‘I’ve got two suits of armour in my room,’ Ben yelled out to his sisters. ‘Wow! Wait until I tell my mates on Facebook.’
Holly giggled and then glanced up at the man beside her and her giggle died.
He was looking...grim.
Grim? Why?
‘What’s with the face?’ she asked, and she saw him physically brace and shift and his smile came back on.
‘Face?’
‘Like Scrooge seeing Tiny Tim’s tiny corpse because he didn’t share his turkey.’
‘I’m sharing.’
‘For this Christmas only?’ she asked curiously. ‘Do you usually share?’
‘I don’t usually need to share.’
‘Need? Or want?’
‘There’s no need to get personal.’
‘No, but there’s want,’ she said, suddenly, impertinently, wishing to dig a little deeper into the past of this enigmatic Lord. She glanced at her weird ring. ‘As a fiancée, I need to understand my true love.’
‘Your pretend true love.’
‘Oi,’ she said. ‘You want me to shout to the top of the Christmas tree that this engagement’s fake? These kids will go home. Maggie and I will head off in a huff. You’ll be left with McAllister and Stanley. If we’re engaged, then I get to pry a little. Why does the sight of a Christmas tree and whooping kids make you look like you’ve just swallowed lemons?’
‘Lemons!’
‘Lemons,’ she said definitely. ‘Give.’
What was it with this woman? No one in his extended circle of friends and acquaintances would push past his personal boundaries like this.
‘I don’t do Christmas,’ he said at last, and she stared at him as if he were out of his mind.
‘Um...it’s a bit late to tell us that now,’ she managed. ‘You’ve opened the castle, you’ve invited the hordes, and I have two turkeys, two puddings and the ingredients for every conceivable Christmas goodie in the pantry. Plus Gran already has Christmas plans afoot, and the kids are already planning Hogmanay.’
‘I know.’
‘So why...?’
‘My fiancée died on Christmas Eve.’
‘I accept that,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I can see that must have been devastating. But wasn’t that a long time ago?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘But then we hadn’t been into Christmas when I was a child either. My grandfather died at Christmas.’
‘That’s right,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Was he old?’
‘Seventy-two.’
‘Okay, then,’ she said. ‘Got it.’
‘You don’t “got it”.’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t got it. Tell me.’
Tell her? Why? And how? It was dumb, how such a long ago tragedy still affected his life. He’d never talked about it, but every Christmas there it was—his mother deep in mourning while the rest of the world seemed to burst with flashing lights and colour.
His mother still wore black on Christmas Day. Actually, she wore black every day.
‘You can’t stop grief,’ he said but the explanation sounded weak even to him.
‘No, but you can keep it to yourself. Your mother...’
‘Holly, she’s over it. I’m over it. It’s just background.’
‘But it still makes you purse your lips at Christmas decorations.’
‘I do not purse.’
‘You do so purse.’ She sighed and put her hands on her hips. ‘Okay, you’re over it. Prove it. As Christmas host, it’s your duty to enjoy Christmas, starting now. Come into the kitchen and help me make mince pies.’
‘I can’t cook!’
‘Of course you can. If you can handle the stock market you can handle a recipe, and what else are you going to do? The kids will be exploring old haunts, and with all these people I’ve invited I could use a kitchen hand.’
‘I’m not,’ he said cautiously, ‘a kitchen hand.’
‘No. You’re a fiancé with a big black hole where Christmas should be,’ she said blithely. ‘I intend to fill it. I have Christmas carols on my phone and I have a beaut little travel amplifier that can boom them through the kitchen. I intend to sing along. How can you resist that, Lord Angus?’
He couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t.
He didn’t.
* * *
Holly McIntosh was a sucker for heroes. Any hero. Give her a good romantic movie and she’d fall every time. The only time a movie got her really upset was when a perfectly good hero ended badly. Ooh, the end of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, where two perfectly good heroes went down together, still had her smarting at the waste.
She carried her heroes in her heart for months after seeing an excellent movie, and she didn’t let anything mess with her images.
The Lord of Castle Craigie was a hero. She’d decided it the moment she’d met him. Those dark, shadowed eyes, the sculpted face, the fact that the first time she’d met him he was in a kilt, with his castle, his haunted background... Yep, she was in meltdown and that kiss had just compounded things. If her ring hadn’t snagged at just the wrong moment she knew she’d have gone to bed with him and made love to her very own romantic hero.
And yet...and yet...
Suddenly tonight the hero image had slipped a bit. The image wasn’t tarnished, it was just that she was seeing the human bits underneath more clearly. The Lord of Castle Craigie as a solitary child, spending Christmas with a grieving mother who never let her son escape a past which, in truth, was nothing to do with him. And then some kind of no-good fiancée dying on Christmas Eve. Okay, she knew nothing about the long-dead Louise, but right now she was prepared to put her in the same category as Geoff. Low life.
Because she’d hurt her hero?
She was kneading one lot of biscuit pastry while Angus—under her supervision—was crumbing butter into flour ready for the next batch. Her fingers were required for kneading but what her fingers really wanted to do was curl into frustrated fists. His mother... His fiancée... They were both in her sights.
What a way to treat a child, she thought, glancing at his still set face, but then, what a way for the old Earl to treat his wife. She might judge the unknown Louise, but maybe she needed to cut Angus’s mother some slack. To be locked in this castle while her dad was dying, for no better reason than a crazy sense of control, would probably have damaged anyone.
‘Angus, why not push your mother to come?’ she urged again. This was none of her business. She had no right to urge, but to have ghosts perpetually in the shadows... ‘How can she let ghosts ruin her Christmas for ever? If she’s miserable, I can tell that you won’t enjoy yourself. Her ghosts are your ghosts. Bring her here and let us blast them out of the water with mince pies and mistletoe. If she’ll come, let’s show her that life can go on.’
‘She wears black,’ Angus said inconsequentially.
‘Black’s elegant—it’ll look stunning among all our glitz. She’ll match Maggie. Honestly, Angus, if you don’t invite her you’ll regret it. I can see by your face that you’ll be thinking of her all Christmas.’
‘What could I possibly say that’d make her come?’
‘Tell her you really are engaged,’ she said. ‘Tell her you’ve given me the heirloom ring but I seem to have lost it already. Tell her I’m adorable and cute and dumb and you’ve fallen hard and you’re thinking of getting married on Hogmanay. You’ve invited all the villagers to attend and you’re besotted. Make me sound like a gold-digger. I suspect there’s not a mother in the known world who won’t get on a plane with that impetus.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘You can’t pull it off?’
He thought of his mother’s reaction if he really did say those things. And then...he thought of his mother’s Christmas.
It wasn’t that she was deliberately playing Miss Havisham, he thought. It was just that she’d got herself into a roller coaster where Christmas every year was the bottom of her ride.
Even the top wasn’t very high, he thought, and he looked at Holly in her crimson apron with Father Christmas emblazoned on the front, and her bright blue boots—she’d hardly taken them off—and he thought this Christmas Holly would cheer anyone up.
Maybe he could lay a few ghosts, he thought. If he could get his mother here... Underneath the layers of sadness, maybe there was a grandma in the making.
Grandma. Um...he was moving ahead here. Grandchildren.
Children.
He’d never thought of having children, except as some vague, nebulous concept he might or might not expect in his future. But suddenly his future was here, now, standing before him, elbows deep in pastry, eying him with a distinct challenge.
‘Christmas is for family,’ she said. ‘I was desperate this year so I headed to Gran. You guys sound like you’ve been desperate every year, so why not head here? We’ll have fun.’
Fun at Christmas. The concept was alien.
Holly. She was almost alien as well, as far from his world as it was possible to be.
Christmas. Hogmanay. Castle Craigie.
‘That mixture’s crumbed enough,’ Holly said, hauling him back to the here and now. ‘Give it to me and start another.’
‘How many mince pies are we making?’ he demanded, startled, and she grinned.
‘How many mince pies does your mother eat? I’ve just added another batch to my list. But think about it, Angus—Christmas, holiday, Hogmanay, family—wow this is a year to celebrate.’
‘I thought you just lost your real fiancé—plus all your money?’
‘So I did,’ she said serenely. ‘Deep down, I’m a bucketload of misery, but misery likes mince pies just as much as anyone else.’
* * *
Misery had got herself thoroughly, totally distracted. Misery had almost forgotten to be miserable.
Every now and then a wash of remembrance would flood back—of her cute little apartment in Sydney, now in the hands of the receivers, the staff she’d had to let go, her humiliation at the hands of a man she’d thought she could trust with her life. But mostly she was just too busy to care. She had the Christmas to end all Christmases to prepare for, and then Hogmanay.
‘Hogmanay is huge on most of the big Scottish estates,’ Maggie told her. ‘It’s always been a source of sadness that the old Lord wouldn’t do it. Now you’ve talked this Lord round your little finger...’
‘I have not!’
‘You have, even if you won’t go there,’ Maggie said serenely. ‘And this year marks the end of the estate as we know it. Somehow, we seem to have gained permission to put on the feast to end all feasts, so let’s get this celebration planned.’
And in the slivers of time not spent cooking and planning, when Holly could lie in bed and stare at the ceiling and think of Geoff and his betrayal, another face intruded.
The Lord of Castle Craigie. A man who, astonishingly, was throwing his heart into the festivities to come and was trying his utmost to show three needy kids a very good time.
This afternoon they’d headed off on the estate tractor to find a yule log. ‘I’ll order one if you really need one,’ Stanley had said sourly, but Angus and the kids had ignored him and headed for the woods.
‘Come with us, Holly,’ the kids had pleaded. ‘Don’t you want her with us, Angus? She can’t spend all her time in the kitchen.’
Angus had looked at her with a quizzical smile and she could have gone—she could—only sense was still there, yelling in her ears, saying: get to know this man better first.
And then they’d brought back the yule log, a great lump of green timber that would no sooner light than fly, and Maggie had decreed another was needed, and Maggie would personally select the log, so off they’d set again and once more Holly had stayed behind.
Fingering her odd little ring and feeling an ache in her heart grow deeper.
* * *
Why had he employed her to cook when he wanted to be with her? He and his assorted tribe headed off into the snow for the second time, with Maggie giving instructions as to where the rotten wood would be, the kids whooping behind or cadging an occasional lift on the running boards and Scruffy-Mac perched on his knee and he thought—the only thing needed to make this perfect was Holly.
He’d seen the longing on her face as they’d set off. She wanted to be with him.
No. Um...she wanted to be with them. There was a difference.
But...but...
How long did it take a man to know his own heart?
No time at all, he thought as they rounded the bend in the drive and the castle was out of sight. She’d return to her kitchen, they’d get back in an hour or so and the whole castle would be filled with the results of her cooking.
And she’d smile as they walked in. As he walked in.
A man could come home to that smile for the rest of his life.
How would she fit in Manhattan?
She didn’t have parents. As far as he knew, she had no unbreakable ties to Australia, and Maggie had to leave her cottage. If he asked Maggie to join them...
‘Left!’ Maggie was perched behind him on the tractor. ‘That’s the third time I said it. Any further and we’ll be in the loch.’
‘Sorry,’ he said and veered left towards the woodlands. ‘Maggie, have you ever been to New York?’
‘No.’
‘Would you like to go?’
‘Why would I want to go to New York? No one would understand my accent.’
‘Everyone would love your accent.’
‘What exactly are you proposing?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing yet,’ he admitted. ‘It’s just...if I ever thought...of proposing...for real...’
‘Give her time,’ Maggie said sharply. ‘She’s still raw.’
‘I know that.’ He hesitated. ‘How much time?’
‘How would I know?’ Maggie demanded. ‘My Rory wrote to his mother the day he met me, saying he’d met his bride. While he was doing that, I took my best friend Jean to look at wedding dresses in the most expensive bridal boutique in Glasgow. But I’ve heard tell that other people take their time to make up their minds, and I do think Holly needs time. It’s just I have no idea how long. And she needs to be sure. After all, you’re the Lord of Castle Craigie and, knowing that, a girl would need to be very sure indeed.’
* * *
My Rory wrote to his mother the day he met me, saying he’d met his bride.
Maggie’s words stayed in his head as he played with the kids, joining in a snow fight, losing more of his dignity all the time. He’d become Angus. He was becoming almost a friend to his half-brother and -sisters and, to his astonishment, he found he was enjoying himself—a lot. Family. He’d hardly had one and now it was a strangely sweet sensation. Making the kids happy. Making them smile, and having them make him smile back.
But family... Was that why Maggie’s words stayed with him?
My Rory wrote to his mother the day he met me, saying he’d met his bride.
Her words mixed with the crazy conversation he’d had with Holly over the mince pies—and finally that night he cracked and phoned his mother.
‘I think you should come for Christmas,’ he told her on the long distance call. ‘There’s someone I need you to meet.’
‘Who?’ He heard his mother’s sharp intake of breath, followed by unmistakable fear. She’d be frantic the castle was having its own effect on him.
‘A girl called Holly,’ he told her. ‘She’s...extraordinary.’
‘Angus! You’ve been there for less than a month.’
>
‘And I’ve known Holly for less than a week. Time’s immaterial. Mom, I’ve given her your ring.’
‘You’ve what? After a week? Are you out of your mind?’
He was following Holly’s instructions to the letter and it was working. He could feel his mother’s fear; the same thing that had happened to her was happening to him. It’d work. She’d be over here so fast, to rescue her son from some harpy’s clutches...
But suddenly that didn’t seem such a good idea. Make me sound like a gold-digger. That was Holly’s order and if he did it, yes it’d work, but at what cost?
He did not want his mother to think his Holly was a gold-digger.
His Holly? He stood staring out into the snow-filled night and he felt his world shifting. One slip of a girl, one mince pie maker, one changer of worlds.
Family.
‘She gave it away,’ he heard himself say and listened to his mother’s incredulous silence. He used a bit of that silence to form a few more words, to form a few more thoughts, to form a new resolution.
‘She’s adorable,’ he told her. ‘Yes, I gave her your ring, and yes, I’d love it if it was on her finger now, but she gave it to Delia because she thinks Delia needs it and wants it more. She’s right; Delia should have it. Mom, Holly’s adorable. I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s currently wearing a sauce bottle top as a ring as a sort of joke, but come the New Year I want to buy her something permanent. To be honest, I don’t know if she’ll have me yet but the more I know her the more I know I’ll push with everything I can. I would love you to meet her. I’d love it if you could come to Castle Craigie and share my Christmas, meet my Holly and say farewell to this place which treated you so badly but has maybe changed my life for good.’
‘You really want me to come?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ve fallen in love?’
‘I think I have.’
‘Then don’t talk about pushing,’ she said, suddenly urgent. ‘Don’t you dare. She really gave the ring to Delia?’
‘She thought it was rightfully hers.’
Christmas at the Castle Page 14
