The Secret Princess

‘I’m not running away,’ she told him again. ‘I just want to do something by myself. For myself.’

‘Then you’re going to learn what I learnt a long time ago,’ said Corran. ‘If you want something badly enough, the only person you can rely on is yourself.’

To Lotty, it sounded a cold philosophy, but how could she argue when she had no experience of relying on herself?

‘And you want Mhoraigh?’ she said.

Corran nodded. ‘This used to be one of the finest estates in the Highlands,’ he told her. ‘But there’s been no maintenance for years, and gradually its wealth has been frittered away. My father liked to act the laird, and he was big on shooting parties and keeping up traditions, but he didn’t believe in getting his hands dirty, and Andrew’s the same. He looks the part, but the land was just a source of income for him.

‘But Mhoraigh’s mine now,’ said Corran, setting his jaw, ‘and I’m going to make it what it was.’

‘On your own?’

‘On my own,’ he agreed. ‘Of course, it would be easier if I had some financial reserves, but between alimony payments and all the ready assets going to Moira and Andrew, I can’t begin to improve the breeding stock or even keep up with the maintenance.

‘That’s why I need to get the cottages up and running as soon as I can,’ he said, drumming the fingers of one hand on the table. ‘Holiday lets are a good source of income, but the summer is my only real opportunity to get the work done. This is a working estate, and there’s farming to be done too. We’ve finished lambing and the sheep are out on the hill now, but come September I need to be taking them to market. Then I’ll be buying tups, and the cattle will go in October. And all that’s apart from the forestry and routine maintenance.’

‘Hmm,’ said Lotty through a mouthful of toast. ‘I can see why you need some help.’

‘And instead I’ve got you,’ Corran said with a sardonic look.

She met his eyes across the breakfast table. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘You’ve got me.’

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER breakfast, Corran showed Lotty to a room upstairs. He had warned her that the house was bare, but it was still a shock to see how thoroughly it had been stripped by his stepmother. There were no carpets or curtains, hardly any furniture, and tired patches on the walls marked where pictures had once hung.

It made Lotty feel sad to think of how bitter his stepmother must have felt to have left the house in such a state. Corran put on a good show of not caring what anyone thought, but Lotty had seen the bitter curl of his mouth when he had talked about being the unwanted son. Small wonder that he had grown into a grimly self-sufficient man.

Like the rest of the house, her bedroom was sparsely furnished, with just a bed and a straight-backed chair on the bare boards, but it was light and spacious and from the window there was a lovely view of the loch. Lotty, who had spent her life in the most luxurious of accommodation, was delighted with it.

She would have to collect her rucksack from the barn later, but for now Corran had provided her with an old shirt. Lotty took off her fleece and T-shirt and shrugged the shirt on over her bra, uncomfortably conscious of the feel of it against her bare skin. The cotton was worn and threadbare at the cuffs and collar, but it was clean and it smelt very comforting. She rolled up the sleeves and tried not to think that the skin the shirt had touched had been Corran’s. It felt disturbingly intimate to be wearing his clothes.

Back at the cottage, she squared her shoulders determinedly and set to work, glad of the gloves she had brought in case the weather turned unseasonably cold. She would show Corran McKenna what she could do, but that didn’t mean she had to like touching all the filth and horrible cobwebs.

She spent the first two hours dragging the clutter of old furniture in the living room outside. One or two of the bigger pieces would have to wait until she could persuade Corran to help her, but in the meantime at least she could start to make an impression. She rolled up rugs, coughing and spluttering at the dust, and then gritted her teeth before tackling the cobwebs on the ceiling with a broom.

Some of the spiders were enormous, and she had to jump out of the way as they scuttled irritably across the floor. Lotty hated spiders, but she wouldn’t let herself scream. Princesses didn’t squeal or shriek or make a fuss, and they were never afraid. Her grandmother had taught her that.

Once the spiders were dealt with, she even began to enjoy herself. She was grimy and hot and the dust made her wheeze, but there was no one to charm, no one waiting to shake her hand, no one expecting anything of her except that she get this job done. No deference, no sycophancy, just Pookie, who seemed to have attached himself to her and was snuffling happily around, scrabbling at holes in the skirting boards and growling at imaginary rats.

At least Lotty hoped they were imaginary.

When Corran found her at lunchtime, she was sweeping up piles of dust and rubbish and singing tunelessly in French while Pookie pounced on fluff balls. Neither of them noticed him at first, which just went to show what a useless excuse for a dog Pookie was.

From the doorway, Corran watched Lotty wielding the broom inexpertly. She was swamped by his shirt, and she wore that scarf twisted up and knotted in two corners, so she should have looked ridiculous. Instead, the rough shirt just emphasised the delicacy of her arms and the pure line of her throat rising out of the worn collar, while she managed to make even the scarf look chic.

And she was singing! She wasn’t supposed to be happy. She was supposed to be overwhelmed by the task he had set her, and disgusted by the dirt. She was supposed to be giving up and going away. He needed help, yes, but he needed someone practical, not this slight, elegant figure with her spine of steel and her speaking grey eyes. Lotty was too…distracting.

Look at how she had made him talk over breakfast, pushing him to think about the past, and look at him now, breaking off to make coffee, just to make sure she stopped for a few minutes! He didn’t have time to worry about her.

Corran scowled and rapped on the door with his knuckles. ‘I’ve brought lunch,’ he said curtly.

Startled, Lotty swung round in mid-song, and Pookie came scampering over to yap and fawn at his knees to cover his embarrassment at being caught unawares.

‘Quiet!’ Corran bellowed and the dog dropped back on its haunches, ears drooping comically in dismay at his tone.

‘He’s just pleased to see you,’ said Lotty, smiling. She propped her broom against the broken banister, pulled off her gloves and dropped them on the bottom step, and came towards him, brushing her hands on her shirt. On his shirt. ‘And I am too, if you’ve got lunch with you!’

When she smiled, her whole face lit up and Corran felt something tighten around his heart for a moment. It was a long time since anyone had looked happy to see him.

And how pathetic was it that he had even thought of that?

‘Don’t expect me to make a habit of it,’ he said, glowering. ‘It’s just that I’ve finished plastering and I thought I might as well throw some sandwiches together. I want to start baling silage this afternoon, and there’s no point in stopping for lunch once I get going.’

‘I didn’t think I’d be allowed the time for lunch,’ she said. ‘I certainly didn’t think you’d make it. I’m impressed by the service!’

That was right, Corran thought, hunching a shoulder. Make a big deal of it, why didn’t she? Next she would be suggesting that he was worried that he might have asked her to do too much.

‘It’s not too bad outside,’ he said stiffly. ‘I thought we could eat down by the loch.’

‘That’s a wonderful idea!’ said Lotty. She took a deep breath of fresh air, glad to get out of the musty cottage for a while, although she had no intention of admitting that to Corran, of course. Putting her hands to the small of her back, she stretched, unable to prevent a tiny grimace at the twinge of her muscles.

‘Had enough?’ said Corran.

‘Certainly not,’ she said, determined not to let him guess how grateful she was for the chance to stop for a while. ‘You were the one who stopped for lunch!’

Lotty’s shoes crunched on the shingle as she made her way back up the little beach after washing her hands in the cool, clear loch. Corran was unwrapping a packet of sandwiches on the rocky outcrop.

‘It’s nothing fancy,’ he warned as he held out the packet to her.

Lotty took one and perched on the rock beside him. ‘It looks great to me,’ she said honestly. She couldn’t believe how hungry she was, after all that toast at breakfast too.

The sandwich was little more than a piece of cheese thrown between two pieces of ready-sliced bread, but Lotty had rarely enjoyed a lunch more. It felt good to be outside. The air was cool and faintly peaty and she pulled off her scarf so that the breeze could ruffle her hair.

Taking a mouthful of sandwich, she turned up her face to the sun that was struggling through the clouds. ‘Good,’ she mumbled. Even that small rebellion felt wonderful. Princesses never talked with their mouths full. When she went home she would have to remember her manners, but right now she could do whatever she wanted. It was an exhilarating thought.

Corran was pouring coffee from a flask into plastic mugs, but he put it down so that he could brush a cobweb from Lotty’s shoulder. ‘You’re filthy,’ he said.

It was a careless touch, but Lotty’s skin tightened all the same and she was conscious of a zing of awareness.

‘That’s what happens when you try and get rid of forty years’ of dirt,’ she said, embarrassed to find that she was suddenly breathless.

It wasn’t as if Corran was particularly attractive. He was as hard and unyielding as the rock they were sitting on. The dark brows were drawn together over the pale, piercing eyes in what seemed a permanent frown. And yet one graze of his fingers was enough to send the blood skittering around in her veins, one look at his mouth and her heart bumped alarmingly against her ribs.

Unaware of her reaction, Corran handed her a mug. ‘I couldn’t remember how you took your coffee this morning, so I put milk in.’

‘It doesn’t make much difference to me,’ said Lotty, glad of the excuse to shift her position on the rock. She wrinkled her nose as she looked down in the mug. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful, but this isn’t what I call coffee.’