by Caro LaFever
The worry gave him some hope this conversation was at an end, but his partner didn’t let his arm loose, although Lorne tugged.
“Someone has to get through that thick skull of yours and it’s always been my job. So you’re stuck listening to me.”
“I want ye to leave.”
“I know.” His partner’s hand tightened on him. “However, I’ve got some more facts to give you.”
He stopped tugging and looked at him with stoic resignation. His partner would have his say, he could see it in the tight line of his jaw. He didn’t have to follow his suggestions, though, and he wouldn’t. Especially about the Llewellyn woman.
“I made some of my own inquiries about Ceri’s first husband, and her interactions with your father.”
“What?” Shock ran through him. “Why would ye do that?”
“Because you’re my friend, and I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”
He grunted his acknowledgment and yet, the thought of Hugh hovering protectively over him made him angry. “Ye don’t have to protect me. Bloody hell. I know what I’m doing.”
“You know what you’re doing in front of a computer,” Doc said. “And you know what you’re doing when you do the business financials.”
“This is exactly the same as our business.” He scowled at his partner. “I’m making decisions, implementing them, and Castle Ross is mine.”
“Granted, we did good work during the last few days. Yet, that’s not going to solve Ceri.”
Solve Ceri.
He didn’t want to solve her. He didn’t want to do anything with her. He wanted her to leave.
“There’s this look in your eyes when I say her name, Lorne.” Doc gave him a wry smile. “Let’s just say, it gives me hope.”
“Hope for what?” He actively hated this conversation at this point. It was like the numerous conversations he’d had with his parents, his teachers, his schoolmates. Talks that made his head hurt because he couldn’t follow them, and didn’t understand what was expected of him.
“You know what?” Hugh dropped his arm, letting him finally step back. “I’m going to trust in fate.”
His head did hurt. Throbbed. “I’m going to my bedroom in the tower to lay down.”
“Good idea.” His partner slapped him on the shoulder. “But remember this conversation, Skiff. At some point, you’re going to want to call me so we can finish it.”
Chapter 10
Ceri knew she’d been avoiding Pictloch for too long. Will had told her part of her job as the new owner of Castle Ross and the Ross estate was to make sure the villagers were content and taken care of. She hadn’t been doing that part of the job since they’d all abandoned her to follow Hugh Brooks’ charm. Followed him right out of the castle, with smiles and shakes of the hand on the mere promise of some kind of meeting.
She’d been hurt. She’d admit that.
Which only made her angry straight after.
There’d been the solid chance she might start to yell in the middle of the town and yell until she’d sworn at every single one of the traitors. Not a good idea.
Instead, she’d hunkered down here and concentrated on the garden. She’d finished the last of the flowerbeds yesterday. The landscape crew was still scheduled to come in next week and do the final touches. The cleaning crew was still scheduled to come in the following week, right before the first tour arrived.
Will’s solicitor had warned her.
But she had no choice.
The estate taxes were due starting next month. The only way she could pay them was running the tours.
She had no choice.
“Ceri, I know what William Ross wanted and I’ve got his final will in front of me,” Mr. Gordon, the solicitor, had said when she’d met with him last week. Right before she’d whipped the letter out and shown the villagers what was in store for them if they didn’t revolt. “His son does, however, have some claim on the estate if he wants it.”
Her hands had tightened into a knot in her lap. “How much?”
“He can take half of the moveable property—like family mementos.”
“That’s fine.” She hadn’t thought the Lorne Ross she’d met would be interested in mementos, yet she wouldn’t begrudge him going through his family’s things and picking what he wanted. “I don’t mind. But he doesn’t own the property itself, correct?”
“Correct.” Mr. Gordon pushed his glasses up his nose and pinched it. “For now.”
For now.
The words cut through her like a sleek blade.
“What does that mean?” Her throat tightened with fear.
“It means he’s a billionaire.” The solicitor had given her a sad look, as if she’d already lost everything Will had given her. “It means he can make lots of trouble for ye in the courts for years and years. Which will cost ye a lot of money.”
Her throat closed.
“Ceri.” He’d sighed. “Ye might want to make peace with the man in whatever way ye can.”
“I won’t.” Fear turned to immediate, desperate resolve. “Will gave Castle Ross to me because he knew I loved it.”
“And his son didn’t.”
“No, he doesn’t.” She knew that deep in her gut. Will’s son hadn’t seemed minutely interested in the gardens or the castle. Not once had he poked around, or asked a question, or made an observation. She hadn’t detected an ounce of love or affection for the place in him. Not an ounce.
“But he still wants it.” Mr. Gordon straightened in his chair. “And billionaires tend to get what they want.”
His advice, words she hadn’t wanted to hear, was to not run the castle tours, if that was going to upset Lorne Ross. His advice was to find some way to compromise with the billionaire.
She’d ignored that advice because she had no choice.
There’re going to be no castle tours, Ceri.
Will’s son had said the words with such certainty. Even now, those words and that certainty shook her. The look in his slate-blue eyes had warned her. The way he’d turned and walked away from her told her clearly he thought nothing of her and her claims.
Everything he did shook her.
Not enough, though, to stop her.
She’d called the tour groups, pretending to be checking in to make sure everything was on track. Every one of them had confirmed their tours. Not a one mentioned being served with any court papers warning them away. Much to her relief and roiling unease.
She had no choice. The tours were her only hope.
The billionaire might be angry when the castle tours began, yet what could he do? The Lorne Ross she knew wouldn’t abide crowds of people walking in and out of his bedroom. He wouldn’t last one day once the tours started. He’d have to leave.
That was her only hope.
But not going to town hadn’t been a smart move.
It had been almost a week since she’d been in the village with that awful letter and then confronted Lorne Ross by the well. She’d stupidly ceded days and days to the enemy, letting him sow his seeds of destruction.
The villagers were still her backup plan.
Even if they were traitors.
If the billionaire fought back after the tours started, she needed the villagers to revolt again. And this time, this time he wouldn’t have his charming friend to help him. She’d seen that friend and the weasel in the limo when it drove away.
She needed Pictloch on her side.
“You’ve been a fool,” she told herself as she looked in the mirror hanging above the bathroom sink. “God knows what he’s been up to in this time.”
She’d done exactly what she’d done when she’d been married to Gareth. Sticking her head in the sand, instead of confronting what needed to be dealt with. Since she’d left Wales, she hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of ignoring reality. The reality of getting a low-wage job because she had no real skills. The reality of saving her pennies because she no longer had a rich husband. The reality that she
had no real future, other than making sure Elis was taken care of.
Will had changed her reality. Given her hope and dreams and a future. Along with all those things, she suddenly realized he’d given her room to grow soft. Way too soft. She’d let Will and herself down by letting his son have a wide-open field with the Pictloch villagers.
Cursing at herself, she stomped into her bedroom and threw on a pair of jeans and Will’s old shirt.
Whatever Lorne Ross had done in the village, she’d fix. She’d counter.
She’d seen them arguing in her garden two days ago. Him and his friend, the man she was supposed to stay away from. Then she’d seen the limo pull away and for a moment, her heart had flown right straight into the Scotland sky. Only to fall like a shot quail when she’d spotted his red hair as he’d stormed up to the castle’s front door.
The Range Rover stood in the parking lot. The bright lights shone from the tower.
He was still here.
The fact his friend and the weasel were no longer in residence didn’t matter. She knew who her real enemy was.
Striding out to her hatchback, she eased herself in and started the engine. Beyond needing to see what was going on in the village, she had no groceries. First, though, she’d stop at the Rose and Thistle and have lunch. The gossip would tell her what she needed know. She just hoped it wouldn’t be too disastrous for her future.
“Ceri!” Rose waved from the bustling bar when she walked into the pub. As she expected, the place was filled with mostly villagers and a stray tourist or two. Most of them nodded at her or gave her a smile, which gave her hope.
Perhaps the billionaire and all his money hadn’t met with any success.
“Sit here.” The pub owner pointed at the last empty stool at the bar. “I have so much to tell ye.”
She tried to catch the woman’s eye to get a hint about whether it was going to be a good telling or a bad one, but Rose rushed off to the kitchen.
Ceri sat and looked at the simple menu. Deciding she’d had plenty of exercise in the last few days, and needing some comfort, she chose the fish and chips. The young woman Rose always hired for the summer season took the order and smiled at her before sliding a glass of iced tea her way.
“Now then, the lunch rush is almost over and we have time to talk.” The pub owner hurried back to her, her smile tight.
Something in her smile made Ceri’s heart twist. The telling wasn’t going to be good. She knew right away.
“The Laird and his friend were here every day.” The blonde ran her hand through her hair. “In town.”
“Yes?” Needing something to do, she grabbed her drink and sipped.
“Yes. They did a lot of things, Ceri.”
“What kind of things?”
“Things like promising George Stevenson a new roof.”
Throwing money around. She’d figured that’s what they’d do. Yet the news still hit her like a punch.
“They made an offer on the McNaughton property out at the end of town.”
“What?” She hadn’t expected this. “What would they want with that property?”
“From the gossip going around,” Rose said, her eyes worried and yet hectic with excitement. “He and his partner are planning on opening a call center there.”
“He makes computer games. What does he need with a call center?”
The pub owner leaned on the bar. “Taking orders, maybe? Troubleshooting?”
“How many jobs?” This was worse, far worse than she’d thought. If Lorne Ross was planning on opening a part of his business here, then it meant he might stay. Stay forever. More importantly, more devastatingly, lots of jobs meant the village wouldn’t be dependent on the castle tours or her.
“Hundreds.” The blonde gave her a sympathetic look before continuing to pile on the horrors. “Sally Calhoun told me her husband and brother-in-law had a meeting with the two of them also.”
The Calhouns had helped erect her glass garden house late last summer. They were the jack-of-all-trades in the village, but advertised themselves as a construction company. “Are they going to help renovate the McNaughton property?”
“Worse.”
Ceri gaped at her with growing dread. “What?”
“He’s planning on selling the north end of the Ross estate to them so they can build dozens of residences.”
“That’s my property!” Her voice went high and the lunch crowd went quiet.
“I know, I know.” Rose patted her hand with compassion.
The young waitress came up to her, with a plate of steaming food she no longer had any appetite for. “Here ye are, miss,” she said, before sliding it in front of her.
“Thanks, Lori.” The pub owner glanced at the girl with a smile before waving her away.
Pushing the unwanted food back, Ceri glared at the older woman, even though it wasn’t her fault. “He can’t sell my property.”
“I know.” Her almost-friend nodded. “For now, at least.”
For now.
For now, at least.
Essentially the same words, said by the two people in this town who were on her side, made her brain freeze. “What am I going to do?”
“I rather liked his friend.” Rose patted her hand again. “And if Lorne is anything like his da, he’d tend to be reasonable.”
But he wasn’t anything like Will. She’d known that before she’d even met the man. Now that she had, she couldn’t attempt to describe how vastly different the two men were. Will was kind and loving. His son was hard and cruel. Will trusted and believed in her. His son saw only the armor she’d cultivated out of necessity.
“Maybe he’ll listen to ye, Ceri. Maybe it’s worth a try.”
“Try what?” A savage pain roared through her, dripping hot fury on her frozen brain. “Begging?”
“No, no.” Rose’s eyes went wide. “Can’t ye see, lass? He might be thinking of doing all these things—bringing in new jobs and building new homes.”
“On my land.”
“Yet, that won’t help us this summer.” The pub owner glanced around at the last of the lingering crowd. “That won’t help us for a couple of years.”
The words clicked off her fear and her fury in a snap. “You’re right. We still need the tours.”
“Yes.” Rose nodded. “The Calhouns might be excited and Mr. Stevenson may get his roof. But we’re with ye on the tours. We’ve talked about nothing else during the last few days.”
She sucked in a deep breath of relief. “The tours are going to go on whether Mr. Lorne Ross likes it or not.”
“Or all of us villagers will be right back on his doorstep.” The older woman gave her an encouraging smile. “So can’t ye see? Both of ye have an incentive to talk.”
That wasn’t what she saw. What she saw was the tour buses arriving in the parking lot. The tourists stampeding for the castle, and Lorne Ross running away. He might fight her in court, but he’d be gone and possession was nine-tenths of the law. She also had at least a couple of years of breathing room because the villagers would want the tours to continue. The man had no real interest in the castle. Once he returned to London, who could predict he’d ever come back?
Pulling the fish and chips in front of her, Ceri shot Rose a confident smile.
She was going to win. She knew it.
Ceri couldn’t sleep.
Not that this was unusual. She’d never been able to do more than snatch a few hours in the night. Most of the time, she didn’t need much sleep to operate at full capacity. Consequently, it never fazed her when she awoke early. Only in the spring and summer, when she worked hard in the garden, did she find herself sleeping more than four or five hours.
Since she’d been working at a feverish pace during the last couple of weeks, it did surprise her that she found herself wide awake at…
She glanced at her bedside clock.
4:52 a.m.
Sighing, she gave up any expectations of falling back into slumb
er. She pushed the covers away and rose, making her way naked to the small bathroom down the hall. After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she pulled on her cotton robe and went into the kitchen.
It was still dark out, just the beginnings of the dawn peeking over the garden wall. She couldn’t do much of anything in the garden right now, there wasn’t enough light, and she wasn’t hungry enough to bother with making tea or toast.
Pressing her forehead on the windowpane, she peered at the glass house which held all her long-term hopes. The muted glow of sunlight hit the top of the pointed roof, making the glass shimmer for a moment. She supposed she could go and do some work there; the house had its own lighting. Yet, she didn’t feel like doing that, either.
Will would say she should take a walk in his forest.
The thought of him, of his son, of the war she found herself in, made her melancholy. Perhaps what Rose had said yesterday, about talking to Lorne Ross—perhaps she should think about doing that.
Maybe he’ll listen to ye, Ceri.
And maybe he wouldn’t. No male other than Will had ever listened to her. All the men that had danced through her mam’s life had looked at her with indifference. Gareth had seen her as a pretty prize. Elis loved her, she knew that, but he was smack in the middle of being a teenager which meant anything an older sister said was suspect.
Maybe he’ll listen to ye, Ceri.
A misty bubble of wistfulness rose in her throat. For a second, she let herself imagine a man who’d listen. Listen to her dreams and support them. Listen to her worries and console her. Listen to her heart and hear her.
Just listen.
It wasn’t that much to ask for, was it?
From her experience, it was too much to ask for.
Brushing off the sorrow and the bittersweet dreams, she decided she’d take Will up on his suggestion. He might have whispered it into her brain from heaven, and a person should always pay attention to those whispers. Within a few minutes, she’d pulled on a pair of jeans and a warm jumper. Scotland still held onto the winter in early spring mornings. She decided she’d take the path down by the stream. Perhaps she’d see a trout or two and report back to Elis that the fishing would be good when he got here a few weeks from now.
