Christmas at a Highland Castle

Chapter 3

The paving soon gave way to grass, and Jess slipped her way across a sloping area of muddy lawn still slick from the earlier rain. Eventually the grass gave way to a muddy pathway between some shrubby bushes.

The sound of continued barking gave Jess confidence she was heading in the correct direction; she could make out the indistinct shape of a long hedge, and beyond that, lights glowing from a low building, eerie through the fog.

By the time she’d worked her way along the hedge, discovered a picket gate standing wide and called several more times to Digby, who was still ignoring her, she could hear another voice. A strong male voice, low and gruff and heavily laced with a Scottish accent, calling firmly for the dogs to hush their noise.

‘Hello?’ Jess called into the ether and was rewarded with the beam of a torch directly in her face.

‘Is this your mongrel?’ The torch beam swung away from her eyes, landing instead on a familiar doggy shape bouncing up and down.

‘He’s a cockapoo, not a mongrel, but yes, he’s mine.’ Jess took a step closer. ‘I’m sorry – he ran off when I let him out for a pee.’

‘Cockapoo you say?’ The man trained his torch on Jess. ‘Well, whatever he is, I think your wee lad has a breathing problem.’

‘You’re not wrong about that.’ It was strange to be agreeing on her aunt’s dog’s shortcomings with a total stranger – a man she hadn’t even set eyes on, hidden as he was behind the glare of his torch.

A swirl of fog brought the man closer, and he introduced himself.

‘I’m Robbie,’ he said, hand extended for Jess to shake. ‘Gamekeeper for the earl. The new earl, I suppose I should say. Are you here for the funeral?’ He looked confused as he said it, his gaze raking her non-funeral-appropriate clothing for further clues as she reached out a hand. She feared for the survival of her fingers as he took them in a surprisingly fierce grip.

‘Not for the funeral. I’m the temporary housekeeper. Jess Wight.’

‘Aye. Yes, I suppose they would be needing a new one.’ With nothing further in the way of explanation, Robbie nodded towards Digby. ‘You’ll be taking him back to the castle, then?’

That was the plan, but with new, spaniel-shaped friends to be sniffed at through the bars of the kennels, Digby wasn’t coming quietly. He jinked and swerved away from Jess each time she made a grab for his collar.

‘Bloody dog,’ she muttered, then turned at the sound of laughter. That was all she needed, the estate’s gamekeeper thinking she had no control over her own dog. It might be the truth, but it was still an embarrassment she could do without.

‘He’s got some spirit, hasn’t he?’ Robbie said.

Now Jess’s eyes had adjusted to the half-light created by the glow from the cottage and the strong beam from the torch, she could make out his features a bit better. He was laughing, but his gaze was fixed on Digby; it seemed he was amused by the dog’s antics, not her ineptitude. The pronounced laughter lines at the edges of crinkled eyes gave away that the gamekeeper wasn’t young – probably no longer clinging to his thirties if the salt and pepper quality to his hair was any measure – but as he glanced at her and smiled, his features lit up.

And when he shifted forward, a confident stride towards Digby, she noticed his broad shoulders and the athletic way he moved. Instead of being rough with Digby, as she’d imagined a gamekeeper might be, he dropped onto his haunches and flattered her dog with all sorts of compliments, pulling something from a pocket as he gained the dog’s attention.

‘Aren’t you a naughty wee man?’ he said in a sing-song voice, proffering something held in his fingers and glancing in Jess’s direction. ‘Is he all right with carrot?’

‘He’ll eat almost anything,’ she replied, pleased that she’d ignored her aunt Vivi’s instruction not to give Digby treats when she earned herself a broad flash of Robbie’s smile.

‘My boys love carrot and I think you will, too.’ His words were aimed at the dog, as he snapped the carrot baton in two, popped one piece into his mouth and began to chew. Digby lost interest in the spaniels, his focus now on the possibility of snacks. ‘Come on, then,’ Robbie said, holding out the rest of the carrot.

With his fingers around Digby’s collar, and the little dog crunching happily, Robbie gestured for the lead still in Jess’s hand, and clipped it into place, handing responsibility back to her as he straightened.

‘Thank you,’ Jess said. ‘I’m so sorry to have disturbed you.’

‘No worries. It’s just me and a glass of single malt tonight, so you’ve not disturbed anything important.’

‘Well, thanks again.’ Jess fumbled with her mobile, switching on the torch app and heading for the gate, Digby in tow. ‘I’d better be getting back.’

‘See you again,’ he said, lost just as quickly in the swirl of fog as Jess left his garden and realised that heading in this direction everything would be far easier to navigate – she could see the lights she’d left on in the castle’s kitchen and scullery, and the vastness of the building’s outline was visible even through the fog.

Back in the castle, and with the door firmly closed, Jess kicked off her muddy shoes and unclipped Digby’s lead. With his tea already in his bowl, Jess hoped he would have the good grace to eat that and then settle down on his mat.

Someone had brought the tea trays back to the kitchen while she was out, so she checked the time, then began to stack the dishwasher while deciding how long it would take the Aga to cook the quiche she had planned for supper.

Dee should have stayed in her room, should have ignored the raps on the door and Olivia’s cajoling voice calling her for supper. Should have ignored the compulsion to put on a brave face and head to the dining room where the new girl had laid one end of the dining table with a bizarre selection of cutlery and mats.

She didn’t manage more than a few mouthfuls of the quiche.

They’d buried her husband today. Henry was dead. He was gone. And if Dee wasn’t able to decide what she wanted to do, to be autonomous on today of all days, then when?

Henry had been twenty years her senior, an imposing, confident forty-year-old when they’d met. His arrival, his sheer presence, in that ballroom had been noted by everyone, either because they already knew who he was, or because they wanted to find out. Dee remembered, even now, how the whispers had circled. He was the Earl of Kirkshield, no less. Freshly divorced from a terrible first wife, poor man. Child-free – courtesy of the terrible wife, Dee supposed. Ten thousand acres of the Scottish Highlands and a castle to his name. Owned most of the village, too. Rolling in money. Wasn’t he distinguished, as well as being oh so handsome …

The catch of the decade.

So, when his gaze had grazed its way over the partygoers, swept past before returning and settling on her, Dee had allowed her quickening pulse and the way her stomach knotted when he smiled at her to govern the rest of that evening. And, as it turned out, had allowed him to monopolise her for the next thirty years, too.

It was a shame, then, that it turned out the favour wasn’t to be returned.

A more cynical person might have waited a while before allowing themselves to become pregnant, but Dee had fallen headlong in love – with Henry and with Kirkshield – so why would she want to put off the inevitable? The earl wanted heirs, and she wanted the earl.

By the time Olivia was toddling and Sebastian – the first son and therefore the hallowed male heir – was screaming his head off in the nursery, Dee’s future was already set. And with the arrival of baby number three, which was heralded more by Henry’s disappointment that Freya hadn’t been a Felix than by any sense of celebration, Dee was in absolutely no doubt. While she had remained true to the man she had fallen very much in love with, the favour hadn’t been returned. She had served her purpose, even if she’d performed rather poorly with the score two-to-one in favour of female offspring, and Henry had turned his carnal interests in other directions.

Dee had continued to try through the next few years, to do her best to rekindle the romance she’d thought had been there at the start. But it didn’t take her long to work out there hadn’t actually been a whole lot of romance. If she thought about it in a detached way, it wasn’t difficult to establish that it had always been about the end goal. About procuring a willing, healthy, young wife to create the next Earl of Kirkshield to follow in Henry’s footsteps. She began to wonder if Henry was even capable of love.

Dee toyed with a piece of potato, rolling it around in a blob of mayonnaise she’d spooned onto her plate in a ploy to look as though she was interested in eating.

In a way, she supposed it had been fascinating that such obvious adultery had never once been spoken about. Each time a pretty new nanny or housemaid appeared, Dee was under no illusion as to why they had been employed. She could have spoken out at any time. But she never had.

At least Henry had been discreet, and never once had a call of inappropriate behaviour landed at his door. Henry was many things, but he was able to turn on the charm, and retained his handsome features and authoritative air even as he headed through his later years.

There had been many times when Dee had struggled to remain silent, had wanted to confront him – but what would it achieve? The ruination of her children’s formative years, for certain. The end of her time at the castle, the smudge of guilt by association. After all, there was always a reason why husbands strayed, wasn’t there …?

It had seemed a far more sensible option to hide the whole situation under the proverbial rug, to sweep the disappointment away and pretend everything was as it should be. At least that way she could cling on to her pride, remain in the place she loved. Keep face.

And after the way people had turned on his first wife for divorcing him, Dee wasn’t sure she would come out of an unpleasant separation with anything, let alone a sense of self-worth. Did she really want to abandon everything she’d built in the pursuit of … of what? Truth? Romantic happiness? Both of those things were subjective, nebulous. Open to interpretation.

Instead, Dee had learnt to seek pleasure in things which didn’t involve Henry. The brave beauty of the first snowdrops poking their way through the snow. The unchallenged strength of a stag with his newly grown, velvet-covered antlers, surveying his territory. Seeing her beautiful children grow. Watching the way the seasons turned on the estate.

Although there had been plenty to appreciate about her life at Kirkshield, she knew she’d missed out on so many things. But maybe it had all been worth it, because there was no doubt she was relieved that her son was home at last, and with time would grow into the role of the Earl of Kirkshield. Regardless of his misgivings, Dee remained confident he would make a far better job of the role than his father had.

Sebastian reminded Dee of her late husband in some ways – the strength of his features and his striking good looks, his walk, which was remarkably like his father’s, his love of chocolate. Henry had had a sweet tooth, too.

But in other ways they were nothing alike. While Henry had spent most of the winter months outside with his pair of Purdey shotguns, blasting pheasants from the sky, Sebastian had only ever accompanied his father under duress, missing everything on purpose and quietly refusing to be cowed for his lack of accuracy. Henry’s self-confidence and bullish attitude had carried him through his entire life, and Dee knew full well that his hard-edged, aggressive parenting style hadn’t worked well for the sensitive little boy he’d done his best to mould in his own image.

And the disagreement about Catriona had been the final straw, sending Sebastian running to London.

But the biggest difference of all had perhaps been the most important. Sebastian had empathy for others. Dee knew this was why her son had returned to take up the yoke of Kirkshield Castle, rather than abandoning them in favour of his life in London.

She glanced at her son, at the tight lines around his mouth and the way he was doing his best to appear happy to be back, and bit at the inside of her mouth until she got under control the sudden desire to cry. She needed to get a grip. With her fork abandoned, she pushed away her plate and reminded herself that Sebastian was only doing his duty.

It was time for him to take on the responsibility he had grown up knowing full well would be his one day. He simply needed time to adjust. There had always been an Earl of Kirkshield. None of the others had ever had a choice, and whether he liked it or not, now it was Sebastian’s turn to step up.