Rexanne Becnel - Scandalous Weddings

"Damnation!" He leapt out of bed and hastened into the clothes he'd dropped on a nearby chair the night before. They smelled of yesterday's games, but he didn't care. He had to find the source of the leak and stop it before it sent the ceiling onto his bed in a soggy plaster rain. He'd just had the roof repaired, and it wasn't raining outside. That left only one possibility as the source of the leak. One of the upstairs bathrooms.

Cursing under his breath, he raced up the stairs, feeling the stone floor cold and hard beneath his bare feet. As he'd feared, water was trickling from one of the five guest suites his grandparents had created on the second floor of the old castle and pooling in the central hall. The prewar plumbing was just one of the many headaches he faced in this renovation project from hell.

Ignoring the frigid water, Ian splashed through the puddle and went into the adjoining bathroom to find water spewing enthusiastically from a rusted split in a pipe. With a jerk and a curse, he closed the cutoff valve, then stood back to survey the damage and decide what to do about it.

The closest plumber was in Corridan, but he disliked calling on the villagers for help. They would come, but in their own sweet time, for they were Macraes, always on the lookout for an opportunity to annoy the Sinclairs. His own neighboring clansmen were spread out over many miles, and he didn't recall there being a decent plumber among them. He decided at last to send one of his engineers from the distillery over to patch things up. That was the trouble with the whole damnable place, he thought, throwing towels on the floor to soak up the water. It was one big patch after another. He didn't have the funds to replace everything that needed it. There was just too much. Roof. Windows. Plumbing. Electric wiring. Stone work. Not to mention furniture and fixtures.

He returned to his quarters below and chanced a quick, hot shower, praying the antiquated pipes would stand the strain. He dressed for work and half an hour later slammed out the door of the only relatively modernized wing of Duneagen Castle. Behind him the once-proud fortress was now a sad mass of weathering stone walls, a legacy he both loved and hated.

Ian considered stopping at the pub in Corridan for a cup of hot coffee to sustain him on the forty-minute drive to Duneagen Distilleries, but as it was already late in the morning, he decided he'd better hurry along to dispatch help for the ailing plumbing in the castle.

The road from the castle wound down from the high promontory and through the village, passing by the cottage once owned by Archibald Macrae. Ian glanced at it as he drove by, wondering if what he'd heard was true, that the old clan chieftain had left it to a distant relative. He gave a silent, sardonic laugh, doubting that a newcomer would be much welcomed in this tightly knit community.

The thought of a stranger in town reminded him of the American woman who had lingered at the fringe of his consciousness all through his morning's difficulties. Who was she? She'd told him she was Scottish at heart, and with her looks, he thought it likely there was Scottish DNA in her genes. From her scarf and her association with his rival clan at the games, Ian guessed she was a Macrae and wondered again if she had dismissed him so abruptly last night because he was a Sinclair. Had this newcomer already let tales of the feud set her against him? If so, she was a fool. A beautiful fool, but someone just as well avoided.

Rounding a corner, he caught his breath, for there, striding into the village on long legs, was the woman in question. She wore close-fitting jeans and a white turtle-neck sweater topped with the shawl she had worn last night. Her hair was piled casually onto her head, adding to her height and accentuating the length of her graceful neck. His reservations of only moments before fled, replaced by rekindled curiosity about her.

As there was but a single road through Corridan, he had no choice but to pass by her, and as he did he slowed and glanced through the car window into her face. She looked toward him and their gazes met, only for an instant, but long enough for him to know that if he weren't careful, he could drown in the sea-green depths of her eyes.

He pressed the accelerator and passed her but caught sight of her again in the rearview mirror. He thought she was watching him, as well. A strange sensation stirred within him, as if he had just seen into his future, and he sensed that somehow his fate was entwined with that of the American stranger. Ian looked away, telling himself that was a ridiculous notion. When he looked back again, she was lost from view.

Angus Stewart pulled his mid-sized Nissan off the main roadway onto a narrow overlook above the village of Corridan. He killed the engine and got out of the car, stretching his arms and legs. It had been a long drive from Aberdeen. The day was fair and breezy, and he took off his hat and turned his face to the warmth of the late morning sun.

Below him, the unspoiled village looked picture-postcard perfect. Like a movie set. The pristine waters of Corridan Bay sparkled and glinted in the bright summer day, and the beach arched in a shimmering crescent between the protective arms of two promontories that rose steeply from the edge of the sea on either side. Perched on the far cliff, hulking over the harbor like a bird of prey, was an ancient weather-beaten castle.

Angus lit a cigarette and surveyed the area appreciatively. New Horizons Cruise Lines had chosen well. Corridan was an excellent site for their project. The deepwater harbor was both scenic and protected, not large but sufficient to accommodate two of the behemoth liners at a time. The village could be renovated just enough to retain the authentic feel of the past and yet provide the amenities wealthy cruise customers would expect. And the castle. It looked like something out of a storybook. Or would, he decided, after extensive refurbishing. It would cost a bundle, but the investors who had hired him seemed not to care.

"We want to create a fantasy port of call that will give our cruising clientele a taste of 'auld Scotland,' " they'd told him. They planned to bring thousands of international tourists each year to what they envisioned to be a first-rate resort that exuded Highland charm and offered a taste of the past. There was to be a world-class golf course, five-star dining, offshore fishing. The castle was to be the playground of patrons who wanted to experience the life of a Scottish laird or lady, at least for a night or two. Angus smirked. The cruise line specialized in making such fantasies come true. All it took was money.

The cynical solicitor had no reservations about what he'd been hired to do, telling himself the resort was a much more profitable use of the land than it had known in the past. The old crofters who lived here were an anachronism, and the land was nearly barren except for the few scraggly livestock they owned. Far better to turn it over to tourism.

Angus finished his cigarette with one long last drag, then flicked it over the railing where it rolled down the steep hillside. He didn't really give a damn what his clients did with the land. All he wanted was to successfully complete his assignment and collect his pay. He'd been hired to purchase the land for the American-owned company, and he was determined to do it quickly and economically, for his fee was based on a sliding scale. The better the price he negotiated for the houses and farms and businesses of Corridan, as well as the castle and its environs, the more money he would make on the deal.

It would be tricky, he knew, for it was an all-or-nothing proposition. He had to convince every single villager to sell out and move away. The same with the chieftain of the Clan Sinclair. Unless he could secure the entire area, the owners of the cruise line could not implement their plans.

Angus Stewart smiled to himself, returned to his vehicle and headed down the hill into the village. He would succeed, for he had worked out an ingenious plan of his own. He was nothing if not one of Aberdeen 's most creative solicitors.

Not knowing how long she might stay in Corridan, Meredith had not yet bought groceries for the cottage. With only a cup of hot tea for breakfast, by eleven o'clock she was ravenous. Donning her new shawl, she'd set out on the short walk into the village, wondering what time the little pub served lunch.

About halfway to town, she'd heard a car approaching from behind her, too fast, it seemed, for the narrow road. She turned and watched as a dark green Land Rover careened around a turn in the road. It slowed as it came nearer, and her heart lurched as she recognized the driver.

Ian Sinclair.

He made no attempt to stop and greet her, but she was not surprised after the way she'd hurried away from him the night before. He did, however, cast a glance her way, and his face seemed set in a scowl. A most handsome scowl, but unfriendly nonetheless. She jumped as he suddenly accelerated and wondered if the getaway gesture was in reply to her own abrupt dismissal of him the night before.

Perturbed more by her undeniable attraction to the man than his abrupt exit, Meredith continued on, reaching the old whitewashed pub only moments later. She immediately noticed a bright red Nissan sedan in the adjacent car park. It stood out from the rest of the vehicles not only in color, but also in size and youth. Curious, she wondered if a tourist had wandered off the beaten path or gotten lost. Corridan was remote, and the roads leading here were rough.

She pushed open the door and walked in on a heated exchange between three local men and a stranger who sat at a table in the corner. He was a small fellow, with thinning brown hair combed back from his forehead to hide his encroaching baldness. His beaked nose, slanting forehead, and weak chin gave him the look of a rodent, she decided. Meredith ordered a ploughboy sandwich from the bartender, a man she knew only as "Mac." He nodded, but she could tell he was distracted and had one ear tuned to the men in the corner. She turned her attention to them as well.