She got into the truck and drove out of the car park, her breathing fractured, too shocked yet to cry. The drive to the cabin was taken care of by her unconscious mind. She was aware of none of the journey until the transition from smooth road to muddy track jolted her back into the present. She saw Rory’s truck, parked by the cabin. Rage boiled up, so intense it was blinding. She saw the MacGinley family coat of arms emblazoned on the side of the driver’s door, the truth hiding in plain sight, taunting her. She remembered the bull bars on the front of her truck, a ridiculous addition she thought she would never need. Then she put her right foot to the floor and drove her truck straight into Rory’s.
The distance wasn’t far but the impact was big. She reversed to see the entire driver’s door bent in. Bandit leapt off the porch barking, and Rory came running out of the cabin. She wound down the window.
‘What is your name?’ she screamed at him.
His face was white. ‘Rory.’
‘Not Stuart?’ she yelled.
Silence.
She put her foot down and floored her truck again into his. SMASH! The sound of crunching metal amplified the adrenaline rushing through her.
She reversed again, seeing the damage she had made. The driver’s door was staved in, the bottom of the window bent, the window cracked. The coat of arms was scuffed and twisted. It was getting difficult to make it out. She wanted to obliterate it.
He ran off the porch to her truck, holding the edge of the window. ‘Zoe, stop! Please, I’m sorry!’
‘Say it. Tell me your name.’
‘Stuart Somhairle Archibald William Rory MacGinley. I’m the Earl of Kinloch. Zoe, I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you, I just didn’t know how—’
‘Go! Get off my fucking land. Now!’
He paused, looking at her desperately. She revved the engine. He tried to open the driver’s door but it was bent shut. He whistled to Bandit and walked around the other side, getting in and shuffling across. He reversed up the track, and was gone.
Zoe wound the window up, killed the engine and walked over the sodden ground to the cabin. Inside she sat on the sofa, staring out into space. The only time she had come close to this level of shock was when her mother was diagnosed with cancer. This hurt was different but it cut as deep. It was as if she had been ripped in two, the torn edges of her body flapping noisily in a bitter wind. She still couldn’t process anything, so curled up on her side and closed her eyes, praying that when she woke up, this would all have been a terrible dream.
* * *
Zoe was woken by the sound of loud banging on the cabin door. Startled, she sat up. The cabin was almost in darkness and getting cold. How long had she been asleep? Had he come back?
‘Hang on.’
Her arm was tingling with pins and needles from lying awkwardly, and she shook it to get the circulation back. She glanced at her watch. Half past three. She walked to the door and opened it.
Standing on the porch were two police officers: a bearded man who looked like he arm-wrestled bears for fun, and a woman taller than her, with her dark hair scraped back into a no-nonsense bun. Behind them was a police car and a police van.
This didn’t look good.
The woman spoke. ‘Good afternoon, I’m PC Ballantyne and this is PC Fraser. We’re investigating several allegations. Can you confirm your name for me please?’
‘Zoe Maxwell,’ she stammered.
‘Can we come in?’
Zoe nodded, and retreated into the cabin, her heart hammering. Was this because of Rory’s truck? Had he called the police?
‘Can we sit down?’ asked PC Ballantyne.
Zoe nodded again, and sat at the table across from the two officers.
PC Ballantyne gave Zoe a perfunctory smile. ‘We want to let you know someone has identified you as being responsible for criminal damage, trespass, theft and attempted murder. I’m arresting you for these offences. You are not obliged to say anything but anything you do say will be noted and may be used in evidence. Do you understand?’
‘What? No, I don’t understand. Attempted murder? You are shitting me! Theft of what? Trespass where?’ Zoe replied, her voice getting higher.
‘Here. You are being accused of squatting in this property.’
Her brain was pushing on the inside of her skull, lights flashing on and off behind her eyes. ‘This, this is my home!’ Her hiccupping breath turning into a panicked hysterical laugh. ‘This is mine.’
‘Do you have any documentation to prove that?’
Zoe stared at them wildly, her laughter now coming out in heaving gasps. The two PCs looked at each other. ‘Are you okay, Zoe?’
Zoe shook her head violently and stood, the chair falling back behind her to the floor with a crash. The PCs came around the table towards her. She held up her hands, and staggered to the sofa, curling up in a ball, until her cries ended in tears. PC Ballantyne crouched down beside her.
‘Zoe, we’re going to search your property and vehicle now. Please could you give me your keys, phone, laptop and other electronic devices?’
‘Why?’
‘Because they may contain evidence to support the allegations. When we’ve done our search, and removed the property you’re alleged to have stolen, you’ll accompany me back to the station and we can discuss this further. Our Scene Examiners may attend the property later.’
* * *
An hour later it was dark, and Zoe left the cabin with the officers. She had made sure Basil had enough food and water, and banked the Rayburn, but there was no way she could contact anyone, tell them what was going on. It was like inhabiting an alternate reality. She was starring in a TV show, which would all end happily in an hour and she could then go and make a cup of tea and move onto other entertainment.
The police officers had taken photos of the chairs Rory had given her from the castle, then put them in the back of the van. They had searched the cabin and her truck from top to bottom, and also photographed the bull bars and taken a sample of paint from the front which had scraped off the side of Rory’s truck. They had then searched her, and by the time she got into the back of the police car to follow the van into Inverness, she didn’t even have the keys to her own front door.
Would she ever get them back? Had he done this? Had his betrayal run this deep? The pain was overwhelming. Her love for him had expanded to fill all of her body, and now it had been ripped away, leaving a gaping hole. She desperately wanted her parents. Each time they came to her mind she flinched as if punched. She imagined what they would go through when they found out. The thought of their pain was worse than what she was going through. She had put them through enough by her sudden move up here. She knew how much they worried and how much they wanted her back home. Well, it looked like they were going to be getting their wish sooner than they had hoped. If she wasn’t banged up for the foreseeable future.
She just couldn’t reconcile what she knew of Rory with the accusations against her. Squatting? He’d been furious when she’d shown him the planning application for the cabin. He had promised the other copy of the lease agreement was with the lawyer. He’d said she could have the chairs from the castle. Had he been so furious that she’d driven into his truck he’d called the police? Had she been that wrong about him? Attempted murder? Had he lost his mind? She hugged her arms across her heart, trying to find some comfort as she stared out into the darkness, the spots of rain on the window illuminated by passing cars.
When they arrived at the station, PC Ballantyne told her that due to the high volume of people they were currently processing she would have to wait in the back of the car until they were ready for her. Whilst the officer sat in the front of the car writing up her notes, Zoe took off her seat belt and lay on the back seat, running every conversation she had ever had, each encounter through her mind with a new lens. The lens that showed Rory was the Earl of Kinloch, Lord MacGinley.
Why had he lied? What was the point? His future will never contain som
eone like you. His mother’s words echoed around her head. Was that it? He was using her brains without having to publicly admit he knew her? But nobody seemed to know who he was. None of it made any sense.
She forced herself to go through every moment she’d spent with him, seeing his reticence to be with her, how he had tried to talk to her, how increasingly agonised he had been. I’m not the man you think I am. I’m sorry. You deserve more than me. She couldn’t believe he would then go back on everything he’d said, call the police? Accuse her of trying to kill him? But if it wasn’t him that had done this, then who? She thought back to the library car park, his mother’s grip on her arm, the look of hatred in her eyes. She remembered sitting outside the bothy with Rory, watching the sun rise, hearing the pain in his voice describing a mother who put his bullying father first. This was his mum. The woman who waved her son off to boarding school in England aged seven. The woman who wanted her son to marry someone better.
Zoe wrapped her arms tighter around her body. It must have been her who told the businesses in Kinloch not to use her as an accountant. You didn’t say no to the Countess of Kinloch when she was such an ice queen. She had to get the police officers to call Rory. He would explain everything. Or would he? Would he betray his own mother to save her?
* * *
Two hours later Zoe was brought into the overly bright police station, breathalysed, searched again, and taken to the custody suite. The custody officer, a woman half Zoe’s height, with short black hair, sat her down and detailed the charges against her.
According to the accuser, Zoe had broken into the castle, stolen three priceless antique chairs, was squatting in the cabin that belonged to the estate, and had tried to murder the Earl of Kinloch by driving into his truck when he was sitting in it. Zoe shook her head in disbelief. This was insane.
‘Ms Maxwell, I’m reminding you you’re still under caution. Do you understand why you are being detained?’
Zoe nodded.
‘Do you have anything you want to say?’
Zoe roused herself. ‘Yes, yes I do. This is nuts. The cabin is mine, I swear, and the chairs were lent to me. The only thing I did was drive my truck twice into the side of Rory’s, but he wasn’t sitting in it. You need to ring him. He’ll tell you this is all a mistake.’
‘Rory? Rory who?’
‘Stuart something something something Rory MacGinley. The Earl of Kinloch,’ Zoe replied, the words tasting like sawdust in her mouth. ‘His number’s in my phone.’
She paused, remembering what she called him. ‘He’s not in my contacts as that,’ she said, sinking her head.
‘What name will we find him under?’
‘Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo,’ said Zoe with a whisper.
The officer made a note. ‘Okay, we’ll do that shortly. Now, before we take you to your cell, you are allowed to contact a solicitor.’
‘I don’t know any solicitors.’
‘Do you want to use the duty solicitor? It’s a busy night so you’ll have to wait a while but he will be available.’
Zoe nodded.
‘Okay, Ms Maxwell, I’ll let him know. Now, if you could remove your shoes, we’ll take you to the cells.’
‘My shoes? Why?’
‘The laces. We remove anything from your person that could be used to self-harm.’
* * *
Zoe lay on the bench along the back wall of the cell, looking at the ceiling, trying to make out the scratched names and obscenities. She could hear drunks singing in other cells, repeatedly kicking the doors, and smell the acrid tang of vomit and bleach. She knew Scottish winter nights were long, but this was an eternity. Stress hormones flooded through her, her heart thudding quicker and louder than normal in her ears. As the hours went by, she kept repeating to herself ‘this too shall pass’ over and over again like a mantra.
Eventually the custody officer opened the hatch in the door. ‘Miss Maxwell, another solicitor has arrived offering to represent you.’
Zoe jumped up. ‘What? Who?’
‘Mr Alastair McCarthy. From MacLennan and McCarthy? He wants you to know he’s here at the request of the Earl of Kinloch. Would you like him to represent you instead of the duty solicitor?’
Zoe wavered. She was so tired and strung out she didn’t want to make the wrong decision. Rory had sent help. He couldn’t have been the one who called the police on her.
‘Yes, yes, I’ll have him instead,’ she replied.
Half an hour later, a very thin old man entered the cell carrying a large leather bag. He stood in front of Zoe and cleared his throat noisily. ‘Miss Maxwell, I am Alastair McCarthy. May I sit?’
Zoe nodded and scooted to the end of the bench. He slowly levered himself down, his craggy features softening. ‘Ahem, I must first offer an apology on behalf of the earl. He is, ahem, extremely, ahem, agitated by what has occurred today. He is currently giving a statement at the front desk refuting all the charges made against you.’
Zoe slumped back, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks. A clean hanky was passed to her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
‘No, no, it is not you, ahem, who should be apologising. There will be an interview at some point in the next couple of hours which I will attend with you. It is a mere formality. After that you will be free to go.’
* * *
Two hours later, Zoe collected her belongings and walked out into the reception of the police station with Alastair. Sitting waiting for her was Jamie.
He stood up awkwardly. ‘Hey, Zo. You okay?’
‘How did you know I was here?’ she asked in a daze.
‘That Rory bloke came to find Mum.’
Alastair turned to her. ‘Miss Maxwell, I trust I will see you again. Under, ahem, better circumstances.’
‘Thank you for all your help,’ she replied.
He gave her a short nod and left.
Jamie turned to her. ‘Mum’s made Fi’s old bed for you tonight if you want to come back to ours? Fi popped to yours earlier to fill the Rayburn and get you some clothes. She even brought your pet back with her and Mum didn’t say a word, which shows how much she loves you.’
Zoe clenched her jaw shut against the tide of emotion that was pushing to get out.
Jamie’s eyes crinkled with concern. ‘Zoe, what’s going on?’
She tried to speak but a sob burst out.
Jamie held out his arms and she stumbled into them. ‘Come on, Zo, let’s get you to Mum’s.’
23
Zoe woke to the smell of bacon the following lunchtime. She lay in the warmth and comfort of Fiona’s childhood bedroom, pulling her consciousness back into her body as she stared at the ceiling, so different from the one in the prison cell. Without allowing herself any thoughts or tears, she got up, showered, put on the clean clothes Fiona had brought her and went to find Morag in her pinny by the stove.
‘Ah, there you are, my darling!’ exclaimed Morag. ‘Sit down and I’ll get you a cup of tea. I’m making you brunch.’ She put her arms around Zoe, enveloping her in a hug. ‘Oh, you make me feel so small! How did you sleep? Sorry I missed you last night, I just couldn’t keep my eyes open, and Jamie had to go to work so he’s missed you too, and Fi’s at a class with Liam, so she sends her apologies and wants you to ring her as soon as you can.’
‘I’m so much better now, thank you.’ She blinked away tears.
Morag sat her down in a chair. ‘My poor wee lass, what a to-do, eh? Let’s get some food in you, then we can have a chat.’
Morag put the kettle on and finished making Zoe an enormous pile of bacon, eggs, mushrooms, black pudding and toast, while chatting merrily away. When Zoe was eating, she kept up the verbal barrage, ensuring all Zoe had to do was chew, swallow and nod. When the plate was clear, Zoe sat back, puffing out her cheeks.
‘Thank you, Morag, thank you for everything. I feel slightly more human now.’
Morag stroked down Zoe’s arm.
‘I’m so sorr
y, love. I just can’t believe Rory is Stuart MacGinley. The earl? We’re all in shock. He stormed into the post office yesterday looking like the world was about to end and when he told me you’d been arrested, I couldn’t take any more in.’ Morag picked up Zoe’s plate, put it on the side, then sat down again, fiddling with her cuticles. ‘Why the secrecy? What else is he hiding? And what does this mean for the village?’ She looked up. ‘You know, love, it must have been him that spoke to Chantelle and Sally, told them not to use you. But I don’t understand why he would do that?’
‘He didn’t. It was his mum.’
‘Barbara? Is she in Kinloch as well?’
Zoe nodded. ‘Yeah, and she doesn’t much like me.’
Morag scoffed. ‘She doesn’t much like anyone who’s not got a direct line to the queen. Honestly, her grandfather was a sheep farmer, lived in a croft smaller than yours, could hardly write his own name, and yet she acts like she’s to the manor born just because she managed to snag that miserable so-and-so Stuart MacGinley. Just you wait till I tell everyone what she’s done. You’ll have so much work, you’ll be richer than her.’
Zoe gave her a wan smile. ‘Thanks, Morag, but I’m not sure I’m going to stay.’
The colour fell out of Morag’s cheeks. ‘No! Why not? You can’t let them win!’
Zoe shrugged.
‘All my life I did what I knew I should do. I never did anything crazy, never went travelling, never took drugs, never got a tattoo. I got a useful qualification, got a sensible job, never went into debt. But when Willie died, all the crazy that had been bottled up just exploded, and I ditched everything to come and live here. It’s the first time I’ve ever done anything like this, and it’s been a mistake. I should have listened to Mum and Dad.’
Morag took her hand, shaking her head vehemently. ‘No, Zoe, a life half lived is a life not lived at all. And your ma’s one to talk! She gave a good show of being well-behaved, especially to avoid trouble from your dragon of a granny, but she was the one dragging me over walls to scrump for apples, and making cider in the shed. And look what happened when your father showed up. Within a week she was off. Best decision she ever made.’
Highland Games: sparkling, sexy and utterly unputdownable - the romantic comedy of the year! (The Kinloch Series) Page 22