by Carrie Elks
‘What the hell is a gathering?’ he asked.
‘Duncan, don’t answer that one either. This is all way off the beaten track. We’re simply here to remind your client,’ he said to Lucy, ‘that as an illegitimate son of the previous Laird of Glencarraig, his claim to the title is tenuous at best.’
‘I don’t agree,’ Lucy countered. ‘He was named in the will and there are no caveats on the property or title stating the inheritor has to be legitimate.’
‘Because nobody ever thought that an illegitimate heir would inherit.’ Sinclair leaned back on his chair. ‘If their father had left the land and title to a goat, we would contest that too, even though there’s no caveat covering that either.’
Lachlan sat straighter in his chair. He wanted to remind them that he was actually a living, breathing person and not a goddamned goat. But Lucy reached for his hand beneath the table, and patted it, making sure neither Duncan nor Sinclair saw her movement. Lachlan didn’t need to be an expert in body language to know she was telling him to keep quiet. He clasped his hands together, moving them away, making sure to keep his mouth shut.
‘If that’s your only argument, I think this might be the shortest case the session court has ever seen,’ she replied, her voice light.
‘When was the last time you visited the damned place?’ Duncan asked Lachlan. ‘It’s not as if you’ve got a link to it either.’
‘I’m going tomorrow.’ Lachlan smiled at his brother’s anger. ‘It’s the first time I’ve been allowed to visit since I was a child. I’m looking forward to learning more about my heritage. The history of our family is fascinating, don’t you think?’
Duncan stared at him, saying nothing.
‘As you can see, my client feels a very great connection to Glencarraig,’ Lucy said to Sinclair. ‘It’s not about the money for him, it’s about the history, the tradition, the beauty of the land.’
Sinclair let out an inadvertent sigh. ‘Let’s cut to the issue, shall we? My client is very interested in making an offer of a settlement, in order to avoid court proceedings. He’d prefer not to put the family name through a long and drawn-out trial.’
‘Then don’t do it.’ Lachlan said the words without thinking. And almost immediately Lucy’s hand went under the table again, but this time his own hand wasn’t there. Instead, her palm landed on his thigh, the warmth of her skin apparent through the thin barrier of his suit pants. He felt her jump in her seat next to him, pulling her hand away as fast as she could, her eyes widening as she realised what she’d touched. He had to bite on his bottom lip to stop from laughing at her horrified reaction.
‘What’s it going to take to pay you off?’ Duncan asked. ‘We both know you don’t want the place.’
Lucy paused a moment longer, as though collecting herself, before she finally addressed Sinclair. ‘Mr MacLeish isn’t willing to settle. And as far as we’re concerned any claim lodged in court will be seen as frivolous. I think we all know we’ll win, and on top of that we’ll counterclaim for costs.’ She looked over at Sinclair, whose face remained impassive. ‘This could be an expensive mistake for your client.’
‘So there’s nothing we can do to persuade you to compromise?’ Sinclair asked them.
‘Nothing at all.’
On the screen, Duncan was shaking his head.
‘Then this meeting has come to an end,’ Sinclair said, glancing back up at his client. ‘We have no choice but to file a claim against you.’
‘There’s always a choice,’ Lucy pointed out. ‘You could drop the whole idea completely.’
Slowly, Sinclair shook his head. ‘This is about more than just an inheritance. This is about family and my client’s right to be seen as the Laird of Glencarraig. I’m certain we can persuade the court of the veracity of his claim, against a man who isn’t even entitled to bear the MacLeish name.’
‘Then we’ll see you in court.’
‘I think that went rather well.’ As soon as they made it out of the office building and down the steps, Lucy allowed a smile to break out on her face. ‘They were on the back foot from the start.’
‘You were cool as a cucumber in there.’ Once they reached the bottom of the steps he stopped and looked at her. ‘Thank you.’ He didn’t mention her touching his thigh by accident, and for that she was grateful. After yesterday’s faux pas, she really didn’t need to be embarrassed any further.
She shrugged. ‘It was a pleasure. You wanted to take the fight to them and it worked. Now you need to go up to the Highlands and stake your claim. Make sure you meet all the locals and tell them how delighted you are to be laird.’
A car pulled up at the edge of the pavement, and Lachlan waved at the driver but didn’t make a move. ‘I’d like you to come with me,’ he said, turning to look at her. ‘You know this country and the people. I need your advice while I’m there.’
Her own taxi pulled up behind his car. She nodded at it, and the driver waved back.
‘You do?’ Her mouth felt suddenly dry. ‘Are you sure?’
Of course it made sense for her to go up to Glencarraig with him. She’d be able to talk to the staff, to find out more about the estate, and make sure the interview he’d arranged with a journalist went according to plan.
But the thought of spending two days with this man in the middle of nowhere scared her to death. She’d already stumbled twice, who knew how many lives she had left?
‘Yes I’m sure.’ He nodded, still looking straight at her. ‘I don’t want to come across as an idiot. This visit is important to me, and I’ll need your help.’
The smile he gave her was thoroughly disarming. Enough for her to mentally check through her diary, and to think about how much petrol she had left in her car. Enough for her to think about her overnight bag, and how she’d already re-packed it after her trip to Miami.
‘I’ll need to move around a couple of things. There’s a meeting first thing tomorrow morning I can’t miss.’ She couldn’t believe she was agreeing to this. ‘But I could drive up and meet you there before lunch.’
‘That works for me. I’m heading up after breakfast, so it’ll give me a chance to scout things out. I’ll call the estate manager and let him know you’ll be coming.’ He reached out and touched her fingers, giving them a half-shake half-squeeze. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
And as he walked to his car, the driver jumping out to open the back door, she found herself staring at him, and wondering how on earth she’d got herself into this situation. Calm, confident and professional, wasn’t that what she was supposed to be?
Then why did she feel so flustered every time he was around?
13
Oh Scotland, Scotland
– Macbeth
The drive to the Highlands had taken just over three hours. Lucy had left Edinburgh in a mist of drizzle, the grey clouds casting a pall across the sandstone buildings of the city. But after she passed Perth and joined the A9, the rain turned to sleet, obscuring the views of the beautiful green hills that she knew were there. So much for springtime.
The entrance to the Glencarraig estate was through two huge wrought-iron gates, attached to brown walls that must have circled the land. She turned her car onto the sweeping gravel driveway, bordered on each side with majestic alder trees, which led to the rambling lodge. The large, castle-like building was surrounded by heather, the purple flowers almost coming into first bloom, reflected in the glass-like water. It felt like stepping back in time, to a Scotland she’d only learned about at university, a place where the clans ruled the land, and real men wore kilts.
The photographs she’d seen really didn’t do the place justice. And for the first time, she had a glimpse of exactly what Lachlan was fighting for.
By the time she’d parked up, next to a large Bentley and a smaller, sportier car, Lachlan had opened the main door and was walking down the steps. As she climbed out she could hear his feet crunching against the gravel.
A solitary snowflake drif
ted down from the heavy grey sky, landing on her cheek. She looked up, feeling it melt against her skin, leaving a cold wet kiss before it disappeared.
She shivered, in spite of the thick coat she was wearing.
‘Welcome to Glencarraig,’ Lachlan said, reaching out for her bag. ‘You made good time.’
He looked as relaxed as ever, wearing a pair of dark jeans and a light grey cashmere sweater that somehow matched their surroundings. She took in a deep breath of Highland air, feeling the rush of oxygen relax her. She’d been looking forward to seeing him again, and yet dreading it at the same time. But now she was here, everything felt right.
‘I’m disappointed,’ she said, glancing down at his legs. ‘I was expecting a kilt.’
He grinned, leading her over to the steps that led up to the lodge. ‘I thought I’d save that for later. Didn’t want to send you into a frenzy as soon as you arrived.’
She stifled a laugh. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’
‘I bet you will.’
A man was standing in the entranceway, where the black lacquered doors had been opened wide. He was older – maybe fifty or so – and wearing a pair of brown woollen trousers and a tweed jacket, patched at the elbows.
‘How long have you been here?’ she asked Lachlan, as they made their way up the stairs.
‘I got here about an hour ago. Alistair let me in.’ He nodded at the man who was watching them. ‘He’s the estate manager.’
Alistair walked forward to meet them as they reached the top of the steps. ‘Miss Shakespeare, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’ He had a low Scottish brogue – it sounded almost lyrical. ‘There’s coffee brewing in the kitchen, and the cook has made some biscuits for you.’
She shook his hand, enjoying its warmth against her cold skin. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. And please call me Lucy.’
‘Lucy it is.’
They made their way into the hall, a huge double-storeyed room with a sweeping staircase that flanked both sides. Lachlan placed her bag on the floor, and they followed the older man, who Lucy assumed was leading them to the kitchen.
‘Alistair’s worked here for over thirty years,’ Lachlan said as they made their way down the corridor. The floor was laid with huge grey flagstones – beautiful to look at but no doubt freezing on the feet. ‘He started off looking after the livestock and worked his way up.’
‘You must have seen it all.’ They finally reached the kitchen. Lucy could feel the warmth hit her as soon as they stepped inside. It smelled of vanilla and sugar, a delicious combination. Her stomach rumbled at the onslaught.
‘Things have changed quite a lot over the years,’ Alistair said. ‘We’ve renovated the lodge, built up the salmon stock, and then of course had broadband put in, which wasn’t easy with us being so remote.’ He looked pleased at being asked. ‘There’s a lot more to do, of course. This heating system needs a total overhaul, and we’ve been in constant talks with the phone networks about trying to improve the signal.’ He smiled. ‘For our visitors, it’s a blessing and a curse being so remote and cut off.’
‘If you’ve been here thirty years, you must have been here when Lachlan visited,’ she said. She felt Lachlan stop next to her. ‘Do you remember him?’
‘Of course. I remember taking him and his brother out on a hunt one day. And I was always shooing them away from the loch, they were fascinated by it.’
She turned to look at Lachlan. Two tiny lines formed between his brows as he frowned. ‘Do you remember that?’ she asked him.
‘Not at all.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘I remember the house and the land, spending time walking out by the loch. But I don’t ever remember spending time with Duncan.’
There was a wistfulness to his tone she’d never heard before. Outside of his office – and those suits that always made him look so in charge – there was a softer edge to him, and it only made him more intriguing.
‘Do you have any records of when he visited?’ she asked Alistair. ‘Guest books or photographs or something? It would be good to have some solid evidence.’
Alistair leaned on the kitchen counter, rubbing his chin with his thumb. ‘We must have somewhere. I’ll ask my staff to look through the old records. Everything’s up at the estate office, in the old gatehouse now.’
‘There’s no rush,’ Lucy said. ‘It would just be good to see.’
Lachlan shifted next to her again. Maybe he wasn’t quite as relaxed as she’d thought.
‘Have you had a chance to look around yet?’ she asked him.
‘No. We thought we’d wait for you. We have a few hours before the journalist is due to arrive, so we can fit it in.’
Marina Simpson, a journalist from the Scottish Times, had agreed to run a piece on Lachlan in their Sunday supplement. It had seemed like a good idea to stake his claim on the public record.
‘That sounds lovely.’ She smiled at him. ‘And have you arranged to meet all the staff?’
Lachlan looked amused at her question. ‘Yes, Lucy, I have. And Alistair’s booked us in for lunch in the village pub tomorrow, so we can meet the locals.’
‘Here’s your coffee.’ Alistair passed her a mug. Steam rose from the rim, as she lifted it to her lips. ‘And help yourself to biscuits.’
Lachlan took two and passed one to her, his fingertips brushing against hers as she took it. She felt that tiny buzz again, as though she’d touched a low-volt electric fence.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, then took another sip of her coffee, ignoring the smile that had broken out on Lachlan’s face. Either he’d felt the buzz too or he’d seen her reaction to it, and either scenario felt dangerous.
It was going to be a long twenty-four hours.
‘So tell me, Lachlan, when did you discover you were going to be the Laird of Glencarraig?’ Marina Simpson asked. The three of them were sitting in the wood-panelled drawing room, Lachlan and Marina on the easy chairs while Lucy perched on the window seat behind them, trying to keep out of the conversation. Since the journalist’s arrival an hour ago, the skies had darkened further, and Alistair had built a roaring fire in the brick-built hearth to head off the early April chill.
‘When my father’s will was read,’ Lachlan replied smoothly. ‘It was mentioned in that.’
‘Ah yes, your father, he was an interesting man. Tell me a bit about him.’
Lucy leaned forward, away from the window. Her breath had misted up the glass. She listened carefully, tipping her head to the side. Her thoughts immediately went back to that article she’d read. Lachlan had been very vague about his father in that.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘What kind of man was he? From all accounts I hear he was a bit of a recluse. Is that right?’
‘He was a self-made man,’ Lachlan replied. ‘He built up a business from nothing. In his later years he preferred to spend time enjoying the fruits of his labour rather than stay in the spotlight.’
‘Not quite self-made,’ Marina pointed out. ‘He was a laird before he moved to America, wasn’t he?’
‘A very poor one, yes. He worked his way up until he had enough money to buy his first ship. After that he built up his business until it became the premier cruise liner company in the world. That’s a pretty big achievement for a Scottish boy who left the country with practically nothing.’
‘You sound very proud of him,’ Marina said. ‘And understandably so. But I also hear that all wasn’t well with the two of you when he died. Tell me a little about the family rift.’
Lachlan shifted on the sofa. An imperceptible move to most people, but Lucy could see his back straightening. ‘There wasn’t a rift.’
Lucy held her breath. The next moment he was looking over at her, his blue eyes meeting hers. Exhaling softly, she gave him a reassuring smile.
He didn’t return it.
‘Your parents weren’t married, is that correct?’ Marina went on.
‘That’s correct.’ Lachlan nodded.
He shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. His left jaw twitched as he stared back at the journalist.
‘That must have been hard for you, growing up with the stigma of illegitimacy hanging over you. Especially as your father was already married when you were conceived.’
Outside the window, a flurry of snowflakes fell, dancing as the breeze lifted them before letting them reach the ground. But Lucy was far more interested in what was happening inside the lodge. The frosty atmosphere in the drawing room could rival the biting temperatures outside.
On the sofa, Lachlan leaned his head to the side, keeping his gaze on Marina. ‘Many children suffer hardships,’ he said. ‘It’s how we learn and grow.’