moved past him to pack up her cleaning basket. ‘For your information, I have never taken your grandfather’s largesse for granted.’
Feather duster. Tick. Soft polishing cloths. Tick.
‘He allowed me to live here with my great-aunt rent-free and for that I will be grateful for ever.’
She shoved the furniture polish bottle in amongst the other cleaning products in her basket. She had become closer to the old man in his last months of life, coming to understand the gruff exterior of a proud man who had done his best to keep his family together after repeated tragedy.
Logan let out a long breath, still frowning like he didn’t know any other way to look at her. Story of her life. One look at her scarred leg and her limp and that’s what most people did—frowned. Or asked intrusive questions she refused on principle to answer. Layla never talked about what had happened to her leg, not in any detail that is. ‘A car crash’ was her stripped-down answer. She never said who was driving or why they were driving the way they were, or who else had been injured or killed.
Who wanted to be reminded of the day that had changed her life for ever?
‘Why didn’t he just give you the money?’ Logan asked.
Layla’s old friend pride steeled her gaze and tightened her mouth. ‘Oh, you mean because he felt sorry for me?’
Logan’s covert glance at her left leg told her all she needed to know. Just like everyone else, he saw her damaged leg first and her later—if at all. Layla was fiercely proud of how she had made something of herself in spite of impossible odds. She didn’t want to be seen as the orphaned girl with the limp, but the gutsy woman with gumption, drive, ambition and resourcefulness.
‘No.’ His tone was weighted. ‘Because he was a wealthy man and you’re practically family.’ He moved away to look at some of the boxes she’d packed earlier. He peeled back the cardboard flaps of one box and took out a leather-bound book, fanning through the pages, his features set in lines of deep thought.
Practically family? Was that how he saw her? As a surrogate sister or distant cousin? At six feet four with a lean and rangy build, dark brown loosely styled wavy hair, a chiselled Lord Byron jaw and deep blue eyes the colour of a Highland tarn, it would be a crying waste if Logan McLaughlin were her brother or cousin.
It was a crying waste to women the world over that he hadn’t dated since the tragic death of his fiancée Susannah.
Not that he would ever date Layla. No one had ever dated her…well, not since she was a teenager. And she deliberately tried not to think of that one and only date and the excruciating embarrassment it had entailed. From that day on, she had decided her career plans would always be more important. More important than trying to go to parties or nightclubs in short dresses and heels that drew even more attention to her leg. More important than being told by a guy she wasn’t good enough. Could never be good enough.
Logan closed the book with a little snap and placed it back on top of the others. He turned to look at her.
Yep, with a frown.
‘Where will you and your aunt go if this place is sold?’
Layla’s eyes widened and her chest developed a tight, can’t-take-another-breath ache. ‘Sold? You’re selling Bellbrae?’ She could think of no bigger tragedy…well, she could because she’d lived through one big hell of a tragedy, but still. Selling Bellbrae was way up there on the list. Who would she be without the shelter of Bellbrae watching over her? Her identity had been formed here, her sense of security and safety honed within the fortress-like walls of the centuries-old castle. ‘How could you do that, Logan? Your grandfather left it to you as his eldest male heir. Your dad is buried here along with your grandparents and generations of ancestors. You surely don’t need to sell it for the money?’
His expression went as blank as one of the dust sheets on the furniture, but his tone was jaded. ‘It’s not about money. I am unwilling to fulfil the terms of my grandfather’s will.’
Layla frowned like she was in competition with him for Best Frown in Show. ‘Terms? What terms?’
He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and moved to look out of one of the mullioned windows, his back turned to her. Layla could see the tension in his shoulders even through his clothes. The breadth of his shoulders had always secretly fascinated her.
She had often seen him rowing and swimming in summer on the lake on the Bellbrae estate when he’d come home to visit. Tall and lean-hipped with abdomen muscles ridged with strength and endurance, she had been fascinated by his athleticism as it had been in such stark contrast to her young broken body. And when he’d brought Susannah home for visits, Layla had watched them both. Susannah had been supermodel stunning, slim and glamourous. Never had Layla seen two people more perfect for each other or more devotedly in love. It had set a benchmark for her to aspire to. An impossible benchmark perhaps, but a girl could dream, couldn’t she?
Logan turned to look at her, his jaw set in a taut line. ‘Unless I marry within three months, the entire estate will pass to Robbie.’
Layla licked her carpet-dry lips, her heart suddenly flapping like a loose window shutter in a stiff Highland breeze. ‘Oh…’
He drew in a breath and released it in a gust of frustration. ‘Yes. Oh. And we both know what he will do when he gets his hands on this place.’
Layla couldn’t allow her mind to even go there. No two brothers could ever be more disparate. Logan was the strong, silent type—hard-working and responsible. Robbie was a loud party boy with a streak of recklessness who had already brought shame on the family too many times to count. ‘You think he’d sell it?’
He gave a grim movement of his lips that wasn’t anywhere near a smile. ‘Or—worse—turn it into party central for irresponsible playboys like himself.’
Layla chewed her lower lip, her thoughts in a tangled knot. If Bellbrae was sold, what would happen to her great-aunt? Where would Aunt Elsie live if not here? Her great-aunt lived in a little cottage on the estate where she had spent the last forty years. Like Layla, it was the only home she knew. And what would happen to Logan’s grandfather’s elderly dog, Flossie? The dog was almost blind and would find a move to another place even more distressing than Aunt Elsie would. ‘There must be something you can do to challenge the terms of your grandfather’s will.’
‘The will is ironclad.’ He turned away to look at the view from the windows, even the sound of his feet moving across the carpet conveyed his disgust.
‘Why did your grandfather write it in such a way?’ Layla asked into the echoing silence. ‘Did he talk to you about it before he…?’ She still found it hard to believe the old man was gone.
Packing up Angus McLaughlin’s things had made her realise how different Bellbrae would be without him. Picky and pedantic, he hadn’t been the easiest person to get along with, but over the last few months Layla had made a point of ignoring his bad points and had found him to have a softer side he’d been at great pains to keep hidden.
Logan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and partially turned from the window to look at her. ‘He’s been telling me for years to settle down and do my duty. Marry and provide a couple of heirs to continue the family line.’
‘But you don’t want to get married.’
