Her Highland Boss: The Earl's Convenient Wife / In the Boss's Castle / Her Hot Highland Doc

‘Maggie!’

‘Just asking.’ Maggie grinned and raised her glass. ‘You might need to declare that to get an annulment—or am I thinking of the bad old days when they checked the sheets?’

‘I can hardly get a doctor to declare me a virgin,’ Jeanie retorted, and Maggie’s smile broadened. But behind her smile Jeanie could see concern. Real concern.

‘So what happened? Did he come on too fast? Is he a brute? Tell me.’

If only, Jeanie thought, and suddenly, weirdly, she was thinking of her mother. Heather Lochlan had died when Jeanie was sixteen and Jeanie still missed her with an ache that would never fade.

‘He’s not a brute. He’s just...a businessman.’ She buried her face in her hands. ‘Mam would never have let me get myself into this mess,’ she whispered. ‘Three husbands... Three disasters.’

‘Your mam knew Rory,’ Maggie retorted. ‘Rory was no disaster. Your mam would have danced at your wedding.’

She well might have, Jeanie thought. Rory had been an islander, born and bred. He’d been older than Jeanie by ten years, and he’d followed his father and his grandfather’s way to the sea. He’d been gentle, predictable, safe. All the things Jeanie’s dad wasn’t.

She’d been a mere sixteen when her dad had taken control of her life.

Her mam’s death had been sudden and shocking, and Jeanie’s dad had turned to drink to cope. He’d also pulled Jeanie out of school. ‘Sixteen is well old enough to do the housework for me. I’m wasting no more of my money.’

She’d been gutted, but then Rory had stepped in, and amazingly he’d stood up to her father. ‘We’ll marry,’ he’d told her. ‘You can work in the fish shop rather than drudge for your father. You can live with my mam and dad.’

Safe... That was what Rory was. She’d thought she loved him, but...

But working in the fish shop, doing an online accountancy course because she ached to do something other than serve fish and clean, waiting for the times Rory came home from sea, fitting in with Rory’s life...sometimes she’d dreamed...

It had never come to a point where she’d chafed against the bonds of loving, for Rory had drowned. She’d grieved for him, honestly and openly, but she knew she should never have married him. Safety wasn’t grounds for a marriage. She’d found a part-time job with the island solicitor, and she’d begun to think she might see London. Maybe even save for a cruise...

But it had been so hard to save. She’d still been cleaning for her in-laws. She’d been earning practically nothing. Dreams had seemed just that—dreams. And then Eileen had come and offered her a job, acting as her assistant whenever she was on the island. And with Eileen...Alan.

Life had been grey and drab and dreary and he’d lit up everything around him. But...

There was that but again.

‘Mam would have told me not to be a fool,’ she told Maggie. ‘Maybe even with Rory. Definitely with Alan and even more definitely with this one.’

‘Maybe, but a girl has to follow her heart.’

‘My heart doesn’t make sense. I married Rory for safety. I married Alan for excitement. I married...this one...so he could keep his inheritance. None of them are the basis for any sort of marriage. It’s time I grew up and accepted it.’

‘So what will you do now?’ Maggie was watching her friend with concern.

‘I’m leaving the island. I never should have come back after Alan’s death. I was just...so homesick and battered, and Eileen was kind.’ She took a deep breath. ‘No matter. I’ve enough money to tide me over for a few weeks and there are always bookkeeping jobs.’ She raised her whisky to her friend. ‘Here’s to an unmarried future,’ she said.

‘Och,’ Maggie exclaimed, startled. ‘You can’t expect me to drink to that.’

‘Then here’s to an unmarried Jeanie Lochlan,’ Jeanie told her. ‘Here’s to just me and that’s how it should be. I’m on my own and I’m not looking back.’

* * *

Alasdair was not on his own. He was surrounded by eight irate guests and two hungry dogs. Where did Jeanie keep the dog food? He had no idea.

He’d stayed in the castle off and on when his grandmother was ill, and after his grandmother’s funeral. During that time the castle had been full of women and casseroles and offers of help. Since that time, though, he’d been back in Edinburgh, frantically trying to tie up loose ends so he could stay on the island for twelve months. He’d arrived this morning via helicopter, but the helicopter was long gone.

He was stuck here for the night, and the castle was full, not with offers of help, but with eight guests who all wanted attention.

‘Where’s the whisky, fella? We only came for the whisky.’ That was the American, growing more and more irate.

‘Jeanie has shortbread.’ That was the shorter of two elderly women in hiking gear. ‘I’m Ethel, and Hazel and I have been here a week now. We know she made it, a big tin. Hazel and I ate three pieces each last night, and we’re looking forward to more. If you could just find it... Oh, and Hazel needs a hot-water bottle. Her bunion’s playing up. I told her she should have seen the doctor before she came but would she listen? She’s ready for a drop of whisky, too. When did you say Jeanie would be back?’

He’d assumed Jeanie had some help. Someone other than just her. These people were acting as if Jeanie were their personal servant. What the...?

‘I’ll ring the village and get whisky delivered,’ he said and the American fixed him with a death stare.

‘That’s not good enough, man. It should be here now.’

‘We’ve had a problem.’

‘Is something the matter with Jeanie?’ The lady called Ethel switched to concern, closely followed by visions of disaster. ‘Where is she? And the whisky? You’ve lost it? Were you robbed? Is Jeanie hurt? Oh, she’s such a sweetheart. If anything happened to her, we’d never forgive ourselves. Hazel, Jeanie’s been hurt. Oh, but if it’s robbery, should we stay here...?’

‘It’s not robbery.’

‘It’ll be that father of hers,’ Hazel volunteered. ‘He came when we were here last year, blustering his way in, demanding money. He took her whisky. Oh, she’ll be mortified, poor lass.’

‘But where’s our whisky?’ the American demanded and Hazel swung around and raised her purse.

‘If you say one more word about whisky when our Jeanie’s in trouble, this’ll come down on your head,’ she told him. ‘My bunion’s killing me and I could use something to hit. Meanwhile Mr...Mr...’ She eyed Alasdair with curiosity.

‘McBride,’ Alasdair told her.

And with the word, the elderly lady’s face sagged into relief. ‘You’re family? Oh, we’re so glad. Ethel and I worry about her being here in this place all alone. We didn’t know she had anyone. Is she really all right?’

‘I... Yes. She just...needs to stay in the village tonight. For personal reasons.’

‘Well, why shouldn’t she?’ the lady demanded. ‘All the times we’ve stayed here, we’ve never known her to take a night off, and she works so hard. But we can help. The doggies need their dinner, don’t you, doggies? And we can make our own hot-water bottles. If you light the fire in the sitting room, Ethel and I will feed the doggies and find the shortbread. Oh, and we’ll take the breakfast orders, too, so you’ll have them all ready.’ Her face suddenly puckered. ‘But if Jeanie’s not back by the morning... Ethel and I come for Jeanie’s porridge. We can cope without whisky but not without our porridge.’

* * *

The guests headed to the village for dinner, and by the time they returned Alasdair had whisky waiting. It wasn’t enough to keep the Americans happy, but the couple had only booked for one night and for one night Alasdair could cope with bluster.

But one night meant one morning. Breakfast. Ethel and Hazel had handed him the menus, beaming confidence. He’d glanced through them and thought there was nothing wrong with toast.

He couldn’t cope with breakfast—and why should he? This marriage farce was over. All he had to do was accept it. He could contact the chopper pilot, get him here first thing and be back in Edinburgh by mid-morning.

He’d be back in charge of his life—but Hazel and Ethel wouldn’t get their porridge and the Duncairn empire was finished.

He glanced again at the menus. Porridge, gourmet omelettes, black pudding... Omelettes were easy, surely. Didn’t you just break eggs into a pan and stir? But black pudding! He didn’t know where to start.

Did Jeanie do it all? Didn’t she have anyone to help?