The Horse Keepers

By Helen Iles

When Rachael Summerfield flees a brutal marriage and agrees to impersonate the heir of an isolated castle in the
Scottish highlands, she inherits more than she bargained for. Thrust into a centuries old clan feud, she battles against the treacherous countryside and a clan that will stop at nothing to reclaim their land. If she does not rem

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linellen Press
• Release date: Dec 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781876922719

Helen Iles

Perth author Helen Iles is a horse breaker and trainer when not writing prose or poetry. Many of these poems were composed from her personal experiences as a horse rider and trainer over many years and during her travels through the outback. In this collection of poems The Horse From Ethel Creek was awarded the ABC's State Country Session Poetry Prize; The Breaker's Walk received a highly commended certificate at the Grenfell Henry Lawson Festival of Arts; Any Place received a Commended Award in the Ethel Webb Bundell Literary Awards and Kimberley Dream gained a Special Mention in the Bronze Quill SWW-WA Awards.

Book preview

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to all the brave and stalwart horses

whose lives were offered up in the name of war.

May humanity never inflict such abhorrent acts

of cruelty on any defenseless creature ever again.

.

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

CONTENTS

Prelude

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

About the Author

Prelude

Come on, you can do it, Rachael prodded her resolve as she stood on the narrow roadway looking up at the tall castle spires that towered over the countryside around her. All you have to do is keep putting one foot after the other. But the lane was heavily infested with bracken and all uphill, and the two suitcases that bumped against her legs were heavy, indeed, full of thick winter clothing she had crammed into them on Duncan MacLeod’s warning.

Wrap thee-self warm, my Lady. The cold in the Highlands will gnaw at your bones far worse than American winters, he’d said bluntly, a pert nod of his head affirming his statement.

Accordingly, she had depleted the stores of thick denim jeans, fleecy slacks, high collared sweaters, and sturdy hard-wearing boots before catching the train; she hoped the hinges of her much-travelled leather cases would hold the last two miles of her journey up this steep winding lane. The leafy barrier ahead of her told her it wasn’t going to be easy.

But, she sighed deeply, little had been easy lately. The only thing in the past year that had been was how quickly she’d acquired this place, a place she could hide out in until it was safe to go home. All she had to do now was make it up that hill before nightfall.

Already it was mid-afternoon.

Come on, you can do it.

The words bolstered her slightly – Susan’s catch-cry; Susan’s resounding cheer to everything she was attempting. Come on, you can do it. Rachael wanted to pinch herself that she was even here; that she was out in the big bad world facing things on her own. She was right out of her comfort zone for the old Rachael Summerfield would never have taken the train alone to Scotland at Duncan MacLeod’s request, nor would she have proceeded to this rustic, rugged landscape in Scotland’s northern highlands.

Paul, if you could only see me now, she thought. Would it make a difference?

Indeed, she was doing things differently these days: it had been her decision that morning to walk the lonely narrow roads to Torrval alone; her decision – not her mother’s or her father’s – not Paul’s. They weren’t around to guide her choices anymore – Paul the only one by choice. Without him she’d become gamer, more adventurous. Slowly, as she adjusted to her new-found freedom, she had learnt to stand up for herself.

‘Life is a door,’ she’d once heard someone say. Maybe it was Susan. ‘Knock and it will open.’

Indeed, she’d been knocking on doors a lot this past year and, as each door opened she became even braver. She hoped this little escapade wouldn’t be the one that brought her crashing to her knees.

The castle towered ominously over her.

Chapter One

Six days earlier.

Sitting tapping her fingers on the arm of the reception room chair, Rachael fought hard not to glance at her watch; fought hard to stop her foot from tapping on the lawyer’s thread-bare carpet. Her every fibre insisted she keep on the move, for her plans could be thwarted if she stayed too long in one place. But right now she needed to be here to put those plans into action.

She glanced at the leadlight windows across the room wishing she could see out to the street. She wished she could see the traffic flowing by or Paul should he come striding down the bleak narrow pavement to the glass paneled front doors.

She tried to ease her nerves, tried to convince herself he would never find her here. This meeting in Inverness at McLeod, McLeod & Dunbar was the greatest convenience in drawing her away from her impromptu London business trip and make Paul’s pursuit of her more difficult. He’d been hunting her for three weeks she’d heard, but so far he’d not yet tracked her to the London office, and therefore he was even less likely to track her to Inverness. She sighed deeply. After eighteen months of separation she could only guess why he needed to see her urgently – either he was broke and wanted money, or he wanted a divorce. And right now she wasn’t prepared to give him either.

Her fingers stopped tapping as she lost the battle and glanced at her watch. Eleven-fifteen. August the first. She was five minutes early for an appointment she’d missed two and a half months ago. She looked up as the door to the lawyer’s office opened and eased out a sigh. Come on, you can do this, she propped up her nerves.

An elderly gentleman in a tweed suit and soft cap bid his warm good-days and left the office, leaving a slim, ruddy-cheeked man in a grey suit standing in the doorway. The young man smiled his good-day, his smile widening and his pale blue eyes brightening when he noticed her sitting there.

Good morning, Mrs Summerfield, he said, picking up a file from the receptionist’s desk.

Rachael smoothed the flowing cream skirt from her lap and rose, making note she would need warmer clothes if she had to stay in Scotland longer than a day.

… or may I call you Rachael? the lawyer added. I am Duncan. Duncan McLeod. It is I who spoke with you on the telephone.

Rachael had already noted the familiar voice, the image of him she’d pictured during the telephone call fairly accurate. He was indeed slim and clean shaven, somewhere near his mid-thirties though he was not as tall as she imagined, and his hair was a little redder than brown.

The man ushered her into his office and directed her to a chair. A stylish Windsor, she noted.

It is wonderful that you agreed to meet with me, he said, moving behind his desk, and please, call me Duncan.

Rachael nodded, her emerald eyes sweeping the room and deeming the dark wood panelling and sundry furniture as masculine – quite appropriate for a lawyer’s office. The 19th century design and early Victorian furnishings were impressive, and her specialty. Their placement around the room showed class.

Her gaze drifted to the sward of yellow-gold and black checked cloth slashed across one wall, the tartan of the McLeod’s of Ramsey.

Refocusing on the man, her deeply cusped lips thinned as she clutched her purse to her lap and sat. Soon she was going to burst his bubble of enthusiasm.

Time has ever so surely been running out, Duncan began as soon as Rachael was seated, and we must move quickly if all is to be unconstrainedly ratified.

Rachael shrugged slightly, the matter of her own business more important than his need to get things ‘unconstrainedly ratified’. My apologies, she excused without much conviction, but I was in California when your letter arrived. Actually, she’d refused to open his letter, avoiding anything to do with lawyers until she was good and ready. But Susan had eventually made her.

She pushed away errant gold curls that had fallen forward onto her breast. As I said in our conversation, you have made a grave mistake, Mr McLeod. I am not the Rachael Summerfield you seek. Surely, somewhere out there is another Rachael Summerfield and you have simply found the wrong one.

The lawyer picked up a pair of fine, gold-rimmed glasses and settled in the high-backed leather chair. No, no, no, Mrs Summerfield ... Rachael …, he corrected, we have done our homework quite thoroughly and are sure of our facts. You are the Rachael Grace Summerfield we seek.

Her lips tightened at his rebuttal. Oh, how mistaken he was!

Nevertheless, we are indebted to you for coming, he demurred and pulled the leather chair closer to the desk. He slipped the glasses on.

Rachael’s lashes lowered as the real reason for her presence again prodded her. I had business in London anyway, she sighed, and coming to Inverness is a pleasant break from my schedule. She half smiled, a smile which did not touch her eyes. Can you really do this? she wondered uneasily. Can you go through with it?

Shall we get down to business then?

Rachael nodded, more spirals of curls dancing near her waist as Duncan forced his attention from her face to the green manila file in front of him. As stated in our letter quite some time ago, he impressed, your uncle, Morrison William McKennar, bequeathed to you the whole of his Scottish estates. This, in essence, is the total lands and fortunes contained at Torrval Castle in the distant shire of Badenoch. He put his hand up to stop her interrupting. "This bequest also includes all the worldly goods and produce held upon that land.

This of course means only those goods which belong to Torrval and not those belonging to the crofters who tenant the land, he added as an aside.

Rachael merely shrugged. She could wait until the end to reiterate he was wasting his time.

This is a very valuable asset, my Lady, Duncan noted as he peered over the rim of his glasses. There are however several clauses under the charter of King William which you must be made aware of. He waited for her to nod that she was still listening.

One: You cannot sell, divide or give away any portion of the land bequest upon you but must pass it to your true-blood descendants, and only your true-blood descendants. This is clearly and indelibly stated in the 16th century Charter.

Another shrug touched Rachael’s shoulders: she would bear no children anyway. She tried to force back the familiar hollowness that gnawed beneath her breast as she acknowledged that.

"Two: You must maintain residency at the castle and not be absent from that residence for periods longer than three months in total in any one calendar year.

Three: You must take possession of the castle within three months of your predecessor’s demise or the property will revert to its previous ancestral owners, or their next blood kin. In this case it is the clan of Campbell.

He glanced up to see if any reaction had occurred but Rachael remained listening, not even the name Campbell altering her expression, which he thought extremely odd.

"By accepting the inheritance you will be accepting to undertake the duties of the grand Lord of Badenoch and will forthwith bear his title. In this case, madam, it will be ‘Lady Rachael of Badenoch’, and you will benefit by the rights that title accords.

Do you agree to abide by these terms and conditions as decreed in the Last Will and Testimony of Lord Morrison McKennar, Lady Rachael? he asked, looking up at her. Oh, I know you are quite substantially well off and suitably occupied with your own family empire, but three hundred years of tradition hangs on a very slender thread here. Surely you cannot allow all that has gone before you to be eradicated. I know you do not need the financial stability nor the prestige of title but please consider those your decision will affect. This is your family’s duty.

Rachael saw the barely suppressed grimace on Duncan’s face as she shook her head again, determination darkening her staunch green eyes. No, I cannot, Mr McLeod, and you know I can’t. As I said before, I am not the Rachael Summerfield you seek. You have made a grave mistake. She began to rise, ending their business and his persistence. If it meant she would have to find another lawyer elsewhere to handle her affairs then she would find another lawyer.

On the contrary, my dear Lady, Duncan countered swiftly. Morrison McKennar was ill for only a short time before his death. He spent considerable time during his life ensuring he knew where you were. I remember his complete assuredness when he gave us your contact details only weeks before he passed. He was completely lucid of mind … completely lucid. We can therefore do no more than respond to his wishes and ensure you take your rightful position as quickly as possible.

Rachael’s lashes lowered again, this time with deep regret. Regardless of how he and this supposed uncle had come to this conclusion it simply wasn’t possible!

Look, Mr McLeod, she said, pushing the chair back further and standing, I would honestly leap at the chance to live in the Scottish Highlands for a while – I would relish the chance to drop right off the face of the earth at this moment in time – but to take up this offer would be fraudulent. You see, I’ve never had an Uncle Morrison McKennar. I’ve never in my life had any uncle before. So, you can see why you have the wrong person.

She tucked her clutch purse back under her arm. Now the best thing I can do for you is to leave your office and let you get on with finding the real heir before your time runs out.

Duncan hurried around from behind the desk. "Please, please, Lady Rachael ... the Charter is very important to the McKennar family. You will jeopardise centuries of their hard work if you do not avail Lord Morrison of his wishes. You must take up residency immediately!"

Rachael’s jaw tightened at his insistence. I’m sorry, but I simply can’t pretend to be heir to this McKennar fortune when I truly am not!

The colour drained from the lawyer’s face. Wait! You just said you would relish the chance to drop off the face of the earth … well,; his thoughts leapt ahead as any good lawyers would, Lord Morrison was a very good client of ours, and I would be less than loyal to him if I allowed you to walk out of this office without making this suggestion.

He cleared his throat, as if the legitimacy of his proposal somewhat tweaked his conscience. How can I convince you to do just that, my Lady? You are indeed Rachael Grace Summerfield, even if just in name, are you not?

Rachael nodded acquiescently.

Why not then accept the offer as granted and take up residency in the castle immediately? Your stay there will allow us the time we need to search for the proper heir. It will give you the time you need for whatever reasons you need it, of which I will not ask questions. Do you think you could do this for us, Lady Rachael? Do you think you could give us that time?

Rachael’s breath caught in her chest as possibilities soared …

You assume the role of Lady Rachael of Badenoch and we will do our utmost to find this other person. When we do we will simply come to you and advise you of our find and you leave Torrval as the rightful heir takes over. Does that sound more acceptable to you?

Rachael’s thoughts raced; images danced in her head. It was everything she could possibly wish for. Paul would take forever to trace her to the wilds of Scotland.

How long do you think that will take? she asked with subtle caution. And just how isolated is this place in Badenoch?

Duncan McLeod suppressed a grin. "Just up in the Grampians, my dear. A wee bit north of Loch Ericht and a wee bit south of Loch Insh. The castle itself overlooks a loch in the glen and there is a small town there to service all your needs. The terrain is somewhat rugged which encourages few visitors from anywhere so you will most certainly be secluded, if that is what you wish; and no tourists encroach upon the castle so you will be able to rest pleasurably with few or no interruptions – except for the crofters of course who tenant your land.

"I must be fair to warn you though that that part of Scotland, more so than any other I have come across, is slightly behind the times. I am more than sure however you will enjoy your time there, for whatever reason you find the need to ... disappear?

I can have you on a train this very afternoon which will see you in Glen Pattack by nightfall, he added brashly.

Rachael smiled, light this time glinting in the emerald pools of her eyes. Not only was the impeachable Duncan McLeod subtly delving into her business, he was in an all fired hurry to whisk her far away. She liked his style – in her father’s words, he was honest enough to be truthful yet devious enough to be a good lawyer.

Are you really that desperate for it to be so soon, Mr McLeod? she laughed, his need for haste paralleling her own.

I guess we are, my Lady, Duncan admitted, his smile becoming grim. The time for occupancy has almost expired and three hundred years rides in the balance. Torrval is valuable and ancient, and the Campbells are extremely determined to get it back. We do not wish it taken from Clan McKennar when there is a chance for future generations to continue the tradition.

Rachael sighed with relief. Well then, if I am to be suddenly whisked away to the highlands, Mr McLeod, there are several matters I need attending to before I go, matters you could be instrumental in bringing about.

Duncan’s lips pursed fully then he smiled. He knew then he was dealing with Rachael McKennar-Summerfield, heiress to the ‘other’ McKennar fortune: The House of McKennar Design.

Secondly, she fought back a smile as the image of her scampering barefoot through the heather flashed in her head, I know little about running a castle. Where am I to find out what the good Lady Rachael does with her time?

Duncan smiled widely. "Ah, have no fear, my Lady, you will be well catered for. Brody Lachlan agreed to stay on at Torrval after Lord Morrison’s death. He will tell you all you need to know. He has little sympathy for intruders however so I ask that you be tolerant with him at first.

If there is anything you need to know during your stay I dare say Brody can tell you.

Brody Lachlan. Rachael repeated the name, committing it to memory.

Aye, my Lady. Brody has overseen the running of the castle for a very long time, and has kept it all running smoothly since the good Laird’s death.

She nodded. Not only did she have a castle in which to live, she had a foreman to tend things as well. Things were looking up. And if haste truly was of the essence all she had to do before leaving Inverness was ring Susan and apprise her of her plans. She would place the franchising of the businesses into Duncan’s hands and name Susan company director of all the London branches and overseer of her interests in the New York business as well, at least until it was safe for her to return. While it was all being taken care of she would safely and incongruously disappear.

Then I guess the matter is settled, she said brightly. You, Duncan McLeod, will handle my business affairs for The House of McKennar Design and I will imposter Lord McKennar’s heir.

Smiling, they warmly shook hands, a black thought suddenly taking hold as Rachael caught the glint in Duncan’s eyes. How soon will you start your search for my counterpart? she thought to ask again.

Oh, immediately, my Lady! Duncan lied. Im-mediately!

Rachael nodded with relief.

As she turned to leave the lawyer added one more thing. At the worst possible scenario, Lady Rachael, you will need to stay at Torrval for at least thirty days. The period of thirty full days is clearly stated in the Charter. The new heir must decide in that time whether they wish to avail themselves of the covenant ruling. If they do, they remain as heir apparent. If not and instead choose to void the Charter, they have a further thirty days for all the inhabitants of the estate to gather their belongings and leave. Any belongings left on the estate after thirty days, whether it belongs to the estate or not, becomes the property of the incoming Lairds.

Thirty days galloped through Rachael’s mind. Was thirty days too long or not quite long enough?

She shrugged. At that point she was willing to take any escape option available. I will stay the thirty days, she agreed.

And I had better book you an appointment for tomorrow to deal with your important matters.

Stepping out into a bustling windy street, Rachael revelled that the arrangements had been that fast - she would arrive in Ben Alder by train, take a cab to Glen Pattack a short half hour away and advise the hotelier there to send for Brody Lachlan. It was that simple.

Chapter Two

Days later Rachael had paced back and forth across the worn grey carpet of the Highland Arms. Her rattled nerves, caused by the incessant rocking motion of the train and the barren munroes that dropped savagely away from the train window, had only settled that morning, only to be replaced by irritation. She was in Glen Pattack, stuck in a drab hotel that cowered in the shadows of a rugged mountain. The urgency to be constantly moving had pressed on her since she’d arrived. But each day Brody Lachlan had failed to appear.

Aye, marm, a withered Graydon Wallis had assured her as she paced back towards him, word was sent to the castle. It has been sent thrice ways now and I canna reason why the master has not come to collect ye. I can only say he will be here soon.

But it’s been four days! she’d insisted, flouncing with the words. You’ve been saying that since I arrived! She’d huffed a breath. Just how long am I expected to wait here?

The man shrugged. Till the man comes.

Can’t you phone him again and tell him it’s urgent? She had to be gone from here so Paul couldn’t find her. Far too much was at stake if he found her before she was ready.

Can’t phone him, marm. The castle’s got no phone. Passers-by drop word in that Brody is required. He will get your message soon.

Her skin and limbs had tingled with greater annoyance, and she’d groaned aloud for it was not what she wanted to hear.

Maybe the man is committed to toil, Wallis fathomed. There are things this time of year that canna be put to wait.

Rachael’s lips thinned as she glared out the window, as she stared down the short main street where everything of importance converged, where Time seemed to stand still. She was stuck; felt defeated, for there was absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to go.

Two people had hurried past the window, seeming undaunted by the bitter chill that crisped the summer air, a bitterness she’d never felt in New York winters. It mattered little how many clothes she layered on her skin the wind permeated every item to her bones. She’d heaved a sigh, zipped her anorak higher to her throat and pushed the glass door open to the street. It was pointless bribing or cajoling Graydon Wallis to send another message for he was adamant Brody Lachlan would come ‘in due time’, which apparently could mean sometime this side of Christmas. She’d stepped onto the stone-flagged street, huddled against the wind as she leant back against the wall and watched the morning dwindle. Glen Pattack’s discernible time warp chewed at her nerves. She gazed at the tall white spires in the distance, the castle towering over the town. That was where she needed to be. Only then could she settle her nerves completely.

You are your own person now; Susan’s words had roiled in her head. Susan had said a lot of things on this visit to London, all of it propping her up. Without her mother and father present on the trip, her relationship with Susan had concreted itself to a growing friendship. She nodded that Susan was probably her only friend, and now was her guiding light. You are your own person. You can do whatever you want to do.

Yes, Susan, I can.

With that seed planted she’d turned and flounced back into the Hotel; she’d scurried up the stairs to her room, stashed her belongings back into the two stout cases she’d carried from Inverness, hoisted her shoulder bag and bustled all awkwardly back down the stairs.

Never mind, Mr Wallis, she’d declared, heading for the door, I can see the spires of Torrval Castle from here. I will make my own way there. You can thank Mr Lachlan for his time if and when he gets here. I guess I won’t be needing him after all.

Graydon Wallis’s jaw dropped open as she’d shunted her bags out into the street. He’d leant across the counter. But my Lady, it not be safe for ye to be gadding about in the Highlands. The walk to the Manor is long and harsh for even the best of men.

Rachael had tossed back the riotous shock of sun-gold hair that whipped about her face and viewed him with sharp green eyes. Don’t you worry about me, Mr Wallis. I assure you I can take care of myself. Inwardly she’d prayed they were not famous last words.

She’d forced the Hotel’s door closed behind her, surprised yet buoyant that her life indeed was her own now and she was going to live it – at least until Paul regained his senses.

Hoisting her luggage, she’d begun the long trek along the narrow winding road, the sun beating down on her face. Her bags lifted and dropped with each step as she headed for the towering distant pines and the prominent white spires of Torrval Castle beyond.

Birdsong by the roadside had kept her spirits high, and she’d watched the bushes for the music-makers to ignore the increasing weight of her bags. Each mile seemed to double their weight in her hands. She had just re-established her hold on the case handles when a battered black Bentley drew up beside her. The creased, ruddy face of Mr MacBride from the cafe appeared out the window, his dark, sunken eyes viewing her darkly.

Come into the car, young miss, he’d said. I will drive you to where you be going. It be too long a walk for a young lass with two heavy cases.

Rachael had spoken to the stoop-shouldered elderly man at the Highland Arms over previous days, and, while he’d always sounded somewhat grumpy, he had seemed fairly harmless. Glancing up at the still distant spires she’d accepted his offer considering that it mattered little if she walked or was driven in her quest to reach Torrval. This way she would be there well before nightfall.

She’d smiled and he’d lifted her bags onto the back seat and set off along the lightly tarred track towards her new home. Driving in silence, she enjoyed the green treeless fields that slid by the car, the craggy hills in the distance and the sloping pastures that stretched to the serrated skyline. High stone walls swept past them along a road that narrowed and widened intermittently as it skirted the base of a particularly lofty hill. Eventually Mr MacBride pulled to the side of the road and drew the Bentley to a slow and creaking stop.

This is as far as I can go, milady, he’d apologised. There t’aint no way to reach the castle from here now ‘cept on foot. Your stout old uncle ne’er was one for travellin’ the main road, ne’er mind that he ne’er set foot in motor car to warrant keeping laneway clear for others. Nor would he.

Rachael noted how comfortably Mr MacBride had ensconced her into the family, but made no comment of it. Instead, she’d gauged the height of the spires that towered over the countryside and focused on the way ahead, a long, winding lane infested with bracken. She’d alighted to the roadway, her jaw dropping as she viewed the enormous white castle perched on the distant ridge. Stunning above the surrounding emerald hills, its white facade shimmered a welcome, row upon dazzling row of windows glinting diamonds in the afternoon sun.

Oh, the fairy palace, she’d swooned immediately, a tear rising to her eye – it was the beautiful palace her mother had described in fairy tales. Another tear rose at the memory of sitting beside her mother in a horse-drawn carriage as it travelled around Central Park, her mother telling her wonderful stories of castles and princes and horses. It was their special time.

Oh Mother, I’ve found your castle, she said in barely a whisper, and it is glorious. She fought back the burning sensation in her throat, fought back the tears, thoughts of the lovely Grace always having this effect on her now. But she wouldn’t cry. She must never ever cry.

Focusing on her surroundings, Rachael noted that between the fortress on the hill and the meandering road tracts of open fields spread like velvet with only the occasional scraggly tree breaking the landscape. Flagged by thorny hedges and high stone walls, the fields dropped sharply to the road.

You can do it, she bolstered herself at the sight of the steep climb ahead of her. You’ve made it this far. Indeed, she had. The shackles of ‘smotherdom’, as Susan had put it, were gone, though she would have preferred the shackles, or protectiveness, rather than have her life so completely empty. And of course, Paul had made it even more so. It seemed cruel that at twenty-five she was left so totally alone.

Scrutinising the lane a moment longer, she’d sighed and lifted the heavy cases. If only you could see me, Paul, she thought. I’m a new person. It seemed through her loss she had been reborn, and she was making her own decisions. Like this. Her jaw crossed tightly as she stared up at the lane. So far, she hadn’t made a bad one and hoped this wasn’t the first.

If ye look hard, lassie, MacBride had interrupted her thoughts, there’s a wee path over there ‘tween the hedges that rises up to the castle. He pointed to the high wall of bracken, to a barely discernible path that wended its way through tussocks of grass, through low shrubby bushes and clumps of purple heather, the path growing steeper as it went.

It winds a terrible bit and doubles the journey but ye should be at the house by evening if ye don’t dally too long … And don’t go talking to strangers. Strangers in these parts aren’t safe for ye to talk to.

Rachael almost laughed. Strangers? From Duncan’s description, strangers in Glen Pattack were few and far between. Are you sure there’s no other way up there? she’d asked.

Nay, not from this way, young marm, not unless ye can fly.

The old man shucked his head and shrugged. I could return you to town if you prefer and you could wait there for the Master. A glint touched his grey eyes, and a bushy eyebrow rose that he had offered her the chance of a lifetime.

She’d smiled. No, thank you, Mr MacBride. I make a point of finishing what I start. Any less than her absolute best she would be a failure, and McKennars never failed. Once you go after something you have to get it no matter how hard it gets! That was Daddy’s rule – a rule he prospered by.

She sighed again, realising she liked this feeling of freedom, this chance to set her own challenges and she vowed Paul would not make all the decisions when they finally got back together.

I wish you wouldn’t this time, lass, MacBride cut in. Ye do not know your way about these parts.

Oh, Mr MacBride! What can go wrong? she’d sung the words out. The sun is shining; the birds are singing and the road ahead leads straight up there. Look at it. I can certainly manage from here. And as for the Master, I have already wasted four days waiting for him! Life’s too short to waste any more!

And with that she’d hoisted her bags higher and tramped across the road to start the long climb up.

Chapter Three

Regret soon replaced bravado as the cases knocked about her legs, and clumps of bushes shoved their weight constantly back at her. Rachael focused on the blue sky and the birdsong as she tried to ignore the nettles attacking her trousers and pricking her velvet skin. They snagged the threads in her sweater, pulling little loops out of the surface. She muttered words her mother wouldn’t appreciate when rocks slithered away underfoot, and she worried she might break an ankle and be stuck on this hill all night. If that happened no-one would come to help her, only Graydon Wallace and Mr MacBride knew where she was. She could fall victim to the elements, or predators, and no-one would ever know. Predators!

Rachael turned a sudden circle – she hadn’t thought of the wildlife of this forbidding country. What could overtake her? The thought was enough to push her on.

Twigs of bearberry and thorny teasel licked at her face as she battled against the lane, thorns nicking and pricking her skin. Blood smeared her cheek as she freed a particularly satanic vine, her dwindling patience eroding caution on their removal. Other thorns clutched her hair, snatching it from beneath the neat gold clips until wisps of gold drifted about her face. Her mutters rose louder and she cursed Duncan MacLeod for not warning her to buy chain-mail.

At the halfway point she stopped and teased the cramp from her calf muscle, the top of the rise still a long way off. Her arms burned with the weight of the bags, which she considered leaving behind – she could return for them in the morning for, above everything, she had to reach the castle before dark. Already the day was drawing to an end.

‘But leaving them behind is half a win, jostled in her head. Half a win is no win at all." She sat down against the stone wall and again rubbed her aching thighs, her green eyes perusing the high castle walls as she dallied.

‘You will achieve whatever your heart desires, my child.’ Her mother’s voice drifted in that space. ‘You are strong, and the world is waiting for you.’

I know, mother, and I will succeed, she sighed deeply. I will get there. I will make you proud.

Standing, she shunted her bags forward again, visions of the lovely Grace filling her head as she drew back another nasty tendril. I will make you proud. That seemed so important even now – doing the right thing in her mother’s eyes. She remembered her mother’s hug the day she’d abandoned her dreams of becoming an artist, reluctantly agreeing to join the family business. Her mother had been delighted. She’d not had a choice in the matter really, for, while she wanted most in life to be a gifted artist, to study in Paris, it was difficult to enjoy anything when her father was so set against it. And she’d learnt very early in life that if you wanted pleasure from anything, first you must please Ewan McKennar.

She struggled over a mound, tossing the cases forward, visions of the trophy she’d won at the School of Arts Festival, the portrait of the stunning white stallion she’d often seen ridden in the Park shredded as the trophy tore a path straight through it. Immediately she pushed her thoughts from her father’s anger to happier things – back to the stunning Grace and the wonderful moments they’d shared; to their secret dreams and the fairytales her father had never been part of.

Rachael forced her legs to keep climbing; forced the slow shuffle back to a stride as she drew nearer the top of the rise. Finally, after hoisting the incredibly heavy cases in the last few steps, she stood on level ground beneath the castle walls, her maroon roll-neck sweater damp with perspiration on the inside, wet from the chilled air around her on the outside.

She heaved in a breath, blew it out again; stood turning in awe. The castle looked more impressive than any chateau or mansion she’d ever worked on and her heart beat fiercely as she swept her gaze across the harling face, over the many white apses curving outward from it and across the layers of now gloomy windows that stared down from the facade. Stumbling along the stone-paved wynd that skirted the massive walls, she stared up, savouring all as she dumped her cases on the wide curved stairway that led to the curved front porch. Her neck and back now aching, she reached the huge oak doors.

She had arrived, here where she would stay for the next thirty days, minus four thanks to Brody Lachlan, she corrected. This massive, awesome castle was hers for the duration.

She knocked hard on the thick wooden barrier, wondering if a maid or a butler would answer the door, but no reply came from within. Her second knock received the same response. Rachael tested the latch, and the door swung smoothly open exposing to the world an enormous, white marbled foyer.

Pristine white walls surrounded