walls back in Edinburgh?’ She was still stomping.
‘Nary an antler. Jeanie—’
‘Mrs McBride to you.’
‘Lady Jean,’ he said and she stopped dead and closed her eyes. Lady Jean...
Her dad would be cock-a-hoop. He’d be drunk by now, she thought, boasting to all and sundry that his girl was now lady of the island.
His girl.
Rory... She’d never been her father’s girl, but Rory used to call her that.
‘My lass. My sweet island lassie, my good luck charm, the love of my life...’
That this man could possibly infer she’d married for money...
‘Go away,’ she breathed. ‘Leave me be and take your title and your stupid, cruel misconceptions with you.’
And she started walking again.
To her fury he fell in beside her.
‘Go away.’
‘We need to talk.’
‘Your car’s on a blind bend.’
‘This is my land.’
‘Your land?’
There was a moment’s loaded pause. She didn’t stop walking.
‘Okay, your land,’ he conceded at last. ‘The access road’s on the castle title. As of marrying, as of today, it’s yours.’
‘You get the entire Duncairn company. Does that mean you’re a bigger fortune hunter than me?’
‘I guess it does,’ he said. ‘But at least my motive is pure. How much of Alan’s money do you have left?’
And there was another statement to take her breath away. She was finding it hard to breathe. Really hard.
Time for some home truths? More than time. She didn’t want sympathy, but this...
‘You’d think,’ she managed, slowly, because each word was costing an almost superhuman effort, ‘that you’d have done some homework on your intended bride. This is a business deal. If you’re buying, Alasdair McBride, surely you should have checked out the goods before purchase.’
‘It seems I should.’ He was striding beside her. What did he think he was doing? Abandoning the SUV and hiking all the way to the castle?
‘I have guests booked in at four this afternoon,’ she hissed. ‘They’ll be coming round that bend. Your car is blocking the way.’
‘You mean it’s blocking your profits?’
Profits. She stopped mid-stride and closed her eyes. She counted to ten and then another ten. She tried to do a bit of deep breathing. Her fingers clenched and re-clenched.
Nothing was working. She opened her eyes and he was still looking at her as if she was tainted goods, a bad smell. He’d married someone he loathed.
Someone who married for profit... Of all the things she’d ever been accused of...
She smacked him.
* * *
She’d never smacked a man in her life. She’d never smacked anyone. She was a woman who used Kindly Mousers and carried the captured mice half a mile to release them. She swore they beat her back to the castle but still she kept trying. She caught spiders and put them outside. She put up with dogs under her bed because they looked so sad when she put them in the wet room.
But she had indeed smacked him.
She’d left a mark. No!
Her hands went to her own face. She wanted to sink into the ground. She wanted to run. Of all the stupid, senseless things she’d done in her life, this was the worst. She’d married a man who made her so mad she’d hit him.
She’d mopped up after Rory’s fish for years. She’d watched his telly. She’d coped with the meagre amount he’d allowed her for housekeeping—and she’d never once complained.
And Alan... She thought of the way he’d treated her and still... She’d never once even considered hitting.
But now... What was she thinking? Of all the stupid, dumb mistakes, to put herself in a situation where she’d ended up violent...
Well, then...
Well, then what? A lesser woman might have burst into tears but not Jeanie. She wasn’t about to show this man tears, no matter how desperate things were.
Move on, she told herself, forcing herself to think past the surge of white-hot anger. Get a grip, woman. Get yourself out of this mess, the fastest way you can. But first...
She’d smacked him and the action was indefensible. Do what comes next, she told herself. Apologise.
‘I’m sorry.’ Somehow she got it out. He was staring at her as if she’d grown two heads, and who could blame him? How many times had the Lord of Castle Duncairn been slapped?
Not often enough, a tiny voice whispered, but she wasn’t going there. No violence, not ever. Had she learned nothing?
‘I’m very sorry,’ she made herself repeat. ‘That was inexcusable. No matter what you said, I should never, ever have hit you. I hope... I hope it doesn’t hurt.’
‘Hurt?’ He was still eyeing her with incredulity. ‘You hit me and ask if it hurts? If I say no, will you do it again?’ And it was almost as if he was goading her.
She stared at him, but her stare was blind.
‘I won’t...hit you.’
‘What have I possibly said to deserve that?’
‘You judged me.’
‘I did. Tell me what’s wrong about my judgement.’
‘You want the truth?’
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ he said wearily and her hand itched again.
Enough. No more. Say it and get out.
He wanted the truth? He wanted something he didn’t know? She took a deep breath and steadied.
Let him have it, then, she told herself. After all, the only casualty was her pride, and surely she ought to be over pride by now.
‘Okay, then.’ She was feeling ill, cold and empty. She hated what she was about to say. She hated everything that went with it.
But he was her husband, she thought bitterly. For now. For better or for worse she’d made the vows. The marriage would need to be annulled and fast, but meanwhile
