Chapter Thirty
Iona
My life has become a surreal painting that should hang on a museum wall, not come to life before my eyes. I can't believe everything that's happened today. But I am grateful, more than I can even express, for the love and support of everyone I know. My brothers, and even Eric, have rallied around me. But it's Rafe who has given me the most support, the kind that only a man who loves me deeply could provide. Just knowing Rafe will be by my side today, tomorrow, and long after that gives me the strength to get through this ordeal.
Rafe and I follow my brothers and Eric straight to the vestibule and up the spiral staircase to the first floor. The ground floor is not the first floor, which I explain to Eric along the way. Dùndubhan used to be a medieval castle, and its layout was altered through the centuries, giving it a modern sort of layout that resulted in the first floor being the second level.
Once we reach our destination, we head straight down the hall to the office door. It stands closed, and I know Rory keeps it locked. But he gave Gavin and Jamie Douglas the key, since they run the museum that Dùndubhan has now become. It also houses a bed-and-breakfast on the upper levels. But we are headed for the office, and Thane produces the key when we reach the closed door. Then we all file into the room.
Thane shuts the door and leans against it.
Ramsay sits down in the executive chair behind the desk.
Eric takes one of the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk, seeming rather unsure of himself. He shifts around in the chair, then winces, just before he scratches the back of his neck.
"Dinnae fash, Eric," Ramsay says. "We won't batter you until your brain turns to sludge. Thane and I have forgiven you for harassing our sister."
"Uh, thanks?"
Thane saunters over to the other chair, sitting down beside Eric. "If we wanted you dead, you'd have been a human puddle months ago."
Rafe and I have sat down in the two high-back chairs positioned near the tall windows, but we can hear what Eric and my brothers are talking about since the office isn't overly large.
And I speak up. "Thane, you and Ramsay had no idea Eric was pestering me for months. You only found out recently."
"Our knowledge is retroactive."
Whatever that means, I don't have time to figure it out. Thane enjoys being cryptic sometimes. But I can't worry about that right now. I need to tell my brothers, as well as Eric and Rafe, about the man who has instigated this madness.
First, I look at Rafe and give him a tight smile.
He squeezes my hand and offers me a sweetly encouraging smile.
No more procrastinating. It's time to do this. I take a deep breath and dive in. "Until recently, I didn't realize how my life had become inextricably linked with two men---Rory MacTaggart and Graham Oliver." Since Eric and Rafe know nothing about either man, I need to explain. "Rory is a solicitor---a lawyer, for the American in the room. He's been everyone's favorite solicitor in Loch Fairbairn and surrounding areas for more than twenty years, though he's semi-retired these days."
When I pause, all four men swerve their attention to me. That might disconcert some people, but I've been a journalist for long enough that I don't get flustered easily.
"It all began with Rory, when he took on a new client." I let my gaze turn inward as I recall the singular event that started a chain reaction. "Eight years ago, Rory handled a divorce case that should have been routine. Of course, any divorce can turn heated if the parties have become angry. Yet when Graham Oliver's wife left him, he blamed everyone but himself. Rory negotiated a generous settlement for Graham's wife, one she had earned after years of living with the bod ceann ."
Eric raises his hand. "May I ask a question? Sorry, that's a dumb thing to say."
"You can ask me anything, Eric. And you are not stupid."
He wriggles in his chair. "Was Graham always a complete asshole?"
I cannae help laughing. "Yes, Graham always was. He got worse over the years, though, and I'm about to tell you why."
"Cool." He relaxes in his chair. "Can't wait to hear about that."
Rafe and my brothers also seem anxious to hear the rest.
"Graham did a terrible thing," I say, "something that almost rivals what he's doing now. You see, Rory's new wife, Emery, had a nasty ex-boyfriend who posted nude pictures of her online. Graham got hold of those pictures and plastered them all over the front page of The Loch Fairbairn World News , his filthy scandal sheet. He also invented outrageous lies about what a deviant Rory was. Fortunately, no one believed him, and the so-called scandal faded away quickly. But that enraged Graham. And this is where I come into the story."
Seven Years Ago
On a beautiful, sunny day in Loch Fairbairn, I walk into the offices of the former Loch Fairbairn World News . I'd practically needed a crowbar to unlock the door, which must not have been oiled in at least ten years. Graham Oliver was never known for being neat and tidy or careful. Cannae believe I'm doing this. I've bought the scandal sheet Graham had given up on after Rory annihilated him. Business can be war at times.
Somehow, I will resuscitate this newspaper. The village needs real news, not rubbish peddled by Graham Oliver.
I had spent years working at various jobs, none of which ever felt right for me. But I had no choice. Any work is better than none. So, when Rory suggested I should take over the newspaper and offered to give me startup capital, I jumped at the chance.
Do I know anything about running a newspaper? No, but I can learn. And I dinnae see anyone else volunteering for the job.
I amble through the outer office, where Graham's desk still sits. Then I wander into the inner office that the bod ceann had used as a storage area. But I want this place to seem like a real newspaper. Graham had been an alcoholic and a compulsive gambler, so it's no wonder the place is in shambles. Several old editions of Graham's tabloid lie on the floor, crumpled and faded. One paper catches my attention, and I pick it up to study the headline---"Famous Venture Capitalist, Gilbert Beckham, Caught In Lurid Sex Scandal."
The story came from a London tabloid that had picked up Graham's article about the Beckham situation. Gilbert had become senile in his old age and took up with an exotic dancer. He even tried to change his will to favor her instead of his loyal son who had cared for him during his last years.
Naturally, Graham exploited the situation for his own benefit. He made a fortune off his version of the story being syndicated to all the tabloids.
I drop the newspaper and shuffle into the inner office.
Nothing but more rubbish in here. This place will need a lot of cleaning up. Fortunately, I have two burly brothers and quite a lot of mates who would be happy to help.
The front door opens, activating a bell.
I hurry back to the front area---and freeze. "What are you doing here, Graham? I thought you ran away to England."
Though I hadn't met Graham personally, I'd heard all about him from other people in the village. He looks older than he actually is, thanks to his habit of smoking constantly. His gray hair is messy, and deep lines fan out around his eyes. His khakis are rumpled, just like his shirt.
"What am I doing here?" he says. "You are trespassing."
"I own this office now. You are the one trespassing, Graham."
He stalks up to me, glaring down at me with a curled lip. "Ye cannae take my newspaper away from me. It's mine, you hear, mine."
I thrust my arm out, pointing toward the door. "Leave now, before I ring the police station."
"This isn't over yet, Iona Buchanan." He spat those words, and spittle landed on my cheek. "I'll get back what's mine even if it takes years."
Graham stomps out of the building.
I hurry to the window to make sure the bod ceann has actually left the vicinity. He has, thank goodness. I blow out a breath, and my shoulders drop. I hadn't realized how tense I was until that encounter with Graham was over, but now I feel almost lightheaded. The sensation only lasts a matter of seconds. Then I get back to work.
For the next month, I strive to restore the newspaper to what it should have been rather than what Graham turned it into over the years. My brothers and friends assist whenever they can. But my first order of business is to provide a visual announcement to ensure everyone understands this is a new and improved newspaper.
I create a new sign, and my brothers hammer it into place above the door. Everyone in the village who drives past this office will now see the words " Loch Fairbairn Daily News " emblazoned on the building. I've erased the tarnished image of this office and returned it to what it should have been all along.
A few days later, I receive an unexpected visitor.
Graham Oliver waltzes into my newsroom as if he owns the paper, halting a few feet from my desk.
My head pops up, and I stare at him, unable to comprehend why Graham has come here. I'm speechless, though, and can't speak even one syllable.
The bod ceann stretches his lips into a smirk. "Good afternoon, Ms. Buchanan. I couldn't resist paying a visit to the newspaper you stole from me."
"I haven't stolen anything. You lost the newspaper because of your abhorrent behavior. What did you expect? No one trusts a man who smears other people with lies."
His lips work as if he's trying to form words but can't do it. He clenches his teeth, pushing words out between them.
I rise from my chair. "Go home, Graham. You have no place here."
He slams his hand down on my desk, causing it to thump and wobble. "I'll get back what you took from me one way or another. Not even Rory MacTaggart can save you from my retribution."
The anger in his voice makes my pulse accelerate, but it's the look on his face that sends cold fear rushing through me. I believe he wants to do far more than insult me and take back the newspaper he claims belongs to him. I begin to feel a wee bit shaky, but I will not let Graham Oliver see that.
"Leave now," I tell him, doing my best to keep my voice level. "Go home and forget about the newspaper. Leave right now, or I will call the police station. You have five seconds. Four, three---"
Graham whirls around and stalks out the door, slamming it shut.
Mhac na galla . That man is off his head.
Rory had told everyone that Graham moved to Liverpool, where his mother has lived for several years. I believe what Rory said, but clearly, Graham won't give up his vendetta.
Soon, my newspaper has grown into the respectable source of information that I hoped it would become. New subscriptions come in daily. Maybe my stories mostly involve sporting events and exposés of the bad food in the school cafeteria. But everyone has to start somewhere.
Aye, my life has become everything I wanted it to be.
Until Graham Oliver reappears. This time he harasses me at my office and also at my home. The last straw breaks when he pounds his fist on my front door while my daughters are home alone. The poor lasses are so frightened that they call me instead of the police.
"Calm down, Maeve," I say. "I'm sure that man will never come back. What did he look like?"
When Maeve describes the man to me, I know who it was. Graham has come back to get his retribution. Maybe I should call my brothers or at least Rory MacTaggart, but I would rather handle the problem on my own. Well, in private, at least. I do need a wee bit of help, which explains why I march into the Loch Fairbairn Police Station and ask the constables how I can get a non-harassment order. I can't ask for one for each of my daughters. The harassment must have happened at least twice before they will qualify.
Once the order is in place, Graham stays away from me and my daughters.
But for how long?
Today
Ramsay and Thane seem to be gnashing their teeth simultaneously. I suspect they want to throttle sense into me. Maybe I did behave rashly seven years ago, but I've always been that way. Never have I endangered anyone else's life but my own. If I'd believed Graham meant to harm my girls, I would have let my brothers run him out of town.
But it hadn't seemed necessary at the time.
Thane's anger mutates into disbelief. "Iona, gràidh , why didn't you ever tell us about that?"
I hunch my shoulders. "You know I've always been self-sufficient. Admitting that I might need my big brothers to save me...Well, it was too much for my ego to stand. And besides, I was right about Graham. He never bothered me or my children ever again."
Ramsay shakes his head, seeming even more baffled than Thane. "What if he had hurt you? Graham is bigger and stronger than you."
"I know. I'm sorry."
Rafe sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and turns his head toward me. "I will hunt down that wanker and make sure he can't ever harass you again. That's why we need to interrogate Hubie. No holds barred. He will confess everything, or I will pound him into the mud until he suffocates on it."
My brothers and Rafe begin arguing about who should get to pummel Hubert Frye, though I know they won't literally do that. The argument goes on for a while, and I lose track of the time. My gaze remains downcast as I consider the bizarre things that have happened to me lately.
A flash of movement catches my attention, peripherally, and I turn my gaze in that direction.
Eric seems to be sneaking out of the room.
My brothers haven't noticed. Neither has Rafe.
What on earth is Eric up to now?