11. Edie
EDIE
A knock on the door wakes me and I jump out of bed, half-expecting someone to come in.
Pulling on the fluffy white robe that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door, I peek outside my bedroom to find a silver tray on an old-fashioned wooden trolley, and on it there’s coffee, some pastries, and a note.
The Loch Morven Foundation is a global business spanning urban property, rural estates and philanthropy , the article begins.
Ethical investments, community projects, social welfare, land regeneration…
Oh. Okay, well, he’s not the average billionaire bartender, then.
But I’m buggered if I’m tu rning up for this horseback tour of the estate looking like a fish out of water – there’s just one minor detail.
I’ve got jeans, but they’ll kill if I’m riding.
What I really need is a fairy godmother with riding gear or a twenty-four-hour shop, but the nearest city is Inverness, ninety minutes away, and I’m trapped in a castle.
It’s going to have to be jeans, and I’ll grit my teeth and pretend the seams aren’t rubbing my delicate bits.
They’re not going to be getting any action anytime soon, anyway.
Rory said you’re going riding this morning. Wasn’t sure if you had any kit, so I’ve left you some outside – Janey
The trolley now has a neatly folded stack of clothes far more suitable for riding than my alternatives – two pairs of black jodhpurs, a long-sleeved tee, and a fleece hoody with Loch Morven embroidered discreetly on the breast. I’ve been assimilated already.
I love that Janey’s left me two pairs of jodhpurs, one in the size I’d like to pretend I am and one in the size that my never-getting-smaller arse actually is.
She’s guessed my boot size, too, which is pretty impressive (or maybe I just look like I’ve got enormous size eights…
whatever, I’m never going to be dainty).
I tie my hair back in a low ponytail and put on some make up – not too much so I look like I’m making an effort, but enough that I don’t look like a naked mole rat.
And then a bit more brown mascara and some smudged liner just to make my eyes look better, not because I want to look good for Rory, but – well.
There’s no harm in reminding him what he can’t have.
What I forget to factor in is just how hot an aristocrat can look in riding clothes.
Rory’s in one of those subtly checked country shirts and a thick navy-blue woollen sweater, and his legs look even better than I remembered in dark brown moleskin trousers and sturdy dealer boots.
His eyes scan my outfit, as if he’s looking for something to criticise.
“Ready?” I say, cheerfully. I’m determined not to let his arrogant demeanour get to me.
“Have a lovely time,” says Janey, appearing from one of the million doorways that opens into the hall. “Ah, Edie, you look like you’re born to it.”
“We’ll see,” growls Rory. “Follow me.”
A moment later, his two spaniels hurtle into the hallway in a flurry of wagging tails and flying floppy ears.
“Hello beautiful,” I say, bending to tickle one behind the ears as the other flops onto her back, somehow still wagging her tail despite being upside down. “What’s your name?”
“That’s Bramble,” Rory says, and he bends down to rub the chocolate-coloured spaniel on the tummy. “And this is Tilly.”
“They’re so gorgeous. Are you coming with us today?” I address Tilly as she squirms with delight, rolling upright and shaking herself enthusiastically.
“I’ll leave them with Kate. Come on you two, let’s go.”
I follow him out to the courtyard where a dark grey Land Rover Defender is parked across the gravel with the doors wide open in the thin sunlight. The spaniels hop obediently into the back seat, and I climb into the front, moving a pile of papers onto the dashboard.
“Sorry about that,” Rory says, removing them and stuffing them down the side of the drivers’ door pocket.
“I imagined your car would be spotlessly tidy.”
“It’s a working Land Rover. They’re all shitholes.” His tone is as dry as ever. “Pass me the screwdriver from the glove, would you? ”
I open the glove compartment and along with a jumble of receipts and a long piece of orange twine there’s a screwdriver, which I pass to him. A second later the engine judders into life.
“You don’t have a key?”
“Long story.”
We drive up the hill and back through the pines, along the neatly manicured driveway and turn left as we reach the single-track road, passing heather-covered moorland dotted with sheep and stands of woodland.
I peer into the distance, trying to spot the castle but it’s hidden from view.
I’m trying to keep myself distracted because being in such close proximity to Rory is harder than I thought, his long thigh close enough to my hand which is clenched by my side that I could reach out and run my hand along it without even thinking.
We turn left and I realise that the shapes I can see in the fields aren’t sheep. As we draw closer, I can see a white house and beyond it a huge stone wall with an archway and a clock tower overhead. We pass yet another discreet navy sign – Loch Morven Stud.
“Ready?”
I nod.
The stable yard is immaculate, each door painted the same dark blue as the signs. A girl with pink hair appears from a barn wheeling a barrow loaded with straw.
“Hello, sir—um, Your Grace.”
“Rory is fine,” he says, and the girl goes pinker than her hair and scuttles away back into the barn. It’s comforting to see I’m not the only one who finds him slightly intimidating. She pops her head out a moment later.
“Are you looking for Kate? She’s in the house doing some paperwork. Do you want me to go and get her? ”
Rory shakes his head. “No, thanks. She’s expecting us.”
“Wait there,” he instructs me, and he too disappears into one of the rooms, returning a moment later with a velvet covered riding helmet. “That should fit, but if it doesn’t, there’s plenty more inside. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
He returns a few minutes later leading two horses and my stomach swoops with nerves.
I haven’t ridden for years and Jamie’s throwaway comment last night left me wondering if part of my trial by fire was going to be sticking me on some half-tamed monster and seeing how long I lasted before being thrown off.
“This is Moss. There’s a mounting block over there if you need it.”
Moss looks at me through her long grey forelock and I put a hand out to cup her soft muzzle, letting her familiarise herself with my smell. “Hello, Moss,” I mutter as I lead her to the mounting block. “I would be eternally grateful if you could not make me look like a complete dick, please.”
Moss snorts and shifts her weight, her ears flicking back towards me. I take that as a yes. I hope that’s a yes. I cross my fingers for a moment, offer up a prayer to the gods of humiliation, and climb on board.
“Aha, there you are.” A friendly voice makes me turn as I’m adjusting my stirrups.
A dark-haired girl of about my age looks up at me, smiling.
She’s tanned from working outdoors, and her hair’s tied back in an untidy ponytail, wisps blowing around her face.
She pushes them back with a forearm and smiles up at me, her freckled nose crinkling.
“I’m Kate. You must be Edie. I see you and Moss are already friends. ”
“I hope so,” I say, pulling a face.
“She’s a sweetie, don’t worry. Rory.” She turns to look at him, towering over us on the enormous brown horse. “I need to speak to you later about the plans for next season. Rosie is due to foal later this week and if I’m right and it’s a filly, we might be on course to make some changes.”
He nods briefly. “We’ll sort it later.”
Kate gives him a mock salute. “Enjoy,” she says, giving my horse a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t let that one boss you around.”
Rory shoots her a furious look and Kate grins. “You know exactly what I mean.”
She leans back against the door of a stable and crosses one ankle over the other, looking at us with amusement. I wish I felt half as laidback.
“Let’s go,” he says, gathering up his reins.
We set off out through a gate which the pink-haired girl holds open for us, her eyes wide.
“Do you often have that effect on people?”
“Not often enough.”
“ Your Grace. ” I look at him sideways. “Should I be calling you that?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Sir? My Lord?”
“Rory is fine.”
“Okay. You can call me Edie,” I tease. It’s hard not to be cheerful on a day like this when the sun is shining and the breeze gently lifts the long mane of my mount.
“I could call you a lot of things,” he says darkly. “But as we are here, and as you’ve signed an NDA, I’m going to assume that even you aren’t going to risk the wrath of my legal team coming down on you and that you are genuinely here to work.”
“I am.”
“Right.” We turn onto a track on the moorland, the horses’ footsteps muffled by the springy turf. “If we’ve got that cleared up, I thought this was a good opportunity to show you the estate, give you a rundown on what I’m hoping to achieve, and set some expectations.”
“And there I was thinking we were out for a bit of fresh air and a nice ride in the sunshine.”
He inclines his head slightly. “This whole situation is not of my choosing.”
“I’d figured that bit out. So, what exactly are your expectations?”
“My father left a complete shitshow behind. As you may or may not have been told, it’s an expectation – well, an obligation – that the Duke of Kinnaird leaves a comprehensive record of his tenure.”
He says it like it’s a job title, not a birth right, like someone’s going to come along and check his credentials.
“The previous dukes kept annotated diaries – some more detailed than others, depending on temperament – that recorded the history of their generation.” He runs a hand down his horse’s neck. “It might seem absurd to you and me, and believe me, I think it’s a waste of time, but it’s our duty.”