Highland Games: sparkling, sexy and utterly unputdownable - the romantic comedy of the year! (The Kinloch Series)

by Evie Alexander

  ‘Wait!’ commanded Zoe. He stopped.

  ‘You need to shake Basil’s hand too.’ She held out Basil towards him and lifted one of his paws. Rory tentatively extended a finger, allowing Basil to sniff at it, then put it gently under his paw, lifting it up and down a couple of times. Zoe’s heart expanded. Rory dropped his hand, moved to the door, and put on his boots without doing up the laces.

  ‘I’ll be back.’

  What was he up to now? Zoe gave Basil her best Arnold Schwarzenegger impression.

  ‘I’ll be baaaaahhhhhk,’ she whispered to him as they waited.

  He soon reappeared, an enormous bin bag slung over his shoulder, like a Pound Shop Santa. He kicked off his boots and brought the bag to the table, lifting the contents out.

  ‘You knew I’d say yes?’

  ‘I hoped.’

  Zoe leafed through A2 sized leather-bound tomes, as Rory shook out loose sheets of paper and leaflets advertising the castle. They fell to the table like confetti and Basil promptly started tearing them to pieces. Zoe lifted him off to put him in his cage.

  ‘This is a joke, right? Where are the actual accounts? I need a USB stick with them on.’

  ‘This is all I’ve got for now.’

  ‘No wonder the estate’s in trouble if this is how it’s being run.’

  Colour flushed across his cheekbones. ‘I told you I’m not good at this.’

  ‘Well, I like a challenge. I’ll start in the morning.’

  Rory’s shoulders relaxed. He looked intently at her. ‘Thank you.’

  Zoe nodded and immediately turned away. She would be undone if he looked at her like that again. Her insides were melting, pooling into hot lava between her legs. Fuck! Get him out of here. Now!

  She shooed him away. ‘Right then, I’ve had quite enough of you for one day. Bugger off and I’ll see you when you’ve made the shingles for the roof.’

  Rory put his boots on and hesitated. Zoe didn’t meet his gaze. ‘Okay, bye then.’

  He walked out the door.

  Zoe looked to the heavens and let out a long slow breath. He was killing her and he had no idea. She turned back to the table. She wanted to let Basil out of his cage so this mess needed to be out of his reach. She put the leaflets and pieces of paper in neat piles, anchored down by saucepans. The leather-bound books she arranged on the desk. She would attack it when she was fresh in the morning.

  She idly picked out a trifold leaflet. The first page was filled with an imposing image of the castle. It could have been a prison; threatening and austere. She opened the leaflet to see more uninspiring photos, including one of the great hall, filled with dark and gloomy portraits of miserable people. She shuddered. If this was meant to attract visitors, it would undoubtedly have the opposite effect. She put the leaflet down, let Basil out and grabbed the bottle of wine Fiona had given her. She poured some into a mug and leafed through the papers and books Rory had brought her. She rolled her eyes every time she saw the name Stuart MacGinley, Earl of Kinloch. Here she was, just another peasant sorting out his problems for him.

  By two o’clock the bottle of wine was finished, along with a third of a bottle of whisky, but Zoe was not. Her laptop battery had died, so she worked with a camping light and pen, scrawling notes manically on the books and on the backs of invoices. She was pissed, her mind possessed with possibilities, and loving every minute of it.

  * * *

  What she didn’t love was waking up at nine, her mouth drier than the desert and her bladder fuller than the sea. She’d crashed out in the tent fully clothed but had at least remembered her eye mask and earplugs. She had no time to get up leisurely. If she didn’t make it to the outhouse immediately, she was going to have an accident that would put Basil to shame. Her head was pounding and the daylight outside of the mask was too bright so she kept it on, navigating by the narrow view out the bottom. Earplugs could also wait to be removed. The last thing she wanted was to have birdsong hammering into her skull.

  She got to the front door, managed to get one boot on, then tried to put on the other. Unfortunately, there was something wrong with her balance. She made the critical mistake of leaning against the flimsy door as she pulled at the boot, finally yanking it on as the door gave way. She fell through, arms flailing, crashing into an object. Something hard and heavy that slowly moved out of her way. Behind the muffling of her earplugs she heard a yell, and pushed the eye mask up, in time to see an extremely large man fall out of the sky and land with a thump on the ground in front of the porch.

  She saw with blinding clarity she had fallen into a ladder. A ladder that had been supporting the weight of Rory. A ladder she had pushed over. In front of her, both it and Rory were now lying immobile on the ground. She could see Bandit leaping out of his truck and coming to see what was going on.

  She stumbled off the deck into the cold morning and ran to him, kneeling on the frosty ground, placing her hands on his shoulders and yelling his name.

  ‘Rory! Rory! Oh my god! Are you okay? Rory!’

  She couldn’t hear a thing. He wasn’t moving. She straddled him for balance and put her ear to his lips to see if she could hear him breathing, and her hand under his jaw, frantically searching for a pulse. His skin was like burning silk with a faint prickling of stubble, but in her panic, she could feel nothing, hear nothing. Bandit was alternating between licking his face and hers, not sure who needed his attention more.

  She tried to remember her last CPR course and knew she had to get help. But there was no bloody phone signal. Then she had to get his airways open, start chest compressions. She clumsily tugged at the buttons of his jacket. She was going to have to give him mouth to mouth. Oh god, with her hungover breath? Wasn’t it preferable to just let him die?

  What is wrong with these bloody buttons! She tried to rip them but they were sewn on with steel. She was near tears, her bladder screaming, her stomach wanting to vomit its contents over the man below her. She saw his eyes open. His mouth moved, but no words were coming out.

  ‘Oh my god! Rory! You’re alive!’

  He mouthed more words.

  ‘What? I can’t hear you. Speak to me. Are you okay?’

  Rory reached up, and with exquisite delicacy for such huge hands, located an earplug and popped it out, presenting it to her. With his other hand he gently pushed Bandit away.

  ‘I was just asking why you were shouting so loudly.’

  Zoe grabbed the earplug from him and pulled out the other, pocketed them and clamped her hands over her mouth. He was alive. And that meant he could smell how rancid she was.

  ‘Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, I didn’t know you were here.’

  His hand dropped weakly, and landed on her thigh. ‘Why do you have your hands over your mouth?’ he asked feebly.

  ‘Because I stink, and if I haven’t killed you with the fall, I’ll definitely do it with my breath.’

  Rory tried to laugh but it turned into a wheezy cough. Zoe dropped her hands to hold onto his arms.

  ‘Oh god, don’t move! You might have punctured a lung or something.’

  Zoe started to move off him, but his hand clamped down on her thigh. ‘Wait,’ he croaked pathetically. ‘I need to check if everything’s still in place.’ Zoe went stock still.

  She was hit with a wave of guilty pleasure feeling him between her legs. It was better than any fantasy. He was so broad and solid. His hand was so high up her thigh he was practically cupping her bum. He had one of those big thick Maglite torches in his trouser pocket, and she briefly entertained the fantasy it was him, before discounting her wishful thinking. Nothing human could be that big, that hard, and he’d made it abundantly clear he found her about as appealing as a hole in the head. Her bladder screamed and she wiggled her hips. If she didn’t get to the outhouse soon then it was going to explode. Rory looked in extreme pain.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed at her through gritted teeth.

  ‘I’m absolutely desp
erate to pee, and if I don’t jiggle, I’ll have an accident.’

  ‘Just go,’ he yelled hoarsely. ‘Now!’

  Zoe leapt off him and ran.

  12

  Rory didn’t move. Feeling the weight of her still on him, her thigh beneath his hand, the pounding desire filling every part of him till he thought he might burst. Straddled by legs he had only dreamed of and staring up into the anxious eyes of the most beautiful woman in the world, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive. He may have fallen the best part of twelve feet off a ladder onto frozen ground, but he had enjoyed the experience immensely. She had been made especially adorable by her pink fluffy eye mask, the word ‘Princess’ embroidered on it, which had been perched askance in her wild curly hair.

  ‘What am I going to do, buddy?’ he asked Bandit. ‘She’s going to be the death of me.’

  Bandit lay down, placing his head on Rory’s chest. Rory stroked him distractedly. The safest thing for his sanity was to walk away from Zoe and not look back. But he might as well try and defy gravity. He sighed. Despite all the longing, his feelings were not reciprocated. He sat, and listened to her puking her guts up in the outhouse. However good he felt, he knew she must be feeling equally terrible. He wanted to go to her, comfort her, bring her a glass of water. But that was not his place, so he got off the ground, picked up the ladder and went back to work on the roof.

  He looked away when she walked back up the slope to the cabin. After ten minutes, she came out onto the porch and called up.

  ‘Er, hi.’

  He stopped hammering and stepped down the ladder to stand in front of her. Bandit went to her side and she scratched behind his ears.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

  ‘Like crap. I’ve got to check a few things online so I’m popping to the library. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, I expect you’ll be gone by then.’

  Rory shrugged. ‘I need to take some measurements. Do you mind if I go into the cabin?’

  Zoe shook her head. ‘No, do what you need to do. Just let Basil out if he wakes up and make sure he’s got enough food and water.’

  ‘Will do. Are you okay to drive?’

  Zoe frowned. ‘Yes, I’m fine, I’ll try not to run anything over.’ She turned on her heels and strode to her truck, driving off so fast the wheels spun.

  At the library, Zoe set her devices and battery packs to charge, then slumped back into her seat. What had she done? She could have killed him. She allowed herself a wry smirk. At least they were now even. Shit, she felt terrible. Her head throbbed despite the paracetamol she had taken at the cabin. Ugh. She was never going to drink again.

  Whilst she waited for the water and painkillers to take effect, she flipped between chatting to Sam and Instagram. She then emailed her parents a long description of Sunday lunch at Morag’s and updated her spreadsheets to reflect what she could now get for free. She wanted to know if she could afford solar panels and a small wind turbine with enough power to give her light and a fridge. When she was up to date with everything and felt more human, she searched for the castle online.

  She finally found a website which had been started in the nineties and never finished. It was a holding page with a flashing sign saying ‘our website is coming soon!’ and a tally at the bottom of the screen that showed a grand total of four hundred and sixty-three visitors to the page since it was built.

  Zoe tried to find mentions of the castle as a tourist attraction on other websites but could only find one, which described it as ‘worth a visit if you want to make sure you’ve visited every castle in Scotland, but you’ll be lucky to find it open’. There was no social media presence at all.

  She sighed. At least she knew the size of the mountain she had to climb. Land rents were static and couldn’t be increased enough, and there was a limit to how much wood they could sell. There had been a recent cash injection from a property sale, but it didn’t make a dent in their position. The estate was losing money and had no way of repaying the loans they had taken out. Not unless they changed their business model and hopefully made a profit. The only way to generate new income was through tourism. She couldn’t remember much about the castle other than it was dark and grim. She’d need another visit to know what she was dealing with.

  She packed her bag back up, left the library and went to the main castle entrance. It had a faded and peeling sign outside announcing it was closed, so she walked around the exterior, taking photos, then sat in her truck, uploading them to Instagram with as many Scottish themed hashtags as she could think up. Her tummy rumbled loudly, reminding her she hadn’t even had breakfast yet. She glanced at her watch. Twelve-thirty. Good. It meant Rory would be long gone by the time she got back. She couldn’t face him again until she’d had time to recover from the embarrassment of the morning. He didn’t much like her at her best, and this morning she’d gifted him with her at her worst.

  * * *

  She drove down the track to the cabin, rounded the final bend, and saw with a sinking heart he was still there. She checked her appearance in the mirror, pinched her cheeks to get some colour into them and got out. He wasn’t on the roof and the new shingles were all in place. Jeez, he works fast.

  She pushed the door open and saw him in front of the Rayburn boiling the kettle. He moved stiffly as if he had injured himself. Had he fallen off the roof again? Maybe he hadn’t realised how hurt he was from the morning?

  ‘Hi, I’m back. Are you okay?’

  He moved slowly around, and she saw with delight that Basil was perched on his shoulder playing with his hair.

  ‘He forgives you!’

  ‘He doesn’t want to come down. I can’t do anything with him up here.’

  Zoe disentangled Basil and gave him a kiss. ‘You gorgeous little rat! Come to Mummy and leave the big man to do his work.’ She glanced around. ‘Where’s Bandit?’

  ‘He’s sleeping in the truck. I didn’t want to risk him meeting Basil without you here.’ The kettle came to the boil and he made Zoe a mug of tea. ‘Milk?’

  Zoe shook her head. ‘Until I get a fridge, it’s a no. How did you get on?’

  Rory gave her the mug, and their fingers briefly touched. A shock went through Zoe’s hand and she snatched the mug from him. Rory turned away. ‘Good. The roof will do you till next year, although I’d like to batten in sheep’s wool for extra insulation. I’ve taken measurements for the door and windows and I’ve made a plan for the bathroom and kitchen, although I need to go through it with you first.’

  ‘Can you show me now?’

  He brought an envelope out of his pocket where he had sketched out the floor plan of the cabin. He’d drawn a bathroom in the far right-hand corner, and a kitchen running down the rest of the right side around the Rayburn.

  He took a piece of chalk out of his pocket and drew lines along the floor to show where the units would be and the space for the bathroom. Zoe put her mug of tea on the table, and Basil on the floor, and followed him, keen for any excuse to be close to him, to smell that intoxicating scent of man and wood.

  ‘So, you’d come through the bathroom door here, then we’ve got a toilet, which will be compostable but built-in, so will appear like a normal plumbed in one, and a sink here. I don’t think there’s room enough for a bath, but instead I can build you a larger shower here.’ Rory sketched the outline on the floor and stood in it. Zoe joined him.

  They were facing each other in the space he had drawn. Her heart raced. They may have been standing in a chalk rectangle, but in Zoe’s mind they were already in the shower: wet, naked, their bodies entwined.

  ‘It’ll be big enough for two,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘Two?’ she questioned faintly.

  Rory swallowed. ‘Basil has to wash sometimes, doesn’t he?’ He smiled tightly and stepped away from her. ‘I was also thinking I could put a sleeping platform in the roof for you which would free up more room. But before that, I want to take up the floorboards and
insulate underneath.’

  Zoe wasn’t listening. He could have suggested installing a nuclear reactor and spinning the cabin upside down and she would have nodded in agreement. Having him so close had dissolved her cognitive function to mush.

  ‘And there’s the greywater system to install, but I want to see if you can afford a UV filter so you can drink it too. You can take the water from the roof and also from the stream. If you get a big enough tank, it will last all year with the amount of rain we get.’

  Zoe was happy not to talk. She was utterly absorbed in staring at his back, his arms, his tousled hair, as he talked through his plans. Heat had gathered between her legs and made her restless. Her body was craving release. She hadn’t had an orgasm for months. Her libido had been extinguished by her London dating experiences but it hadn’t bothered her. She wasn’t interested in men any more. However, Rory wasn’t a man, he was a god. Her desire had woken with a vengeance, like a lioness waking from sleep, stretching her limbs and flexing her claws.

  Rory finished talking, and saw her scribbled notes on the table. ‘You’ve started already?’

  Zoe glanced up, then down at the table again. She couldn’t look at him and use her brain at the same time. His eyes were arctic, shining with glacial light, silver stars shooting out through the irises. When she stared into them she was lost in a blizzard, her body dissipating into a storm of snowflakes till she was no longer there.

  ‘Yes. I didn’t mean to, but I made the mistake of going through everything you gave me last night along with a bottle of wine and, erm a little whisky, and got a bit carried away. It was three before I ran out of light and paper and had to go to bed.’

  ‘You worked on this till three?’

  Zoe couldn’t work out if he was impressed or derisive. ‘Yes,’ she said defensively. ‘It’s a bloody mess. I mean,’ she lifted one of the A2 leather books, ‘this belongs in a museum. No one has been using books like this for over a hundred years. I can’t believe you can even buy these any more.’