‘Well, he seems to think he is.’
With his shoulders still rocking from side to side, Duncan pushed a folded letter across the bar. It was on headed paper from a solicitor’s office in Edinburgh. The letter stated that Duncan had ten days to vacate the property.
‘Duncan, this won’t stand up,’ she said firmly. ‘No chance. You have to fight this.’
‘How? You need money for stuff like that. He can afford fancy lawyers.’
‘And you will be able to afford them too,’ she shot back. ‘But it doesn’t matter. You’re a tenant. There are tenancy agreements in place. He can’t just ignore those and kick you out. It’s illegal.’
She’d hoped the comment would spark a little sign of hope within Duncan, but instead, he lifted his whisky bottle to his lips, although Bex pulled it out of his grip before he’d managed to get any more.
He dropped his head into his hands. ‘There’s more.’
‘What?’
‘The dogs,’ he said. ‘He says I need to return the dogs or he’ll get the police involved. Says I stole them.’
‘What the hell?’ Bex’s voice rose in disbelief. ‘That’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even like them.’
‘He doesn’t even know them,’ Duncan muttered, reaching for the bottle again. This time, Bex picked it up and put it on the other side of the bar, out of his reach.
‘I don’t think you need any more of that right now,’ she said sharply. ‘This drunk look isn’t doing you any favours.’
‘Do you think I care?’
‘I think you need to care.’
Bex glanced around the room. Several pairs of eyes were watching them. So much for trying to keep all of this under wraps. She didn’t doubt that the second they got out of here, the gossiping would start in full. Or worse still, someone would message Kieron hoping to get in the potential laird’s good books. The last thing Kieron needed was more ammunition, and he could easily use Duncan being viewed as a drunk who was incapable of fulfilling his role of laird against him. She lowered her voice back down to a hiss.
‘Just sit for a bit,’ she urged. ‘Wait with me, okay? My parents are coming.’
For the first time since she had come downstairs, Duncan looked at her properly.
‘Your parents? Why are they coming here?’
‘It’s a long story, okay? But come on. Let’s sit down. We’ll get you some water.’
Knowing that Lorna would be listening, Bex looked across the bar where her friend gave her a swift nod as she began to fill a glass, but before Bex could take it from her, Duncan’s hand wrapped around hers, freezing her in place. Her heart thudded as his warmth seeped into her fingers, his gentle squeeze the only thing that reminded her to breathe.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.
‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ she whispered back. As their eyes met, she recalled how earlier in the day his hand had brushed so gently against her chin and how natural it had felt. Better than natural. Fated. Her heart throbbed. The sounds of chattering and the pub door opening were peripheral. As if they were the only two people even there. She wanted nothing more than to reciprocate the gesture from earlier. To touch his face. To plant her lips against his. If he hadn’t been drunk, this might have been the moment she told him everything. That she’d be there for him, whether he was laird or not. But now wasn’t the time. The conversation needed to happen when he was sober.
‘Bex, you know I?—’
‘Not now,’ she said softly. ‘Come on. Let’s sit down.’
Slipping her hand back out of his, she picked up the glass of water and started to move towards an empty table, but before they could take a seat, their path was blocked by a young man in his mid-twenties. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, the man approached them.
Bex hadn’t seen him in the pub before. Or the village, for that matter. He was a couple of inches shorter than Duncan, with a shaved head, multiple piercings and several cord necklaces around his neck. Though he was definitely better dressed for the cold weather than some visitors she’d seen, his brightly coloured ski-jacket and knitted beanie told her he wasn’t from around here. Probably a tourist visiting for Burns Night or Hogmanay, she decided.
‘Hey, mate. You Duncan Duffy?’ It was only a couple of words, but his accent immediately struck Bex as Australian. Or maybe Kiwi? She’d never been great at telling them apart.
‘Aye,’ Duncan said cautiously. ‘Why?’
The man tilted his head, smiling tightly. ‘Because I owe you something.’
Duncan cocked his head to the side. ‘Aye, what’s that then?’
