is the third time?’ Alasdair sounded incredulous.
‘So?’ Her smile was rigidly determined. Alasdair’s arm was around her waist, as befitted the standard newlywed couple, but his arm felt like steel. There was not a trace of warmth in it.
‘I assumed Alan was the only—’
‘You didn’t ask,’ she snapped. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Hell, of course it matters. Did you make money from the first one, too?’
Enough. She put her hand behind her and hauled his arm away from her waist. She was still rigidly smiling but she was having trouble...it could so easily turn to rictus.
‘Thanks, Susan,’ she called to the photographer. ‘We’re done. Thanks, everyone, for coming. We need to get back to the castle. We have guests arriving.’
‘No honeymoon?’ Susan, the photographer, demanded. ‘Why don’t you go somewhere beautiful?’
‘Duncairn is beautiful.’
‘She won’t even close the castle to guests for a few days,’ Maggie said and Jeanie gritted her teeth and pushed the smile a bit harder.
‘It’s business as usual,’ she told them. ‘After all, this is the third time I’ve married. I’m thinking the romance has worn off by now. It’s time to get back to work.’
* * *
Alasdair drove them back to the castle. He’d bought an expensive SUV—brand-new. It had been delivered via the ferry, last week before Alasdair had arrived. Alasdair himself had arrived by helicopter this morning, a fact that made Jeanie feel as if things were happening far too fast—as if things were out of her control. She’d been circling the SUV all week, feeling more and more nervous.
She wasn’t a ‘luxury-car type’. She wasn’t the type to marry a man who arrived by helicopter. But she had to get used to it, she told herself, and she’d driven the thing down to the kirk feeling...absurd.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ Maggie had declared. ‘And he’s said you can drive it? Fabulous. You can share.’
‘This marriage isn’t about sharing, and my little banger is twenty years old. She’s done me proud and she’ll keep doing me proud.’
‘Och, but I can see you sitting up beside your husband in this, looking every inch the lady.’ Maggie had laughed and she’d almost got a swipe to the back of her head for her pains.
But now... She was doing exactly that, Jeanie thought. She was sitting primly in the front passenger seat with her hands folded on her lap. She was staring straight ahead and beside her was...her husband.
‘Third time...’
It was the first time he’d spoken to her out of the hearing of their guests. As an opening to a marriage it was hardly encouraging.
‘Um...’ Jeanie wasn’t too sure where to go.
‘You’ve been married three times.’ His mind was obviously in a repetitive loop, one that he didn’t like a bit. His hands were clenched white on the steering wheel. He was going too fast for this road.
‘Cattle and sheep have the right of way here,’ she reminded him. ‘And the cattle are tough wee beasties. You round a bend too fast and you’ll have a horn through your windscreen.’
‘We’re not talking about cattle.’
‘Right,’ she said and subsided. His car. His problem.
‘Three...’ he said again and she risked a glance at his face. Grim as death. As if she’d conned him?
‘Okay, as of today, I’ve been married three times.’
He was keeping his temper under control but she could feel the pressure building.
‘Did my grandmother know?’ His incredulity was like a flame held to a wick of an already ticking bomb.
But if he thought he had sole rights to anger, he had another thought coming. As if she’d deceive Eileen...
‘Of course she knew. Eileen knew everything about me. I...loved her.’
And the look he threw her was so filled with scorn she flinched and clenched her hands in her lap and looked the other way.
Silence. Silence, silence and more silence. Maybe that’s what this marriage will be all about, she thought bleakly. One roof, but strangers. Silence, with undercurrents of...hatred? That was what it felt like. As if the man beside her hated her.
‘Was he rich, too?’ Alasdair asked and enough was enough.
‘Stop.’
‘What...?’
‘Stop the car this instant.’
‘Why should I?’
But they were rounding a tight bend, where even Alasdair had to slow. She unclipped her seat belt and pushed her door wide. ‘Stop now because I’m getting out, whether you’ve stopped or not. Three, two...’
He jammed on the brakes and she was out of the door before they were completely still.
He climbed out after her. ‘What the...?’
‘I’m walking,’ she told him. ‘I don’t do dinner for guests but seeing you live at the castle now you can have the run of the kitchen. Make yourself what you like. Have a happy marriage, Alasdair McBride. Your dislike of me means we need to be as far apart as we can, so we might as well start now.’
And she turned and started stomping down the road.
* * *
She could do this. It was only three miles, and if there was one thing Jeanie had learned to do over the years, it was walk. She loved this country. She loved the wildness of it, the sheer natural beauty. She knew every nook and cranny of the island. She knew the wild creatures. The sheep hardly startled at her coming and she knew each of the highland cattle by name.
But she was currently wearing a floaty dress and heels. Not stilettos, she conceded, thanking her lucky stars, but they were kitten heels and she wasn’t accustomed to kitten heels.
Maybe when Alasdair was out of sight she’d slip them off and walk barefoot.
Ouch.
Nevertheless, a girl had some pride. She’d made her bed and she needed to lie on it. Or walk.
She walked. There was no sound of an engine behind her but she wasn’t looking back.
And then a hand landed on her shoulder and she almost yelped. Almost. A girl had some pride.
‘Don’t,’ she managed and pulled away to keep stomping. And then she asked, because she couldn’t help herself, ‘Where did you learn to walk like a cat?’
‘Deerstalking.
