Scotland to the Max

by Grace Burrowes

  “We don’t need to do this at all,” Max retorted. “The project is ahead of schedule, under budget, at 95 percent of full staffing, and in compliance with all applicable regulations. No one has brought to my attention any significant issues that would reflect poorly on me as the manager.”

  Sutherland sighed gustily and shook his head. “Max, you force me to state the obvious: You’re in over your head, you’ve sold us a pig in a poke, and you failed to conduct anything approaching due diligence before you talked us into this project.”

  Repeat a lie often enough, sincerely enough, and it began to sound like the truth. Max had taken enough basic psychology classes to know that tactic when he saw it.

  Maguire took a seat. “Maitland, the site can be running like a top, and from what I’ve seen, it’s clearly well organized, but if you’ve lost the support of a major investor, aren’t you tempted to walk out? I’m certain I can reason the other investors into honoring the terms of your buyout.”

  This was posturing on Maguire’s part and had Sutherland looking gratifyingly uneasy.

  “I. Will. Not. Walk.” Max remained on his feet. “If I’m replaced for anything other than good cause, you owe me bank, Sutherland. What’s your cause?”

  More sighing and head shaking, while Shayla took the seat halfway down one side, supposedly the most powerful position at an oblong table.

  “Max, we have two white elephants,” Sutherland began in long-suffering tones, “a medieval castle and a Victorian something. A country house? They might have once been owned by the same family, but that doesn’t mean they will make a cohesive unit if we’re to turn this project into an international venue. The best we can hope for is some aesthetically disastrous escalator or a tacky fleet of golf carts. Do they make golf carts with snow tires?”

  Max didn’t castigate Sutherland for arrogance—inherited wealth always brought with it the risk of arrogance—and Sutherland couldn’t help that he was stupid. No amount of money guaranteed brains.

  But Sutherland was being cruel. Being snide because he could be, because his little games were all he could see.

  “Had you bothered to tour the castle from top to bottom when I gave you that opportunity,” Max said, “I would have shown you the tunnels.”

  Maguire went still.

  Shayla crossed her arms. “Pete, you never mentioned tunnels.”

  Jeannie purely beamed at him, all the benevolence of the Scottish summer sun in her eyes.

  “I never mentioned tunnels,” Sutherland said, “because Maitland concealed a material fact about the site. If there are tunnels, they don’t appear on any schematics that I’ve seen, and some coal chute or glorified storm drain doesn’t change anything. My trust in Max Maitland has been obliterated by his untruthfulness, if not his incompetence.”

  A pivot and raising of the stakes. Max was about to say as much when Jeannie stepped forward.

  “How dare you?” she said, voice low. “How dare you disrespect the man who has been working dawn to dusk for weeks to put this project on solid footing—for you. To win over the locals—for your profit. To earn the trust of the most stubborn, backward, independent pack of tradesmen ever to put hammer to stone. You lie, you strut, you connive, you cheat, and then you betray the trust of all who do business with you, and for what? So you can betray your wife as well? I’m not having it.”

  A snarling lioness exuded a greater sense of menace—barely.

  Shayla’s mouth was open. Sutherland looked like he was about to wet his pants.

  “Listen to Ms. Cromarty,” Max said. “She speaks for the whole project team and as a member of the family who owns this castle. Boot me off this job, and you’ll see slowdowns. Deliveries will go astray, and hammers will drop from empty towers. The materials will come up short. This castle has been a home, a family seat, a fortress, and a refuge, and I won’t abandon it for your convenience. Call your meeting to order.”

  “You’re threatening to sabotage this project?” Sutherland asked.

  “If you fire our project manager,” Jeannie said, “he’ll go back to Maryland, and your project, which is on schedule, under budget, and in compliance now, will go straight into the diaper pail as a result of your bungling, Mr. Sutherland.”

  Beautiful word—bungling—when spoken in that vigorous, articulate Scottish burr.

  “You have to remove me for cause,” Max said, “at a full meeting of the board, on the record. I’ll settle for a recorded video-conference, but you’ll do it by the book or not at all.”

  Maguire’s expression, or lack of one, would have done credit to a high-stakes blackjack dealer.

  “Call your meeting, Sutherland,” Max said. “Call it now, or not at all. I have a castle to renovate, and you are wasting my time.”

  Shayla was glowering at Sutherland, who was glaring pure venom at Max.

  “Not at all,” Jeannie snapped.

  Sutherland turned his sneer on her. “I think it’s time you went back to your desk, missy.”

  “I’m happy to return to my desk,” Jeannie said in the same tones she addressed a cranky baby. “But then you can’t hold your board meeting. Your agreement with Elias Brodie and your corporate by-laws state that a family representative chosen by the earl will have a voting seat on the board at all times. Elias has given me that honor, and I can assure you, no matter how many meetings you call, I will never vote in favor of letting Max Maitland go.”

  The words rang with quiet conviction, because genius did not need to announce itself. The smile Jeannie sent Max said that she’d chosen her words carefully, and that yes, they meant what he thought they meant.

  “I suppose that settles the matter,” Maguire said. “Sutherland, you’ve been outfought, outsmarted, and outmaneuvered. Now be a good lad and let me buy you and your golf buddies out, or I’ll raise sticky questions about why you chose to share financial details of this very sensitive matter with somebody outside the board and the corporation.”

  Shayla rose. “Pete, you said this was a done deal. I gave notice. I’m living out of a suitcase. What am I supposed to do now?”

  “Ask Maguire,” Sutherland said, heading for the door. “Ask Maitland, ask his Highland secret weapon. Nobody said anything to me about tunnels. This could all have been avoided if I’d been kept informed.”

  Maguire followed them from the room as Shayla got off a volley about reasonably and foreseeably relying, to her substantial economic detriment on Pete’s representations that employment would be forthcoming…

  Voices rose as Maguire tried to referee, while in the conference room, for one blessed, perfect moment, Max took Jeannie in his arms.

  “You were magnificent,” he murmured.

  “So were you. We defended our castle.”

  “And our future.”

  Then Henry started bellowing.

  “He’s probably unhappy with the raised voices and the strangers,” Max said.

  Jeannie stepped back, because Max was right. That was not a change-my-diaper-now bellow. “I’ll see to him.”

  “You really were magnificent, Jeannie. When did Elias appoint you to the board?”

  Ms. Walters sounded very upset with Mr. Sutherland. Jeannie almost felt a little sorry for her. “Elias and I had a wee chat very late Saturday night. I didn’t want you to think I doubted your abilities, so I asked Elias to keep my request quiet. You’ve worked with Pete Sutherland for the last time, Max.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jeannie crossed into the front office and scooped Henry from his playpen. He quieted, though Mr. Sutherland and Ms. Walters did not.

  “They woke the baby,” Max said to Maguire. “Get them out of here.”

  “That’s another thing,” Sutherland said, rounding on Max. “Why in the hell is that damned infant here?”

  “Not in front of the baby.” Max and Maguire had both spoken with Jeannie. Their expressions would have wilted an entire team of half-drunken shinty players.

  “Take it do
wn to the village,” Max said, pointing toward the door. “Take your petty dramas and get off this property, Sutherland, and don’t think to darken our castle door again. If Maguire offers to buy you and your friends out, take the deal, because I have a lawsuit coming your way for breach of your fiduciary obligations to me as a fellow shareholder.”

  “Splendid notion,” Maguire said. “Before you file, let’s have a chat, Maitland.”

  “I’m not too happy with your little games either, Maguire. Finish your discussions with Sutherland down at the Earl’s Pint, and do not put your bill on the castle’s tab.”

  Maguire grinned and chivied a still-fuming Ms. Walters and a grumbling Mr. Sutherland out the door. “Bye for now. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Bye-bye,” Henry said, waving a chubby arm.

  Jeannie stared at her brilliant baby, who was still waving at the closed door. “Max, he said a word. He said bye-bye. Henry said his first word, and he’s not even a year old.”

  “Bye-bye,” Henry said again. “Bye-bye-bye.”

  “Our baby is a genius,” Jeannie said, kissing Henry’s cheek.

  Max should have agreed with that statement, but instead he was staring at his phone, blinking rapidly. “They found her. Thank God and all the angels, they found her.”

  “Maura?”

  “Safe and sound. She spent the night in a pup tent in somebody’s backyard three doors down, then enjoyed a morning picking blueberries at the farm across the road. I will give that young lady such a talking-to, such a… Hold me, please. Please, just hold me.”

  “Can you still make tonight’s flight?”

  Max was wrapped around her and Henry, his embrace so snug Jeannie at first thought he hadn’t heard her.

  “Elias says she’s embarrassed. She didn’t realize Scotland is both a country and a town in Pennsylvania. She thought I’d made up that part about the ocean and doesn’t want me to know she tried to visit me.”

  Jeannie stroked Max’s hair, loving him with all her heart. “I can drive you down to Perth if you want to catch that flight.”

  Max stepped back and lifted Henry into his arms. “Elias is asking if Maura can stay out at the farm for a few days with him and Violet. The ladies are already talking chickens and tomatoes.”

  He brushed a kiss to Henry’s crown, and Jeannie understood why he’d needed to hold the baby.

  “How does that idea sit with you?”

  “Let’s go sit in the sunshine,” Max said.

  They found a bench along the lavender border, the worn wood warmed by the sun. Jeannie waited, while Max tickled Henry’s chin with a sprig of lavender.

  “Elias is asking me if Maura can visit out in Damson Valley,” Max said. “That decision is not up to me.”

  “Are you relieved or terrified?”

  Max started a game of trot-little-horsey with Henry. “Both. My baby sister is growing up. I wasn’t sure that would ever happen, but what if I was the one clinging to her, instead of the other way around?”

  Jeannie slipped an arm around his waist. “She will always be your baby sister, and if we can get the project a little more ahead of schedule, I’d fancy a trip to Maryland.”

  They stayed on the bench for a long time, talking, playing with Henry, and dreaming. Perhaps Maura could work for Violet and Elias in their greenhouses. Perhaps she might enjoy winters in Scotland at the castle.

  “We must have her at the wedding,” Jeannie said. “I’ll need a bridesmaid or two and haven’t any sisters to call upon.”

  “The wedding?”

  “Yes, Max. You didn’t think my grand speech about voting to keep you was simply boardroom posturing, did you?”

  The slight pause suggested Max had been hoping, but not certain. Then he smiled, enough quiet joy in his eyes to make Jeannie believe in magic and happily ever afters.

  “Jeannie Cromarty, will you marry me?”

  “Aye. Henry says yes too.”

  “Then it’s unanimous.”

  Max kissed her, and Jeannie kissed him back, for once not in any hurry at all.

  Two eagles made lazy circles over the pastures below the castle wall, Henry munched on lavender flowers, and from the parapets above, hooting and stomping started up that turned into applause, and a lot of sweaty, nosy tradesmen and laborers grinning down at them.

  “I guess this means you’re staying?” Hugh yelled.

  “And you’re all invited to the wedding,” Jeannie yelled back.

  “Well done, Yank!” Fergus called, amid more cheering, stomping, and clapping. “Everybody down to the Pint. Drinks are on Maitland!”

  “You’ll miss your flight,” Jeannie said.

  “I’m where I’m supposed to be,” Max replied, rising. “Maura is making new friends, the castle is safe, and Henry’s a genius, just like his mama. I think even Auld Michael and Lady Brenna would agree that I belong here.”

  Ah, he’d probably seen the ghosts then, a sure sign he was worthy to join the family.

  Jeannie sauntered down the hill hand in hand with Max, while Hugh, Fergus, and Dinty took turns tickling the baby and placing bets on how soon Henry would have a younger sibling. The celebration at the Pint lasted nearly until dawn, though by the last light of the quarter moon, Hugh and Fergus saw two figures kissing on the parapets.

  As did Dinty and Fern.

  And Morgan and Maguire, though that’s a tale for another time.

  Epilogue

  “Max Maitland looks damned fine in a kilt, Jeannie Cromarty—or are you Jeannie Maitland now?” Fern held Henry on her hip and swayed gently to the music of the fiddles.

  “I’m Jeannie Cromarty, also Mrs. Max Maitland, hopefully forever more.”

  Max was dancing with Morgan, while Connor Maguire tried to look affable and unconcerned over by the great hall’s enormous fireplace. He succeeded mostly in looking besotted and fierce, no matter how many servings of ale Dinty shoved at him.

  “Good of Mr. Maguire to let you use the hall for your wedding reception,” Fern said. “He does justice to a kilt as well.”

  Maguire’s permission had been sought out of courtesy—he was the sole backer of the Brodie Castle project now that Pete Sutherland was up to his ears in a messy divorce. Maguire’s permission had also been sought out of pragmatism. He found excuses to visit the site regularly, and always stayed at Morgan’s guest cottage. Not inviting him to the wedding would have been rude, therefore, his permission had been asked.

  For Hugh and Fergus’s reception, no such courtesies had applied. Max had called an “all hands meeting” at 3 pm on a Friday, the service had taken less than thirty minutes, and the dancing had gone on all night.

  “I like that our wedding was the first official function of the Brodie Castle venue,” Jeannie said. “Seems fitting, that somebody with ties to the family should start the old place off on its next adventure.”

  The project was ahead of schedule, though winter was fast approaching. Jeannie looked forward to the nippy days—and the long nights. The first frost had come a week ago, and Henry had added Bun-Bun, Max, Mama, and Bear to his vocabulary.

  “Who sent the roses?” Fern asked.

  The bouquet—mostly yellow roses with some peach-colored blooms for accents—sat off to the left on the dessert table.

  “Harry,” Jeannie said. “He’s met somebody.”

  Fern untangled Henry’s fist from her hair. “He’s always meeting somebody.”

  “I honestly wish he’d meet the right one, Fern. He’ll be back for a visit around the holidays.”

  The dance came to an end, and Maguire pushed away from the fireplace.

  “Does that worry you? That Harry might come around causing trouble in paradise?”

  “We’ll start adoption proceedings, to which Harry has already consented. He’ll always be welcome in Henry’s life, but Harry said it himself: A father is as a father does, and a man chasing the next rig is not much of a father.”

  “Millicent won’t like it.”

/>   Jeannie extricated Henry from Fern’s arms. “Harry for once did not consult his mum before making a decision. I’m encouraged by that. It’s Morgan’s turn to hold Henry.”

  “Because if Maguire can compete with a wee laddie, then maybe he’s the right one for Morgan?”

  “Something like that, and because I want to dance with my husband.”

  To say the words—my husband—felt different than when Jeannie had said them about Harry. In Harry’s case, the words had been a way to describe a legal relationship. With Max they were an admission of intimate connection.

  “If it isn’t my favorite two people in the whole world,” Max said, kissing Jeannie’s cheek. “The fiddlers are getting tipsy. I think that means it’s time for a slow dance. Maguire!”

  Maguire looked up from a conversation with Morgan.

  “Your turn to hold the baby,” Max said, “though Henry is hardly a baby any more. Babies bring good luck to a wedding.” He settled Henry in Maguire’s arms, which coaxed a smile from Morgan.

  “I dance with Jeannie next,” Maguire said. “It’s good luck for the castle owner to dance with the bride.”

  Max took Jeannie’s hand. “You do not own this castle and you never will. It’s a family property, which is why you will ask Jeannie and me to manage it for you just as soon as the buildout is done.”

  “Manage it for me?”

  Henry smacked Maguire on the chest.

  “Of course,” Jeannie said, kissing Max on the mouth, for she hadn’t seen this gift coming. “Brodie Castle is a family enterprise, as Max said. Morgan, why don’t you take Mr. Maguire to enjoy the view from the Countess’s walk? There’s a quarter moon tonight. You never know who you might meet up there.”

  “Come along,” Morgan said, “and mind that baby. He’s getting to the mischievous stage.”

  Maguire fell in step beside her. “But if we bring this dratted imp, then we can’t—”

  Henry walloped him on the nose.

  “The boy’s a genius,” Max said. “Takes after his mother. Shall we dance?”

  Max was a good dancer, much in demand at the weekly ceilidh. Jeannie fell in love with him a little more each time he stood up with Mrs. Hamilton or sat out with Granny MacPhee. When Hugh and Fergus had gone on their honeymoon, Max had driven them to the airport.