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      ‘She’s Mrs McBride,’ the lawyer repeated sternly. ‘You know that she is. Your grandmother loved her and treated her as family, and your grandmother wanted to cement that relationship. The bequest to the canine charities can only be set aside if, within a month of her death, you and Mrs Jeanie McBride are legally married. To each other.’

      ‘We both know that’s crazy. Even...Mrs McBride...didn’t consider it for a moment.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, the feeling of exhaustion intensifying. ‘It’s blackmail.’

      ‘It’s not blackmail. The will is set up so that in the—admittedly unlikely—event that you marry, your grandmother provides for you as a family.’

      ‘And if we’re not?’

      ‘Then she’s done what any lonely old woman in her situation might do. She’s left her fortune to dogs’ homes.’

      ‘So if we contest...’

      ‘I’ve taken advice, sir. I was...astounded at the terms of the will myself, so I took the liberty to sound out a number of my colleagues. Legal advice is unanimous that the will stands.’

      More silence. Alasdair reached for his whisky and discovered what he’d done. The table was covered with broken glass. He needed to call someone to clean it up.

      Mrs McBride? Jeanie.

      His cousin’s wife had operated this place as a bed and breakfast for the past three years. As cook, housekeeper and hostess, she’d done a decent job, he’d had to concede. ‘You should see how it is now,’ his grandmother had told him, beaming. ‘Jeanie’s the best thing that’s happened to this family.’

      That wasn’t true. Even though he conceded she’d looked after this place well, it was by her first actions he’d judged her. As Alan’s wife. She’d run wild with his cousin and she’d been beside him when he’d died. Together she and Alan had broken Eileen’s heart, but Eileen had never been prepared to cut her loose.

      Marrying Alan had branded her, he conceded, but that brand was justified. Any fool could have seen the crazy lifestyle his cousin had been living was ruinous. The money she and Alan had thrown round... That was why she was still looking after the castle, in the hope of inheriting something more. He was sure of it. For an impoverished island lass, the McBride fortune must seem seductive, to say the least.

      Seduction... By money?

      If she’d married for money once before...

      His mind was suddenly off on a crazy tangent that made him feel ill.

      Marriage... But what was the alternative?

      ‘So what if we did marry?’ he demanded at last, goaded into saying it.

      ‘Then everything reverts to how it’s been,’ the lawyer told him. He was watching him cautiously now, as if he half expected Alasdair to lob whisky at him. ‘If you and Mrs McBride marry and stay married for a period of no less than one year, you’ll legally own the Duncairn empire with all it entails, with the exception of the castle itself. Mrs McBride will own that.’

      ‘Just this castle?’

      ‘And the small parcel of land on the same title. Yes. They’re the terms of the will.’

      ‘Does she have a clue how much this place costs to maintain? What she gets with the bed and breakfast guests couldn’t begin to touch it. And without the surrounding land...’

      ‘I’d imagine Mrs McBride could sell,’ the lawyer said, placing his papers back in his briefcase. ‘Maybe to you, if you wish to continue the Duncairn lineage. But right now, that’s immaterial. If you don’t marry her, the castle will be part of the whole estate to be sold as one. Mrs McBride needs to consider her future with care, but maintenance of the castle is immaterial unless you marry.’

      And there was the only glimmer of light in this whole impossible situation. If he didn’t inherit, neither would she. It’d be great to be finally shot of her.

      He didn’t need this inheritance. He didn’t. If he walked away from this mess, he could get a job tomorrow. There were any number of corporations that’d take his expertise.

      But to walk away from Duncairn? His ancestral home...

      And the company. So many people... He thought of the firm most likely to buy if he no longer had control and he felt ill. They’d merge. All his senior management... All his junior staff... Scotland was struggling after the global financial crisis anyway. How could they get new jobs?

      They couldn’t, and there was nothing he could do about it.

      Unless...unless...

      ‘She has been married before,’ he said slowly, thinking aloud. He didn’t like the woman one bit. He didn’t trust her, but if he was careful... Initial revulsion was starting to give way to sense. ‘She married my cousin so I’m assuming money’s important to her. I guess—if it got me out of this mess, I might be prepared to marry. In name only,’ he added hastily. ‘As a business deal.’

      Marriage... The idea made him feel ill. But Lords of Duncairn had married for convenience before, he reminded himself. They’d married heiresses to build the family fortunes. They’d done what had to be done to keep the estate safe.

      And the lawyer was permitting himself a dry smile, as if his client was now talking like a sensible man. ‘I’ve considered that option,’ he told him. ‘It would meet the requirements of the bequest—as long as you lived together.’

      ‘Pardon?’

      ‘Lady Eileen was very sure of what she wanted. She has...all eventualities covered.’

      He exhaled and took a while to breathe again. Eventualities... ‘Explain.’

      ‘You and Mrs McBride would need to live in the same residence for a period of at least one year before the estate can be settled. However, Lady Eileen was not unreasonable. She acknowledges that in the course of your business you do need to travel, so she’s made allowances. Those allowances are restrictive, however. In the twelve months from the time of your marriage there’s an allowance for no more than thirty nights spent apart.’

      Alasdair said nothing. He couldn’t think what to say.

      He’d loved his grandmother. None of what he was thinking right now had any bearing on that love. If he had her in front of him...

      ‘She’s also taken steps to ensure that this arrangement was kept.’ The lawyer coughed apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, but you would need to keep to...the intent of the will.’

      ‘You mean she’d have us watched?’

      ‘There are funds set aside to ensure the terms are being adhered to.’

      He stared at the lawyer in horror. ‘You’re out of your mind. Next you’ll be saying you’ll be checking the sheets.’

      ‘I believe,’ the lawyer said and allowed himself another wintry smile, ‘that your sleeping arrangements within the one residence would be entirely up to you and your...your wife. Mind...’ he allowed the smile to widen ‘...she’s an attractive wee thing.’

      ‘Of all the...’

      ‘Though it’s not my business to say so, sir. I’m sorry.’

      ‘No.’ Though she was, Alasdair conceded, his thoughts flying sideways again. He’d been astounded when his cousin had married her. Jeanie McBride was petite and freckled and rounded. Her soft brown shoulder-length curls, mostly tugged back into a ponytail, were nothing out of the ordinary. She didn’t dress to kill. In fact, the first time he’d met her, he’d thought how extraordinary that the womanising Alan was attracted to such a woman.

      But then she’d smiled at something his grandmother had said, and he’d seen what Alan had obviously seen. Her smile was like the sun coming out after rain. Her face lit and her freckles seemed almost

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