And she melted again, just like that. Ruthless? Ha!
She glanced down at her crazy ring and she thought that if it had been a bit less rough she might have spent the next three weeks really pretending to be a fiancée.
And where would that have left her? She was in an emotional mess already. Would she break her heart over Angus as well as Geoff?
She hadn’t actually broken her heart over Geoff. He’d smashed her pride, he’d humiliated her to her socks, but had she felt for him what she was feeling for Angus?
No! No, because she wasn’t feeling anything for Angus except sheer, unadulterated lust. It must be lust. The man was exuding more testosterone than any man had a right to and it was doing things to her insides...
‘Do you have a comb?’ he asked and it was as much as she could do to get her voice to work.
‘Wh...why?’
‘Scruffy’s going to meet his master,’ he said. ‘He might like to look his best.’
* * *
If she’d felt emotional before, what happened next almost wiped her.
The kids stayed outside. They knew McAllister but they reached the foyer, smelled the unmistakable smell of hospital-type institutions and backed away like alarmed colts.
‘Don’t you like McAllister?’ Angus asked and Ben nodded.
‘He was...great. But he won’t be now, will he?’
‘So you’re sending us in as forward reconnaissance?’ Angus asked, grinning, and Holly’s heart did that crazy twist again.
‘He won’t want to see me,’ Holly ventured. ‘I’m not part of this. It’s you who’s Earl of Craigenstone.’
‘Yes, but you’re my fiancée and it’s your job to support me.’
‘Angus...’
‘Yes...dear?’
‘Fine,’ she said and girded internal loins and tucked a gleaming Scruffy—or as gleaming as Scruffy was ever likely to get—under her arm and headed inside with Angus.
The nurse at reception eyed Scruffy askance but she wasn’t given a chance to object.
‘We’ve brought Mr McAllister’s dog to pay him a Christmas visit,’ Angus said and smiled at her and the girl was no more impervious to that smile than Holly was. Of course she nodded, of course she smiled back and she led them down to a lounge area where a dozen very old persons were desultorily watching television.
She gestured to a very old man in the corner. ‘There he is. Dougal, you have a visitor.’
The old man was slumped in something that looked a cross between a wheelchair and a bed. He was wearing an ancient tartan sweater, grubby trousers and a tweed cap that looked as if it was welded to his head. It’d have to be stuck there because the old man’s head hung so low his chin reached his chest. He didn’t look up when his name was called. He didn’t move.
Oh, help. No wonder Scruffy—or Mac?—had been left behind, Holly thought. This man looked as if he’d been old for ever. Was it even worth trying to get through to him? Unconsciously, her arms tightened around Scruffy, as if to protect him from seeing his master in such a state, but Angus was made from sterner stuff than she was. He took Scruffy from her, strode across the room and squatted before the old man in the wheelchair.
‘Dougal,’ he said, and then more firmly, ‘Dougal!’
The man’s head lifted fractionally but it was definitely a lift and it was enough for Angus to gently insinuate one little dog onto the man’s knees, under that bowed head.
He lifted one of McAllister’s hands and laid it on Scruffy’s head. ‘This is your visitor,’ he said firmly, loudly enough to be heard across the blaring television. ‘We’ve brought him all the way from Castle Craigie to see you, so you might as well say hello. The kids say his name is Mac. Is that right?’
There was a moment’s stillness, from dog and from man. The focus of the room was no longer on the television. One of the residents leaned forward and hit the remote and the sound of the soap they were watching died.
Scruffy was perched where he’d been put, on McAllister’s knees. The little dog stared upward and McAllister’s hand moved, as if involuntarily, to hold...
But he couldn’t hold for suddenly the strange smells and sounds and place faded to nothing as a light bulb switched on in the little dog’s head. From where Holly stood she could see the second he realised... This man who was holding him...
McAllister! McAllister! His total, obvious joy exploded, upward and outward.
But it was as if he knew the old man was fragile. He was going nuts, but gently nuts. He was writhing upward, his entire body trembling with shock and excitement, pressing closer, licking the old man’s chin, practically turning inside out with delirious joy but gently, gently, not one scratch...
And now the old man had done his own recognising. His hands were holding, hugging, and his age-lined face was practically collapsing in on itself. He hugged the little dog close—or as close as a wriggling, whimpering, licking bundle of canine ecstasy could be hugged—and tears started tracking down the wrinkled cheeks.
‘Mac,’ he said brokenly in a voice that sounded like rasping gravel. ‘Mac, boy, you’ve found me.’
The whole room was watching them now. There were sniffs from all while they watched the greeting, a long, lovely ode to devotion past. There was no hurry. They were taking their time, these two, two old mates back to being one.
‘That’s...that’s the first word I’ve heard him say for six months,’ the nurse behind Holly said, and Holly turned and handed her a tissue. She’d just fished a handful of them out of her bag. She wasn’t sharing many, though—she needed them herself.
‘How long has Mr McAllister been here?’ Angus asked and there was an edge of steel in his voice that Holly was starting to recognise.
‘Eighteen months,’ the nurse said. ‘I’d just started working here when he came in. Apparently he had a stroke at work. He was in hospital for weeks and this was the only place that had a long-term vacancy. He came by ambulance; he’s never had a visitor but about a week after he arrived a guy who said he was the manager of the place he worked dumped a whole lot of his stuff here.’
‘A man called Stanley?’
‘I’d have to check.’
‘He has no other visitors?’
‘No.’
‘Can he keep his dog here?’
‘No.’ But the girl had lost her efficiency and was sounding human—and apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry but he can’t. The owner doesn’t allow any pets, even visiting. I’m breaking rules letting you in here.’ She smiled an apology. ‘But I’ll let you keep breaking them for a while. Some things are worth it.’
‘Can we take him out into the garden?’ Angus asked and two minutes later they were wheeling a wrapped-up Dougal and dog outside.
The kids were there. They stared at Dougal with horror—this stroke-affected old man was obviously a very different Dougal to the one they remembered—and then Ben finally found the courage to talk.
‘D...Dougal. Do you remember us? I’m Ben.’
‘O...of course,’ the old voice whispered. ‘Ben, lad. Eh, where’ve you been?’
‘London,’ Ben said and it was like removing a cork from a bottle; the voices were freed and suddenly all three kids were talking at once, clustered round the chair-cum-bed, and Angus and Holly were on the outside, watching.
‘We can’t stay long,’ Holly whispered, still clutching her tissues. ‘Not if we’re to get back to the castle before dinner. Oh, but Angus...’
‘Are you any good at nursing?’ he demanded and she looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
‘What?’
‘Nursing? If not, is Maggie? Either one of you?’
‘As a nurse I make a very good chef,’ she said, suddenly seeing where his thoughts were taking him. ‘Angus, I can’t. I’d love to but
I’m your chef and your fiancée for Christmas. I can’t be anything else.’
‘If we all helped...’
‘He’s so frail.’
‘But if we could have him for Christmas. I don’t know anything about nursing either, but Holly...’
‘Just how many people,’ she said carefully, ‘are you thinking of inviting?’
‘It’s a very big castle, and I have employed someone who’s said to be an excellent chef.’
‘I’ll feed him but that’s all I’m capable of. And Angus, wouldn’t it be cruel? To take him and then bring him back here?’
‘He’s not coming back here,’ Angus said, grimly determined. ‘I’ll find him somewhere better. Somewhere he can keep Scru...Mac.’
‘Oh, Angus.’
‘But first, Christmas.’ He turned and walked back to the entrance with Holly, leaving Dougal in the garden with the kids. The nurse who’d greeted them was standing in the doorway.
‘Problem,’ he said. ‘We want to take Dougal home for Christmas but we need a nurse.’
‘A private nurse,’ she said cautiously. ‘I don’t know...’
‘For the right person, I’ll pay twice the going rate,’ he said. ‘Plus accommodation, in Castle Craigie. Plus all the Christmas trimmings.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘That’d be fantastic,’ the girl said, and suddenly she sounded wistful. ‘And Dougal’s a sweetie.’ There was a couple of moments silence while they saw her doing internal calculations.
‘I’ve got my holidays,’ she said at last. ‘But my mum’s alone and we have Christmas together.’ Her face was suddenly kind of hopeful. ‘My...my dad died last year. It’s going to be a bleak Christmas. But Mum used to be a nurse, too. Dougal’s very frail. He could do with two nurses.’
‘Expanda job,’ Angus said. ‘Why didn’t I see that coming?’
‘Sorry?’
‘No. The more, the merrier,’ he said, and suddenly he was grinning. Holly looked at him, startled. He had the attitude of a man about to toss pound notes to the masses. ‘When do your holidays start?’
‘Next F-Friday.’
‘Then what if I send a car—or do I need to hire some sort of ambulance? Can you organise that? Yes? And of course I’m paying your mum, too. Now, let’s go make sure Dougal wants to come, and see if he has any aunts or mothers or cats or wolfhounds that he’d like to put on my payroll as well.’
* * *
He was a very nice man.
He was her employer.
He was gorgeous.
Tucked back in the car, cuddling Scruffy-cum-Mac, Holly felt herself near to tears. Of all the impulsive, crazy gestures... Dougal had wept when Angus outlined his plans, and Holly had felt the need to steer Angus out of there before any other solitary geriatric had crossed his path.
‘Our castle’s filling up,’ she said.
‘I’m going to wear my kilt.’ He sounded deeply contented and she cast an amazed gaze at him.
‘You sound smug.’
‘As soon as I saw that wardrobe full of kilts I knew I wanted one Christmas as Liege Lord.’
‘What’s Liege Lord?’
‘I’m not sure but it sounds important. I bet it involves sitting at the head of that vast dining room table with an epergne with tiger heads in the middle, and slicing the Christmas turkey with a ceremonial sword.
‘Maybe two turkeys,’ she said.
‘We Lords can handle two turkeys.’
‘Why don’t you want to be a full-time Lord?’ she asked curiously. ‘Why the rush to sell?’ The tensions of the night before were still with them, she could feel them, but somehow what had just happened had made her relax a little.
‘I belong in the US.’
‘If your home is your castle, then you belong here.’
‘Ask my mother whether that holds true,’ he said, humour fading. ‘She’s appalled I’m here now.’
‘Why don’t you invite her as well?’
‘What, my mother?’
‘Everyone else is coming,’ she said. She was feeling...how to describe the way she was feeling? She was heading back to a castle with her boss, with a car full of kids and dog, with the kids’ mother and grandmother, aged retainer and nurse and a nurse’s mother following. Punch-drunk might describe it.
Kissed might describe it as well.
‘As...as long as you made sure she knows the engagement is pretend,’ she added, feeling even more disoriented, but more and more thinking that if the castle was to be full, why not make it really full?
For some reason, what had happened with Delia and with Dougal was shifting perspective past the personal. She and Maggie had been heading for a bleak and solitary Christmas. It would be anything but solitary now, and somewhere this man’s mother was living with ghosts and it seemed as if they were making her solitary as well.
Her relationship with this man was causing tension, but she could get over that. Hopefully. And more people, more to do, would help.
‘She’d have a pretty good idea as soon as she saw that ring,’ Angus said, guy-like, focusing on practicalities. ‘I need to do something about it.’
‘Tell everyone you’re waiting for the after-Christmas sales before you buy one,’ she told him. ‘As the Earl of Craigenstone, that’s entirely believable.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ he said and suddenly his voice was savage and the tension was back. The kids were dozing in the back seat, listening to their music on a sound system that could thankfully be muffled in the front. It had been a long drive. There was now less than an hour to go, and it seemed as if they were cocooned in the front of the car, with nobody to hear them, with a weird sense of connection that might have everything to do with the kiss of the night before. ‘Holly, you don’t want my mother here and she’s already said she won’t come. She loathed the place.’
‘Did she loathe the place or loathe your father?’
‘Same...’
‘It’s not the same,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Gran and I will make this Christmas stupendous. We’re intending to lay ghosts all over the place.’
‘Let’s have Hogmanay,’ a sleepy voice said from the back seat. ‘Then it’s not just Christmas. We can have Christmas and then at New Year we can have a party for everyone and say goodbye to the castle and everyone in the whole village.’
‘What’s Hogmanay?’ Angus and Holly said as one.
‘New Year!’ Ben’s voice was incredulous. ‘Don’t you guys know anything? In Scotland Hogmanay’s bigger than Christmas. It’s a goodbye to the old year, in with the new. Other big landholders hold parties for everyone on the estate. I told our father that once and he just snarled, but it’d be so cool to do it. With a bonfire and everything.’
‘Hey, fun,’ Holly said.
‘Hey, wait for my snarl,’ Angus retorted, but he was grinning. ‘So you want most of the world to come for Christmas and everyone left over to come for Hogmanay?’
‘Yes,’ Holly and Ben said in unison.
‘If this road wasn’t icy I’d throw my hands up in the air,’ Angus retorted. ‘I thought I was Liege Lord, in charge of all I survey.’
‘The peasants are revolting,’ Holly said smugly and Angus glanced over at her, seeing her smile, the cheery wink she was giving Ben, the flush in her cheeks and the gleam of excitement at the challenge ahead and he thought...he thought...
He thought the peasants weren’t revolting at all. And one peasant was so far removed from revolting that every piece of personal armour he’d ever loaded himself with was in danger of disintegrating into dust.
But he wouldn’t invite his mother again. The thought of her, in her Christmas black, with her Christmas grief and her accusations... No. That was the real world. This was a
pretend Christmas, nothing to do with reality.
* * *
Maggie had had two days and two girls from the village to help, and Maggie and two girls—plus her tame electrician and plumber—were a force to be reckoned with. As they rounded the sweeping driveway and the long grey fortress-type castle came into view—it was covered with fairy lights.
Covered with fairy lights.
It was just dusk. There was a collective intake of breath. Angus even stopped the car.
‘What...?’ he breathed.
‘You...you did say to do whatever was needed to make these kids welcome,’ Holly managed, looking at the fairy lights, looking at the castle and thinking how much it had cost her to string one row of fairy lights across her apartment entrance last year.
‘Wow,’ Mary breathed from the back seat. ‘It’s a fairy castle.’
‘It’s your home for Christmas,’ Angus said, managing to recover. ‘Welcome back to Castle Craigie.’
And the shocks didn’t stop there. They walked into the hall and the first impression was warmth. The second was sheer, over the top Christmas.
There was a Christmas tree standing in the vast baronial hall, and it wasn’t just a Christmas tree, it was practically a full-grown pine. It was decorated with what must be every conceivable ornament Maggie had been able to drum up—no tasteful colour coordination here—and it glittered on a scale that took every single one of their breaths away.
Except Scruffy-cum-Mac. Holly put him down, he headed straight for the base of the tree—and Holly had to race across and grab him before he could raise his leg.
‘Welcome home, My Lord.’ Maggie was at the head of the stairs, dressed in severe housekeeping black, and Holly had to bite back a giggle. Maggie was part Gran, part housekeeper, part actress and she was filling her role to perfection. ‘And these are the children of the castle. Welcome back, Misses and Sir. Can I show you to your bedrooms?’
Maggie turned and trod stately upward, the actress in her in full swing. The kids stared after her in awe, they followed tentatively—and then, from where they stood, Holly and Angus heard gasps of wonder, awe, incredulity. It seemed that Maggie had decorated a bedroom for each of them in the main part of the castle, and in the style that each of them had never dreamed of.
Christmas at the Castle Page 13