Laird of the Highlands: International Billionaires IX: The Scots (31 page)

Will had been wrong about his son.

She’d been wrong, too.

“Ceri.” His gently dangerous voice came from behind her.

Swiveling around, she glanced at him in surprise. He never came near the tours, that she’d noticed. He was dressed in his London finery. Cream linen slacks paired with a fitted tan jacket. Bright-red power tie contrasting with a pinstriped shirt. Not her lover anymore. Not the man who walked down the cottage’s hallway with bare feet and never touched anything except jeans and a T-shirt.

Her heart twisted.

Because she realized Lorne Ross was more than this place. More than just the laird. The man she loved had made his mark far from here and that mark was as much a part of him as Castle Ross and Ben Ross and Loch Ross. “Why are you all dressed up?”

“I’m going to London.”

Shock and disbelief ran through her. Right behind those reactions came something more insidious.

It could be he’s giving up.

Perhaps he won’t return.

You might have successfully driven him away.

She’d been awful these last two days. Tight and tense. Snappy and short. The only time she allowed herself to wallow in her love was when they were in bed.

Possibly, he’d had enough of her.

His brows furrowed. “Only for a few days.”

An enormous relief swished into her belly and with it came a furious frustration. A mess. That was what she was inside.

He wasn’t leaving her.

He wasn’t giving anything up.

He wasn’t going to make this decision for her.

“Oh.” She glanced away, staring at the tourists who lingered by the castle door and the bus. “Okay.”

A rawboned hand reached into her line of sight. Before she could decide to flinch away or lean in, his fingers grabbed her chin. “Ceri.”

“What?” She let him tug her to face him, but she kept her gaze pinned on the knot in his tie.

“Doc needs me to talk about some financial issues with the investors.” His voice was steady, quiet, calm. “I’ll only be in London overnight.”

“I said, okay.”

He sighed. “It’ll give me a chance to check on your brother, also.”

Melancholy threatened to swamp her. Which was stupid. Even if he asked her to go with him to the city, she wouldn’t. He was a genius, and after what happened in Edinburgh, he would have figured that out in a snap.

“Right.” Her gaze didn’t waver from the knot. “Then have a safe journey, and say hi to Elis for me.”

“Look at me.” His finger nudged her chin.

“I am.”

Sighing again, he took a step closer. Another change hit her, or rather, reminded her. He’d put on some kind of cologne, the smell she’d detected when she’d first met him. It masked his crisp, clean, natural scent with a musk she didn’t particularly like.

Wrinkling her nose, she finally glanced into his eyes.

The slate blue went light, a twinkle appearing. “There ye are, looking at me now.”

She couldn’t help the leap of her heart at the slight tease in his voice. The last two days, with her being such a witch, he’d been quiet and withdrawn. She’d missed this man being happy. Letting herself wallow in teasing for a minute, she sniffed. “You smell strange.”

“Do I then?” He shot a quick look at the tourists boarding the bus before scooting nearer and laying a possessive hand on her hip. “Maybe I’ll need a woman to help me wash all the city off me when I get back.”

“Maybe.” Her heart lifted, although she still sensed the dark decisions lurking ahead of her. “Depends on when you get back.”

“I’ll get back as soon as I can. Don’t doubt that.” Lorne leaned away to eye her. “I changed my habit.”

“What?” Brushing a hand along his tie, she wondered how she was going to get any sleep tonight without his warm body next to hers.

“I didn’t lock my computer.” His hand stopped hers in the middle of his chest. “Do ye get my meaning, lass?”

Scrunching her brows, she glanced up into his face again. “What?”

“Ye aren’t paying close attention here.” His mouth quirked. “I’m guessing I’m distracting ye.”

Yes. Always.

“Ceri!” One of her employees waved from the castle. “We have your next tour ready.”

“I’ve got to go.” Reluctantly, she pulled away from the circle of his body.

His hand grabbed onto hers. “Remember. My computer.”

“Ceri!” Her employee called once more.

“Have a safe trip,” she said, chancing one last look at him, trying to recognize him as her casual lover and coming up blank. Which confused the mess inside her even more.

“I’m coming back to ye.” His gaze was stark and sincere. “Don’t doubt it.”

“Okay, well, I have to—”

“Take a look at my computer while I’m gone,
a ghràidh.”

She stopped, understanding dawning. A surge of something close to joy ran through her. He was trusting her. With his computer and with the Gaelic label he’d called her. “I will. As soon as I get off work.”

“You’re finally cluing in.” He winked at her.

Lorne Ross winking. The mess inside went wild, mixing with a rising hope. “I guess I am.”

“Ye might also want to check the emails to see if your brother and I have sent ye a word from London, eh?” His smile as he turned and left wandered in her heart for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

T
he day had been long
and exhausting.

Ceri eased the cottage door shut with a sigh of relief. She enjoyed the tours, just as she always had, but she’d had so much emotional garbage churning in her it had been hard to focus on the enjoying.

The quiet of her home hit her.

Usually, he’d be in the kitchen now, stirring some pot of food, a glass of wine by his hand, and one waiting for her, too. Or, if she came home a bit earlier, he’d be with his computers, muttering under his breath as his hands flew across the keyboard.

Trying to push aside her emotions, all of them, she strode down the hall and into the bedroom.

He was here, too.

Or rather, not.

The faint scent of him swirled in the air. His real scent. The lightning-clean smell of him. His shirts hung in the closet, a precise lineup of colors, and a pair of his jeans were folded over a chair, the legs aligned exactly.

He was coming back.

Slumping onto the bed, she grimaced. She wanted him back. Back in this bed with her, and back in this cottage. She wanted more, though, so much more. And the trip to Edinburgh had revealed to her an awful truth. One she hadn’t wanted to face and hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

Lorne wanted to dress her up.

Lorne saw her…

A clutch of blinding grief tightened in her throat.

…saw her in the same way Gareth had seen her.

As a gorgeous toy.

As a rich man’s doll.

As the outer beauty, and not the inner person who yearned to be seen. Really seen.

The realization had eaten at her heart and her hopes like a sick cancer. Even as she lay with him on this bed. Even as she’d kissed him and taken him into her. Even as she pretended to herself that she didn’t love.

She loved.

Yes, she might love Lorne Ross, however, she cared about her self-respect more. She’d fought long and hard for that piece of herself. Nothing and no one was going to take that away from her.

A trickle of tears got flipped from her cheek.

It wasn’t going to work. Them.

So where did she go from here?

Hope had blossomed for a moment today, when he’d called her that Gaelic name and given her the use of his computer. Still, how could she reconcile herself to having him when all he really wanted was a small piece of her? The pretty piece.

Feeling like an old woman, she stood and shuffled to the doorway. Before she knew it, she found herself staring into her brother’s bedroom. Lorne’s computer screens were dark, yet his words whispered in her brain.

I changed my habit
.

Walking to the desk in a lethargic stupor, she sat down in his chair. With one tap of her finger, the screens came to life. His email was open.

Ye might want to check the emails to see if your brother and I have sent ye a word from London, eh
?

She’d never liked computers. Her mam’s lack of funds had made it impossible to own one as a child and because of it, she’d constantly felt like an outsider in school. Gareth had his computers at work, but preferred to keep them separate from his dazzling home and doll-like wife. After arriving in Pictloch and falling into Will’s life, she hadn’t felt the lack. The castle and the cottage didn’t fit into the computer age.

Until Lorne Ross had walked in with them in his arms.

Leaning forward, she zeroed in on the line of messages looking for one from him and her brother.

Instead, another missive caught her attention.

Reid. The weasel.

Her hand stilled on the keyboard. Her heart stopped in her chest. Her mind remembered.

The castle. The court case. Another cloud on her horizon that promised to ruin the last of her daydreams.

Ceri clicked on the email.

It was short. To the point.

And it made the mess inside of her congeal into a thick, hard stone.

L
ondon had surprised him
.

Not in the way it had when he’d been a young lad, fresh from Oxford, intent on conquering his fears and this town. Then, it had seemed like an impossible quagmire of people, places, pollution. During the years that followed, he’d settled in and found his role in the crazy quilt of humanity on the Thames. He’d thought he’d found where he was meant to be for the rest of his life.

He’d been wrong.

Lorne Ross didn’t belong in his quiet, luxurious flat peering over the city. Not anymore. When he’d arrived and been greeted by Elis with a cheery grin and a lively slap on his shoulder, he’d thought it would be a relief to be out of the cramped quarters of the cottage. He’d thought he’d like to get back on his treadmill, instead of running through the wilds of the Caledonia Forest. He’d thought he’d enjoy the spacious living room with its seventy-five-inch TV screen, and his quiet bedroom with its king-size bed.

He’d been wrong.

London and his flat didn’t fit him anymore. Somehow, during these last few weeks, a part of him had grown, grown so big and strong and wide and fast he no longer fit in his past life. He’d thought maybe he’d only fallen in love and that had been the one change in him. A change he could neatly slide into his previous existence without much adjustment.

He’d been wrong about that, too.

The realization sifted inside him while he drove back to the castle.

Along with several others.

He didn’t belong in his family’s castle, either. Not entirely. He’d sensed this during his morning runs across the moors and meadows. He loved the land and the castle now, something Ceri had given him that his own da hadn’t been able to when he’d been a lad. Aye, he loved the place and would take care of it forever. Yet, it belonged to more than the laird. The land and the castle belonged to the people of Pictloch and the tourists who visited. And more than anyone else, the castle and the land belonged to Ceri.

His heritage was intimately entangled in her dreams. The dreams he was determined she achieved. Even if it meant giving up Castle Ross and the estate.

He just hoped he wouldn’t have to.

He hoped she’d let him share.

He hoped she loved him.

“You didn’t forget the ring, did you?” Doc’s voice echoed through his mobile.

“Of course not, ye wanker.” He edged the Rover around the turnabout, the last before the castle. “What do ye take me for?”

“I take you for a fool in love who can barely see two feet in front of him.”

“Bugger off.”

Doc chuckled. “It’s a good thing you came to London so I could set you straight on what to do with Ceri.”

“I’d already decided what to do.” Lorne peered out of the rain-slashed window. The weather hadn’t been any better in the city, but he’d been cushioned and protected by the steel and glass of Gaes headquarters. Now, back in the wilds of Scotland, the weather once again became a reality he had to deal with. “I was heading for Winston’s before ye had said a word.”

“Right. Right.” His friend chuckled again. “So how are you going to pop the question?”

“As soon as I get to the cottage. I’ve had enough of this stupid indecision.” The two days in London had been good for him in a lot of ways, although it had thrown some realizations at him he still needed to process. Not only had he fixed the situation with the investors, he’d also spent time with Elis to make sure the lad was settled. More than anything, though, the time away from Ceri had let him screw his head on straight in one central area of his life.

It was true, he didn’t have experience with women. It was likewise true he’d screwed up with her in Edinburgh. He didn’t understand how he’d screwed up and he aimed to find out, yet none of it mattered compared to the one overpowering truth he needed to give her.

He loved her.

“Brilliant plan.” Hugh’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You’ll call Elis and I with the good news?”

Lorne’s heart stuttered. He hoped there’d be good news. But the trip to Edinburgh and the two days following had left him shaky inside. His instincts told him there was a cesspool in Ceri that needed to be drained before she’d accept him. And the knowledge worried him.

“Skiff?”

“Aye. I’m here.”

“Listen.” His friend’s voice went soft. “I know you’re not sure about her feelings, but you should be.”

He snorted. “Should I?”

“Yes. I’ve been talking to Elis.”

“Have ye now.”

“The boy seems pretty certain his sister is head over heels for you,” Doc said. “He says he’s never seen her so enthralled with anyone or anything.”

“Hope so.” He turned the Rover onto the lane leading to the castle and spotted the lights of the tower shining through the rain. He took in a deep breath. “I’m about to find out.”

“Good luck, Skiff. But I don’t think you’ll need it.”

Saying good-bye to his friend, he clicked his phone off and focused on driving the car around to the back by the cottage.

The lights weren’t on.

He frowned into the storm. Was Ceri up at the castle, still? Now that he thought about it, it did seem odd the castle was fully lit and the cottage not at…

He glanced at his mobile.

Seven p.m.

The tours would have ended long ago. What was going on?

A sliver of instinct, a gut-wrenching ugliness slithered into his stomach. A wave of fright came over him, one he hadn’t experienced since he’d been a lad who suddenly realized he was odd and strange and would never be like other people.

Stopping the Rover, he yanked the door open and sprinted toward the castle. The rain splattered on his face and beard, yet all he could focus on was the growing dread in his gut.

Something was wrong. He’d never been so sure of anything in his life.

The double doors of the castle were closed, but the light shining out on the stone steps told him someone was inside. Sprinting up the stairs, he slammed the oak doors open and entered the castle at a run. Rose Roy and Ceri’s three employees huddled in a circle right under the portrait of his mum.

No Ceri.

He skidded to a stop, his breath heaving in his chest.

“What’s going on?” He tried to keep his voice calm, yet something in the way the women stood made his heart thunder.

Rose turned with a jerk, her eyes widening. “Mr. Ross.”

“What’s going on?” He pushed himself to say the next words. “Where’s Ceri?”

“She’s gone, sir,” one of her employees chimed in, her face flooded with worried wrinkles. “Just like that.”

“Gone?” Everything inside him stilled as if frozen in a sudden ice storm. “What do ye mean?”

Rose walked to his side and took his hand. His icy hand. Her eyes gleamed with sorrow. “She called me this morning.”

When he’d stupidly been in London. He should never have left. Not with her in such obvious turmoil. If he’d been as smart as he thought he was, he would have kept his focus pinned on her until he’d understood what was wrong.

His blank stare must have been enough encouragement for Rose to continue. “She said she was leaving and asked me to take over the tours until ye returned.”

“The tours,” he mimicked her words because his brain had shut down.

“Aye.” She squeezed his hand in a useless gesture of comfort. “She said she was going to deed the castle over to ye.”

“What?” He rocked back on his heels, stunned surprise and frustrated anger mixing inside. “What does that mean?”

“She said she was giving up.” The pub owner stepped away from him then, dropping his hand. “She said you’d won.”

“I’d won?” A rip of ragged laughter gasped from his mouth.

Rose frowned at him, a look he’d seen countless times in his life. He knew he wasn’t reacting the way he should, the way that was publicly acceptable, but he couldn’t wrap his torn heart up and keep it hidden. “Where did she say she was going?”

“She didn’t.” The pub owner shook her head, confusion and worry filling her expression. “She just packed her car and left.”

He wiped a hand across his face. If he broke out in tears these women would think he was mad. He needed to keep himself together until he got back to the cottage and let his mind settle.

“Sir?” One of Ceri’s employees moved forward. “We were discussing whether or not to keep doing the tours.”

“Right. Um,” he muttered. “Doing the tours.”

The three women frowned at him in puzzlement.

He wasn’t making any sense.

“Rose,” he blurted. “Will ye do as Ceri asked and do the tours for now?”

“Yes, of course.” The blonde’s frown eased. “I’ll be glad to do anything to help.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the open doors. “Would ye mind locking up, then? I’m going to have my hands full trying to track her down.”

“Oh!” Rose’s tone lightened. “You’re going after her?”

“Yes. I am.” He’d done something terribly wrong, or maybe a whole series of things. But no one ever said Lorne Ross gave up on anything. Not easily. Not until he’d tried everything he knew to make it work.

He wanted Ceri and him to work.

“Go then.” One of the employees swished her hand, as if to drive him along. “Go find her.”

With a pounding heart and a pounding head, he ran out the door and toward the cottage.

* * *

B
rekelly hadn’t changed much
. Really, not at all.

Ceri strode along the high street, the early-evening sunlight dancing on the cobblestones of her hometown. Glancing in the shop windows as she went by, she noted the sameness. Mrs. Baines still had her bakery open, and Mr. Rees his butchery. There was a new pub on the corner, but other than that, she didn’t spot much of a difference from when she’d left here five years past.

It seemed like an eternity ago.

Walking briskly so she wouldn’t catch any person’s eye or be looked at for any length of time, she headed for the one place she’d come to see. Not the garish home hovering on top of the nearest ridge, peering over the town like a looming gargoyle—Gareth’s home that had never really been hers. Not the run-down flat she and Elis had grown up in, two children swimming in a sea of disinterest and vague love from their mam.

No, she’d come for one place and one place only.

St. Callwen’s Church lay at the end of high street, its ancient grey stones as sturdy and strong as they’d been for hundreds of years. The old oak door, laced with steel planks, opened when she pushed, and the glorious noise she’d hoped for spilled across her like a benediction.

The mixed choir still practiced on Wednesday nights.

Shutting the door behind her, she stepped to the arch going into the nave and stopped. The familiar strains of
Nessun Dorma
wrapped around her, bringing her what she’d needed.

Comfort.

She tiptoed to the first pew and sank into its arms. Closing her eyes, she settled her head on the hard, wood back. Finally, because she couldn’t be anywhere more safe and soothing as old St. Callwen, she let the harsh memories and broken dreams and bitter emotions seep into her mind.

A tight well of grief clutched in her throat.

Even weighed down by torment, her heart translated the words of the song rolling around and through her.

No one sleeps, no one sleeps…

In your cold bedroom.

That was so true. It hit her square in the chest. She’d left Castle Ross and Pictloch behind her, driving all day yesterday in a blind panic toward the only place she could think of. When she’d arrived, she checked into the small hotel on the outskirts of Brekelly. The clerk, someone she didn’t recognize, had barely acknowledged her presence before giving her a key.

The bed had been cold. Cold and damp. No warm lover to snuggle into.

The choir’s voices rose, the lyrics ringing in her head.

But my secret is hidden within me.

Ceri lifted her hand brushing tears from her cheeks. The stark horror she’d felt when she’d seen the email missive from the weasel made the clutch in her throat twist until she could hardly breathe.

All her supposed secrets laid bare for Lorne Ross’s consumption. A report ordered by him, organized by his solicitor. A half dozen Brekelly villagers ready and willing to testify to her perfidy. Mr. Sayer ready to state she fooled his good friend, Gareth Llewellyn, into marriage. Her husband’s loyal housekeeper ready to assert the Mrs. had driven her husband to death by her excessive demands. Mr. Pritchard, the solicitor who’d written Gareth’s last will, ready to claim Ceri Olwen was up to her old tricks again.

But my secret is hidden within me.

The secret she’d thought to share with Lorne. Her secret desire to be seen for more than her beauty. The secret hope she was valued for her mind and her guts, her talents and her principles.

Her secret heart.

A cry escaped from her mouth. Luckily, the music soared above it, quenching her sound, soothing her grief, giving her a strange sort of peace. She’d known the instant she saw the email. And yet, she’d known far before that, if she’d been honest with herself. She’d known the choice she’d ultimately have to make.

Castle Ross was Lorne’s.