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
