LITMIR.BIZ

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really. Ordinary women around the world were having babies, just like her, and perhaps some of them were feeling the same jumbled mix of joy and terror and breathless awe at the miracle of it.

      Caro was watching her in concern. ‘Corran’s going to be a father, Lotty. You have to tell him.’

      ‘I know, and I will tell him, of course I will, but I can’t yet, Caro.’

      ‘Why not?’

      Lotty hugged her arms together as she turned from the window. ‘His ex-wife tricked him into marriage by pretending that she was pregnant. I’m not going to do the same thing.’

      ‘You’re not pretending,’ said Caro, exasperated. ‘You are pregnant!’

      ‘But how will Corran know that?’ asked Lotty. ‘I spent two and a half months pretending to be someone else. Why should he believe me now?’

      ‘If he loves you, he’ll believe you.’

      ‘He never said he loved me, Caro.’ Lotty sank into a chair and pushed her hair back from her face. Her bob had nearly grown back in, and it was smooth and dark, just as it had always been. She looked almost like her old self.

      She just felt different.

      ‘Corran was very clear,’ she told Caro. ‘He’s not ready for children yet. A disaster was the word he used. He’s got too much to do getting the estate back on its feet. I’m not going to push him into a relationship he doesn’t want. If I tell him about the baby now, of course he’ll take responsibility. He’ll say we should get married, just like he did to Ella, and saddle himself with the wrong kind of wife all over again.’

      ‘You love him,’ said Caro. ‘Doesn’t that make you the right kind of wife?’

      ‘Not in Corran’s book. He’s determined to marry someone sensible and practical next time round, and I understand that. I think that’s what he needs too.’

      ‘You’re sensible,’ Caro insisted. ‘You’re practical too. Didn’t you tell me you did all that cleaning and painting? How much more practical does he want?’

      ‘He wants someone who’ll belong,’ said Lotty. ‘Someone who’s used to the isolation. Who can help with lambing if necessary, and who knows about farming and growing vegetables. Not someone like me, who didn’t even know how to peel a potato.’

      ‘You learnt, didn’t you? Just like I had to learn how to behave in a palace.’

      In spite of herself, a smile trembled on Lotty’s lips. ‘I saw you and Philippe laughing at the Ambassador’s reception the other night. I’m sure that’s not how you’re supposed to behave!’

      ‘That was Philippe’s fault!’ Caro grinned then sobered. ‘The point is that I didn’t belong here either, but I’m learning. It could be the same for you at Loch Mhoraigh. And don’t you think Corran deserves to know he’s going to be a father?’

      ‘Of course he does, but not yet, Caro.’ The arguments had been going round and round in Lotty’s head until she was dizzy. ‘I don’t want Corran to feel as if he’s being forced into anything. I don’t want to be with him if that’s how he feels.’

      She saw that Caro was still looking dubious. ‘When I’ve had the baby and am settled, I’ll tell him then, I promise. I’ve got to tell Grandmère first, and the Crown Prince. They’re going to be so disappointed. Perfect princesses aren’t supposed to get pregnant!’ she said with a twisted smile.

      ‘Oh, Lotty!’ Caro put her hand over Lotty’s. ‘What are you going to do?’

      ‘I’m going to have this baby,’ said Lotty. ‘I know my grandmother won’t like me being a single mother, and maybe the people won’t like it either, but I’ve spent my whole life doing what everybody else expects of me.’

      Her heart clenched at the thought of Corran, but she had meant what she told Caro. She would rather be by herself than push Corran into another disastrous marriage. Her time at Loch Mhoraigh had taught her that she was capable of doing whatever she set her mind to. She could be as strong as Raoul the Wolf when she needed to be. Wasn’t that what she had wanted to learn when she ran away from Montluce?

      ‘This is something I’m doing for myself, and for my baby,’ she told Caro. ‘I’m going to do it alone.’

       CHAPTER TEN

      ‘A pint of milk, please, and I’ll take a packet of those biscuits.’

      Corran avoided Mrs McPherson’s eyes. He preferred to shop in the anonymity of the Fort William supermarket, but whenever he decided to drive past the village he’d remember Lotty telling him they should support the local shop. So then he would have to come in, like now, and listen to Betty talking about Lotty, whose progress she was following in the glossy magazines she loved.

      The news that they had entertained a princess had riveted Mhoraigh, although there were plenty, like Betty McPherson, who claimed that they had always known there was something special about her.

      Corran had known there was something special about Lotty too. He just hadn’t realised that it involved a crown.

      Everyone in Mhoraigh had hated him once;

      now they pitied him. He was the frog who’d blown his chance with the princess.

      Betty McPherson was very kind and often cooked him a meal to take home, but Corran hated the sympathy in her eyes. He hated the way she told him about the parties Lotty had been seen at, about the beautiful dresses she had worn. He hated the way he would drive back to the empty house afterwards and find that Lotty wasn’t there.

      She wasn’t in the kitchen. She wasn’t in the cottages, her hair tied up in that scarf, humming tunelessly as she painted. She wasn’t walking Pookie down by the loch or sitting on the beach, sipping tea from the flask. She wasn’t there when he reached for her in the night.

      She was in Montluce, being a princess, and far, far out of his reach.

      Corran had thrown himself into work on the estate, but nothing was the same any more. Pookie was forlorn, and even Meg looked reproachful. ‘It’s all for the best,’ he found himself telling them as if they could understand him, but the words sounded hollow, even to himself.

      And yet, how could it not be for the best? If Betty McPherson was to be believed, Lotty had slotted right back into her life in Montluce. It was absurd to hope that she might be missing Loch Mhoraigh, where there were no parties, no people, nowhere to wear those elegant clothes, and where her beauty was wasted on the hills and his mother’s ridiculous little dog. And him.

      She had been happy there, yes. Corran knew that. He remembered the way her eyes used to shine—but he remembered, too, that she had never once said that she wanted to stay for ever.

      Why would she? Just once, Corran had given in to temptation and looked Princess Charlotte of Montluce up on the internet, and there she was. A fist had closed around his heart at the sight of her. She was the perfect princess, just as she’d told him. Corran read about her life, and how much everyone loved her. Not a single scurrilous story was attached to her. She was just very beautiful, very good, very royal.

      Oh, and very rich.

      What could a man like him, a working farmer struggling to restore an isolated, dilapidated estate, possibly have to offer Princess Charlotte of Montluce?

      Betty McPherson rang up the milk and the biscuits while Corran looked out at the first real snow of the season spitting from a leaden sky. He should stock up in case the track was ever impassable. Those were the kind of practicalities he should be thinking about, not how very far away Lotty seemed.

      He opened his mouth to tell Betty that he would take more milk when she got in first.

      ‘Have

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