Laird of the Highlands: International Billionaires IX: The Scots (17 page)

The realization made her angry.

This was her castle. Her garden. Will had left her this place, and she shouldn’t allow anyone or anything to keep her from what she owned. The anger mixed with her confusion from last night, turning the brew into a hot mess inside.

She needed to get rid of him.

Now.

The morning air was crisp and cool, and any other time, she would have loved spending hours going through the flowers and hedges to make sure they were in shape. But Lorne Ross’s leaving had given her an entirely different agenda on how to spend her day.

He might not be gone forever.

She probably wasn’t that lucky.

Still, luggage meant he’d be gone at least overnight and this gave her a chance.

Tomorrow, the cleaners would come. Tomorrow, the barricades blocking off certain parts of the castle would be placed and the protective runners would be laid. Tomorrow, his bedroom would become part of Scottish history and not his personal hidey-hole.

After that, day after tomorrow, the first tours would begin.

Ceri marched toward the castle, determination in every step. This was a godsend. She would get him completely and utterly out of here.

The MacIntyre truck trundled into the parking lot and in a flash, she had a marvelous idea.

A rumble of guilt spilled through her determination, reminding her of who was paying the bill to fix the roof, but she pushed it aside. She couldn’t be held responsible for what he chose to do with his massive billions.

“Hello,” she called to the two masons climbing out of their seats. Plastering on one of her sultry smiles, she walked toward them. “How are you today?”

“Grand.” The taller one straightened and eyed her with appreciation.

“How is the work coming?” She hadn’t paid attention to them during the last few days because she’d been too preoccupied with her obsession about a redhead who didn’t matter in the slightest. The smack of this further realization froze her will to get rid of him into a solid ice pick.

“Going well.” The shorter of the two opened the truck’s sliding door and began to dig into their equipment.

“I wonder if I could ask you to make another change on the roof?”

“What kind of change?” The taller one smiled at her, typical male interest in his gaze.

“Do you see that?” She pointed at the ghastly modern dish hanging off the tower.

He glanced up. “Aye.”

“The castle tours start day after tomorrow and we can’t have Castle Ross looking like a modern-day home.” She flashed him another glittering smile to ensure he paid attention.

“I can see your point.” The other McIntyre man ambled to their side. “What about Ross, himself, though? Won’t he be wanting that kept on his castle?”

“He’s gone.” She brushed the objection away with another smile. “He was only here for a little while. You know how the rich are, wasting money to put up something they only use for a couple of days.”

The shorter man peered at her, clearly not convinced. “Ye have the power to make this decision?”

Straightening her spine, she nodded. “I’m the owner. If you need paperwork to show this, I have it.”

“Naw. We’ll not need that.” He pursed his lips and finally, gave her an answering nod.

“Och. Well then.” Her admirer grinned. “We can take care of it for ye, if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d take the dish down and put it over there.” She waved to the corner of the parking lot. “I’ll call the satellite company and have them pick it up later.”

Once she’d smothered the men with a few more smiles and a few more words of praise, she paced to the castle door and put in her key.

And got another grand idea.

Slipping her mobile from her pocket, she made a call. To a locksmith.

A sly grin slipped across her face as she opened the door and marched up to his bedroom. If and when Lorne Ross returned, he’d be entirely locked out of her castle.

She stepped into his bedroom, her breath on hold. Then it whooshed out.

He hadn’t left for good.

Her heart did another tumble. She didn’t allow herself the time to analyze what kind of tumble this was, just as she hadn’t given herself a chance to examine the leap her heart had done earlier.

His computer screens stood in a precise line along the back end of the modern desk he’d had installed. The fluorescent lights he’d chosen flickered on with one flip of her finger. The sheets and bedspread were smooth like a still lake of blue.

Yet the armoire doors stood open, a pile of clothing lumped at the bottom and falling in a scramble to the floor.

For a moment, worry shot through her.

This wasn’t the Lorne Ross she thought she knew. A man who was logical and literal. A man who couldn’t abide a roof that wasn’t fixed. A man who’d wanted to scrutinize her eyes until he’d chosen the exact color.

Wouldn’t that kind of man make sure everything he owned was impeccably taken care of?

Had he driven off because of someone being sick? Or having an accident?

Ceri stuffed her hands into her baggy jeans and lectured herself.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

This was her golden chance to seize control and drive him away.

A booming knock on the front door drew her from the bedroom. Within a couple of minutes, the cleaning crew swarmed the interior. She helped pack the rest of his clothes into two cardboard boxes she’d pulled from the old dungeon. One of the crew knew how to get rid of the new lights, and he helpfully unplugged the computer and screens and dragged them down the stairs. By the time the sun danced along the edge of the western sky, there was a huge pile of Lorne Ross junk standing by the satellite dish on the far side of the parking lot.

The door locks had been changed.

The tartan runners were laid and the ropes positioned to protect the antiques.

His room was no longer his. The castle was hers once more.

If and when he returned, he’d find her in charge again. He might be angry in that cold, controlled way of his. He probably would be frosty and demanding. But he would be out of the castle and would have to find a room at the neighboring B&B. More likely, more to her liking, he might very well give the fight up and go back to London where he belonged.

Leaving her with the final win.

H
e’d bought a property
.

Bloody hell.

Lorne rolled the steering wheel, weaving through the traffic on the outskirts of Edinburgh. Unlike yesterday’s sunny skies, today’s weather had turned into a typical Scottish mix of gusty winds and occasional spats of rain.

His da would have called it a
blirty
type of day.

A bittersweet tinge of emotion made him sigh.

Maybe he’d bought the damn place because it had reminded him of how happy his da and mum were when they came to Edinburgh. How Will Ross had dreamed of buying in the city, yet had never felt he could when Castle Ross and the land needed the money more.

Perhaps that was the reason. Or part of the reason.

He sighed once more.

Arriving midday yesterday, he’d followed the information Doc had texted him and found the boutique hotel near Drumsheugh Gardens with no problem. After his customary nap, which had gone a long way to banishing his headache, he’d hiked to Princes Street and then into the Old Town.

Doc’s next text had led him into complete disaster, however.

Bravo
had been the name of the store.

“Can I help ye, sir?” A young lass with hair as red as his had smiled and led him like a bull to slaughter.

“She might like this, Mr. Ross.” She’d wheedled his name from him before proceeding to make his head spin with the options.

Push-up bras with pink lace. See-through silk panties. Embroidered little dresses she called babydolls. Corsets and teddies. Garters and slips.

He’d gone mad. Completely mad.

Glancing over his shoulder, he gave the pile of packages in the backseat an ironic smile.

What the hell.

He had money.

Ceri would soon have a range of pretty things to choose from, beyond that old cotton bathrobe. To please herself. And to please him. A hum of excitement rumbled in his throat at the thought of her wearing the lingerie he’d picked for her.

The see-through striped gown with its matching black panties.

The white lace camisole.

The red leather corset.

Gifts. Dozens of gifts. Surely when she saw all this, she’d let him see her naked again. Taste her again. Surely, she wouldn’t say no.

He spent the rest of the three hours of driving in a pleasant bubble of images. The rain slanted against the car’s windows, the
slap, slap
of the blades making him settle into a comforting rhythm of thoughts. By the time he turned into the lane leading to his castle, he felt more than okay with the world. Even okay with Doc.

Maybe having a place in Edinburgh would be good for their business.

The gloom of the rain had settled on the castle, turning dusk into a dirty, sloppy night. He pulled the Range Rover to a stop and began to turn off the car lights.

There was a bright-blue tarp hanging over a mountain of something lying in the corner of the parking lot.

“What the hell is that?” he said into the silence surrounding him.

Grabbing the torch from the glove box, he flicked it on and the car lights off.

He stepped out of the car.

Just then, a squall spat a flurry of raindrops onto his head, drenching the wool jumper and jeans he wore and making his skin itch.

He hated when his skin itched.

The torch’s light flashed across the tarp. Had she ordered a mound of dirt to finish the planting in the garden? But from what he could tell, the landscaping had been completed.

Lorne glanced at the castle.

He was tired from driving and didn’t want to stand here in the rain any longer. Whatever the woman had ordered could be dealt with tomorrow after he’d given her his gifts. She would be happy and he could figure out how to get rid of this eyesore then.

Deciding her gifts weren’t going anywhere and he had clothes inside, he slammed the car door and strode up the stone steps to the front door.

His key didn’t work.

“What the hell?” he grunted into the cold, wet air. He jiggled the key in the lock again, but the door stayed stubbornly shut.

Lorne pulled the key out and glanced over to see a sign. A new sign right by the side of the door.

Castle tour tickets required to enter.

The bloody woman was stubborn beyond belief. She had a court order not to proceed and yet it appeared she wasn’t going to follow instructions. Annoyance flashed to irritation in a second. Turning, he frowned at the tarp-covered something. The something that now looked like a circular disk at the top.

A disbelieving growl escaped him.

Marching down the stairs, he walked to the tarp and flipped it off.

His satellite dish.

Boxes. He ripped one open.

His clothes.

A roar of fury rushed from his mouth when he saw the rain sleeting onto his computer screens.

His mobile rang in his pocket. Snarling, he flipped the tarp back over his stuff. “What?”

“Happy guy.” Doc’s voice went wry. “What’s wrong? I’ve heard from my lovely lady estate agent and she told me you went ahead and offered on a property today.”

“God damn her.”

“My lovely estate agent who got you a very good price on a very good townhouse?”

“The woman.”

“Ah,” Hugh said. “Not my lady friend then, but yours.”

“Not my friend,” he blurted. Ceri Llewellyn was not his friend by any stretch of the imagination. He wanted to have sex with her, yes. But he had no interest in becoming her friend. “She locked me out of my castle.”

“Uh oh.” A silence fell, interrupted by his friend’s sudden laugh. “She didn’t.”

“She did.” Lorne glared at the tarp. “She also moved all my stuff out into the rain.”

“Your computer and screens?” Doc’s voice hushed. His partner might tease and laugh at almost everything. Not about computer equipment, though. They were sacred in their world.

“Aye.” He turned to glare across the garden. The cottage stood at the end of the lane with cheery lights shining from its windows. “She did.”

“Told you she was scared.”

Outrage billowed inside him. “What the hell does that have to do with this?”

“It means when a woman feels cornered, she does nasty things.”

“I spent a fortune on her today.” He kicked the edge of one soggy box of clothes. “A fucking fortune.”

“Did you now?” Hugh whistled. “I knew that store would get your interest.”

Fury blistered his brain. “A fucking fortune, Goddammit.”

“She doesn’t know that, now does she?”

His friend’s reasonable point flew straight past the lingering logic floating in his brain. He felt as if the top of his head was about to explode. “I’m going to kill her.”

“This is the man who claims he has no temper.”

Doc’s attempt at teasing only made him angrier. “I’m going to do it right now.”

“Skiff. Take a deep breath.”

“No.” He marched past the front of the car and onto the lane leading to the cottage.

“Think, old chap. This plays right into your hands.”

Stopping in his tracks, he glared into the downpour. “What do ye mean by that?”

“Do you know how to get into the cottage without using the front door?”

“What?” He slid his hand through his wet hair and the tie binding his hair flew off. “God damn it.”

“Stop cursing and listen.”

Dripping curls soaked his neck and cheeks, making the fury inside swell. The wool jumper sagged on his shoulders and chest, scratching his skin. His temper bloomed into a towering rage. “I don’t have time to talk. I have a woman to murder.”

“My, you Scotsmen are bloody-minded.”

Doc’s voice turned cheery, making Lorne want to reach through the phone and shake him. “Fuck off, ye stupid Englishman.”

“There, there, laddie.” His friend chuckled. “Take your temper and use it in your favor.”

He stomped down the lane, his vision going blurry with hatred. “I’m hanging up now because I need both hands to punch the cottage’s front door down.”

“Lorne.”

Stopping at the tone in his partner’s voice, he scowled at his mobile before putting it back to his ear. “What?”

“She’s probably got the front door locked.”

“Likely. That’s not going to stop me.”

“This could get you into trouble, can’t you see?” Hugh’s tone went serious for once. “The local chief inspector might pass on throwing the laird out of his castle, but he’s not going to be so kind when you’ve bludgeoned your way into a woman’s home.”

“
Shite
.”

“Good. Your brain is still working.” His friend hummed, a sound he made when he was planning some new project or some new game. “Listen to me and we’ll make a plan so you can do this right and end up with Ceri in your bed.”

“I don’t want her any longer.” His temper wailed inside, wanting to hit and punch and pummel.

Hugh laughed. “Come on. Don’t lie to me or yourself.”

“I don’t want her—”

“Shut up, Skiff. And listen.”

* * *

P
erhaps he’d given up
. Given up the castle and the estate and the fight.

Ceri settled into the sofa with a hot cup of tea and sipped. The night had fallen once again with no Lorne Ross to muck it up. Granted, he’d left most of his stuff behind, but perhaps she’d been right when she talked about the rich often leaving things without a thought.

Perhaps.

The hard lump sitting in the middle of her stomach wasn’t disappointment or depression. She’d made herself too big of a supper, that was all.

She took another sip of tea.

The thought of turning on the telly wasn’t appealing. She could call Rose and see what was going on in town, yet the thought didn’t appeal either. Her plans for the new herbals and the store she wanted to open lay on the kitchen table, ready to be worked on, but for once, even her dreams didn’t give her any motivation.

The worry she’d pushed behind her yesterday reared inside.

He’d left so suddenly.

As she’d folded his jumpers and jeans, as she’d stuffed his tight running shorts into a box, as she’d fingered the black silk dressing gown, she’d wondered. She kept telling herself she was foolish to worry. He’d likely gone to London. Returning to his company and his billions.

Then her mind went through the memories of how he’d thrown the suitcase into the backseat of the Ranger Rover. How the car had sped off. How his clothes fell out of the armoire. The worry flooded back.

Then and now.

“You’re being stupid,” she said to the flickering firelight shining from the fireplace. “He’s not worth thinking about.”

There was something intimate about packing a man’s clothes and personal items. She’d hated herself, but she couldn’t help lingering over the surprising pile of thongs and breathing in the tang of his shampoo.

“Stop thinking about him,” she said to her teacup. “Stop.”

Going to bed was probably the best option. Tomorrow, the castle’s doors would open to the first busload of tourists at ten a.m. sharp. She would be leading hourly tours of the castle for those who wanted a VIP experience, so she needed to be bright-eyed and ready to go.

She took one last sip of tea.

A loud thump came from the back end of the cottage, where Elis stored his fishing equipment and camping gear.

Ceri shot off the sofa and spun around to stare at the hallway.

What was that?

Some kind of animal? Had some rabbit or mole tunneled under the walls and found a way into the cottage?

Another thump echoed down the hall and her heart began to gallop inside her chest. That was too loud of a sound for a small animal to make.

The slam of wood on stone shocked her into stumbling back.

The back door had been unusable for as long as she’d lived here. The wood was old and rotting, the lock damaged beyond repair. Will had told her it was too dangerous and would need to eventually be replaced. Using the entrance would only make it worse, he’d said. He’d placed a large utility table in front of it to ensure it couldn’t be opened or closed. The table was piled with Elis’s school projects and some old clothes.

The screech of steel table legs on stone screamed through the cottage.

She froze in horror.

No animal could be conniving enough to figure out how to open a broken and blocked door. That noise came from some human pushing their way into her home. Her hand shook as she grabbed the fireplace’s brass poker and raised it above her head.

Lorne Ross charged into view, his bright-fire hair and beard soaking wet, his wool jumper and jeans sodden as well.

“You!” she screeched.

His blue eyes were almost black with rage. “Don’t ye come near me. Not if ye want to live.”

Marching to the front door, he yanked the lock and threw the door open to the pouring rain.

Her heart thundered in her chest. With relief. With anger. With a bloody stupid joy. “Get out of here.”

He ignored her in his usual way. Stepping into the rain, he hefted a soggy cardboard box into his arms.

Ceri sidled across the room and peered into the storm. The man had lugged what appeared to be most of his belongings from the parking lot to the cottage steps. “What are you doing?”