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,
