forth I’m Jeanie Lochlan, and if I never see a McBride again, it’ll be too soon.’
She picked up her first crate of whisky and headed to the car. Silently he lifted the second and carried it after her.
She shoved both crates into the back seat and slammed the door after them. Her little car shuddered. It really was a banger, he thought.
Alan’s wife. An undischarged bankrupt. Alan... He thought of his cousin and he felt ill.
‘Jeanie, can we talk?’
‘We’ve talked. Goodbye.’ She stuck out her hand and waited until he took it, then shook it with a fierceness that surprised him. Then she looked up at his face, gave one decisive nod and headed for the driver’s seat.
‘I’m sorry about the castle,’ she threw at him. She could no longer see him. She was hauling on her seat belt, moving on. ‘And I’m sorry about your company. On the upside, there are going to be some very happy dogs all over Europe.’
* * *
He stood and watched her as she headed out of the castle grounds, along the cliff road towards the village. When she disappeared from view he watched on.
His entire financial empire had just come crashing down. He should be gutted.
He was gutted but what was uppermost in his mind right now was that he’d hurt her. She’d hit him but the next moment she’d drawn back as if he’d been the one who’d hit her.
He had made assumptions, he thought, but those assumptions had been based on facts. He knew how much money Eileen had withdrawn from the company when Jeanie and Alan had married. ‘It’ll set them up for life,’ Eileen had told him. ‘I know Alan’s not interested in the company but he is my grandson. He wants his inheritance now, and if it helps him settle, then he should have it.’
The amount she’d given the pair had been eye-watering. And yes, Alan’s lifestyle had been ruinous but his death must have meant most of the capital was intact. Surely Alan couldn’t have gambled that much?
Surely?
He’d always thought Jeanie’s decision to come back here to the castle was an attempt to ingratiate herself with his grandmother. The contents of Eileen’s will had proved him right.
The sight of her heading away in her ancient car gave him pause.
An undischarged bankruptcy...
If it was true, then the castle was forfeit no matter whether they married or not.
And with that thought came another. He’d loved the castle since he was a child, even when it was little more than a ruin. Eileen’s restoration had made it fabulous. She’d been overwhelmingly proud of it—and so was he. He gazed up now at the turrets and towers, the age-old battlements, the great, grand home that had sheltered so many generations of his family. That had provided work for so many islanders...
He was the Lord of Duncairn. Even though he no longer used it, the title, but the castle and the island were still important to him. Desperately important. With her leaving, Jeanie had sealed the castle’s fate. It would leave the family forever.
He was forcing his mind to think tangentially. If what she’d just told him was based on facts, then it wasn’t Jeanie who’d sealed the castle’s fate. It had been Alan.
He thought suddenly of the night Alan had been killed. He’d been driving a brand-new sports car, far too fast. A clear road. An inexplicable swerve to the left, a massive tree.
Jeanie had been thrown clear, suffering minor injuries. Alan had died instantly.
He’d thought until now it had been alcohol or drugs that had caused the crash, but now... Had it been suicide? Because of debt?
Had he tried to take Jeanie with him?
He’d been too caught up with Eileen’s grief to ask questions. What sort of fool had he been?
A car was approaching, a low-slung, crimson sports car. The couple inside wore expensive clothes and designer sunglasses. The car spun onto the driveway, sending up a spray of gravel. The pair climbed out, looking at the castle in awe.
And they also looked at Alasdair. He was still in his wedding finery. Lord of his castle?
He’d lose the castle. Alan had gambled it away.
And he’d gambled more than the castle away. Jeanie... He’d gambled with her life.
‘Hi, there.’ The young man was clearly American, and he was impervious to the fact that Alasdair’s gaze was still following Jeanie’s car. He flicked the boot open and pointed to the baggage, then turned back to his partner. ‘This looks cool,’ he told her. ‘And check out the doorman. Great touch.’ And he tossed the car keys to Alasdair, who was so stunned that he actually caught them.
‘This is just what we ordered—real Scotland,’ he continued. ‘Wow, look at those ruins down by the sea. You can put them on the Internet, honey. And check out the battlements. I’ve half a mind to put in an offer for the place, doorman and all. But first, my love, let’s check out this whisky.’ He glanced back at Alasdair. ‘What are you waiting for, man? We need our bags straight away.’
‘Carry your own bags,’ Alasdair snapped. ‘I don’t work in this place. I own it.’
Only he didn’t.
* * *
‘As far as short marriages go, this must be a record.’
Down in the village, Maggie had chosen a top-of-the-range bottle from Jeanie’s crates and had poured two whiskies. They were sitting at Maggie’s kitchen table, surrounded by the clutter of Maggie’s kids, Maggie’s fisherman husband and the detritus of a busy family. The ancient stove was giving out gentle warmth but Jeanie couldn’t stop shaking. Maggie’s hug had made her feel better, the whisky should be helping, but she had a way to go before shock lessened.
‘So the marriage lasted less than an hour,’ Maggie continued. ‘I’m guessing...not consummated?’
‘Maggie!’
‘Just asking.’ Maggie grinned and raised her glass. ‘You might need to declare that to get an annulment—or am I thinking of the bad old days when they checked the sheets?’
‘I can hardly get a doctor to declare me a virgin,’ Jeanie retorted, and Maggie’s smile broadened. But behind her smile Jeanie could see concern. Real concern.
‘So what happened? Did he come on too fast? Is he a brute? Tell me.’
If only, Jeanie thought, and suddenly, weirdly, she was thinking of her mother. Heather Lochlan had died when Jeanie was sixteen and Jeanie still missed her with an ache that would never fade.
‘He’s not a brute. He’s just...a businessman.’ She buried her face in her hands. ‘Mam would never have let me get myself into this mess,’ she whispered. ‘Three husbands... Three disasters.’
‘Your mam knew Rory,’ Maggie retorted. ‘Rory was no disaster. Your mam would have danced at
