CASTLE AT DOLPHIN BAY

Amidst a struggle for inheritance and a title, love and family triumph—against all odds!

Twin sisters

Kirsty McMahon is traveling to Australia with her heavily pregnant, widowed twin, Susie, to help her locate the baby’s great-uncle.

A castle in…Australia!

Angus Douglas is no ordinary uncle—he’s a Scottish earl with a faux-medieval castle and millions in the bank. The adventure has only just begun.

A whole lot of romance…

Kirsty and Susie are suddenly embroiled in an inheritance battle and a bid to save the castle from destruction, yet amidst all this, the twins each find the one big thing that has been missing from their lives.

Harlequin Romance® brings you a fresh new story from

Marion Lennox

CASTLE AT DOLPHIN BAY

Coming next month in Harlequin Romance® books…

Read the second and final story in this compelling, heartwarming and intriguing tale of love, riches and aristocracy from this award-winning author in The Heir’s Chosen Bride.

THE DOCTOR’S PROPOSAL
Marion Lennox

Marion Lennox was born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows weren’t interested in her stories! Marion writes for the Medical Romance™ and Harlequin Romance® lines. In her non-writing life, Marion cares (haphazardly) for her husband, kids, dogs, cats, chickens and anyone else who lines up at her dinner table. She fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost!). She also travels, which she finds seriously addictive. As a teenager, Marion was told she’d never get anywhere reading romance. Now romance is the basis of her stories; her stories allow her to travel, and if ever there was one advertisement for following your dream, she’d be it!

You can contact Marion at www.marionlennox.com

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

HOW did you knock on the front door of a medieval castle? And what was such a castle doing in a remote Australian fishing community?

Dr Kirsty McMahon was worried and tired and it was starting to rain. The castle doors looked as if they’d take a battering ram to open them, and using the incongruous intercom-thing produced nothing. Her tentative knock sounded ridiculous. She knocked harder and gave a hopeful shout but there was no response.

Enough. She’d been stupid to come. Susie was complaining of cramp. She and her twin would find a hotel in Dolphin Bay and broach the castle walls in the morning. If she could get Susie back here.

Then she paused as a sudden flurry of barking sounded on the other side of the gates. Was someone coming?

The vast timber doors opened an inch, and then wider. A lanky brown dog of indiscriminate parentage nosed its way out. A hand gripped its collar. A man’s hand.

She took a step back. This place seemed straight out of a Gothic novel. The castle was set high on the cliffs above the sea, with purple-hazed mountains ringing the rear. In the mist of early evening, Kirsty was almost expecting to be met by a pack of ancient hunting dogs, anchored to armoured warriors with battle-axes.

‘Boris, if you jump up on anyone you’ll be toast.’

She blinked. The owner of the voice didn’t sound like an axe-toting warrior. The voice sounded…nice?

The doors swung wider and she decided the adjective nice wasn’t strong enough.

Her warrior was gorgeous.

Six feet two. Mid-thirties maybe? Aran sweater, faded jeans and battered boots. Deep brown, crinkly hair, ruffled just the way she liked it in her men.

Her men? Robert? The thought almost made her smile and she had no difficulty at all turning her attention back to her warrior.

What else? He had a craggy face, strongly boned and weathered. His eyes smiled at the edges even when he wasn’t smiling. His body was…excellent.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, she was standing outside a ridiculous Australian castle thinking lustful thoughts about a strange man’s body? All her life she’d fought to stay in control, and now, when everything was teetering, the last thing she needed was the complication of a male. Back home she was dating nice, safe Robert, who’d stay being nice and safe for as long as she wanted. She was in control. She was married to medicine.

But her warrior was definitely gorgeous.

‘Um…hello,’ she tried.

The stranger was hauling his dog back, giving her a chance to catch her breath. Behind the man and dog she could see the castle forecourt. This, then, was why there’d been no response. She’d knocked on what was essentially the fortress gates.

And behind the gates… The castle was a lacy confection of gleaming white stone, turrets and battlements. Kirsty was practically gaping. It was so ridiculously seventeenth-century-meets-now that it was fantastic. It was also set so far back from the gates that, if the intercom wasn’t working, it must have been sheer luck that anyone had heard her call.

She needed to stop gaping.

‘What can I do for you?’ the man asked, and she attempted to sound coherent. Sort of.

‘My sister and I have come to see Ang—the earl.’

‘I’m sorry, but His Lordship isn’t receiving visitors.’ It was a brisk denial, made in a hurry as he pushed the gates closed again.

She stuck her foot forward.

Mistake. These gates weren’t built so that a five-feet-four doctor of not very impressive stature could block them with one toe.

She yelped. Her warrior swore, and the gate swung wide again.

‘Did I hurt you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You shouldn’t have put your foot there.’

‘You were closing the gate in my face.’

He sighed. They both inspected her foot for a moment, waiting for it to do something interesting, but she was wearing solid trainers. And she’d hauled her foot out fast. Maybe she’d suffered nothing worse than a minor bruise.

‘I’m sorry,’ the man said, and as his voice softened she thought again just how gorgeous he was. His voice was deep and resonant, with the lazy drawl of an Australian accent. Well, what had she expected in Australia? But he did seem to be…caring.

And his caring tone tugged something inside her that hadn’t been tugged for a long, long time.

She must be more tired than she’d thought, she decided, surprising herself with the depth of her reaction. Caring? She was the one who was doing the caring.

‘His Lordship isn’t up to seeing visitors,’ he was saying, still in the gentle, reasonable tone that did weird things to her insides. ‘And he doesn’t see tourists at any time.’

‘We’re not tourists.’

‘We?’

She motioned to the car where Susie was peering out anxiously from the passenger seat. ‘My sister and I.’

‘You’re American.’

‘Good call,’ she told him. ‘But we’re still not tourists.’

‘But you still can’t see His Lordship.’ Once more the gates started to close.

‘We’re family,’ she said quickly, and the gates stilled.

The man’s face stilled.

‘What did you say?’

‘We’re a part of Angus’s family,’ she told him. ‘We’ve come all the way from America to see him.’

There was a deathly silence. She had been wrong, she thought when she’d decided this man’s eyes smiled all the time. They weren’t smiling now. He suddenly looked cold, disdainful and very, very angry.

‘You’re too early,’ he told her, and he hauled his dog back behind him as if she was something that might be infectious. ‘I thought the vultures would be arriving soon, and here you are. But Angus is still alive.’

He didn’t even look to see where her foot was.

The gate slammed shut against her.

Ten minutes and a Thermos of tea later they were still none the wiser. Kirsty had returned to the car and filled Susie in on the details.

‘Well, at least we’re at the right place,’ Kirsty told her sister. ‘But I don’t know who the sentry is. A son?’

‘I was sure Angus didn’t have sons.’ Susie wriggled deeper into the passenger seat, trying to get comfortable, no mean feat at eight months pregnant. Kirsty’s twin had been sitting still for too long, but she hadn’t wanted to get out when they’d arrived. It had been too much trouble. Everything was too much trouble for Susie, Kirsty thought grimly, and, instead of making it better, these last few weeks had made it worse. Clinical depression was crippling.

More. It was terrifying.

‘So what do we do?’ Susie asked, but she asked as if it didn’t matter too much what Kirsty replied.

Over to Kirsty. As always.

Obediently Kirsty thought about it. What could they do? Retreat to town and try and gain access again in the morning? Telephone? They should have telephoned in the first place, but she hadn’t been sure they’d reach here.

She glanced across at Susie. Exhaustion was washing over her twin’s face and she knew she had no choice.

This had turned into a disastrous expedition, she thought bleakly, but back home in New York it had seemed reasonable. Even sensible. For Susie, the last few months had been appalling, and Kirsty had fought every way she’d known to haul her twin out of a clinical depression that was becoming almost suicidal.

Two years ago Susie had married Rory Douglas. Rory was a Scottish Australian who’d decided two minutes after meeting Susie that America—and Susie—was home. It had been a blissfully happy marriage. Six months ago Kirsty’s twin had been glowing with early pregnancy, and she and her Rory had been joyfully preparing to live happily ever after.

But then had come the car crash. Rory had been killed instantly. Susie had been dreadfully physically injured, but her mental state was worse.

Psychiatrists hadn’t helped. Nothing had helped.

‘Why not visit Australia?’ Kirsty had suggested at last, flailing for answers. ‘You know so little about Rory’s background. I know his parents are dead and he didn’t get on with his brother, but at least we can visit where he was born. Dolphin Bay? Are there really dolphins? All we know is that it’s on the coast somewhere south of Sydney. It sounds exciting. I can take leave from the hospital. Let’s go on a fact-finding tour so you’ll be able to tell your baby where his daddy came from.’

It had seemed a sensible idea. Sure, Susie was pregnant and the injuries to her back meant she was still using a wheelchair most of the time, but Kirsty was a doctor. She could care for her. Because Susie had been married to an Australian, she was covered for health costs in Australia. At seven months pregnant she had only just been able to make the journey before airline restrictions stopped travel, but Kirsty had decided even if they got stuck it would be no disaster. If the baby was to be born in Australia, Susie would have her own little Australian. It’d be great.

But Susie had been apathetic from the start, and nothing had gone right. Their plane had no sooner touched down in Sydney than Susie had shown signs of early labour. What had followed had been four weeks in Sydney on a medical knife edge, with Susie’s depression deepening with the enforced idleness.

But at least the baby had stayed in situ. Now Susie was eight months pregnant, and if she did go into labour it wasn’t a major drama. Enough with doing nothing, Kirsty had decreed in desperation. They’d finally headed for their destination, travelling in careful, easy stages so they could see the sights as they went.

But all Kirsty had achieved had been more apathy from Susie. And now they stared at the imposing fortress and Susie’s expression of bewilderment echoed what was in Kirsty’s own heart.

‘Why didn’t Rory tell me his uncle was an earl?’ Susie whispered. ‘And to live in a place like this… I never would have come if I’d known this.’

It had been a shock, Kirsty acknowledged. They’d arrived in Dolphin Bay that afternoon, tried the local post office for information and had been stunned by their reception.

‘Angus Douglas? That’ll be His Lordship you’re wanting. The earl.’

‘Angus Douglas is an earl?’ Kirsty had demanded, and the postmistress had smiled, propped her broad elbows on the counter and prepared to chat.

‘Ooh, yes. Dolphin Bay’s answer to royalty is our Angus. He’s the Earl of Loganaich, he tells us, but the Loganaich part of him is long gone.’

‘Loganaich,’ Kirsty had said, not understanding, and the lady had needed no more encouragement to expand.

‘Apparently his family’s castle burned to the ground back in Scotland,’ she told them. ‘Lord Angus says it was a nasty, draughty place and no great loss. He’s not all that sentimental, His Lordship. Except when it comes to wearing kilts. Ooh, you should see him in a kilt. Anyway, Lord Angus and his brothers left Scotland when they were not much more than teenagers, and two of them—the two eldest—came here.’

‘Tell us about them,’ Kirsty said faintly, and the lady proceeded to do just that.

‘Lord Angus married a nurse during the war,’ she said, pointing to a community notice-board. A yellowing newspaper clipping showed an elderly lady at what seemed to be some sort of village fête. ‘That’s Deirdre, God rest her soul. A lovely, lovely lady.’ She sniffed and it was obvious to Kirsty why the fading newspaper was still on the board. This was personal loss.

‘Did they have children?’ she asked, and was met by a shake of the head that was almost fierce.

‘They had no kiddies but they were happy.’ The postmistress groped for a handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘Deirdre only died two years ago and it broke His Lordship’s heart. It broke all our hearts. And now His Lordship’s alone in his old age. Doc tells me he’s not good. Doc’s doing all he can do but there’s only so much one doctor can do.’

‘Did you say…His Lordship…had brothers?’ Kirsty asked cautiously, abandoning the tangent of an overworked doctor for the moment, and got a grimace for reply.

‘The brother we knew was a bit…erratic,’ the postmistress told them. ‘And he married a girl who was worse. They had two boys, Rory and Kenneth. The boys were born here but the family left soon after. The boys came here on school holidays, just for a bit of stability. Deirdre and Angus loved them to bits, but from what I hear Kenneth was too like his dad ever to be peaceable. Kenneth fought with Rory all the time. Finally Rory went to America to get away from him. Then a few months ago we heard he died in a car crash. His Lordship was devastated. Kenneth still visits, but he’s not liked locally. We won’t be calling him Lord Kenneth when Angus dies, that’s for sure.’ Her mouth tightened in a grim line. ‘Titles are all very well when you’re loved, like Lord Angus is, but Kenneth… Ugh.’

‘But…Angus is still an earl,’ Susie whispered, dazed by this surfeit of information, and the postmistress looked sympathetically at Susie in her wheelchair, and grimaced.

‘Seems ridiculous, doesn’t it? He doesn’t like being called it. He says just Angus is good enough for him. But we like to call him Lord Angus among ourselves—or Lord Douglas when we’re being formal. What he and Deirdre did for our town… I can’t begin to tell you. Wait till you see his house. Loganaich Castle, we call it, just joking, but the name fits. You need to find it? I’ll draw you a map.’

Rory’s Uncle Angus an earl? Loganaich Castle?

Susie had come close to going home then—and now, sitting in the car outside the extraordinary mass of gleaming stone that was the new Loganaich Castle, she turned to her twin and her eyes were as bleak as Kirsty had ever seen them.

‘Kirsty, what are we doing here? Let’s go back to America. We were dumb to come.’

‘We’ve come so far, and you know we can’t go back to America now. No airline will take you until after the baby’s born. Let’s find a bed for the night and come back in the morning.’

‘Let’s go back to Sydney in the morning.’

‘Susie, no. You can’t lose every link with Rory.’

‘I already have. And you heard the postmistress. Rory had lost any link to his uncle.’

‘Rory spoke of Angus and his aunt with affection. The postmistress said Angus was devastated to learn Rory was dead. You have to see him.’

‘No.’

‘Susie, please…’

‘The gates are opening again,’ Susie said, in a voice that said she didn’t care. ‘Someone’s coming out. We need to move.’

Kirsty turned to see. There was a dusty Land Rover emerging from the forecourt out onto the cobbled driveway leading to the road. Kirsty had driven as close as possible so Susie could watch her as she’d knocked, and the cobblestones were only a car-width wide. Their car was blocking the driveway—meaning the Land Rover had to stop and wait for them to move.

The gates were swinging closed again now behind the Land Rover. This was apparently a castle with every modern convenience. Electronic sensors must be overriding manual operations.

There was still no access.

OK. They’d go. Kirsty started the engine, and then glanced one last time at the Land Rover.

The man who’d slammed the gate on her was at the wheel. His lanky brown dog was sitting beside him. The dog’s dumb, goofy—almost grinning—face was at odds with the man’s expression of grim impatience. His fingers were drumming on the steering-wheel as he waited for her to move.

She hesitated.

The fingers drummed.

The man looked angry as well as impatient.

He wasn’t alone in his anger. Kirsty glanced across at her sister. She wouldn’t get Susie back here tomorrow, she thought. Susie’s expression was one of hopelessness.

Where was the laughing, bubbly Susie of a year ago?

Kirsty wanted her back. Fiercely, desperately, Kirsty mourned her twin.

Her anger doubled. Quadrupled.

Exploded.

She killed the engine.

‘What…?’ Susie started, but Kirsty was already out of the car. Her car was half off the cobblestones and there was a puddle right beside the driver’s door. She’d climbed out carefully last time but this time she forgot about the puddle. She squelched in mud to her ankle.

She hardly noticed. How dared he drum his fingers at her?

In truth her anger was caused by far more than merely drumming fingers, but the fingers had a matching face, a target for the pent-up grief and frustration and fear of the last few months. Too much emotion had to find a vent somewhere.

The drumming fingers were it.

She marched up to the Land Rover, right to the driver’s side. She hauled open the door of the vehicle so hard she almost yanked it off its hinges.

‘Right,’ she told him. ‘Get out. I want some answers and I want them now.’

He should have been home two hours ago.

Dr Jake Cameron had spent the entire day sorting out trouble, and he had more trouble in front of him before he could go home that night. As well as the medicine crowding at him from all sides, there was also the fact that his girls were waiting. The twins were fantastic but he’d stretched their good nature to the limit. Mrs Boyce would have to put them to bed again tonight; she’d be upset at not getting home to Mr Boyce, and he winced at the idea that he’d miss yet another bedtime.

Who needed a bedtime story most? The twins or himself?

The answer was obvious.

‘We could all use a good fairy-tale,’ he told Boris as he watched the flaming ball of anger stomp along the cobblestones toward him. ‘Do godmothers do a line in “Beam me up, Scotty”?’

No godmother arrived, and he couldn’t leave. The woman’s car was blocking his path and he was forced to stay motionless while she hauled open his door and let him have it with both barrels.

She wanted answers?

‘What do you mean, you want answers?’ he asked coldly, sliding his long frame out from the vehicle so he could face her anger head on. She’d said she was Angus’s family but he’d never seen her before. Who was she?

He would have noticed if he had seen her, he decided. She was five feet three or four, slim, with an open face, clear brown eyes and glossy auburn curls that tangled almost to her collar. Late twenties? he thought. She had to be—and she was lovely. She was dressed in faded, hip-hugging jeans and an oversized waterproof jacket, but her clothes did nothing to dispel his impression that she was lovely.

Apart from her foot. One foot had landed in a puddle. It was the same foot he’d squashed, he remembered, and he looked down and saw the mud and felt repentant.

Then he thought of Angus and he stopped feeling repentant.

‘My sister and I have travelled all the way from New York to visit Mr…Lord Douglas,’ she snapped. ‘We need to see the earl.’

‘You mean Angus.’ He’d only referred to Angus as His Lordship to intimidate these two into leaving. It hadn’t worked so he may as well go back to using Angus. Angus, his friend.

What else could he do for the old man? he wondered as he waited for the virago to speak again. Angus needed oxygen. He needed round-the-clock nursing, and if he didn’t get it…

‘My sister’s not well,’ the woman snapped.

So what was new? ‘No one’s well,’ he said bitterly. ‘And there’s only me to deal with it. I need to do three more house calls before dinner. Can you move your car, please?’

‘You’re a doctor?’ she asked blankly, and he sighed.

‘Yes. I’m Dr Jake Cameron, Angus’s doctor.’

‘You don’t look like a doctor.’

‘Would you like me to wear a white coat and stethoscope? Here? An hour ago I was shifting cows blocking the track to my next patient. This is not exactly white-coat country.’

‘I thought you might have been a nephew.’

‘You are indeed a close family,’ he said dryly. ‘Does your sister need medical attention?’

‘No, but—’

‘Then, please, move your vehicle. I’m two hours late and you’re making me later.’

She wasn’t listening. ‘Is there anyone else we can talk to?’

‘Angus is alone.’

‘In that huge house?’

‘He’s accustomed to it,’ he told her. ‘But if it’ll make you happier, he won’t be here much longer. He’s being transferred to the Dolphin Bay nursing home tomorrow. It’d be much easier to call there, don’t you think? But if you’re thinking of pushing him to change his will, don’t bother. You bring a lawyer near him and I’ll call the police.’

She gazed straight at him, her eyes wide and assessing.

‘Why are you being horrible?’

‘I’m not being any more horrible than I have to be. Angus is weary to death of family pressure and I’m in a hurry.’

‘So be nice to me fast. Tell me why we can’t see the earl.’

He sighed. He’d had this family up to his ears. ‘Angus has severe breathing difficulties,’ he told her. ‘He’s settled for the night and if you think he’s coming downstairs to indulge a couple of money-grubbing—’

‘You see, there’s the problem,’ she said, and her own anger was palpable. ‘You’re treating us as if we’re something lower than pond scum. We don’t even know Angus. We never knew he was an earl or that he was living in something that looks like a cross between Disneyland and Camelot. And as for money-grubbing—’

He was hardly listening. He couldn’t. He was so late! He’d promised Mavis Hipton that he’d look in on her this afternoon, and he knew she needed more analgesic to make it though the night. Mavis suffered in stoic silence. She wouldn’t complain, but he didn’t want her suffering because of these two.

He glanced at his watch. Pointedly. ‘You said you’re family,’ he told her. ‘Why do you know nothing? You’re not making sense.’

‘My sister was married to one of Angus’s nephews,’ she told him, standing square in front of him, making it quite clear he wasn’t going anywhere until she had answers. ‘Susie’s never met her husband’s family, and she’d like to.’

‘Especially now he’s dying,’ he snapped. It had only been this afternoon that he’d fielded yet another phone call from Kenneth, and Kenneth had been palpably pleased to hear that Angus was failing. The phone call had left Jake feeling ill. And now…was this Kenneth’s wife?

He didn’t have time to care.

‘I need to go.’

‘We didn’t know Angus was dying,’ she snapped, her colour mounting. ‘As far as we knew, Rory’s uncle Angus was as poor as a church mouse, but he’s all the family Rory had—except a brother he didn’t get on with—so we’ve come all this way to see him. Of all the appalling things to say, that we’re fortune hunters!’

He hesitated at that. For a moment he stopped being angry and forced himself to think. What had she said? Rory’s Uncle Angus. Not Kenneth, then. Rory. The nephew in the States.

She was so indignant that he was forced to do a bit more fast thinking. OK, maybe he was out of line. Maybe his logic was skewed. Angus was one of his favourite patients, and telling him he had to go into a nursing home had been a really tough call.

Kenneth might be nasty and unbalanced but there was no reason to assume everyone else was.

Maybe these two really were family.

He forced himself to think a bit more. Angus had talked affectionately of his nephew Rory. Jake remembered the old man had been devastated to hear he’d died.

If Rory had been married, then this pair really were part of Angus’s family.

Caring family?

The idea that hit him then was so brilliant that it made him blink.

‘You really don’t know Angus?’ he asked, thinking so fast he felt dizzy.

‘I told you. No.’

‘But you’d like to see him tonight?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘And maybe stay the night,’ he told her, ideas cementing. He hated leaving Angus. He needed a full-time nurse, but Angus refused point blank to have one. With the state of his lungs, leaving him by himself seemed criminal. He should be in hospital but he refused to go. There was a bed at the nursing home available tomorrow and the old man had agreed with reluctance that he’d go then.

Which left tonight.

If he could persuade these two to stay, even if they were after the old man’s money…

‘I’ll introduce you,’ he told her, doing such a fast backtrack that he startled her.

‘What, now?’

‘Yes, now. If you promise to stay the night then I’ll introduce you.’

She was staring at him like he had a kangaroo loose in the top paddock. ‘We can’t stay the night.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well…’ She looked at him in astonishment. ‘We’re not invited.’

‘I’m inviting you. Angus needs his family now more than he’s ever needed anyone. Tomorrow he’s being moved into a nursing home but he needs help now. He has pulmonary fibrosis—he has severely diminished lung capacity and I’m worried he’ll collapse and not be able to call for help.’ He eyed her without much hope, but it was worth asking anyway. ‘I don’t suppose either of you is a nurse?’

She eyed him back, with much the same expression as he was using. Like she didn’t know what to make of him but she was sure his motives were questionable.

‘Why?’

‘I told you.’ He sighed and glanced at his watch again. ‘He’s ill. He needs help. If you want to see him…are you prepared to help? If one of you is a nurse…’

‘Neither of us is a nurse. Susie is a landscape gardener.’

‘Damn,’ he said and started turning away.

‘But I’m a doctor.’

A doctor.

There was a long pause.

He turned back and looked at her—from the tip of her burnt curls to the toe of her muddy foot.

She was glaring at him.

He wasn’t interested in the glare.

A doctor.

‘You’re kidding me,’ he said at last. ‘A people doctor?’

‘A people doctor.’

A tiny hope was building into something huge, and he tried frantically to quell it.

‘You know about lung capacity?’

‘We have heard of lungs in America, yes,’ she snapped, losing her temper again. ‘The last ship into port brought some coloured pictures. The current medical belief in Manhattan is that the lungs appear to be somewhere between the neck and the groin. Unless we’ve got it wrong? It’s different in Australia?’

Whoa. He tried a smile and held his hand up placatingly.

‘Sorry. I only meant—’

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ she told him bitterly. ‘Who cares what you meant? You’ve insulted us in every way possible. But…’ She hesitated. ‘Angus is dying?’

His smile faded. ‘He’s dying,’ he said softly. ‘Maybe not tonight, but soon. Much sooner if he’s left alone. He’s refusing oxygen and pain relief, he has heart trouble as well, he won’t let the district nurse near, and if you really are a doctor—’

‘If you don’t believe me—’

‘Sorry.’ He needed to do some placating here, he thought. Fast. ‘Angus is my friend,’ he said softly. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve sounded abrupt but I hate leaving him alone. If you agree to stay here tonight you’ll be making up for a lot.’

‘Making up for…?’

‘Neglect.’

Mistake. ‘We have not neglected anyone!’ It was practically a yell and he gazed at her in bewilderment. She turned a great colour when she was angry, he thought. Her eyes did this dagger thing that was really cute.

Um…that meant what exactly?

That meant he was being dumb.

Cut it out, he told himself crossly. You have hours of house calls. Move on.

‘OK,’ he agreed. ‘You didn’t neglect Angus. You didn’t know about Angus. I’ll accept that.’

‘That’s noble of you,’ she snapped. She glanced behind to the car, but the woman in the passenger seat didn’t appear to be moving. ‘Angus really does need help?’ she asked. ‘Medical help?’

‘He really does. Personal as well as medical. Urgently.’

‘We’ll stay, then,’ she told him, and it was his turn to be taken aback.

‘Just like that. You don’t need to consult your sister?’

‘Susie’s past making decisions.’

He frowned. ‘You said she’s ill. What’s wrong with her?’

‘She’s not so ill that she can’t stay here the night. I assume there’s bedding.’

‘There are fourteen bedrooms. Deidre—Angus’s wife—was always social. No one’s been in them for years but once a month the housekeeper airs them, just in case.’

She was only listening to what was important. ‘So there’s room to stay. The bedrooms are on the ground floor?’

‘Some of them are, but—’

She wasn’t listening to buts. She was moving on. ‘Where’s the housekeeper?’

‘She doesn’t live in. She comes in three times a week from Dolphin Bay.’

‘He really is alone.’

‘I told you.’

‘And I heard,’ she snapped. ‘Fine. Go and tell him we’re coming.’

‘Who did you say you were?’

‘I’m Kirsty McMahon.’ She drew herself up to her full five feet four inches and rose on her toes so a bit more was added. ‘Dr Kirsten McMahon. My sister, Susan, was married to Rory, His Lordship’s nephew.’

‘The Rory who was killed.’ He hesitated. ‘I remember. Kenneth—another of Angus’s nephews—told Angus some months ago that his brother had been killed in the States. I’m sorry. But—’

‘Just leave it,’ she said bitterly. ‘All you need to know is that we couldn’t care less about any inheritance. So let’s just stop with the judgement. Go and tell His Lordship who we are and let me get my sister settled for the night.’

She was gorgeous.

She was a lifesaver.

He left them and, with Boris loping beside him, made his way back into the house. He had keys—something he’d insisted on when Angus had had his last coronary—and he knew the way well, so he left Boris—sternly—at the foot of the stairs and made his way swiftly up to the old man’s apartments.

A doctor here. The thought was unbelievable. His mind was racing forward but for now… He had to focus on Angus.

Angus wasn’t in bed. He was at the window, staring out at the kitchen garden to the sea beyond. He was a little man, wiry and weathered by years of fishing and gardening; a lifetime’s love of the outdoors. Jake remembered him in the full regalia of his Scottish heritage, lord of all he surveyed, and the sight of the shrunken old man in his bathrobe and carpet slippers left an ache that was far from the recommended medical detachment he tried for. He’d miss him so much when he died, but that death would be soon.

He needed a coronary bypass and wouldn’t have one. That was a huge risk factor, but it was his lungs that were killing him. Jake could hear his whistling gasps from the door, signifying the old man’s desperate lack of oxygen.

‘I thought you were going to bed,’ Jake growled, trying to disguise emotion, and Angus looked around and tried to smile.

‘There’s time and more for bed. It’s only five o’clock.’

‘Your supper’s on the bedside table,’ Jake told him, still gruff. He’d brought the meal up himself because if he hadn’t, Angus wouldn’t eat. He and Angus had been friends for a long time now, and it was so hard to see a friend fade.

‘I’ll get to it. What brings you back?’

‘Could you cope with a couple of visitors?’

‘Visitors?’

‘Two Americans. Sisters. One of them says she was married to Rory.’

‘Rory.’ Angus’s smile faded. ‘My Rory?’

‘Your nephew.’ Jake hesitated. ‘Kenneth’s older brother? He must have left for overseas before I came here.’ He paused and then as Angus turned back to the window he said gently, ‘Tell me about him.’

‘I haven’t seen Rory for years.’

‘You had three nephews,’ Jake prodded. He wanted family interest—he wanted any interest—and he was prepared to make himself even later to get it. This had to be his top priority. To see Angus give up on life was heartbreaking, and maybe these two women could be his salvation.

‘I’d be having two brothers,’ Angus whispered, so softly that Jake had to strain to hear. ‘We left Scotland together. Dougal, the youngest, went to America. David and I came here. Dougal and I lost touch a long time ago—yes, there’s another nephew somewhere, but I’ve not met him. But David married here and had Rory and then Kenneth. They moved from Dolphin Bay but the lads came back for holidays.’

‘Were they nice kids?’ Jake murmured, encouraging him.

‘Rory loved this place,’ Angus said softly. ‘He and I would be fishing together for hours, and Deidre and I loved him like the son we could never have. But Kenneth…’

Kenneth. Jake couldn’t suppress a grimace. It had been a dumb question. Kenneth definitely couldn’t have been nice.

‘Kenneth was Rory’s younger brother.’ Angus was struggling hard to breathe. Maybe he shouldn’t be talking, but Jake didn’t intend to interrupt. There were major issues at stake here—like a ready-made family at the front door. If Kirsty really was a doctor… If he could install her here…

‘Kenneth is a troubled young man and I’m sure you can be seeing that,’ Angus managed. ‘You’ve met him. He takes after his father. Every time Rory came near there was a fuss, more and more as they got older and Kenneth realised Rory would inherit my title. As if any title matters more than family.’

He paused and fought for a few more breaths. There was an ineffable sadness in his eyes that seemingly had nothing to do with his health. ‘Kenneth was so vicious toward Rory that, once his parents died, Rory decided family angst wasn’t worth it,’ he said sadly. ‘He took off to see the world. He’s been away these past ten years, and the next thing I knew Kenneth was telling me he was dead. I was so…sorry.’

So maybe Kirsty had been telling the truth, Jake thought. Maybe she did know nothing of Angus. For a moment he regretted he’d made her angry. But then he remembered the flare of crimson in her cheeks and the flash of fire in her brown eyes and he didn’t regret it. He found he was almost smiling.

This was looking good, he thought. This was looking excellent. Angus had been fond of Rory. Rory’s widow was at the gate, and if Rory’s widow was anything like her sister…they could be a breath of fresh air in this place. A breath of life.

‘They’re outside, waiting,’ he said. ‘I told them to give me a minute and then follow.’

‘Who?’ Angus was lost in his thoughts, and was suddenly confused.

‘Rory’s widow and her sister.’

‘Rory’s widow,’ he repeated.

‘So it seems.’

‘Kenneth didn’t tell me he was married.’

‘Maybe Kenneth didn’t know.’

Angus thought about that and then nodded, understanding. ‘Aye. Maybe he wouldn’t. Rory learned early to keep things to himself where Kenneth was concerned.’

‘But you’d like to see them?’

‘I’d like to see them,’ Angus agreed.

‘Could you give them a bed for the night?’ Jake asked—diffidently—and held his breath.

The old man considered. He stared through the window down at his garden—his vegetable patch, where Jake knew he was longing to be right now.

Since his illness he’d drawn in on himself. He barely tolerated the housekeeper being here. Could he accept strangers?

How much had he loved Rory?

Jake held his breath some more.

‘Rory’s widow,’ Angus whispered at last. ‘What would she be like?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jake told him. ‘I only met the sister. Kirsty. She seems…temperamental.’

‘What does temperamental mean?’

‘I guess it means she’s cute,’ Jake admitted, and Angus gave a crack of laughter that turned into a cough. But when he recovered there was still the glimmer of a smile remaining.

‘Well, well. Signs of life. Time and enough, too. That wife of yours has been gone too long.’

‘Angus…’

‘I know. It’s none of my business. You’re saying these women are at the gate now?’

‘Yes. I’ll go and let them in if it’s OK with you.’

‘You think they should be staying here?’

‘I think they should stay.’

Angus surveyed his doctor for long moment. ‘She’s cute?’ he demanded, and he seemed almost teasing.

‘Not Rory’s wife,’ Jake said stiffly. ‘I’ve only met—’

‘I know who you’d be talking about,’ Angus said testily. ‘Rory’s wife’s sister. She’s cute?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘And if she’s staying the night…You’ll be back in the morning.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Let’s leave the buts,’ Angus said, and his lined face creased into mischief. ‘I’ll not be flying in the face of providence. Cute, eh? Well, well. Of course they can stay.’

CHAPTER TWO

OK, SO Angus was matchmaking but that was fine by him. Anything to get him to agree to have them stay, Jake decided as he made his way down the magnificently carved staircase.

He walked out the front door and stopped.

He’d left his car blocking the castle entrance, with only just enough room for a pedestrian to squeeze past. The verge on either side was rough, corrugated by recent rains.

He’d expected Kirsty and her sister to walk along the cobblestones.

What had happened was obvious. One of the women hadn’t been able to walk.

Halfway along the walkway was a wheelchair, upturned. A woman was lying in the mud. Kirsty was bending over her.

Jake took one look and started to run.

She was Kirsty’s sister. There was no doubting it. An identical twin? Maybe. The similarities were obvious but there were major differences. The girl lying in the mud was heavily pregnant. Her face was bleached white and a fine hairline scar ran across her forehead. She lay in the mud and her eyes were bleak and hopeless. Jake had seen eyes like this before, in terminally ill patients who were alone and who had nothing left to live for. To see this expression on such a young woman was shocking.

‘Oh, Susie, I’m so sorry,’ Kirsty was saying. She was kneeling in the mud, sliding her hands under Susie’s face to lift her clear. ‘There was a rut. It was filled with water and I didn’t realise how deep it was.’

‘What’s happening?’ Jake knelt and automatically lifted the woman’s wrist. ‘You fell?’

‘You really are smart,’ Kirsty muttered, flashing him a look of fury. ‘I tipped her out of the wheelchair. Susie, what hurts? Have you wrenched your back? Don’t move.’ She sounded terrified. One hand was supporting Susie’s head; the other was holding her sister down.

Jake’s fingers had found the pulse, automatically assessing.

‘Did you hurt yourself in the fall?’ he asked, and the young woman in the mud shook her head in mute misery.

‘I’ll live.’ She put her hands out to push herself up, but Kirsty’s expression of terror had Jake helping her hold her still.

‘What do we have here?’ He held the woman’s shoulders, pressuring her not to move. ‘Can you stay still until I know the facts?’ He spoke gently but with quiet authority. ‘I don’t want you doing any more damage.’

‘She suffered a crush fracture at T7 five months ago,’ Kirsty told him in a voice that faltered with fear. ‘Incomplete paraplegia but sensation’s been returning.’

‘I can walk,’ Susie said, into the mud.

‘On crutches on smooth ground,’ Kirsty told Jake, still holding her twin still. ‘But not for long. There’s still leg weakness and some loss of sensation.’

‘Let me get my bag.’

‘I can get up,’ Susie muttered, and Jake laid a hand on her cheek. A feather touch of reassurance.

‘Humour me. I won’t take long, but I need to be sure you’re not going to do any more damage by moving.’

It took him seconds before he was back, kneeling before her, touching her wrist again. Her pulse was steadying. He glanced again at Kirsty. If he had to say which was the whiter face, his money was on Kirsty’s. Such terror…

‘I’m going to run my fingers along your spine,’ he told Susie. ‘I’d imagine you’d have had so many examinations in the last few months that you know exactly what you should feel and where. I want you to tell me if there’s anything different. Anything at all.’

‘We need help,’ Kirsty snapped. ‘We need immobility until we can get X-rays. I want a stretcher lift and transport to the nearest hospital.’

But Jake met her eyes and held. ‘Your sister’s break was five months ago,’ he said softly. ‘There should be almost complete bone healing by now.’

‘You’re not an orthopaedic surgeon.’

‘No, but I do know what I’m doing. And it’s soft mud.’

‘Hooray for soft mud,’ Susie muttered. ‘And hooray for a doctor with sense. OK, Dr Whatever-Your-Name-Is, run your spinal check so I can get up.’

‘Susie…’ Kirsty said anxiously, but her sister grimaced.

‘Shut up, Kirsty, and let the nice doctor do what he needs to do.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Jake said, and smiled.

So he did what he needed to do, while Kirsty sat back and alternatively glowered and leant forward as if she’d help and then went back to glowering again.

It was like two sides of a coin, he thought as he tested each vertebra in turn, lightly pressing, examining, running his fingers under Susie’s sweater, not wanting to undress her and make her colder but finding he could examine by touch almost as easily as he could if she had been undressed. They had to be identical twins, he decided as he worked. One twin battered and pregnant. One twin immobilised by terror.

But Susie’s spine was fine, he decided. Or as fine as it could be at this stage of recovery. As far as he could see, there was no additional damage.

There was still a complication. ‘How pregnant are you?’

‘Eight months,’ she told him. ‘Four weeks to go.’

‘There’s already been a false labour,’ Kirsty muttered.

‘So you decide to go travelling,’ he said dryly. ‘Very wise.’

‘Mind your own business,’ Kirsty snapped.

‘Be nice,’ Susie told her twin, and Kirsty looked surprised, as if she wasn’t accustomed to her sister speaking for herself.

‘You’ve flown from the US to Australia at eight months pregnant?’ he asked Susie, but Susie didn’t answer.

Kirsty waited for a moment to see if her twin would answer, but when she didn’t, she spoke again. ‘We came a month ago. We thought it might help Susie if she could find Rory’s Uncle Angus and talk to him about Rory. But Susie went into prem. labour and it’s taken a month before we’ve been game enough to leave Sydney. Enough of the inquisition. Could we get Susie warm, do you think?’

Kirsty’s anger and distress were palpable. She’d have liked to direct them straight at him, Jake thought, but he could see the warring emotions on her face and knew that the anger and the distress were self-directed. She was blaming herself.

But he had to concentrate on Susie. Triage decreed that psychological distress came a poor second to possible spine damage. He was helping Susie into a sitting position, and now he smiled at her, encouraging.

‘Slow. I don’t want any sudden movements.’

‘This doctor’s almost as bossy as you are,’ Susie told her sister. ‘Nice.’ She turned back to Jake. ‘But be bossy with Kirsty,’ she told him. ‘She needs bossiness more than me.’

‘I’ll deal with your sister after you,’ Jake told her, and glanced between the two of them. There was more going on here than a healing back and pregnancy. Why was Kirsty so terrified?

Susie was so thin.

‘Is anything else hurting?’

‘My pride,’ Susie told him, and some of her bravado was fading. ‘I have mud everywhere.’

‘Can we take her inside?’ Kirsty demanded in a voice full of strain, and Jake glanced at her again. OK. Enough of the mud.

He stooped and lifted Susie up into his arms. Despite her pregnancy, she was so light she alarmed him even more.

Kirsty gave a sigh of relief and started tugging the wheelchair forward, but instead of placing Susie into it he turned toward the gate.

‘Hey,’ Kirsty said. ‘Put her in here.’

‘The chair’s wet,’ he said reasonably. ‘And we still have to get past the truck.’

‘You can’t carry her.’

‘Why not?’

‘You should say Unhand my sister, sir,’ Susie told her sister, and Kirsty’s eyes widened. She seemed totally unaccustomed to her sister even speaking, much less making a joke.

‘My stupidity with the car blocked your path,’ he told Kirsty, sending her a silent message of reassurance with his eyes. Relax, he was telling her. We need to get your sister warm. The least I can do is provide alternative transport.

And it seemed that finally she agreed with him.

‘Well, if you think you can bear the weight…’

She was trying to smile, but he could still see the fear.

‘We Aussie doctors are very strong,’ he told her, striving to match her lightness, and at last she managed to smile. He liked it when she smiled, he decided. She had a great smile.

A killer smile.

‘Australian doctors are trained in weightlifting?’

‘Part of the training—just after learning where lungs are. But if you want to see strong… I have it on good authority that the man you’re about to meet was an all-time champion cabertosser in his youth. Small but tough is our Lord Angus.’

‘What’s a caber?’ Susie asked, bemused, and he grinned.

‘Who knows? That’s a Scottish secret. I’m not privy to such things. But just between you and me, I suspect it’s some sort of medieval instrument. Probably made out of boar’s testicles, meant for stirring porridge.’

And to the sound of Susie’s chuckling—and Kirsty’s gasp of amazement—he led one woman and carried another up the steps of Loganaich Castle.

He’d made her sister smile.

Kirsty helped Susie wash and undress, tucked her between sheets in the most sumptuous bed she’d ever seen and then stood back while Jake examined her. He examined her thoroughly, as if he had all the time in the world. The man who’d been in such a hurry a few minutes ago was acting now as if time was not important.

He made Susie laugh.

But as he did, he checked everything about her. Her heart rate, the baby’s heart rate, the baby’s position, her back. He examined the scarring. He checked sensation all over. He even found a set of bathroom scales and made Susie weigh herself. Normally an examination like this would have Susie climbing walls, but Susie tolerated it with equanimity and she even laughed some more.

She never laughed these days.

He told the best jokes, Kirsty thought as she stood well out of the way and watched the skilled way he drew Susie out. He made gentle cracks that you weren’t sure were jokes—or not until you looked into his eyes and saw the lurking twinkle. He was just what Susie needed.

No, he was just what she needed, she thought gratefully as she watched him take over. For the first time in months the heavy responsibility for her sister’s health had been shifted to someone else.

Maybe they could stay here for a while.

She hadn’t even met Uncle Angus yet, she reminded herself. Their host. The earl.

‘When did you last eat?’ Jake was asking Susie, and Kirsty had to haul herself together to listen to what he was saying. He had Susie tucked back into bed after the weighing. She was smiling up at him, and the sight of her smiling sister made Kirsty smile.

‘When did you last eat?’ Jake asked again, as she failed to answer, and Kirsty blinked and responded for her.

‘Um… Lunchtime. Four or five hours ago.’

‘What did you eat then, Susie?’ he asked her sister, and Kirsty blinked again. He’d gone straight to the heart of the matter. He was some doctor!

‘I had a sandwich,’ Susie said, and Kirsty opened her mouth to say something but Jake glanced at her again. This man could speak with his eyes.

She shut up—as silently ordered.

‘How much of the sandwich did you eat, Susie?’

‘I…’

‘I want the truth.’ He was smiling but there was something about the way he said it that told Kirsty he already knew the truth.

‘Half a sandwich,’ Susie whispered, and then as Jake’s eyes held hers—and held some more—she faltered. ‘A quarter, maybe.’

‘Is there a reason you’re not eating?’

‘Eating makes me feel sick.’

Kirsty was holding her breath. The world was holding its breath.

‘Has that been happening ever since your husband was killed?’

They’d been tiptoeing round the edges for so long that this direct approach was almost shocking. Silence. Then… ‘Yes.’

‘Have you talked to a professional about your problems with eating?’

‘Why should I talk to anyone about it?’ Susie whispered. ‘Kirsty keeps on and on…’

Kirsty opened her mouth but she was hit by that quelling glance again. Shut up, his glance said, and she wasn’t going to argue.

‘You don’t see not eating as a problem?’ he asked Susie.

‘No.’

‘Is that true? It’s not a problem?’

‘The only person who thinks it’s a problem is Kirsty. And she fusses. It’s just I don’t feel like it.’

‘I guess you don’t feel like much.’

‘You’re right there,’ Susie said bitterly. ‘But people go on and on at me…’

No need for the quelling glance this time. Kirsty knew when to shut up. If she could, she’d disappear, she thought. He was treading on eggshells but she knew instinctively that none would be squashed.

‘You know, Susie, I think you need time out,’ Jake said softly. He glanced at the notes he’d been taking as he’d examined her. ‘For a start, your blood pressure’s higher than it should be and we need to get it down.’

‘I’m not going to hospital.’

‘I didn’t suggest that,’ he said evenly. ‘But if you think you can bear to slum it here for a while…’

Susie gazed up at him from her massive eiderdown and her mound of soft down pillows. Astonished.

‘Here?’

‘You’re Angus’s family. I’m sure he’d be delighted to hold on to you for a week or so. I’ll talk to him about it, shall I? But meanwhile you need to eat, and then sleep.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You know, I’m very sure you are,’ he told her. ‘I cook the world’s best omelette.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Susie complained.

And Kirsty thought, Ditto.

‘But you’ll eat my omelette? I’ll be hurt if you don’t.’

How could her sister resist an appeal like that? Kirsty wondered. And if there was a tiny seed of bitterness in what she was thinking, who could blame her? Sure, persuade Susie to eat his omelette or she’d hurt his feelings. How many uneaten meals had she cooked for Susie?

She was being ridiculous. She looked up at Jake to find he was watching her, and the amusement was back behind those calm grey eyes. Drat the man—was he psychic? Could he read what she was thinking?

‘I’ll make some for your sister, too,’ he told Susie, and Kirsty flushed.

‘I’ll make my own,’ she told him. ‘If Uncle Angus says I can. It is his castle after all. Isn’t it?’

‘It is indeed,’ Jake said gravely. ‘Susie, if you’ll excuse us, I’ll take your sister to meet him. We’ll make your apologies. You can meet him in the morning.’

‘What gives you the right…?’ Kirsty was almost speechless but as soon as the door was closed against Susie’s ears she found speech was close to overwhelming her. ‘What gives you the right to invite Susie for an extended stay with a man she hasn’t met? With an uncle who’s dying? Are you his doctor or his keeper? Who are you? And weren’t you late before?’

‘I’m his doctor and his friend,’ he said bluntly. He was striding down the hallway so fast that she had to almost break into a run to keep up with him. It seemed his time constraint—his sense of urgency—was operating again. ‘We have it in our grasp to save three lives here, Dr McMahon, and in the face of that, who am I to quibble at being later than I already am?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Susie, her baby and Angus,’ he told her, wheeling into the next corridor. This mansion was vast, Kirsty thought as she struggled to keep up. It was astounding. It was furnished like a palace. Actually…

‘It’s not a very exclusive palace,’ Jake commented. ‘Louis XIV meets Discounts-R-Us.’

It was so much what she was thinking that she gasped.

‘Angus’s wife had grand ideas,’ he told her, reaching the stairs and taking them three at a time. ‘But by the time the mansion was built Angus said enough was enough. He’s rich but he’s not stupid. One day this place will be a glorious tourist hotel—the views alone are enough to sell it for millions. He didn’t stint on the building, but furnishings to suit were another matter. So we have a fabulous ballroom with a magnificent but very plastic chandelier. Plus the rest.’

It was amazing—but it was great, Kirsty thought, looking around her in awe. There were aspidistra plants winding up every column—and there were many, many columns. Grecian columns. If she looked closely, she could see the plants were plastic. Made in China. The Louis XIV chairs scattered along the wall were of a construction about three classes below chain-store.

What was she doing, being distracted by furnishings? She was still annoyed. She decided to go back to being furious. But before she could resurrect her indignation, he let loose with his own.

‘Do you mind telling me what you’re doing, travelling the world with a woman who is eight months pregnant? A woman who has a shattered back and who’s anorexic to boot? What madness propelled you to bring her halfway across the world? I’m not talking lightly when I say we’re working on saving three lives. She’s risking her life and her baby’s life.’

‘You think I don’t know that? She would have died if I hadn’t brought her here,’ she said flatly. ‘And there’s the truth.’

‘Why?’

‘You can see why. She fell for Rory so hard she couldn’t see anyone else, and when he was killed she wanted to die, too. I think she still does.’

‘Is she being treated for depression?’

‘She refuses. She can’t take antidepressants because of the baby, if she’d take them—which she wouldn’t. She won’t talk about Rory. She just sits. I hoped that by bringing her here, where people knew Rory, she might break her silence.’

He reached the landing and said over his shoulder, ‘You said she’s a landscape gardener.’

‘That’s part of the problem,’ Kirsty told him. ‘Susie’s not fit to work. She has nothing, so she sits and thinks of what she’s lost.’

‘She still has the baby,’ Jake says. ‘It’s not altogether tragic.’

‘That’s easy to say,’ Kirsty said, and he flashed her a look that she couldn’t read.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To meet Angus.’

‘You said he’d be asleep.’

‘I’d said he’d gone to bed. There’s a difference. He’ll be waiting for us.’

‘He’s so ill he wouldn’t come to find out what’s happening?’

‘He’s a bit like Susie,’ Jake said, his voice softening. ‘He should be in a downstairs bedroom but he refuses. He refuses anything that might help. He just sits and waits.’

‘How close is he to death?’ she asked bluntly, and saw him wince. He really did care.

‘Until you arrived, I’d have said it’d be a matter of weeks.’ Suddenly he was slowing his stride, as if it was important that she hear what he had to say. ‘Days even. Once he’s in a nursing home I imagine he’ll lose any last vestige of will to live. He lives for this place.’

‘For this castle?’

There was a wry grin at that. ‘No. Loganaich Castle gives him pleasure but, as amenable as he was to building it, this was his wife’s baby. He doesn’t love it. His vegetable garden, though, is a different matter. But now…’ He hesitated.

‘Now?’ she prodded, and he seemed to think for a bit before continuing.

‘Now we have a landscape gardener and a doctor on hand,’ Jake said. ‘Who knows what difference that could make?’ He paused before a pair of vast oak doors, set with two plastic plaques. DEIRDRE LIVES HERE was engraved on a teddy-bear-embossed plastic plaque hanging on the left-hand door and ANGUS LIVES HERE was hung with decorative fishing lines on the right.

It was too much for Kirsty. She started laughing. Jake swung the door wide, and she was laughing as she met the Earl of Loganaich.

Serious lung deterioration was difficult to disguise and Angus showed all the symptoms. He was seated at the window but he stood as they entered, a frail man who groped for his walking frame before taking a faltering step toward them. His breathing was shallow and rasping, and his lips had a faint blue tinge.

If he was my patient, I’d have him on oxygen, Kirsty thought, and caught a flash of grim amusement from Jake.

She wasn’t going to look at him any more.

That was easy enough to arrange—for the moment. Angus was coming toward her, a quizzical smile on his wrinkled face.

‘Here’s my visitor,’ he said, his obvious pleasure giving lie to Jake’s declaration that he couldn’t have visitors. ‘But not…’ His face clouded in disappointment. She’d held out her hand to greet him and he stared down at her bare ring finger. ‘Not Rory’s widow? Jake’s made a mistake, hasn’t he? Rory never married.’

‘He did,’ Kirsty told him, confused. Why hadn’t Rory kept in touch with his family?

‘But you’re not…’

‘My sister married your nephew,’ she told him.

‘And she’s not here.’

‘Susie’s here, but she’s ill herself,’ Jake said softly. ‘We’ve popped her into bed. She’s exhausted.’

‘She’s ill?’ This old man was anxious on her sister’s behalf, Kirsty thought with more than a little incredulity as she listened to his laboured, painful breathing.

‘My sister’s looking forward to meeting you very much,’ she told him. ‘Jake seems to think it’s OK for us to stay the night.’

‘Of course it is.’

‘We won’t bother you. And we’ll leave first thing in the morning.’

His face fell. ‘So soon?’

‘We don’t want to disturb you.’

‘No one wants to disturb me,’ he snapped, so harshly that he made himself cough. ‘Why didn’t Rory tell me he was married? Why didn’t Kenneth tell me Rory was married?’

Kirsty had no answers. She knew Rory had a brother, but she’d never met him. As far as she knew, there was a deep and abiding dislike that had been the major decision behind Rory’s decision to emigrate.

‘Maybe Susie knows more than I do,’ she murmured. ‘You can talk to her in the morning.’ She cast an uncertain glance at Jake, and then looked back at Angus. His lips were still tinged blue and his distress was obvious. He was struggling to stand. As she turned back to him he staggered slightly. She caught his hand and helped him sit on the bed.

‘Th— Th—’ It was too much. He lay back on the pillows and gasped.

‘You need oxygen,’ she said urgently, and turned to Jake. ‘Why isn’t he on oxygen? It’d surely help.’

Jake sighed. ‘Thank you, Dr McMahon. The US has heard of oxygen, then, has it?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, backing off in an instant. What was she about, interfering in a doctor-patient relationship that had nothing to do with her? ‘Of course it’s none of my business. And Angus—your… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to call you.’

‘I haven’t done the introductions,’ Jake said. ‘Dr Kirsty McMahon, this is His Grace, the Earl of Loganaich.’

She glowered, and then shot a cautious smile at Angus. ‘Gee, that makes it easier to know what to call you.’

Angus managed a smile back—and so did Jake.

‘Call me Angus,’ the old man managed. But then he started to gasp again and Jake’s smile died.

‘Angus, you need to let me help you,’ Jake said urgently, and Kirsty could hear the raw anxiety in his tone. This was something much deeper than a doctor-patient relationship.

‘Angus won’t use oxygen,’ Jake added, startling her by referring to a conversation she thought he’d effectively closed. ‘I know it’s none of your business, Dr McMahon, but now you’ve brought it up we may as well give Dr McMahon an answer, don’t you think, Angus?’

‘No,’ Angus gasped, and struggled for some more breath.

‘Angus won’t use oxygen because he’s decided to die,’ Jake said, still roughly. ‘Just like your sister. Just like Susie.’

‘Susie wants to die?’ Angus gasped. ‘Rory’s wife wants to die? Why?’

‘The same reason you do, I expect,’ Jake growled. ‘No point in going on.’ Then, as Angus started coughing again, he lifted the old man’s hand and gripped, hard. ‘Angus, let us help. Stop being so damned stubborn.’

Kirsty took a deep breath. She glanced sideways at Jake—and then decided, Dammit, she was going in, boots and all.

‘You know, the way you’re looking, without oxygen you could well die in the night,’ Kirsty said softly. ‘Susie’s travelled half a world to meet you. She’d be so distressed.’

‘I’m not… I’m not likely to die in the night.’

Kirsty cast another cautious glance at Jake but for some reason Jake had turned away. Go ahead, his body language said. This may be none of her business but he wasn’t stopping her.

‘Jake’s told you I’m a doctor,’ she said, and Angus took a couple more pain-racked breaths and grunted.

‘Aye. Too many of the creatures.’

‘He means two too many,’ Jake said. He’d crossed to the window and was staring out at the sea. ‘Until you arrived I was the only doctor within a hundred miles. Why he should say there’s too many doctors when he won’t even agree to see a specialist…’

‘No point,’ Angus gasped. ‘I’m dying.’

‘You are,’ Kirsty said, almost cordially. ‘But don’t you think dying tonight when Susie’s come all this way to see you might be just a touch selfish?’

There could have been a choking sound from the window, but she wasn’t sure.

‘Selfish?’ Angus wheezed and leaned back on his pillows. ‘I’m not… I’m not selfish.’

‘If you let Dr Cameron give you oxygen then you’d certainly live till morning. You might well live for another year or more.’

‘Leave me be, girl. I won’t die tonight. No such luck.’

‘Your lips are blue. That’s a very bad sign.’

‘What would you know?’

‘I told you. I’m a doctor. I’m just as qualified as Dr Cameron.’

He gasped a bit more, but his attention was definitely caught. The veil of apathy had lifted and he seemed almost indignant. ‘If my lips were blue then Jake would be telling me,’ he managed.

‘Jake’s told you,’ Jake muttered from his window, and glanced at his watch. And did his best to suppress a sigh. And went back to staring out the window.

There was a moment’s silence while Angus fought for a retort. ‘So my lips are blue,’ he muttered at last. ‘So what?’

Kirsty considered. Back home she worked in a hospice and she was accustomed to dealing with frail and frightened people. She could sense the fear in Angus behind the bravado.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to die yet.

Another glance at Jake—but it seemed he was leaving this to her.

‘Let us give you oxygen,’ she said, wondering how she was suddenly taking over from an Australian doctor, with a patient she didn’t know, on his territory—but Jake’s body language said go right ahead. ‘And let us give you some pain relief,’ she added, guessing instinctively that if he was refusing oxygen, he’d also be refusing morphine. ‘We can make a huge difference. Not only in how long you’re likely to live but also in how you’re feeling.’

‘How can you be knowing that for sure?’ he muttered.

‘Angus, I have a patient back home in America,’ she said softly. ‘He’s been on oxygen now for the last ten years. It’s given him ten years he otherwise wouldn’t have had—ten years where he’s had fun.’

‘What fun can you have if you’re tied to an oxygen cylinder?’

‘Plenty,’ she said solidly. ‘Cyril babysits his grandson. He gardens. He—’

‘How can he garden?’ Angus interrupted.

And Kirsty thought, Yes! Interest.

‘He wheels his cylinder behind him wherever he goes,’ she told him. ‘He treats it just like a little shopping buggy. I’ve watched him weeding his garden. He used a kneepad ’cos his knees hurt, but he doesn’t even think about the tiny oxygen tube in his nostril.’

‘He’s not like me.’

‘Jake says you have pulmonary fibrosis. He’s just like you.’

‘I haven’t got a grandson,’ Angus said, backed into a corner and still fighting.

‘No, but you’ll have a grand-niece or-nephew in a few weeks,’ she said with asperity. ‘I do think it’d be a shame not to make the effort to meet him.’

The effect of her words was electric. Angus had been slumped on the bed, his entire body language betokening the end. Now he stiffened. He stared up at her, disbelief warring with hope. The whistling breathing stopped. The colour drained from his face and Kirsty thought maybe his breathing had totally stopped.

But just when she was getting worried, just when Jake took a step forward and she knew that he’d had the same thought as she had—heart attack or stroke—Angus started breathing again and faint colour returned to his face.

‘A grand-nephew.’ He stared up, disbelief warring with hope. ‘Rory’s baby?’

‘Susie’s certainly pregnant with Rory’s child.’

‘Kenneth would have said—’

‘Kenneth—Rory’s brother—doesn’t want to know Susie,’ Kirsty told him, trying to keep anger out of her voice. ‘He’s made it clear he wants nothing to do with us. So we came out here hoping that the Uncle Angus who Rory spoke of with affection might show a little affection to Rory’s child in return.’ She steadied then and thought about what to say next. And decided. Sure, this wasn’t her patient—this wasn’t her hospice—but she was going in anyway. ‘And you can’t show affection by dying,’ she told him bluntly. ‘So if you have an ounce of selflessness in you, you’ll accept Dr Cameron’s oxygen—and maybe a dose of morphine in addition for comfort—you’ll say thank you very much, and you’ll get a good night’s sleep so you can meet your new relative’s mother in the morning.’

But he wasn’t going so far yet. He was still absorbing part one. ‘Rory’s wife is pregnant.’ It was an awed whisper.

‘Yes.’

‘And I need to live if I’m to be seeing the baby.’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not lying?’

‘Why would she lie?’ Jake demanded, wheeling back to the bed. ‘Angus, can I hook you up to this oxygen like the lady doctor suggests, or can I not?’

Angus stared at him. He stared at Kirsty.

His old face crumpled.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, please.’

Jake had an oxygen canister and a nasal tube hooked up in minutes. He gave Angus a shot of morphine and Angus muttered about interfering doctors and interfering relatives from America and submitted to both.

Within minutes his breathing had eased and his colour had improved. They chatted for a little—more time while Kirsty noticed Jake didn’t so much as glance at his watch again—and finally they watched in relief as his face lost its tension. He’d been fighting for so long that he was exhausted.

‘We’ll leave you to sleep,’ Jake told him, and the old man smiled and closed his eyes.

‘Thank God for that,’ Jake said softly, and ushered Kirsty out the door. ‘A minor miracle. Verging on a major one.’

‘You really care,’ she said, and received a flash of anger for her pains.

‘What do you think?’

There was only the matter of Susie’s omelette remaining.

‘I can do it,’ Kirsty muttered as Jake led her down to the castle’s cavernous kitchen. Somewhat to her relief, Deirdre’s love of melodrama and kitsch hadn’t permeated here. There was a sensible gas range, plus a neat little microwave. And a coffee-maker. A really good coffee-maker.

‘I’m staying here for ever,’ Kirsty told Jake the moment she saw it. She hadn’t seen a decent coffee since Sydney. ‘Dr Cameron, I can take over now. We’ll be fine.’

‘Call me Jake.’ Boris had followed them into the kitchen. The man and his dog were searching the refrigerator with mutual interest. ‘If you take your sister an omelette, will she eat it?’ he demanded. She stopped being flippant and winced.

‘Um…no.’

‘How did I guess that? I’ll take it.’

‘But you have more house calls.’

‘The girls will already be asleep,’ he muttered. ‘I may as well stay.’

‘Your wife goes to bed early?’ Kirsty asked, and he looked at her as if she was stupid. Which, seeing she was hugging a coffee-maker, might well be a reasonable assumption.

‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘You. Toast. Me. Omelette.’ And he grinned down at the hopeful Boris. ‘And you—sit!’

‘Fair delineation.’

‘Speaking of delineation—you don’t want a medical partnership, do you?’ he asked, without much hope and from the depths of the refrigerator.

‘You don’t even know me,’ she said, startled.

‘I know you enough to offer you a job.’

‘You can’t be so desperate you’d offer a strange American a medical partnership.’

‘I’m always desperate.’ Backing out from the fridge with supplies, he separated eggs and started whisking the whites as if they’d offended him.

Kirsty cast him a sideways glance—and decided his silence was wise. She’d be silent, too. She started making toast.

For a while the silence continued, but there was obviously thinking going on under the silence. Kirsty was practically exploding with questions but Jake exploded first.

‘Where are you expecting Susie to have her baby?’ he asked at last, and his voice held so much anger that she blinked. He’d moved on from offering partnerships, then. He was back to thinking she was a dodo.

‘Sydney,’ she told him. ‘We’ve booked her into Sydney Central.’

‘You mean you’ve thought it through.’

‘I’m not dumb.’

‘You’ve towed a wounded, damaged, pregnant, anorexic woman halfway round the world—’

‘I told you. I had no choice. She was dying while I watched. Susie’s my twin and I love her and I wasn’t going to let that happen.’

‘So what did you hope to achieve here?’

‘Susie loved Rory so much. I thought she might just find echoes. And maybe she will yet,’ she added a trifle defiantly, flipping the toast onto a plate. ‘Angus’s smile…when he smiles, it’s Rory’s smile.’

‘He was very fond of Rory,’ Jake said, relenting a little.

Maybe he’d been afraid she’d intended dumping Susie’s pregnancy on him, she thought, and if she were a medical practitioner in such a place, maybe she’d be angry, too.

‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ she said. ‘You know, this castle is just the sort of crazy extravagant thing Rory might have built. Tell me about it.’

‘It saved this district’s soul,’ Jake told her and she paused in mid-toast-buttering.

‘Pardon?’

‘This is a fishing town,’ he said, flipping the omelette then moving in to remove her toast crusts with meticulous care. Boris moved in to take care of the waste. ‘The town was dependent on ’couta. Fish,’ he told her when she looked mystified. ‘Nearly all the boats were designed to catch barracouta, but forty years ago the ’couta disappeared, almost overnight. The locals say there was some sort of sea-worm that decimated them. Anyway, the boats all had to be refitted to make them suitable for deeper sea fishing but, of course, no one had savings. The locals were desperate—half the town was living on welfare. Then along came Angus, Earl of Loganaich, and his eccentric, wonderful wife. They took one look at the place and decided to build their castle. The locals called it a crazy whim, but now, after knowing Angus for so long, I’d say it’s far more likely he knew the only way to save the town was to give the locals a couple of years’ steady income while they worked on their boats part time and regrouped.’

‘You think that’s what happened?’

‘Who knows? But the locals won’t have a word said against him. No one laughs at this castle. Do you think this’ll do?’

She looked down at his plate. He’d cut two pieces of toast into perfectly formed triangles, without crusts. He’d flipped his perfect omelette into the centre.

‘Whoops,’ he said, and crossed to the back door. Seconds later he was back with one tiny sprig of parsley. It looked wonderful.

The man wasn’t a doctor. He was a magician.

‘Stay here,’ he ordered. ‘I need to feed my patient. You reckon she’ll eat it?’

‘I…um, I reckon,’ she whispered. Her stomach rumbled.

‘The rest is for you,’ he told her, motioning to the remaining eggs. ‘I’d do it for you, but I really am busy.’

‘Sure,’ she said, but he was already gone, striding toward the bedroom where Susie lay, not wanting to eat.

I’d eat, Kirsty thought, dazed. If Jake was standing over me having cooked me a meal…

How could she help but eat?

CHAPTER THREE

‘HE’S gorgeous.’

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