He could still feel it. The action had jolted him as Angus McTavish Stuart was not known for being jolted. For Angus McTavish Stuart was known for being in control. Hadn’t he had control drummed into him from childhood by a bitter, wounded mother?
But then, what man ever listens to his mother? He’d gone his own path—of course he had—and his path had led him to Louise. He’d met her in college, and she’d known about his family money. Who didn’t? But he didn’t see the dollar signs in her eyes and he was smitten.
Blond, beautiful, sophisticated, two years older than him, she’d twisted his heart around her beckoning finger, but in the end she was as mercenary as the old Earl had been. She was ‘going home for Christmas’ she’d told him two months before they were to be married. But home apparently wasn’t her parents and her siblings. Home for Louise had been the ski slopes of Aspen, an equally blond ski instructor and the tree that claimed her life when she was drunk after three nights of partying.
The call had come on Christmas Eve. The kid that was Angus had grown up that night. At twenty-one years old he’d stood by Louise’s graveside and he’d sworn to follow his mother’s mantra for the rest of his life.
Head, not heart. For some reason, that mantra was drumming through his head now.
After one kiss?
This was a pretend engagement for sensible reasons. That was all this was, he told himself harshly as he headed off to find Stanley. Stanley was about to have an apoplexy when he learned what he was proposing spending. Stanley could also blow his story of an engagement out of the water.
For a moment—for just a moment—he toyed with the idea of telling Stanley the engagement was for real, that it was love at first sight, that he’d seen Holly in the snow with her freezing feet and he’d felt an overriding, irrational urge to sweep her up, marry her and live happily ever after.
With moth-eaten stags and lists.
He grinned. Not sensible. Not sensible at all. This mock engagement was a farce.
But...it might be fun, he conceded.
He wanted to join them.
Um...no. He was the Lord of the Castle, he told himself with wry humour. Mingling with the servants was beneath his touch.
But mingling with his fiancée?
Don’t go there. Suddenly humour faded.
Head, not heart, he thought savagely in the stillness and then realized he’d only known the woman for a day. Heart? He had to be kidding.
He’d go and talk to Stanley, he told himself. That’d be enough to take the heart right out of him.
* * *
Maggie and Holly kept right on taking notes. Their last stop was the most important.
The kitchen.
Angus had briefly opened the door on his initial tour. Now they opened the door wide and Holly stared around her in dismay. Here she’d have to perform a miracle. Christmas cooking. With what?
The kitchen was geared to feed an army—maybe three hundred years ago. The fireplace was vast, open, blackened with age, full of ancient soot and dust, with great black hooks embedded in the stone at either side, where surely a spit had hung, or rods to hold hanging cauldrons.
There was a huge wooden table covered with mouse droppings. The stone floor was filthy, pitted and moulded with age.
There was one cleanish corner holding an old electric stove and a battered cheap microwave oven.
There was a little black dog huddled under the table, about as far under as he could get.
‘Hey,’ Holly said and bent down and inspected. The little dog backed further. But surely this was the little dog she’d last seen in Angus’s study. What was it doing looking so scared?
She headed to the fridge. Obviously His Lordship had been feeding himself. Here were foodstuffs guys thought were important. Eggs, bacon, beer. Not a lot else.
She hauled out a packet of bacon and proffered a bit to the little dog. He inched out, took it gingerly and then backed away again.
She offered more. The little dog inched forward again and finally Holly had him on her lap.
‘This guy was in His Lordship’s study yesterday,’ she told Maggie, frowning. ‘He looked fine. Ragged but fine. Now...’ She fingered a bruise on his leg that had bled sluggishly. The dog was looking as if he was expecting to be kicked, hard.
‘He looks like McAllister’s dog,’ Maggie said.
‘McAllister?’
‘He was the gamekeeper here for fifty years. He always had a wee terrier. The last I heard, McAllister was ill and needing to go into some sort of care. We assumed the dog went with him.’ Maggie knelt and fingered the little dog’s collar. ‘It’s McAllister’s tartan,’ she said. ‘He must have stayed on with Stanley.’ She looked doubtfully at the miserable scrap of canine misery. ‘He doesn’t look well cared for, though.’
‘He doesn’t, does he,’ Holly said carefully and rose, the little dog in her arms. ‘But he was well cared for yesterday. It seems our boss has mood swings. I’ll be back, Gran. You make lists on my behalf.’ Then she paused and stared at the great fireplace. ‘I need a good stove but I need a few other things as well. If we’re to work for this guy, we get a contract in writing right now, and this little guy’s Christmas is included.’
* * *
Angus was having dour words with Stanley. Very dour. The man was driving him nuts, but no one else knew the estate. He had to keep him on, but the sourness of his expression made him want to eject him out of the nearest window.
‘You will cooperate with everything Holly and Maggie need,’ he said, silky-smooth, in a voice his employees in Manhattan would have quivered to hear. ‘Understand me, Stanley, this is non-negotiable.’
‘So is this.’ And suddenly Holly was standing in the doorway, holding the dog he’d last seen the night before. Blazing indignation. Blazing fury. ‘If you kicked this dog, then we’re leaving now,’ she told Angus in a voice that dripped with contempt. ‘Or if you shoved him out in the snow and something else kicked him... Either way, we should walk but I’m giving you two minutes to explain. So explain how the cosy domestic little mutt I cuddled yesterday is now a shivering wreck in your apology for a kitchen.’
‘He must have got in the back door,’ Stanley muttered, staring at him in distaste. ‘He keeps coming back.’
‘You lock him out?’ Holly was almost speechless. ‘Your gamekeeper’s dog?’
‘He’s a stray,’ Angus said, crossing swiftly to check the dog for himself. ‘According to Stanley, he comes and goes. I only found him a couple of days ago. I need to take him to a shelter.’
‘He doesn’t come and go,’ Holly snapped. ‘He comes. Maggie’s sure he’s McAllister’s dog. McAllister worked for the castle for fifty years and you can’t even keep his dog?’
‘I don’t know any McAllister.’ Angus took the dog from her arms. The little dog came willingly, as he’d come when he’d found him on the back porch two days ago. ‘Where have you been? I went out last night and came back to no dog.’ He glanced at the flaming Holly. ‘Okay, I know this looks bad but this is a big castle. He seems to know his way round.’
‘He’s been kicked.’
‘I’ll take better care of him.’
‘How did he get kicked?’
‘Holly, this is a stray,’ he said gently. ‘Yes, I’ve been feeding him but that’s no reason to glare at me like I’m a puppy-murderer. I’m not.’
‘Someone is. He’s your employee’s dog.’
‘I’ll sort it.’
‘You’d better,’ she snapped. ‘The dog’s in the contract. Three weeks’ board and keep for him as well. But after this...every single thing we’ve discussed I want in writing—signed, witnessed, sealed, the lot.’
‘Even our engagement?’
She cast a look at Stanley, who was looking—surprise, surprise, d
our. ‘He knows?’
‘That our engagement is temporary, yes.’
‘It might be temporary but it’s real,’ she snapped. ‘I’m wearing the ring of the Lady of the Castle and while I’m in charge no puppy will get kicked. He stays with me.’
‘In the kitchens?’ Stanley asked a trifle too eagerly, and she nodded.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And don’t even think about notifying the health department. Private residence, my rules apply. And I won’t just be in the kitchen; I’ll be all over the place, making sure this is a home for Christmas. So get used to it, guys.’ She squared her shoulders and met Angus’s gaze full-on.
‘Sack me now or employ me on my terms,’ she said and she lifted the dog back into her arms. ‘Decide.’
What was he getting himself into? He was the employer here. Why did it feel the other way around?
And why did she look so cute?
‘I’ll write the contract,’ he said weakly and she gave a brisk nod and headed for the door.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Dinner’s at seven.’
‘I...thank you.’
‘For you both?’ She glanced disdainfully at Stanley but Angus realised her disdain extended to them both.
Stanley nodded, and she retreated—with dog—leaving him with Stanley.
‘She doesn’t know her place,’ Stanley growled and Angus turned to him and surveyed him from head to toe.
‘It seems she doesn’t,’ he said in that same silky voice. ‘But I’m not sure of your place, either. Stanley, tell me all about the dog.’
CHAPTER FIVE
THEY LEFT FOR London late on Thursday morning. The stove had arrived and Holly wasn’t leaving until she knew it was installed and working.
There were many things installed and working. All he seemed to have done for the last two days was sign cheques.
To say the castle was a work in progress seemed an understatement. What had seemed an empty, cold mausoleum two days ago was now, to put it mildly, a mess. But it was a warm mess, and it was buzzing with life. They were leaving Maggie in charge and she was in her element.
‘You bring those kiddies back tomorrow night and I’ll have the place looking more welcoming than my cottage,’ she’d assured him, so they left, he and Holly—and dog.
‘Because he’s not staying behind,’ Holly had declared. ‘I don’t trust Stanley.’
He didn’t either but there wasn’t much he could do about it. To sack the only person who knew anything about the running of the estate while he was trying to negotiate its sale was unthinkable. Having buyers arrive to see over the estate with the owner unsure even of the boundaries was impossible.
Distrust, therefore, had to be tolerated, even though he was sure Stanley had kicked the dog. He’d be rid of the man soon enough. And he thought that was what Holly had pretty much decided about her boss. She didn’t trust him but she was tolerating him.
That should be fine, but it wasn’t completely. The dog had soured her view of him and suddenly it seemed important he get that straight.
‘I didn’t kick him,’ he said now as they headed along the road into Craigenstone and turned south, heading for London.
‘Either you or Stanley did,’ she said. ‘But it’s okay. He’s our dog now. Gran and I will keep him. We’re calling him Scruffy for now, because scruffy’s what he is. But Gran’s going to contact McAllister’s nursing home to find out what his real name is.’
‘You don’t think it’d be a good idea to leave him with Maggie now?’
‘She’s busy. It’ll also do this little guy good to have two days of cuddles. He hasn’t had enough.’
‘It’ll be harder to get a hotel with a dog.’
‘I guess you’ll need to pay more,’ she said bluntly and he winced.
‘You don’t like me much, do you?’
‘I don’t know you.’ She cuddled the dog some more and wriggled down into the luxurious leather of his four-wheel drive. ‘I thought you were nice when I first met you—I even kissed you. But that was when all I knew was that you were giving your half-brother and -sisters Christmas. The dog’s reminded me that you don’t always get what you see. I’m being careful.’
It was so much an echo of his mother’s words—of what Louise had taught him—that it felt weird. Head, not heart? Her mantra, too.
‘I would never kick a dog,’ he said and she glanced at him and seemed to soften a little.
‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘Accepted.’
Silence. It felt better, he thought. Accepted. This was a woman who said what she meant.
Why was it so important to him that his word was ‘accepted’?
‘First stop clothes,’ he said and she looked dubiously down at her faded, ill-fitting jeans. She hadn’t had time to do any more than buy a pair of wellingtons and some knickers at the general store.
‘My money hasn’t come through.’
‘This isn’t from your money,’ he told her. ‘You’re presenting yourself as my fiancée. You’ll therefore be kitted out as such and it’s on me.’
‘You must really be rich,’ she said, awed, and he cast her a sideways grin.
‘Very rich.’
‘As in having enough to let us do what we like at the castle and not even blink?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then why are you selling it?’
‘Because I don’t want it.’
‘Can I ask why not?’
‘It made my mother unhappy.’
‘Do you want to tell me the story?’ she asked, wriggling further down.
She’s tired, he thought suddenly. She’d been working flat-out since he’d given her the job and she’d looked exhausted beforehand. She’d been under stress, worried sick, for how long?
Now she was warm, snuggled in his luxurious car, decisions taken out of her hands and he could almost see the strain shift from her shoulders.
He didn’t do personal. He didn’t tell people his life story, yet here, in this car, in this space, it seemed okay. It seemed part of the warmth. The intimacy?
‘My mother was the only child of very rich parents,’ he told her. ‘She was spoiled, indulged, stubborn and wilful, and she and my grandmother dreamed of her with a British title. My grandfather inherited his money from his very intelligent industrialist father, but he didn’t inherit his brains. My grandmother was...socially eager to put it mildly. So the three of them came to London when my mother was nineteen. They met my father, a real live Earl, and they were beside themselves. He wanted her money, of course, so he wooed her with every ounce of charm he possessed. He married her with all pomp and ceremony and then he took her to Castle Craigie. That was when reality set in.’
‘Why didn’t she take one look and run?’
‘Did I tell you she was stubborn? For some crazy reason, the title was still important. She fought and fought with my father, but then she became pregnant. It seemed my father softened a bit towards her then, indulging her a little. But just after I was born Mom’s father was diagnosed with cancer. Mom was desperate to go back to the States, but my father turned into the despot that he was. He locked up access to her money, cut communications, hid her passport. I think he must have been a bit mad. Of course she managed it in the end, but the delay meant she didn’t get home before her father died. He died at Christmas and she didn’t reach her mother until New Year. She’s never forgiven my father, or herself for being so stupid.’
‘Has she remarried?’
‘Are you joking? She does good works.’
‘Oh,’ Holly said in a small voice. ‘Is she...is she happy?’
‘I don’t think she thinks she deserves happy.’
There was a moment’s silence. Then, ‘How long ago did this happen?’ Holly demanded, sou
nding shocked.
He gave a rueful smile. ‘You know how old I am.’
‘Well...’ Holly ruminated for a bit, patting the dog. ‘...that’s dumb. Even if she’d fed your father arsenic she might be out of prison by now.’
‘You can’t force someone to forgive themselves,’ he said, trying to sound light, but knowing he was failing. The thought that he’d returned to the castle was bringing sadness flooding back to his mother, and he was feeling guilty because of it.
He’d extended that guilt by inviting three stray kids for Christmas.
‘It’s ridiculous,’ Holly said. ‘Totally, weirdly ridiculous. Your mom should have married some other gorgeous hunk—preferably a kind one this time—and got over it.’
‘What about you?’ Angus asked mildly. ‘You’ve been put through the mill. Are you on the lookout for a gorgeous hunk?’
She cast a fast, suspicious glance at him.
‘No! Don’t get any ideas.’
‘I’m not a gorgeous hunk!’
‘In a kilt you are. Whew! But your mother’s talking more than thirty years. I’m talking months. I need time to get over my broken heart.’
‘And bruised pride.’
‘That, too.’ She grimaced. ‘That makes you safe.’
‘Otherwise you’d be launching yourself across the gearstick?’
‘Don’t kid yourself—My Lord,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard your mother’s story. I know a moral tale when I hear one and I’m good at learning.’
‘So under no circumstances...’
‘Under no circumstances. I’m your employee.’
‘So you are,’ he said and went back to concentrating on driving.
First stop was in Edinburgh, where the smooth-talking lady on the car’s navigation gizmo directed them seamlessly to an elegant designer dress store in what Holly guessed was possibly the most discreetly expensive part of the city.
There was a parking spot straight out front. Angus cut the engine and turned to her.
‘You want to take my credit card and do this alone?’
‘I’m not,’ she said, suddenly breathless, ‘doing this. I know I can’t wear your ring with my ill-fitting jeans and appalling footwear, but don’t you guys have chain stores? Big, anonymous shops where I can dive in, buy clean jeans and run. And Angus, honestly, I prefer to do this on my airline insurance. Your card is only necessary until it comes through and I suspect there’s not a lot of stuff in this shop I could afford.’
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