And the Bride Wore Prada (5 page)

His peremptory manner irritated her. ‘Take me up where, exactly? Can you tell me that much?’

‘To the castle. You can call for a towing truck from there. Not that anyone’ll be out to get your car anytime soon,’ he added.

‘Right,’ Helen said tightly, and swung her legs – still clad in yesterday’s trousers – over the side of the sofa. ‘Would it be possible to have a shower before I go? Or is that asking too much?’

He jerked his head towards the narrow staircase. ‘There’s a bathroom at the top of the stairs. Mind you don’t use all the hot water.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she snapped.

Colm cast her an unreadable look and slammed out of the back door without reply.

Natalie dreamt she was Snow White, walking through a thickly treed Scottish wood as birds twittered and swooped around her. She was hopelessly lost.

Suddenly a bluebird flew down from a branch and landed on her shoulder.

‘Have you seen the castle?’ she asked the bluebird. ‘I can’t seem to find it, and I
really
need the loo.’

In answer the bird twittered into her ear, and the soft tickle of its tiny beak and feathers made her giggle.

‘Such a funny little creature,’ she murmured, and rolled over in bed.

‘Little? I’ve been called a lot of things, darling,’ Rhys said against her skin as his lips moved along her neck to the slope of her shoulder, ‘but little’s not one of them.’

‘Rhys!’

She sat up on her elbow, clutching the blankets to her chest.

He raised his brow. ‘Who else would it be?’

‘I was just dreaming about the sweetest little bluebird,’ she began as he pulled her back down next to him and nuzzled the skin behind her ear. ‘I was lost, and it was dark, and I really needed to find a loo...ooh,’ she sighed, ‘that’s nice...’

‘I thought,’ Rhys said as he began to unbutton Natalie’s nightgown with leisurely motions, ‘that we might christen this room, you and I.’

‘Christen it?’ she echoed, and giggled. ‘Rhys! You mean…?’

He gave her a lazy smile and lowered his mouth to kiss her. ‘Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.’

‘Good thing there’s lots of blankets on this bed,’ Dominic grumbled as he burrowed under the duvets and pulled Gemma closer, ‘otherwise we’d be a pair of effin’ icicles by now.’

Gemma, still half asleep, mumbled something incoherent. She’d been dreaming that she’d just topped 300,000 followers on Tweeper...

‘Babes.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Babes...’

‘Ahrm.’ She snuggled deeper into her pillow. She desperately wanted that blue celebrity checkmark on her Tweeper page, and she was close, so very close to getting it...

‘Babes!’ Dominic hissed.

Gemma’s eyes flew open. ‘
What
?’ she snapped. ‘I’m trying to
sleep
, Dom!’

He slung an arm around her and kissed her bare shoulder. ‘Don’t you want to start trying for that baby, then?’ he asked.

She levered herself up on one elbow and stared at him. ‘You mean…you mean you’re ready for us to have a baby?’

Dominic slid his hand along the warm curve of her hip and nodded. ‘Yeah. Yeah, Gems, that’s exactly what I mean.’

Fifteen minutes later, Helen emerged from the cottage and made her way cautiously – her ankle still twinged a bit, despite the aspirin she’d gulped with her morning tea ‒ to the waiting truck, an ancient Range Rover.

Although Colm had started the engine earlier, the interior was still frigid, and Helen could see her breath as she climbed inside.

Bloody cold. Bloody man. Bloody
Scotland
.

Colm, who was looking at something under the bonnet, slammed it shut and opened the driver’s-side door. As he slid behind the wheel, his shoulders filled the cab’s interior.

Without a word – not that Helen had expected him to make anything like
conversation,
God forbid ‒ he shifted into gear, and the Range Rover lurched forward as he drove them up the snow-covered road to the castle perched at the top of the hill.

Chapter 7

‘Crikey!’ Natalie exclaimed the next morning as she and Rhys stood in the dining room doorway. ‘You could land a plane on that table.’

As he followed her gaze, Rhys realized that for once, his wife wasn’t exaggerating. The dining table, its polished mahogany expanse stretching half the length of a football pitch, could easily accommodate fifty.

The sideboard was laid out with a generous assortment of eggs, kippers, stacks of toasted brown bread, baskets of scones, a fruit platter, and silver urns of coffee and juice and pots of jam and marmalade.

‘Looks like quite a spread,’ Dominic announced as he scanned the plates and platters of food with satisfaction. ‘Time to tie on the old feed bag, eh?’

Natalie eyed him quizzically as she slid into the seat Rhys held out for her. ‘I thought you stayed away from carbs and calories, Dom. You’re always watching your weight.’

He took a seat across from her, next to Gemma. ‘I’m on holiday, Nat. Besides,’ he glanced over at Gemma and leant over to kiss her ‘I’ve worked up a right appetite since we got here.’

Gemma blushed. ‘Shut
up
, Dominic.’

‘Yes,’ Rhys said as he cast a dark glance at the rock star, ‘please do.’

‘Good morning, everyone,’ Tarquin said as he entered the dining room with Wren. ‘I trust you all slept well?’

‘Fabulously,’ Natalie confirmed.

‘Never better,’ Rhys agreed.

‘Not at all,’ Dom said smugly as he eyed Rhys.

Tarquin turned behind him with a smile and added, ‘We have another stranded traveller on our doorstep this morning. This is Helen Thomas, everyone.’

Curious, they focused their attention on the woman who hovered just behind Tarquin. She had short-cropped brown hair and a hesitant smile and she looked a bit ill-at-ease.

‘Hello, everyone,’ she said, and waggled her fingers. ‘Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but my car slid down an embankment last night. I’ve come to use the telephone, to see if someone can come and tow it out—’

She broke off as she caught sight of Dominic Heath and Gemma, and her eyes widened. ‘Oh. Oh, my. Isn’t that—?’

‘I’m sorry, Miss Thomas,’ Tarquin said quickly. ‘Let me introduce everyone.’ He went around the table, starting with Natalie and Rhys, and finished with the rock star and his fiancée.

Dominic barely glanced up from his toast. ‘Yeah, hello,’ he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘Could someone pass the butter, please?’

‘But how awful!’ Natalie exclaimed, and eyed Helen with sympathy. ‘You must have been petrified. Are you all right—?’ She broke off with a frown. ‘Wait...I remember you! We spoke in the lounge at Heathrow.’

‘Oh...yes! So we did,’ the newcomer said, with equal surprise. ‘You’re Natalie Dashwood. I mean Natalie Dashwood-
Gordon
,’ she added hastily. ‘How very nice to see you again.’

‘This is the lady I wanted to introduce to you at the airport,’ Natalie explained to Rhys. ‘But she disappeared.’

‘Sorry about that,’ Helen apologized, ‘but nature called. As it does, especially just before one plans to board a flight.’

‘Won’t you join us for breakfast?’ Tarquin enquired. ‘You’re more than welcome, and there’s plenty on hand.’

‘Oh, no thank you,’ Helen said. ‘I won’t intrude. I’m not hungry, at any rate. The gatekeeper was kind enough to fix me a cup of tea and a boiled egg.’

‘Kind? That’s not a word one usually associates with Colm Mackenzie,’ Wren observed, and exchanged an amused glance with Tarquin. ‘He’s avowedly antisocial.’

‘Yes,’ Tarquin agreed. ‘Not a very friendly chap, and he keeps to himself; but he’s a hard worker, for all that.’

‘He wasn’t very forthcoming,’ Helen agreed, ‘but he let me in last night after I got lost. I was wandering out in the blizzard, terrified and half frozen. I locked myself out of my hire car, you see,’ she added ruefully.

‘What rotten luck,’ Tarquin observed.

‘At least you
got
a hire car,’ Dominic muttered. ‘Bloody Max. I’m giving him the sack when we get back to London.’

‘Well,’ Tark observed, ‘if it had to happen, I’m glad it happened here, with Draemar castle near at hand.’

‘Not half so glad as I am,’ Helen murmured as she cast Dominic and Gemma a thoughtful glance, ‘believe me.’

‘If I can’t persuade you to join us for breakfast, then let me show you to the telephone, so you can make your call,’ he offered, and with another bright smile and a nod, Helen followed him out of the dining room.

‘What shall we do today?’ Natalie wondered a few minutes later, and glanced around the dining room table as she took up her napkin and spread it on her lap.

‘I thought I’d give you the grand tour,’ Tarquin offered as he returned to take his place at the head of the table beside Wren. ‘If you like.’

‘Can’t wait,’ Rhys said, and helped himself to scrambled eggs from the platter the footman held out. ‘I imagine it must take all day to show the entire castle.’

‘Nearly,’ Tark agreed. ‘Especially if we visit the dungeons.’

‘Dungeons!’ Gemma exclaimed, wide eyed. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. Many a prisoner was held captive here. The stories these walls could tell...’ his voice trailed off. ‘Afterwards,’ he added, ‘we’ll have lunch, and the gentlemen can indulge in a smoke and play a few hands of cards, or shoot billiards.’

‘Whilst us ladies adjourn to the drawing room for tea and gossip?’ Natalie teased.

‘How boring!’ Wren said, and grimaced. ‘No. We’ll go up to the screening room and drink wine and munch on popcorn and watch – what is it you call them? ‒ chick flicks all afternoon.’

‘Now
that
sounds more like it,’ Gemma approved.

Chapter 8

In the entrance hallway, Helen perched on a loveseat next to the telephone table and placed her call.

As she waited for Top Towing to answer, she studied her surroundings with curiosity. Portraits of Campbell family forebears, most dressed in tartan, lined the walls and marched along the length of the gallery above; a few were hung at intervals along the curved wall of the staircase.

Like Tarquin, they had long noses, reddish-brown hair, and serious expressions. But then, Helen supposed, sitting for one’s portrait in the Campbell clan tartan was a very big deal. How strange, she mused, to think that Tarquin’s predecessors, all long dead, were on view on these castle walls, and that his own portrait would one day join them...

The requisite castle décor, consisting of suits of armour and medieval implements of war, held pride of place in the odd nook and cranny – maces, battle-axes, halberds, pikes, and swords, among other unnamed but equally menacing weapons. It was a gruesome yet fascinating display.

‘You want it towed out today, you say?’ the voice on the other end of the telephone asked doubtfully.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m that sorry, but we’ve dozens of calls already. It’ll be tomorrow at the soonest afore we can send a truck out to Draemar.’

‘Tomorrow!’ Helen echoed, dismayed. The prospect of spending another night at the gatehouse with Colm was too much to bear.

‘Aye, and it might be even later,’ the despatcher informed her cheerfully. ‘They’re sayin’ another foot of snow’s headed our way tonight.’

She glanced out the window. With the sun currently sparkling on the drifts of snow outside, and birds darting back and forth in flashes of brown and blue, the prospect of more snow seemed unlikely.

But then again, this
was
Scotland, and in the dead of bloody winter...

‘Just make sure I’m at the top of the list,’ Helen snapped, and rang off.

Now
what was she to do? She couldn’t bear the thought of another minute spent in the company of that miserable, tight-lipped Scotsman who acted as if her very existence was a personal affront.

Still, she reflected as she hung up, for once events had conspired to her advantage. After all, she was sharing a roof – and quite a vast roof it was, too – with Dominic Heath and his fiancée, Gemma.

She couldn’t have arranged a better set of circumstances if she’d tried.

The sound of footsteps and low voices approaching echoed across the hallway. Helen risked a peek around the corner as Dominic and his girlfriend emerged from the dining room and made their way towards the stairs. She ducked her head back. They hadn’t seen her, thank God.

‘…glad you finally agree with me on this, Dom,’ Gemma was saying, her voice low but distinct.

‘I told you, babes, I want kids just as much as you do,’ he replied. ‘The time has to be right, that’s all.’

‘Well, then,’ she pointed out, ‘good thing we’re getting married in a few weeks’ time. A Christmas wedding in Northton Grange will be incredibly romantic, don’t you think? Even if we practically had to elope to manage it.’

Helen hardly dared to breathe. It would be embarrassing – not to mention awkward ‒ to reveal her presence now. She only hoped that they didn’t see her sitting here, blatantly eavesdropping...

‘We can’t have the paparazzi bollocksing everything up, can we?’ Dominic replied.

‘No, of course not. I want a proper wedding, with all the trimmings – and
no
bloody paps,’ Gemma said firmly. ‘I want bridesmaids in tartan gowns, and groomsmen in kilts, and a horse-drawn sleigh, and—’

‘And a Prada wedding gown,’ Dominic finished. ‘Yeah, I know, Gems. You’ve told me often enough. But if it were up to me, we really
would
elope. Or get married in a chapel at Gretna Green.’

‘Gretna Green?’ she demanded, and came to a halt, just yards from where Helen sat. ‘Have you lost your mind, Dominic? A girl only gets married once in her life, and her wedding should be perfect.’

‘Yes, of course it should! But damn it, babes, be reasonable!’ Dominic hissed. ‘Christmas is less than a month away. There’s no time to put a massive wedding together – not the kind of over-the-top wedding
you
fancy, at any rate – in a few weeks!’

‘Oh, very well. I’ll scale it back, then. I’ll only have six bridesmaids, instead of twelve. And I suppose I can make do without groomsmen in kilts...although I fancied having at least two, to hold the crossed swords over our heads as we exit the castle to leave on our honeymoon.’