here? And how would you know that?’ He regarded her with scepticism. ‘Where else would she be?’
‘I was going upstairs after breakfast this morning when Helen slipped in the front door. She had the same clothes on as yesterday,’ Natalie added, ‘I remember because I noticed her Christmas jumper. And,’ she added, if there was any doubt remaining, ‘she looked a bit guilty when she twigged that I saw her.’
‘She might’ve gone out to the store, or for a walk.’
‘She hasn’t a car,’ Natalie said triumphantly, ‘and none of the cars were gone from the drive. And she had her handbag with her. You don’t take your handbag with you on a walk...unless it’s the walk of shame. Rhys – she was at Colm’s! They spent the night together. Obviously.’
‘Well, Sherlock,’ Rhys warned her, ‘whether they did or they didn’t, it’s none of your concern.’
‘But it’s terribly romantic!’ Nat observed, and sipped her wine as she eyed Helen across the room. ‘She’s just what Colm needs – someone worldly and clever to draw him out a bit, someone to nurse his wounded soul.’
‘“Wounded soul?”’ Rhys echoed. ‘That’s ridiculous. He’s a groundskeeper, Nat, not...not Heathcliff!’
‘Someone,’ she went on dreamily, ‘to show him how to live, and put aside that awful Scottish dourness, and have a bit of fun.’
‘Hmm.’ He eyed Helen doubtfully. ‘Well if that’s what she means to do for Colm, then Helen’s certainly got her work cut out for her.’
The summons from her father came that evening, as she’d known it would.
Caitlin gathered her resolve and left her room. She made her way down the hall to her father’s private study and knocked on the door.
‘Come in,’ he called out gruffly.
He glanced up as she came inside the room. A fire burned in the grate, casting a burnished glow over the leather chairs and tartan rug and the great mahogany desk he sat behind.
‘If this is about Niall,’ she began, ‘there’s nothing more to say.’
‘It isn’t about him. It’s about what he’s done to you, and what he intends to do about it.’
‘I told you, we’re getting married—’
‘His divorce has to come through first, Caitlin. That takes time. What happens while you wait? Are you having this baby? And if so, who’ll take care of it? Will he help out financially? Have you given a single thought to the practicalities?’
‘Yes, I’m having the baby,’ she said defiantly, ‘and of course I’m keeping it! Why wouldn’t I?’
He leant back in his chair. ‘Wren is under the impression that you’re giving the child up for adoption – to her, and Tarquin.’
Caitlin shifted on her feet. ‘Well, before I talked to Niall, that was the plan, yes. But he wants the baby. He’s over the moon with excitement.’
‘Is he, now?’ Archie’s expression was dark. ‘I’m sure he must feel quite chuffed to know he’s impregnated a girl who’s half his age—’
‘You make him sound ancient! He isn’t. He’s barely thirty-eight. And he wants this baby. Our baby. I thought you’d be pleased that he wants to marry me.’
‘Pleased?’ The word, when he spoke, came out deceptively low. ‘You think I’m pleased that my only daughter has gotten herself pregnant ‒ by a married man, no less – and thrown her education away in exchange for nappies and two o’clock feedings?’
‘I’ll go back to university. When the baby’s older,’ she replied, but the words sounded hollow, even to herself.
‘What about his wife? Have you given a thought to her? He’s breaking up a marriage! And what about Wren? You have to tell her that you’ve changed your mind, and you’re not giving the baby up for adoption. She’ll be devastated.’
Caitlin hung her head. ‘I know she will,’ she admitted. ‘And I’m truly sorry for that. I know how much she and Tark want a baby. But...it can’t be helped. She’ll just have to understand.’
‘Well, lassie,’ Archie said as he thrust back his chair and stood up abruptly, ‘I hope she does. Because I can tell you this much – I damned sure don’t.’
Later that evening, Dominic crept upstairs and came to a stop outside the door to Archibald Campbell’s study. He listened, but heard nothing.
‘Dominic!’ Gemma shrilled from somewhere downstairs. ‘Dominic, where are you?’
Shit. With no time to waste, Dom edged the door open and ducked inside. He needed a place to hide. The room was dark, sunk in shadows, with the only light coming from the flicker of flames in the fireplace.
Once again, his fiancé had a bee up her arse, insisting he go into Aberdeen the next day to see if his morning suit was ready. Morning suit, he thought darkly. More like a bloody mourning suit, marking the loss of his bachelor existence—
‘And what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Archie growled behind him.
Dominic nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around and saw his host sitting in a wing chair in the shadows by the fire, a glass in hand.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered, ‘I thought no one was in here,’ and he turned to leave.
‘Wait.’
Warily, Dominic paused with his hand on the doorknob. ‘I didn’t mean to barge in, mate, truly.’
‘Stay,’ Archie ordered, and lifted his glass. ‘Join me for a drink, Dominic. I’d welcome your company.’
‘Not to be rude,’ the rock star observed as he made his cautious way towards Archie, ‘but you don’t look so good. Are you all right?’
‘Aye, I’m fine. Just having a wee dram and a think. I’ve a lot on my mind.’ He got up and went to a table where a decanter of whisky and matching glasses waited and poured Dominic a drink. His hand was a bit unsteady.
‘Thanks.’ Dominic took the glass. ‘What’s got you in a black mood, if you don’t mind my asking?’
Archie indicated the wing chair across from his, and the two men sat down. ‘It’s my daughter,’ he said after a moment. ‘She’s gone and done something incredibly stupid.’
‘Caitlin? What’s she done?’
‘Where to begin?’ Archie muttered, and scowled. ‘It all started when she was kicked out of university.’
‘Kicked out!’ Dom exclaimed, confused. ‘But...I thought she came home for the holidays.’
‘That’s
