pointed to the stairs. ‘It doesn’t matter which side you walk up. It always seems as if she’s looking at you.’
‘Impossible!’ She couldn’t even make sense of the words.
He folded his arms across his chest and nodded to the other flight of stairs. His face had softened slightly. He was much more handsome without the permanent frown. ‘Go on, then, I’ll wait.’
She hesitated for a second but the temptation was just too great. She could only pray he wasn’t playing some kind of joke on her. She raced down one side and halfway up the other.
Her arm rested on the ornate banister, her eyes widening. The serene young woman was staring right at her—just as she’d been on the other staircase. She lifted up her hands in exasperation. ‘But that’s impossible. How old is that painting? Did optical illusions even exist back then?’
A cheeky grin flashed across his face. ‘Did rainbows?’
She felt the colour flood into her cheeks and a flare of annoyance. Of course. Nature’s greatest optical illusion. Now she felt like a prize idiot. Something tightened in her stomach.
She hated anyone thinking she was dumb. The only real joy in being a lawyer was the recognition that most people assumed you had to be smart to do the job in the first place.
But Callan didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment. He was looking at the painting again. ‘Angus liked to have fun. Once he discovered the painting he was determined to own it. It’s nearly two hundred years old. He put it there as a talking point.’ There was obvious affection in his voice and it irritated her even more.
Who was this guy? He’d already told her he’d spent some time living here. But why?
Why would Angus McLean take in a stranger, but ignore the six children that he had? It didn’t make sense.
All of a sudden she was tired and hungry. The long hours of work and travelling had caught up with her and all she wanted to do was lie down—preferably in her bed in London, not in some strange castle in Scotland.
‘Nice to know he had a sense of humour,’ she muttered under her breath as she brushed past him.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ snapped Callan.
She took a deep breath and turned to face him. ‘It means I’m tired, Callan. I’ve been travelling for hours.’ She lifted her hands in exasperation. ‘And it also means I’ve just found out about a family that’s apparently mine.’ She cringed as some of the relatives walked past downstairs, talking at the tops of their voices about the value of the antiques.
She looked Callan square in the eye. If she weren’t so tired she might have been unnerved. Up close, Callan’s eyes were even more mesmerising than she’d first suspected and she could see the tiny lines around the corners. He was tired too.
She took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t know Angus McLean, but, just so you know, you might have him up on some sort of pedestal—but I don’t. I’m not impressed by a man who lived in this—’ she spun around ‘—and spent his life ignoring his six children.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Nice to see he got his priorities in order.’
CHAPTER TWO
JUST WHEN, FOR the tiniest second, he thought one of Angus’s relatives might not be quite as bad as the rest, she came out with something like that.
Callan felt a chill course over his body as he swept past her and along the corridor. ‘You’re right. You didn’t know Angus. And you have absolutely no right to comment.’ His blood was boiling as he flung open the door to her room. ‘Here’s your room.’ He stopped as she stepped through the doorway. Her head was facing his chest, only inches away from his. All it would take was one little step to close the distance between them.
It didn’t matter to him how attractive she was. It didn’t matter that he’d noticed her curves at the railway station, or the way she kept flicking back her long shiny brown curls. All that mattered to him was the fact she’d said something he didn’t like about the old man that he loved.
But Laurie Jenkins was having none of it. She folded her arms across her chest again. ‘That’s just the thing, Callan. I do have a right to comment—because, apparently, I’m family.’ She let the words hang in the air as she walked past him into the room.
Callan’s blood was about to reach the point of eruption.
The very thing that knotted his stomach. Family. And the fact he wasn’t.
He still hadn’t got over the fact Angus McLean had six children he’d never once mentioned. The reality was he was still hoping it wasn’t true—that someone would give him a nudge and he’d wake up from this nightmare.
Nothing about this seemed right. Angus had been the perennial bachelor, even in old age. Why on earth would he have children and never acknowledge them? It seemed bizarre.
Angus had had the biggest heart he’d ever known.
But then, he’d only known Angus for the last twenty-five years. Maybe in his youth he’d been a completely different person?
It bothered him. It bothered him so much he hadn’t slept the last few nights.
And now that he’d met some of the relatives it bothered him a whole lot more.
One of these money-grabbers was going to inherit Annick Castle. A place full of history and rich with antiques. A place full of memories that not a single one of them would care about.
Why hadn’t Angus let him buy it? He’d known that Callan loved it every bit as much as he did. It just didn’t make sense.
The family stuff. It enraged him more than he could ever have imagined.
Laurie was standing looking out of the window across the sea. Some of these bedrooms had the most spectacular views. He knew—his was just above.
And this complete stranger had just put him perfectly in his place.
She was right—she was family. The one thing he wasn’t.
He dumped her bag on the bed. ‘Dinner is at seven.’
He didn’t even wait for a response. The sooner he got away from Ms Jenkins, the better.
* * *
Laurie breathed out slowly, releasing the tight feeling that had spread across her chest.
What on earth was wrong with her? And why had she just offloaded to the one person who could actually tell her something about her grandfather?
Common sense told her it wasn’t wise to alienate Callan McGregor. He could probably tell her everything she could ever want to know—and a whole lot more besides.
She sagged down onto the bed. The bedroom was big, with panoramic views over the sea. How many people throughout the ages had stood at her window and looked out at this view? The sun had set rapidly leaving the sea looking dark, haunting and cold. Was it possible that the sea looked angry—just like Callan McGregor?
The
