The Heir of the Castle

Callan shot her a smile. ‘Touché,’ he whispered.

She smiled. ‘I’m nobody’s shrinking violet...’ she leaned forward to whisper in his ear ‘...and I hate anyone implying otherwise.’

Callan lifted his glass. ‘I’ll remember that.’

The food appeared moments later, all served by a harassed-looking Marion and a young girl who looked too terrified to speak.

Everything was beautiful. From the chicken liver pâté, to the chicken breast stuffed with haggis. All accompanied by copious amounts of free-flowing wine.

After such a long journey Laurie could feel the wine go straight to her head and stopped after the second glass.

The doors to the garden had been left wide open, and, instead of feeling cold, Laurie found herself appreciating the clean sea air that circulated around them. It was the first time in for ever she could remember having a clear head. Sure, if she’d drunk much more wine it could have made her wobbly, but for the first time in months she didn’t feel at her muggiest, with a persistent headache thumping in the background.

She tried to remember when the headache had actually left her. It had been there so frequently she couldn’t recall. She really should get out of the city more. Was it on the steam railway that she’d finally felt her head clear? Maybe there was a lot to be said about highland views and sea breezes.

It didn’t matter that the air in the room was fraught with tension. It didn’t matter that she was lost amongst a sea of relatives, some of whom she wasn’t sure she even liked. It didn’t even matter to her that Callan was constantly prickly around her.

This was the first time, in a long time, she finally felt relaxed. Her body almost didn’t recognise the signs. What she really wanted to do right now was climb the curved staircase, open her bedroom window to the sea air and slip under the covers of that comfortable-looking double bed.

She almost didn’t care about the inheritance aspect of the journey.

Almost.

Because from the moment she’d set foot in this place she’d loved it.

It made her toes tingle. It made her breath catch in her throat. It made the tiny little hairs on her arms stand on end.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine the fabulous history of a place like this. And all she wanted to do was drink it in.

And if that meant having to play nice with Mr Callan McGregor, then she would. Because he seemed to be the only person who could tell her what she wanted to know.

The dinner passed by in a flash, then Frank the solicitor appeared again and ushered them all into the drawing room.

Laurie almost let out a sigh. It was after nine o’clock at night and after a long day’s travel she really just wanted to go to sleep.

She’d tried to speak to Frank earlier but it had been very apparent he didn’t want to be seen in discussion with her. Maybe he was worried he would get accused of showing her favour because she was a fellow professional? All she’d wanted to ask him was a little about Angus McLean. But it wasn’t to be.

Frank read out a list of rules about the Murder Mystery Weekend, about them staying in character and when they would be expected to meet. He also introduced some people from the company running the weekend’s activities: Ashley, a blonde woman in a pale pink 1920s dress, Robin, a dark-haired man dressed in hunting regalia and John, who was dressed as a butler.

Tea and coffee were provided on a table at the side and Laurie made her way over to grab a cup. The rest of the guests were told to mingle and familiarise themselves with each other. As she poured the coffee into one of the pale blue china cups another one was slid alongside.

‘Pour me one too, would you? I’m going to fall asleep in here. Playing nice doesn’t agree with me.’

Laurie smiled at Callan’s voice. ‘You and me both. I had no idea I’d be so tired after the journey. All I want to do right now is go to bed.’

Should she have said that out loud? There was kind of an amused glint in Callan’s eyes. For a second she felt a flare of panic. What did he think she meant? For a horrible moment she thought he might have taken it as an invitation. The colour started to flood into her cheeks, and she did what she always did when she was embarrassed—she babbled.

‘It’s such a long journey up by train. The steam locomotive was fabulous, I wouldn’t have missed the gorgeous scenery for anything, but when it gets to this time at night, and especially after that beautiful dinner, I just want to go and lie down. Alone—I mean,’ she added hastily.

But Callan was laughing and shaking his head. It was obvious he’d picked up on her anxiety.

She said the first thing that came into her head. ‘What about you, Callan? Is there a Mrs McGregor to go home to?’

Had she actually just said that out loud? Please let the ground open up and swallow her whole. Wine and tiredness obviously weren’t a good mix for her.

Callan shook his head, and was it her imagination or did he just glance at her left hand?

‘No. There’s no Mrs McGregor. I’ve been a bit of a workaholic these last few years.’

‘And any mini McGregors?’ In for a penny, in for a pound. It seemed prudent to ask, particularly after what had been learned about Angus McLean in the last few weeks.

There was no hesitation. He shook his head. ‘I can assure you, if I had any kids they would be permanently attached to my hip.’

There was no mistaking that answer. Callan McGregor would never do what Angus McLean had—whatever his reasons might have been.

‘What about you, Laurie? Are you like your character—do you have more than one attachment?’ There was a cheeky glint in his eyes as he asked the question.

Laurie rolled her eyes. ‘I should be so lucky. I don’t have enough hours in the day for myself let alone anyone else. Do you know, I think this is the first time I haven’t had a headache in months.’

He leaned forward. ‘It’s all this good Scots air. It does wonders for your health.’ For a second, her breath was caught in her throat as the aroma of his woody aftershave invaded her senses. It was delicious.

She gathered herself and smiled. ‘Yeah, but it’s making me exceedingly tired.’

‘You mean you don’t want to go and play nice with the relatives?’

Laurie took a deep breath. She knew the correct answer to this question, but it just couldn’t form on her lips. She gave a little shrug. ‘Yes, yes, I do. But right now I’m just too tired to care.’ She looked over to the middle of the room where they were all currently holding court, talking—no, shouting—at the tops of their voices.

She gestured over to the other side of the room. ‘The person I’d really like to sit down with at some point is Mary from Ireland. She’ll have been my father’s half-sister. And she looks really like him. I’d like to get a chance to talk properly to her.?

?

The lights flickered out and the room was plunged into darkness, followed by a theatrical scream. And even though she should have half expected it, it really did make her jump.

Callan’s arm slid around her waist. Even though she couldn’t see a thing, she could sense him leaning closer to her. And it was her natural instinct to move a little closer to him. ‘You okay, Laurie?’ His warm breath tickled her cheek. More of the aftershave. It was scrambling her senses and rapidly turning into her new favourite smell.

She clutched the cup in her hands. Her hands had started to tremble. The last thing she wanted to do was shatter some priceless china on the parquet flooring. ‘Yes, thanks,’ she whispered.

‘I’m sure this will all be over in a second...’ his voice was low, the curls around her ear vibrating with his tone ‘...and hopefully then we can all get off to bed.’

The words sent a shiver down her spine. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Something she hadn’t had time to feel in a long time.

The realisation was startling.

She’d only been here one evening and everything about this place was surprising her.

She’d yet to feel a connection to any of her relatives—the one thing she would actually have liked.

But she couldn’t get over the connection and tingle she’d felt to this place from the moment she’d stepped inside. She was under no illusion that Annick Castle would actually ever be hers. But she hadn’t expected the place to take her breath away. She hadn’t expected to get the tiniest sensation of belonging from just looking out of a window across an ocean.

None of that made any sense.

But what made even less sense was the man standing next to her, and the fact her skin was on fire beneath his fingertips. She didn’t even know him. She wasn’t sure if she even liked him. He was grumpy. He was prickly.

But something made her feel as if Callan McGregor was the one true person about here she could trust.

Then there was the fact she knew he was single. It seemed to have made her stomach do dangerous somersaults.