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Double wages?

      She should refuse, she thought, but then...why not just be a grateful employee? That was what she was, after all.

      ‘Excellent,’ she said and passed the sandwiches. ‘Take a sandwich—sir.’

      * * *

      Employer/employee. That was a relationship that’d work, he thought, and it was fine with him—wasn’t it?

      He was grateful to Jeanie. She’d agreed to marry him, and in doing so she’d saved the estate. More, she’d made Eileen’s last years happy. He was doing what he could to show he was grateful and she was accepting with pleasure.

      It should be enough.

      Their puffin expedition was magic. For Alasdair, who’d seen them so often in the past, they should feel almost commonplace, but in watching Jeanie watch them he was seeing them afresh. They were amazing creatures—and Jeanie’s reaction was magic.

      She tried hard to be prosaic, he thought. Her reactions to him were down-to-earth and practical, and she tried to tone down her reactions to the birds, but he watched her face, he watched the awe as she saw the birds dive and come up with beaks stuffed with rows of silver fish, he watched her turn her face to the sun and he thought, Here was a woman who’d missed out on the joy of life until now.

      It was a joy to be able to share.

      They returned to the castle late afternoon to find all the tasks done, the castle spotless, the grass mowed, the cattle tended. Jeanie entered the amazing great hall and looked up at the newly washed leadlight, the carpets beaten, the great oak balustrades polished, and he thought he detected the glimmer of tears.

      But she said nothing, just gave a brisk nod and headed for her kitchen.

      The baking was done. A Victoria sponge filled with strawberries and cream and a basket of chocolate brownies were sitting on the bench. Jeanie stared at them blankly.

      ‘What am I going to do now?’ she demanded.

      ‘Eat them,’ Alasdair said promptly. ‘Where’s a knife?’

      ‘Don’t you dare cut the sponge. The guests can have it for supper. You can have what’s left.’

      ‘Aren’t I a guest?’

      ‘Okay, you can have some for supper,’ she conceded. ‘But not first slice.’

      ‘Because?’

      ‘Because you’re the man in the middle. Guest without privileges.’

      ‘Guest with brownie,’ he retorted and bit into a still-warm cookie. ‘So tomorrow...otters?’

      ‘What do you mean, otters?’

      ‘I mean Maggie’s mam and her friends are hired to come every weekday until I tell them not, and I haven’t seen the Duncairn otters for years. They used to live in the burns running into the bay. I thought we could take a picnic down there and see if we can see them. Meanwhile I’m off to work now, Jeanie. You can go put your feet up, read a book, do whatever you want, whatever you haven’t been able to do for the last few years. I’ll see you at dinner.’

      ‘Guests eat out,’ she said blankly, but he shook his head.

      ‘Sorry, Jeanie, but as you said, I’m the man in the middle. I’m a guest, but I’m also Lord of this castle. I’m also, for better or for worse, your husband.’

      ‘There was nothing in the marriage contract about me feeding you.’

      ‘That’s why I’m feeding you,’ he told her and at the look on her face he grinned. ‘And no, I’m not about to whisk you off to a Michelin-ranked restaurant, even if such a thing existed on Duncairn, but Maggie’s mam has brought me the ingredients for a very good risotto and risotto is one of the few things in the world I’m good at. So tonight I’m cooking.’

      ‘I don’t want—’

      ‘There are lots of things we don’t want,’ he said, gentling now. ‘This situation is absurd but there’s nothing for it but for us both to make the most of it. Risotto or nothing, Jeanie.’

      She stared at him for a long moment and then, finally, she gave a brisk nod. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Good. I...I’ll eat your risotto and thank you for it. And thank you for today. Now I’ll...I’ll...go do a stocktake of...of the whisky. There’s all the new stuff you’ve bought. I keep a ledger. Call me when dinner’s ready...sir...’

      ‘Alasdair,’ he snapped.

      ‘Alasdair,’ she conceded. ‘Call me when dinner’s ready. And thank you.’

      She fled and he stood staring after her.

      She was accepting his help. It should be enough.

      Only it wasn’t.

      * * *

      She felt weird. Discombobulated. Thoroughly disoriented. For the first time in over three years she had nothing to do.

      Except think of the day that had just been.

      Except think of Alasdair?

      He was her husband. She should be used to having husbands by now. He was nothing different.

      Except he was. He’d spent today working for nothing except her enjoyment.

      He’d seen puffins many times before—the way he looked at them told her that. He also had work to do. She’d heard him at the computer almost all the time he’d been here. She’d heard the insistent ring of his telephone. Alasdair McBride was the head of a gigantic web of financial enterprises, and one look at the Internet had told her just how powerful that web was.

      He’d spent the day making her happy.

      ‘Because I agreed to keep our bargain,’ she told herself. ‘I’m saving his butt.

      ‘The best way for him to keep his butt safe is for him to keep a low profile.’ The dogs, well-fed and exercised, were sprawled in front of the kitchen range. They were fast asleep but she needed someone—anyone—to talk to. ‘He must know that, and yet he risked it...

      ‘To make me happy?’ She thought of Rory doing such a thing. Rory was always too tired, she conceded. He had long spells at sea and when he was home he wanted his armchair and the telly. He’d taken time to spend with her before they were married but afterwards...it was as if he no longer had to bother.

      And Alan? That was the same thing multiplied by a million. Pounds. He’d had well over a million reasons to marry her but when he had what he wanted, she was nothing.

      And Alasdair? He, too, had more than a million reasons to marry her, she thought, way more, but she’d agreed to his deal. He’d had no reason to spend today with her.

      ‘Maybe he thinks I’ll back out,’ she told the dogs but she knew it wasn’t that.

      Or maybe it was that she hoped it wasn’t that.

      ‘And that’s just your stupid romantic streak,’ she told herself crossly. ‘And, Jeanie Lochlan, it’s more than time you were over that nonsense.’

      Her discussion with herself was interrupted by her phone. Maggie, she thought, and sure enough her friend was on the line, and Maggie was almost bursting with curiosity.

      ‘How did it go? Oh, Jeanie, isn’t he gorgeous? I watched you go out through the entrance with the field glasses—I imagine half the village did. Six hours you were out. Six hours by yourself with the man! And the amount he’s given Dougal for the Mary-Jane, and what he’s paying Mam and her friends... Jeanie, what are you doing not being in bed with your husband right now?’

      She took a deep breath at that. ‘He’s not my real husband,’ she managed but Maggie snorted.

      ‘You could have fooled me. And Mam says he was just lovely on the phone and he’s thanked her for the sponge

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