And the Bride Wore Prada (4 page)

‘So you
do
know it.’

‘I know
of
it. Not the same thing at all,’ he retorted, and turned away.

‘Wait,’ Helen protested. ‘Where are you going?’

He didn’t respond, just disappeared from the room. He came back a moment later with her handbag and laptop and dumped them both unceremoniously on the table next to the tea things.

‘My purse,’ Helen exclaimed, and reached out to snatch it up and scrabble through it in search of her mobile. It wasn’t there. ‘Shit,’ she muttered, ‘my phone must’ve slid off the seat onto the floor.’ She glanced up. ‘Did you happen to see it?’

‘If it’s not there,’ he retorted, ‘I didn’t see it. I brought what I found.’

She met his impenetrable eyes. ‘Right. So you did. Well, thank you, for that—’ she broke off, puzzled. ‘But...how did you get in? The car was locked.’

He raised his brow. ‘Aye, it was locked,’ he agreed, and eyed her levelly. ‘But the rear hatch wasn’t.’

And although he didn’t say it, Helen knew – just
knew
– that he was thinking to himself what a stupid, rattle-brained Londoner she was, wandering about in a life-threatening blizzard, when the rear
bloody
hatch of her car was unlocked the entire
bloody
time.

‘You’ll want to call in the morning to get someone to tow your car out,’ he said, his words gruff. ‘I can’t do it, the tractor won’t make it down the ravine. And there’s nae a phone here.’

She said nothing, but she wasn’t surprised he hadn’t a telephone. The cottage, with its huge stone fireplace, deep-silled windows, and ancient furnishings, was like something out of
Grimm’s Fairy Tales
. Or
The Hobbit
.

After all ‒ why would a man like Colm have anything as modern as a telephone?

‘It’s late.’ He found another blanket and a pillow and tossed them on the sofa, then turned away. ‘Take that aspirin now, the tea should be cooled enough, and try and get some sleep. If there’s naught else, I’ll say goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, and thank you for this—’

But he’d already turned and trudged upstairs, where he went into his room, and shut the door.

And as he did, it occurred to Helen that he never
had
told her who lived in that castle up on the hill.

Chapter 5

‘Oh, look, down there!’ Natalie exclaimed, and pressed her face to the car window. ‘Someone’s wrecked their car.’

Rhys followed her pointing finger. A car had indeed slid down an embankment and lay half buried in a snowdrift.

‘I do hope whoever was inside is all right,’ she said, her eyes anxious. ‘Should we check and see, do you think?’

Rhys shook his head. ‘It’s too far down the embankment, and it’s much too dark to investigate now. I’ll tell them up at the house. We’re nearly there.’

Sure enough, the lights of the castle’s turrets shone through the snowy darkness, beckoning them onward. Trees marched thickly along the edges of the road; the blackness beyond was impenetrable.

‘About bloody time,’ Dominic muttered.

He and Gemma had been unable to get a room in the tiny village of Loch Draemar, as no one had booked them in at the hotel. There was only a bed and breakfast down the road, and, the proprietor informed them in a thick Scottish accent, it was fully booked.

‘Thanks for letting us come along with you to Tarquin’s, Nat,’ Gemma offered, and cast Dominic a dark look. ‘It’s a good thing you waited.’

Rhys negotiated a curve in the drive and kept his attention on the road. ‘I didn’t expect there’d be anything available at such short notice. It
is
nearly Christmas, after all.’ He glanced in the rear-view mirror at Dominic. ‘Didn’t you arrange for a room beforehand?’
You wally
, he almost added, but didn’t.

‘Of course I did!’ Dominic snapped. ‘Well, my agent did, anyway. Max said he took care of all of that. Bastard.’

Ten minutes later, Rhys stopped the Mondeo in front of quite the most impressive castle Natalie had ever seen outside of a fairy tale.

It had all the requisite things a proper castle should have – battlements, turrets, multi-paned windows, and a wooden door with metal hinges...even, it appeared, a moat – frozen now – and a drawbridge.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Nat breathed as she leant forward in her seat, entranced. ‘Like a princess’s castle.’

They’d scarcely flung open the car doors and stepped out cautiously onto the snow-covered drive when the front door swung open. Light spilled out in a warm, welcoming path across the snow.

‘
Fàilte
! Welcome to Draemar,’ Tarquin called out, standing in the doorway with his arm around his petite wife, the aptly named Wren. ‘We were worried you wouldn’t make it through this blizzard.’

‘Tark!’ Natalie exclaimed, and catapulted herself into his and Wren’s arms. ‘It’s so good to see you both again, you have no idea!’

‘Aye, you too. It’s a nasty night for traveling.’

‘It was a dicey trip,’ Rhys admitted as he shook hands with Tarquin and Wren, ‘but somehow, we made it.’

Wren smiled warmly as she leant forward to kiss his cheek. ‘And we’re very glad you did.’ She turned with a quizzical but welcoming smile to Dominic and Gemma, hovering uncertainly in the darkness behind Nat and Rhys. ‘And who is this? Oh, my goodness ‒ isn’t that Dominic Heath? The rock star?’

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Natalie apologised, ‘where are my manners?! Yes, it’s Dominic, and Gemma, his fiancée. They ran into a bit of trouble at Heathrow. It seems Dom’s agent forgot to book them a hire car, or rooms in the village hotel, and so they’ve no place to stay tonight.’

‘Oh! How awful.’ Wren eyed them in sympathy. ‘Then you must stay here, of course.’ She glanced over her shoulder at the enormous face of the castle. ‘It’s not as if we haven’t plenty of room to spare,’ she added wryly.

‘Thank you,’ Gemma said. ‘That’s very kind.’ Dominic mumbled his thanks and thrust out a hand to Tarquin and Wren.

‘Please, all of you, come inside,’ Tark urged. ‘You must be tired, and cold, and famished.’

‘I wouldn’t say no to a sausage roll and a cup of Builders,’ Dom muttered.

The main hall was enormous, with a sweeping staircase and a minstrel’s gallery overlooking the entranceway. An ancient carpet in faded shades of green and blue and red silenced their footsteps as they came inside. Overhead, a chandelier glimmered like a magnificent, jewelled bauble.

‘Ooh, what a
gorgeous
chandelier,’ Gemma breathed, awed.

Rhys glanced up, then back at Natalie. His eyes narrowed. ‘It ought to be. It cost £11,000. Plus shipping.’

Natalie blushed. ‘I’ll never hear the end of that, will I?’ She cast Rhys a reproving look and went to link her arm through Wren’s and glanced round in awe. ‘How on earth do you manage a place this size?’ Nat asked, curious. ‘It’s simply...enormous!’

‘Oh, we’ve a full staff,’ Wren explained as she and Tarquin led them into an elegantly appointed drawing room. ‘Draemar employs thirty-nine people.’

‘Thirty-eight,’ Tarquin corrected her. ‘One of the kitchen maids was sacked this morning.’

‘Not Lucy, I hope?’

‘No. It was the new girl. Betty, I think.’

‘Shit, this place is a regular Downtown Abbey,’ Dom observed, impressed despite himself. Draemar Castle made his own estate in Inverness look like a bloody Wendy house.

A fire blazed in the great black throat of the massive fireplace as they entered the drawing room, and sofas and chairs were arranged in small groups throughout the room. A serving cart set out with an assortment of Scotch whisky stood under one of the tall, multi-paned windows.

After inviting them to sit down and pouring them each a generous measure of the amber liquid, Tarquin rang for refreshments and settled himself on a sofa next to his wife. ‘I’ve arranged for smoked salmon and sandwiches. Will that suffice, do you think?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Or would you all prefer something a bit more substantial?’

‘That sounds perfect,’ Natalie assured him from the depths of a massive wing chair. ‘With cheddar, and that lovely brown granary bread...?’

Wren smiled. ‘Of course! You can’t have a decent Scottish meal without it.’

‘Where are your father and mother, Tark?’ Natalie asked. ‘Will they be joining us?’

‘Alas, no. They’ve gone to the Greek islands for the holidays. Said they’d had enough of cold, snowy weather and wanted to spend Christmas slathered in sun cream, drinking ouzo.’

‘I can’t say I blame them.’

‘That’s why we invited you and Rhys to spend Christmas here with us. And Dominic and Gemma, now, of course.’ He slid his arm around Wren’s shoulders. ‘It gets a bit lonely rattling around this old place when it’s just the two of us.’

‘I can imagine,’ Nat agreed. ‘I could get lost for days just trying to find the loo.’

Tarquin laughed. ‘You only need to tug on the nearest bell-pull,’ he advised, ‘and someone will come along to fetch you back to civilization.’

‘How many rooms in this place?’ Dominic asked, glancing around in curiosity.

‘About 150, at last count, and twenty or so bedrooms.’

‘And have they all been christened?’

Tarquin looked at him blankly. ‘Christened?’

‘Yeah, you know,’ Dominic said, and raised his brow suggestively. ‘
Christened
.’

He reddened. ‘Oh. Erm...I’m sure I don’t know.’

Gemma rolled her eyes. ‘Really, Dom! What a stupid question. Is sex all you ever think about?’

‘Are weddings all
you
ever think about?’ he shot back.

‘Wren,’ Natalie said quickly, ‘have you and Tark any plans to start a family? You always said you wanted lots of children.’

She shrugged, and a flash of sadness crossed her face. ‘We’ve been trying for two years, Nat, but so far, no luck.’

‘Oh, it’ll happen,’ Natalie assured her. ‘All in good time, that’s what they say.’

‘That’s what Dominic says,’ Gemma said, and cast the rock star a dark look. ‘Isn’t it, Dom?’

‘I told you, babes, we’ll have whatever kind of wedding you want. Just don’t drag me into it until it’s time to say ‘I do.’’

‘Oh, are you getting married?’ Wren said, and leant forward. ‘How exciting!’

‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ Rhys muttered.

‘Yes, in Northton Grange,’ Gemma replied. ‘Dom has a place there. We want to have a nice, quiet wedding in secret.’

‘Yeah,’ Dominic said, and snorted. ‘A ‘nice, quiet wedding’ with twelve bridesmaids, six groomsmen in kilts, a horse-drawn sleigh, and 500 of our closest friends.’

“And a Prada wedding gown,” Gemma added, her expression smug. “I found the
perfect
dress online.”

“Prada?” Natalie breathed. “Ooh, you have to let me see it, please!”

“I want to see it, too,” Wren said. “May I?”

As the three women clustered around Gemma’s mobile phone and bowed their heads to worship at the altar of Prada, Rhys turned to Tarquin. ‘So tell me, Laird Campbell,’ he ventured, ‘how does one celebrate Christmas in a Scottish castle? Do you roast an entire pig in that enormous fireplace? Fell a sixty-foot tree and drape it in swathes of tartan?’

Tarquin laughed. ‘Nothing so grandiose as that. We eat a lot and drink too much whisky and take long walks on the heath with the dogs afterwards to burn it all off.’

‘Just like we do at home,’ Natalie said.

‘Exactly.’ He glanced over at Rhys curiously. ‘I thought you were born here. Have you never spent a Christmas in Scotland?’

‘A few, when I was a kid.’ He cast a glance around the vast drawing room. ‘But I didn’t exactly grow up in a castle.’

‘Where
did
you grow up?’ Wren asked as she resumed her seat. ‘If you don’t mind my asking,’ she hastened to add.

‘Edinburgh, in a tower block in Wester Hailes.’ He drained his glass. ‘It was difficult, but Mum did her best. I made up my mind to get out of there just as soon as I could.’

‘Well, I must say ‒ you’ve done very well for yourself in the interim,’ Tark observed. ‘Well done, you. More whisky, gentlemen?’ he offered, and at their nods, leant forward to pour Rhys and Dominic each another generous measure.

Later, after they’d gone upstairs to their gorgeous – but cold – room in the west wing, Natalie twined her arms around Rhys and snuggled next to him in the enormous canopied bed.

‘Isn’t this lovely?’ she murmured against his chest as she gazed into the flames leaping in the fireplace.

‘Ummm.’

‘And aren’t Tark and Wren the sweetest couple? I just adore them both.’

‘Ummm hmmm...’

Natalie took her fingertip and drew it tentatively across Rhys’s chest. ‘Rhys, darling—?’

‘Hmmm?’

‘I’m feeling a bit...amorous. Are you?’

There was no answer.

‘
Are
you?’

Silence.

‘Rhys,’ she exclaimed, indignant, ‘are you even listening to me?’

She lifted her head and looked over at him enquiringly in the flickering firelight. He was sound asleep.

‘Poor man.’ She leant down and tenderly kissed his forehead. ‘All that driving in the blizzard did you in, didn’t it?’ she whispered. She snuggled up behind him, breathing in his reassuring male scent, and fell at once into a dreamless, untroubled sleep.

Chapter 6

Helen woke to sunlight streaming into her eyes. She stretched and sat up, blinking. She was on a sofa, in a tiny living room. For a moment she was disoriented and couldn’t work out where she was; but the banging of pots and pans in the kitchen and a man’s muttered cursing brought everything back – the snow, the embankment, getting locked out of her car, her aching ankle – and she realized that her reluctant host must be fixing breakfast.

He returned a moment later with a tray and thumped it down on the coffee table before her.

‘Good morning,’ she ventured.

‘There’s toast, a boiled egg, and tea, if you’ve a mind to eat.’

‘Thank you, that’s very kind—’

‘I’ve work to be doing, paths to shovel and fallen branches to clear off the drive. After you eat, you’ll have to go.’ His eyes – hazel, she noted irrelevantly – met hers without apology.

‘Go?’ she echoed, disconcerted. ‘But my car—’

‘It’s still in the ravine, where it’ll stay until it’s towed out. In the meantime,’ he reached for his parka, hanging on a peg by the door ‘I’ll start the truck. I’ll take you up when you’ve finished.’