Laird of the Highlands: International Billionaires IX: The Scots

by Caro LaFever

  There was nothing to do but go and pretend to listen. He wasn’t going to change his mind. The castle was his to do with as he pleased. It didn’t please him to think of strangers marching through the place. Still, he had no desire to hurt anyone. He had plenty of money to make up the difference for any losses. Once the villagers understood that, they’d go away.

  Like Reid.

  “Ye should start packing.”

  The man’s smug look went slack again. “You need me. Now more than ever.”

  “I do not.” Lorne went through the double doors and down the hall. The noise escalated, ringing in his ears and making his skin crawl.

  He hated noise. He hated crowds.

  However, he was the laird now. He hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about that, but he’d spent some. His da had talked on and on about the role and how one day, Lorne would have to take on the responsibilities.

  As a kid, the thought had scared him. As a man, the thought hadn’t fazed him.

  He and Hugh Brooks had a company that employed close to seven thousand people. Actually, the exact count was six thousand, eight hundred and twenty-two. True, Doc did the majority of the hiring, firing, and massaging of their staff. Yet Lorne knew how to handle people at this point.

  Throw money at them.

  Overall, that strategy had worked with his company.

  And it would work in this situation as well.

  He paced down the steps with a slow, steady gait. Willing his heart to stop its frantic beat, he breathed through his nose. The technique had been something a yoga instructor had told him to do the one time he’d attended a class. The class had too many people in it so he hadn’t returned. The technique had stuck with him, though, when he felt the heavy, familiar blanket of anxiety smothering him.

  As he turned the corner, the grand hall opened below and the sea of people swarming beneath him made him nauseated.

  They all glanced up at him at once.

  “Mr. Ross.” Reid sidled to his side. “Let me talk to them.”

  “I told ye to go pack,” Lorne said.

  He spotted her, the woman, right by the massive stone fireplace. She had on her usual baggy clothes and her usual sly look.

  Her presence and that look made his sweaty spine go rigid.

  “Did ye have something ye wanted to say to me?” He kept his voice low and calm, something Doc had trained him to do when he talked to large crowds. His partner had told him he’d handle getting people excited about their products. Lorne would be the voice of reason and logic since showing excitement was beyond him.

  The crowd shuffled before going quiet.

  He was pleased. He’d seen the same thing happen during the companywide meetings where he had to speak. Since those meetings were yearly and well-planned, he hadn’t found them too much of a chore.

  The woman narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms in front of her. The action drew his gaze to her breasts.

  He shifted his focus back on the crowd. “Well?”

  “Ye aim to shut us down, do ye?” A large man with a bulbous nose stepped forward, his dark brow furrowed. “That’s what Ceri is saying.”

  Ceri with a K? Why had she not corrected him and Reid?

  He shut down the train of thought and zeroed in on the man who’d had the courage to speak up. “My aim is to keep Castle Ross for the Rosses.”

  A murmur rose, a rumble of a threat. Lorne was grateful for his suit coat because he was sure his shirt was plastered to his back with sweat.

  The woman quirked her lips, the sly look turning into a wide smile.

  His hands fisted at his side. “My aim isn’t to shut any of ye down.”

  “But that’s what you’ll be doing, sir.” Another man stepped forward, his blond hair shaggy around his head. “If I don’t have the tourists in town, I won’t be able to sell enough jewelry to keep my shop open.”

  This is where throwing the money around would begin. His accountant had always become quite frustrated with Lorne because he rarely cared about spending money. He reviewed his financial reports every month. He knew exactly how much money he had in the bank, in stocks, in investments. He directed his accountant on when money should be transferred and when stocks should be sold.

  His accountant approved of all that.

  Money wasn’t to be hoarded, however. He’d never understood the impulse. Money was to be spent so he wouldn’t be bothered. His accountant wasn’t as happy with that belief.

  “I’ll pay ye,” he stated.

  Simple words. Simple solutions.

  “What?” The blond man ruffled his hair. “What do you mean?”

  “Whatever losses any of ye incur, I’ll compensate ye.”

  Bewilderment crossed the jeweler’s face. “You’ll pay me for not working?”

  “Correct.”

  Lorne couldn’t help himself. He glanced at the woman again because he wanted to see the recognition of defeat in those dark eyes. He wanted to see her wilt in front of his final win.

  She shook her head at him.

  And her look…her look…

  Pity?

  He’d seen that look too many times not to know what it was. He’d seen pity on the faces of the girls he’d gone to school with. Pity on the faces of his professors when he refused to concede an illogical, emotional point. Pity on his da and mum’s faces when he’d failed to understand.

  Pity?

  The heat of his anxiety went cold as another emotion filled him. Lorne Ross rarely got angry. It was a useless emotion, something that merely got him off track. There’d been a time or two when irritation at people in general had turned to anger, but not often and not for long.

  He’d never really felt this level of anger before.

  Actually, this wasn’t anger. Now that he took a moment to analyze this, he knew what it was.

  This was rage. At her.

  “I’m not going to take a penny of your money, Mr. Ross.” The blond man’s face went dark. “Not a penny.”

  “Is that so?” His brain whirred through the possible reasons this man would reject his offer and came up with nothing. “Why not?”

  Reid huffed beside him. “Sir.”

  The crowd rustled, murmured to each other. He didn’t read faces well, that was Doc’s job, yet even a stupid man could see his offer wasn’t going over well. Shock swept through his rage, making him shift on his feet. He tried to explain the logic once more. “If closing the castle causes anyone financial hardship, then it’s my duty to compensate ye.”

  The man with the big nose snorted. “Ye want to pay us to lay around and do nothing.”

  Lorne stared at him. He had made no such suggestion. Why was the man so emotional? Why was his voice trembling with fury? And why was the older lady by his side wiping her eyes? “I want to compensate ye,” he stated the words again, slower this time to make sure they all understood.

  Several men at the back of the group grumbled at each other. Two women in front folded their arms and frowned up at him.

  “Why don’t ye come down here and say that again?” The blond fisted his hands. “We’ll see what ye do when you’re in the midst of us.”

  “Sir.” Reid tugged on his jacket, his face going from smug to fearful. “Perhaps you should let me take it from here.”

  He focused his rage and his shock at the woman. She hadn’t merely tricked his father into giving her everything, she’d now done something far worse. She’d turned the villagers of Pictloch against their laird. The old ways had fallen away over the years, but he still remembered the loyalty these villagers had given his father. He still remembered how they’d treated him as a lad, with stilted affection and solid support.

  He still had expected that loyalty to come to him.

  The noise rose, a few voices yelling something he couldn’t quite make out. The faces lifted to him were flushed and angry, frustrated and condemning. Mouths opened and closed, hands waved in the air. The crowd turned to a mob in a flash of
a second.

  He wanted to run. Run back to London and his normal life.

  Yet his Ross blood rose inside, for the first time in his memory.

  He stood his ground.

  “Skiff?” A loud voice came from the end of the hall, by the front door. “What’s this? Are you having a party? And I wasn’t invited?”

  Chapter 7

  Ceri tasted victory.

  She’d seen the recognition on the villagers’ faces when she’d shared the letter in desperation after meeting with Will’s solicitor. They’d finally realized what this new laird meant to do. To the castle, to Pictloch, to their lives. She’d done little more than walk the main street of the village, flapping the letter in their faces. Before she knew it, there’d been a crowd milling on the sidewalk outside Mr. Stevenson’s grocery talking and complaining. The anger had escalated to the point where they’d all marched on the castle.

  Much to her delight.

  Victory.

  She tasted victory when she looked at Lorne Ross. His face white, his hands clenched, his words falling on deaf ears. She relished the win as she noted the scowls and frowns, the threats roiling from the crowd, the way the weasel appeared as if he were about to bolt.

  They’d leave. Both of them. They’d return to London for good.

  Then, just like that, it was all lost.

  “Skiff?”

  Who?

  A man walked past her, his face all smiles, his gait jaunty, his voice mild. He wore casual jeans and a cotton T-shirt. His brown hair was mussed and there was a sparkle of charm in his blue eyes.

  His impact on the throng of villagers was immediate.

  They turned in unison to stare at him.

  A hush descended.

  The roiling rebellion paused. Ceri sensed it as clearly as if someone had hit a button on a movie reel. She straightened against the wall in disbelief. She’d been so close to getting her way.

  Cnych.

  She hadn’t used that particular Welsh word in years, and yet the word came right out of her gut.

  Fuck.

  The horrible man who was at the point of ruining everything, shot out a grin to the crowd. “Skiff doesn’t usually throw parties. This is a nice surprise.”

  “Who’s Skiff?” Mr. Stevenson muttered to his teenage son.

  “And who are ye?” Greg Carnegie, the jeweler, gave the newcomer a withering frown.

  But she could tell it was all bluster. The anger was draining from the crowd no matter how much she didn’t want it to be so.

  She glanced at Lorne Ross again. He still stood rigid at the top of the stairs, overlooking the crowd from the balcony. She’d felt reluctant pity for him a few minutes ago. Although his voice had never wavered and he’d never shrunk from his position, she somehow could tell he was nearly ready to run. Exactly as he had the first time she’d met him in the garden. It was what she wanted, and yet, there was pity in her, too.

  Right before her eyes, his whole body language changed. His eyes went wide with relief, his hands un-fisted at his side. His long, lean body eased into relaxation. “Doc,” he said.

  His doctor? Was he ill beyond being merely odd?

  “I’m Hugh Brooks,” the stranger announced as he barreled right into the center of the crowd. “Your new laird’s partner.”

  “Ye own half of the castle now?” someone yelled out.

  “Ceri owns the castle,” Rose Roy countered, while eyeing the handsome intruder with wary appreciation.

  “I don’t own a thing here, and don’t want to, either.” The man whirled around to confront Rose with a laughing smile. “And who’s Ceri?”

  A small hand slid behind Ceri’s back and before she could object, she found herself pushed into the proximity of the horrible man who’d ruined everything.

  “Here she is.” Lucy bounced at her side, her grin wide. “This is Ceri.”

  The stranger turned again, and his bright eyes twinkled when he saw her.

  She gave him a good glare.

  Those blue eyes lit with mischief. “What do we have here, Skiff?”

  “Doc.” That gentle, dangerous voice slid down from the balcony. “Come here.”

  “Not yet, my friend.” He moved to her side and took her hand. “I have a feeling I have met the woman.”

  The woman? What did he mean by that?

  Ceri tried to keep the glare in place, but the man’s countenance was filled with such warmth and welcoming friendship, she couldn’t resist him. Yes, she saw the frank appreciation for her as a female she’d seen in so many other men’s eyes. This time, though, it didn’t feel sleazy or wrong. This time, she didn’t feel violated.

  “Ma’am.” The Brooks fellow lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her with an elegant bow. “A pleasure.”

  The action wasn’t sexual or fraught with promise. He did it as if they were both in a play, on a stage, and why not have some fun?

  His gaze said it. Why not have some fun?

  She let herself give him a small smile.

  “Ah!” The blue eyes went wide before his own smile turned wicked.

  Yet not in the way she’d come to expect from a man. This man’s wicked was all games, all frolic. She sensed it as surely as she sensed Lorne Ross was dangerous.

  “Leave it to Skiff to find a true treasure in the middle of nowhere.” His voice boomed, meant to carry through the room and to the balcony.

  The compliment was so overblown, and so clearly conceived to amuse, she let it slide.

  Glancing up to the balcony once more, she saw the weasel muttering into his employer’s ears, while waving his white hands around. Lorne Ross had lost his easy posture. His hands had fisted again, and he appeared tenser than he had when addressing the crowd.

  Why?

  “This ain’t nowhere.” Mr. Stevenson broke in. “This is our home, and he means to ruin us and our town.”

  “Ruin you and the town?” Hugh Brooks gave the man an amazed, disbelieving look. Then keeping her hand in his, he tugged her through the restless crowd and toward the stairs. “I’ve known Skiff for years. It is true. He can ruin many things.”

  A murmur of immediate anger flashed from the mob.

  The man holding her hand ignored it like he was strolling through a sunny park. “For example. He can ruin a good party in moments by talking on and on about computers.”

  A twitter of giggles came from the edge of the group.

  He kept drawing her along, and she didn’t fight it. It was hard to fight against such charm. Plus, her unwilling curiosity about Will’s son had her wanting this man to keep talking and wanting to be close enough to catch each word.

  “He can also ruin a friend’s attempt to dress him well, by pairing a red tie with a green suit.”

  A flutter of laughter ran through the crowd.

  “Doc.” His voice was hard now, the brutal version. “Come here.”

  “Now, now, old chap. You know it’s true.” Hugh Brooks got to the first stone step and pulled her to stand with him. “Why you came out looking like some kind of strange Santa Claus.”

  Mr. Stevenson chuckled and nudged his son into a full laugh.

  “Additionally, there’s Skiff’s ruinous run with women.”

  “That’s enough.” Danger etched in each word. Danger she’d known resided in the man standing on the balcony.

  Ceri jumped and the crowd went still.

  Lorne Ross was odd and out-of-place and a curiosity, yet he was also powerful. The power flowed from his voice and out into the room, filling it with his presence. The power of his will cut through every person. She could feel it; the magnetic quality of his command. Her gaze went to him before she could stop herself.

  He stood straight and taut on the balcony, his face impassive. But those eyes of his were no longer blank. They blazed with…

  Rage…

  At his friend?

  “And there,” Hugh Brooks murmured for only her to hear, “is why he is my partner.”

&n
bsp; Ceri glanced over at him to meet a pair of blue eyes as serious and sincere as she’d ever seen. “Because he gets angry at you?”

  “Because Lorne Ross is true.”

  “True?” She scrunched her brow. “What does that—?”

  “Now see here, Skiff.” Mischief swallowed the sincerity in the stranger’s gaze when he swung his attention back to the top of the stairs. “If you were going to ruin a whole town, you should have called me first.”

  “I did call ye.” The flatness of his tone didn’t mask the fierce force in Lorne Ross’s voice. “For clothes.”

  “Yes, yes.” Hugh Brooks turned to the crowd once more. “He called me for clothes. Very strange clothes.”

  “Strange?” Rose Roy stepped forward, her arms folded in front of her, a quizzical look on her face. “What does that mean?”

  “Jeans. Boots. Jumpers. Clothes my partner does not usually wear. Which means, my lovely inquisitor, he plans on staying here for a while.” He gave her another charming grin.

  “That won’t work,” Greg Carnegie protested, running his hands through his hair. “He can’t stay here.”

  “No?” The charm stayed on the stranger’s face, but his gaze narrowed with calculation. “You don’t want your laird around?”

  “It’s not that.” Lucy joined in the fray. “We want him here.”

  “Doc.” The voice came again, soft with threat. “Come up here.”

  “So you want him here, yet not here.” His friend ignored him, and instead focused on the crowd with an exaggerated look of puzzlement.

  Rose gave him a reluctant chuckle. “What she means is he can’t stay in the castle.”

  “Why not?” His brows rose. “Doesn’t every laird need a castle to live in?”

  Someone in the crowd snickered.

  He raised Ceri’s hand and it shocked her she had let him hold it for so long. Perhaps because his grasp was so pleasant and safe. Like holding Elis’ hand or Will’s.

  “Doesn’t a laird need a castle if he’s going to win a fair maiden’s hand?”

  “Doc, stop it.”

  Ceri did it herself. She yanked her hand out of his grasp and glared again. “You’re crazy.”

  “Yes.” Hugh Brooks gave her a happy, jaunty grin. “I am. And it’s made me quite a lot of money.”