Laird of the Highlands: International Billionaires IX: The Scots (5 page)

“So you’ll send the clothes.” It wasn’t a question.

His partner laughed. “There’s my man. Always focused. Always on point.”

Lorne waited.

“How long do you plan on being there? I thought this was going to be a short trip?”

He hadn’t told his friend about the issues. He’d merely stated he was going to Scotland and would be back. But now it was clear more needed to be shared because he’d have to stay here for a while. He had to make sure his hold on the estate was clear before he returned to London. “There’s a woman.”

Another silence fell. Not even Hugh’s breathing came through the line.

“She’s leaving today. I told her to.”

“What?” His friend’s voice rasped on the one word. “You have a woman.”

“No.” His frown deepened to a scowl.

“Tell me, Skiff, please tell me you finally have a woman.”

“She’s leaving.”

“Knowing you, that doesn’t surprise me.” A beep buzzed in the background. “I have another call. Probably the deal in the States.”

“I need clothes,” Lorne stated the obvious just to make sure.

“Okay, Skiff. I’ll take care of it. Talk to you soon.” The call clipped off.

He laid the phone on the bed and turned off his brain. But right before his conscience went dark, the woman slid inside.

The billowing black curls.

The alabaster skin.

The lush lips.

Lorne snapped his mind shut.

C
eri scrambled
over the low stone wall marking the edge of Ross land. Since her errands into town had nothing to do with groceries or shopping, she’d elected to walk the two miles back and forth. It gave her time to think, and she always needed to get exercise to stave off her body’s inclination to put on the pounds.

The sun shone bright for once, gilding the tops of the mountains with white gold and burning off the last of the mist floating between the trees. This path was one of her favorites, winding across the moor with its light dusting of marsh violets and red currants, then dipping into the forest itself.

She took in a deep breath of clean pine. The quiet swish of the wind and the whistling call of a bird steadied her.

As a child, she’d been of the town. Her mam had no use for the Welsh countryside, preferring the safety of Brekelly and the convenience of fast food and packaged goods. It hadn’t been until her marriage and her isolation on the hill looking over the town that Ceri had found her passion.

The garden. Her herbs.

It had been the one area of his home Gareth had no interest in. He cared about the inlaid wood of the foyer’s floor and the draperies in the dining room. He cared about the glass chandelier being cleaned every week and how his staff dressed. But he hadn’t cared about the garden other than that it produced enough fresh flowers to decorate when he entertained.

So the garden had become hers. Hers to plan and plant. She’d dived into learning about every piece of information regarding bushes and trees and herbs. Her brain had grown tired of worrying about what to wear somewhere in the first year of their marriage, and since Gareth had vetoed any university classes, she’d been more than eager to grasp onto this new interest.

The interest had become her passion.

She marched down the rock-and-dirt path, past the roaring stream leading to the loch. Keeping her thoughts quiet, she let herself take in the beauty of the home she’d come to love and cherish.

Just as much as Will had.

That’s what she needed to remember. She cared about the highland cattle and sheep herds Will had carefully cultivated into a thriving income. She cared about the castle and keeping its history alive. And more than anything, she cared about the gardens and herbs and the future she and Will had planned.

She’d been forced out of her first garden when Gareth had died, leaving his entire estate to a distant cousin.

She wouldn’t be forced out this time.

Coming up the last hill, she stopped to look at Castle Ross. It stood on a rocky ridge overlooking the stream and the dark forest. The white stone walls glistened in the sun, the four-squared tower turret, with its slate roof, pushed the pride of the Ross heritage into the blue sky.

A wave of another kind of passion rose inside.

This was her place.

Will had given it to her, trusted her.

Not his son.

A truck lumbered toward the castle, along the lane leading from the local road. Narrowing her eyes, she caught the name painted on the side.

“Oh, hell, no.” Her hands fisted. “No you don’t, you bugger.”

She stomped down the hill, picking up her pace as the truck came to a stop and two men emerged. Walking to the back, they began to unload…

A satellite dish. Just as she expected.

Malu cachu
.

Exactly right. Bullshit.

Elis had tried to convince both she and Will the cottage at least needed Wi-Fi.

“Ye could build a website for the castle, Sis,” he’d pointed out. “Ye could have the tours booking online instead of handling all those phone calls.”

“I like talking to the booking agents,” she said. “I like chatting with them about the coming season.”

“There’s a ton of TV programs you could get too.” Her brother had turned his focus to Will. “Football and rugby as well.”

Will had laughed and told him he’d rather spend time in the forest. Ceri had told him the last thing she needed was to sit on her rump and get fat. Elis had given up in disgust after a dozen conversations. If she wasn’t going to have a satellite dish installed for her beloved brother, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let it be installed for the wanker who was trying to take away her castle.

“Stop.” She ran the last few steps to the truck. “Stop right now.”

The two men turned in unison, their eyes widening.

She didn’t know if it was because her hair must be falling out of her ponytail, or because she’d raced over to them like a banshee. All she cared was they stop.

“There’ll be no installing that.” She pointed at the large metal dish. “Not here. Not ever.”

One of the men, the tall one with a bushy brown mustache, pulled out a work order. “This is Castle Ross, right?”

Folding her arms in front of her, she scowled at him. “Yes, but I didn’t order this.”

“It says here a Mr. Lorne Ross ordered it.” His mustache twitched. “Is there a person here by that name?”

“Not for long,” she muttered.

“We’ve come all the way from Inverness.” The other man, a short, grumpy-looking sort, grimaced. “We’ve got a paid order to install this on the tower.”

Ceri glanced up at her precious tower and gave it a scowl, too. Or actually, she gave the man daring to live there the scowl. “Nope. Not happening.”

The front door blew open and the weasel emerged, his face shining with pleasure. He glanced her way, then ignored her. “You’re here. Mr. Ross told me to keep an eye out for you.”

“So there is a Lorne Ross here.” The mustache lifted as the man smiled with satisfaction.

“Yes, yes.” The portly man shuffled back, waving his white hands. “Come in.”

The two workmen gave her one more look, this time a dismissive one, and moved forward, lugging the ugly dish between them.

What would happen when the first tourist bus drove into the parking lot? The visitors would gaze at the beautiful, ancient Castle Ross only to see an ultra-modern, metal
thing
hanging from the tower?

Not on her life. Not ever.

She stalked forward, ignoring the men, all three of them. None of them was the true nemesis and none of them deserved her attention.

“Mrs. Llewellyn.” The weasel tried to block her way, but she stormed right past him, heading for the circular stone stairway leading to the tower.

“Mrs. Llewellyn!”

She continued to ignore him as she paced up the stairs. Her whole body steamed with anger and her brain could only think of one thing.

Confronting Lorne Stupid Ross.

Telling him what he was doing was endangering the castle’s reputation.

Yelling at him for putting Pictloch’s future in jeopardy.

Was he that oblivious? Could he be that ignorant?

She went right for the highest bedroom. Her gut told her that’s where she’d find the man. Will had told her it had been Lorne’s room when he’d been a child. The news had surprised her because the room held a classic example of Adam-style interior design. The oak wood ceiling and paneled walls were carved in the French boiserie technique, a mode made famous almost three hundred years ago. Why would a parent put a kid into a room like that? Especially a kid who’d grow into a man who didn’t have a clue about the importance of his heritage?

Racing to the carved double doors, she threw them open with a crash.

The room was pitch black.

Had she been wrong?

A tall, white wraith rose from the bed. In the darkness, the only thing she saw was the frame of the creature’s shoulders, the faint outline of the head. The distant clamor of Will’s old stories about a ghost clattered in her mind.

“What are ye doing?”

Not a ghost. It was him. That soft, dangerous voice. The gentle ruthlessness in his tone.

Sleeping naked? In the middle of the day? Lorne Ross was more than odd. More than eccentric.

He was plain weird.

Ceri didn’t care that he was naked. She’d seen naked. In fact, this worked to her advantage. Striding over to the light switch, she flicked it on.

Nothing happened.

What had he done? Will had the wiring looked at last autumn, right after they’d closed the castle for the season. There’d been some small repairs, but much to both of their relief, the cost had been minimal.

“What are ye doing?” If anything, his voice grew softer, lighter.

She tried to ignore the shiver running down her spine. “What have you done with the lights?”

“I replaced them.” He didn’t move from the bed and yet, he seemed to invade her space even from far across the large room.

“Sir!” The weasel appeared at the doorway, his face filled with mortification. “I couldn’t stop her.”

“I can see that.”

“Where are the lights, dammit?” She moved her hand along the wood, the memory of the new blazing lights shining from these windows coming back to her. “You had no right to put in new lights.”

“Don’t turn on the lights.”

His words were marginally harder and she dismissed them right as her fingers touched the circular tube of some kind of light. She was sure of it. “Ah!” she cried as the brazen flash of fluorescent lit the room.

“Mr. Ross.” His solicitor’s expression went from mortification to distress. “I’ll call your security.”

“How did she get in?”

Ceri swung around to glare at the man still sitting on the bed.

The glare froze on her face.

His hair slid to his shoulders, a fire of gold-and-red curls. The color was even more pronounced because of the whiteness of his skin. She’d been right, he was whip-thin. Still, he wasn’t scrawny. His biceps were taut and bunched, his pectorals hard and flat, partially covered with a thatch of red hair. Long, naked legs stretched out on the bed ending with rather large, bare feet.

His boxers mercifully covered the rest of him.

She’d been with a man many times. According to Brekelly gossip, she’d been with many men, many times. At the end, Gareth had believed those lies and had punished her with his will. But she’d never been with a young man. Had never actually gazed at a young man’s naked body.

Before she could stop herself from showing any weakness, she stumbled back.

“The satellite crew is here, sir.”

“And she happened to be around and came inside.” He flipped his hair over a surprisingly broad shoulder before swinging his legs to the floor.

“Yes, that’s how it went…” The weasel’s voice trailed off as the man stood.

Ceri was glad she had the wall to sag on.

In bed, he was glorious. Standing, his body took on more power, more male beauty. Will had been tall and lean. His son resembled him in this. Yet where Will’s shoulders had slumped and his hair had turned white, his son’s spine was straight and true, his hair his crowning glory.

He appeared entirely unaware he was almost naked. Walking to the window, he pushed back the curtains.

The artificial light had glossed his allure with a fine tint. The sun turned him into an impossible god of a man. Ceri’s imagination blasted to life, framing him as some long-ago Highland hero with a kilt and a sword in his big hand. The sunshine lit his hair into a sea of flames. His skin went from white to pearl. Every line of every muscle went into sharp relief.

“Ye will both leave.” His gentle command drifted across the room from the window. His gaze never left the view. “Ye can send the satellite crew to me, Reid.”

“Come along, Mrs. Llewellyn.” The weasel reached for her elbow.

Awaking from her trance with a start, she shoved the man’s hand aside. Anger surged, replacing any thoughts of fantasies and warriors. “You have no right to install anything in this castle.”

One white shoulder twitched like he were flicking off a fly. “Mr. Reid.”

“Um.” The older man wrenched a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “She’s bigger than me, sir.”

He didn’t move from the window. “Then call security.”

She would not be thrown out of her own castle. But she could see she had no weapons left right now. She couldn’t fight with a man when he was almost naked and almost mouth-watering. She also couldn’t force all four men to go away and take their damned dish with them. “I’ll hire my own solicitor.”

Lorne Ross said nothing.

“It would be best, Mrs. Llewellyn.” Reid looked at her with an imploring gaze. “If you left.”

She left.

Ceri didn’t allow herself another glance at his nakedness before she stomped out of the bedroom and down the tower stairs. That was at least a small victory.

Not enough, though. Not nearly enough.

* * *

L
orne knew
she was gone at the very moment she left.

Which was strange.

He’d never been good with sensing. Sensing people and where they were and what they were thinking. Sensing the unexpected or the unusual. He’d learned to keep himself in narrow areas of life where he functioned well without needing to rely on anything except his brain.

Yet it wasn’t his brain that sensed she was gone. It was an organ he usually listened to only during his morning shower.

“Mr. Lorne Ross?” A gravelly voice came from the door.

The satellite crew.