. Next you’ll be saying you’ll be checking the sheets.’

‘I believe,’ the lawyer said and allowed himself another wintry smile, ‘that your sleeping arrangements within the one residence would be entirely up to you and your...your wife. Mind...’ he allowed the smile to widen ‘...she’s an attractive wee thing.’

‘Of all the...’

‘Though it’s not my business to say so, sir. I’m sorry.’

‘No.’ Though she was, Alasdair conceded, his thoughts flying sideways again. He’d been astounded when his cousin had married her. Jeanie McBride was petite and freckled and rounded. Her soft brown shoulder-length curls, mostly tugged back into a ponytail, were nothing out of the ordinary. She didn’t dress to kill. In fact, the first time he’d met her, he’d thought how extraordinary that the womanising Alan was attracted to such a woman.

But then she’d smiled at something his grandmother had said, and he’d seen what Alan had obviously seen. Her smile was like the sun coming out after rain. Her face lit and her freckles seemed almost luminescent. She had a dimple at the side of her mouth, and when she’d chuckled...

He hadn’t heard that chuckle for a long time, he thought suddenly. He hadn’t seen her smile, either.

In truth, he’d avoided her. His grandmother’s distress over Alan’s wasted life had been enough to make him avoid Jeanie and all she represented. He’d known she was caring for the castle and he acknowledged she’d seemed to be making a good job of it. She’d steered clear of him these past few months when he’d come to visit his grandmother. She’d treated him formally, as a castle guest, and he’d treated her like the housekeeper she was.

But she wasn’t just a housekeeper. Right after Alan’s death Eileen had said, ‘She seems like a daughter to me,’ and he’d thought, Uh-oh, she’ll stick around until the old lady dies and hope to inherit, and now he was proved right.

She must be as shocked as he was about the will’s contents. She’d get nothing unless they married...

That could be used to his advantage. His mind was racing. The only cost would be the castle.

And a year of his life...

The lawyer had risen, eager to depart. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I understand I’m leaving you in a quandary but my task here was purely as messenger. I can see the taxi approaching. Mrs McBride has been efficient as always. Will you bid her farewell for me? Meanwhile, if there’s anything else myself or my partners can do...’

‘Tear up the will?’

‘You and I both know that we can’t do that. The will is watertight. From now on there’s only a decision to be made, and I have no place here while you make it. Good luck, sir, and goodbye.’