Bex could barely draw breath, her jaw was so tightly locked, her hands clenched and quivering at her sides. He was baiting her. He knew he was. And her reacting this way wasn’t going to help anyone. Especially not Duncan. And yet somehow just the sight of Kieron’s smarmy, self-important face was enough to make her skin crawl.
‘Duncan didn’t do anything wrong, and there were witnesses in the pub who saw everything,’ she said. ‘Whatever you think you’re going to achieve with these stunts of yours – trying to kick him out of the lodge, claiming that he stole the dogs – it won’t work.’
‘Is that right?’ he said, his tone cool and infuriating.
‘Yes, it is. All it’s doing is showing people what a petulant spoilt brat you are. No wonder Fergus said he’d rather leave his inheritance to the dogs than you.’ Surprise flashed across Kieron’s face. It was the first reaction she’d got from him, and though it wasn’t the admission of guilt she wanted, it was better than nothing. ‘I get you’ve come for me. I rejected you. Hurt your ego. But why are you doing this to him? What has Duncan ever done to you? Other than be the better man? Other than actually love your uncle?’
Kieron’s top lip turned up into a snarl as he took a step towards Bex. It was an action intended to intimidate her. Make her back down. She could see that. He had already played his cards. Already pulled the clients out from the firm and make the bosses doubt her.
‘Or is it just that I chose him?’ Bex continued, sensing his tension rising by the second. ‘Is it just because I would rather have been with a penniless groundskeeper, who you’ve spent your entire life looking down on, than with you? Is that why you’re doing this?’
Kieron’s nostrils flared. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. This has nothing to do with you. I am defending my family. My uncle’s name. My inheritance.’
‘Don’t pretend you ever gave a flying frog about your uncle’s name,’ Bex spat. ‘And it’s not your inheritance. It’s nobody’s inheritance. Not until those DNA results come in.’
‘We’ll see,’ Kieron snapped back, only for Bex to shake her head in disbelief.
‘Why is this so hard for you to understand? If Duncan is Fergus’s grandson, then you have no claim to any of it. Not the hall. Not the land. Not even the bottles of whisky you tried to make everyone drink at Burns Night when you found out you might be about to lose it all.’
A snarl-like sound rumbled from Kieron’s throat. Bex had wanted him riled. Wanted him as angry as she was. By the looks of things she was getting there. And she wasn’t even done yet.
‘And quite frankly,’ she continued, ‘even if he didn’t, Duncan was more family to Fergus than you ever even tried to be. You’re a scavenger, Kieron. That’s it. You were a scavenger when Fergus was alive, using your uncle’s name and land to make it seem like you actually mattered, what with your fancy balls and shooting parties, and now that he’s gone, you’re clinging to every last thing you can, bringing everyone down, in the hope it might make you significant. But here’s a spoiler for you. It won’t. You won’t ever matter. It doesn’t matter what your DNA is. Even if you do end up owning the entire estate, you’ll still be nothing more than an arrogant bully. And it’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.’
God, it felt good. Her chest was heaving. Her breath shallow and fast. Never, in her entire life, could she remember speaking to someone like that. She’d been assertive, sure. But to actually say what she thought. It was incredible.
In front of her, Kieron’s smirk faded, his expression hardening. A flash of anger lit his eyes.
‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ he said, stepping forward, so close that Bex could see her reflection in his eyes. ‘I have every right to this. I grew up in this world. This is my birthright. And let me make myself very clear: I don’t care what the DNA test says. I will contest it, in every way I can. I will take him to every court, in every part of the country, until he’s had to sell off everything – the cottage, every last scrap of land, and every vermin-riddled animal he has – before I lay it to rest. I will bleed him dry and use every penny at my disposal to do so, because I would rather see this house, this land and everything tied to it in ruins before I let him have any of it. Do you understand? I would rather burn it to the ground than let a man like him think he has a place in this world. My world.’
Bex stared at him, her breath catching. She could see it in his face; he meant every word. He didn’t care about the village, the people who lived and worked here, or anything Fergus had built. He cared about winning. That was all.
Her hands trembled, but her voice was quiet and focused when she finally spoke again.
‘You’re a piece of work,’ she said. ‘You’re vile. Truly vile.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ Kieron said, shrugging. The nonchalance with which he had answered the door had returned. ‘Now get off my land before I throw you off.’
With that, he turned and slammed the door in her face.
23
As Bex climbed back into the car, her pulse continued to batter her ribs. The audacity. The arrogance. The sheer delusion of the man to think he could treat people however he wanted. God, until this moment, it had been honouring Fergus’s will that mattered most to her. Ensure that the laird’s wishes were met and that the genuine heir to his fortune was found. But now… now she refused to accept that Kieron could ever inherit Highland Hall. She wanted him gone from the village and from her life. Forever.
With her mind still full of his smug sneer, Bex sped away down the driveway, slamming her foot down on the accelerator. Getting away from Kieron was all that filled her thoughts, and as such she didn’t even notice the small herd of deer grazing on the frost-covered grass. Nor did she notice as one of the smaller roes wandered away from the herd and towards the road. It was only when said roe, still lazily chewing, jumped out less than ten feet in front of the rental car that Bex finally noticed the animal.
‘Crap!’ she yelled as she slammed her foot down on the brake and yanked the steering wheel away from the deer. The car skidded as the high-pitched screech of the rubber filled her ears. Fighting the urge to clench her eyes closed, Bex braced herself as the car jolted off the driveway onto the icy grass, where countless old trees littered the land. Her foot was flat to the floor, but a particularly massive gnarled trunk of an old cedar tree was still growing larger and larger in her windscreen. She could feel the car decelerating. See the cedar’s approach slowing and slowing. But was it going to be enough, or was she going to hit it? She wasn’t sure. Even when the car was moving at nothing more than a crawl, she continued to hold her breath. Finally, it stopped entirely, with just the slightest of thuds, and the longest sigh of her life billowed from Bex’s lungs.
‘Thank God,’ she whispered. Her hands continued to grip the steering wheel, breaths ragged as the doe strolled back to its herd after all. Bex dropped her head. She was fine. The doe was fine. Everything was fine. And it wasn’t like she’d hit the tree with any force. With a bit of luck, it wouldn’t have even scratched the paintwork.
When her pulse had steadied enough to move, Bex undid her belt, stepped outside and walked around to the front of the car. Thankfully, the impact with the tree had been minimal; there was barely a hint of blue paint on the coarse brown bark. These trees were hundreds of years old, and she knew she’d have never forgiven herself had she really damaged it. But her relief was short-lived. As she turned to look at the vehicle, her stomach sank. It might have only looked like minimal paintwork on the tree, but the large gashes spanned across a solid two feet of the car’s bumper. Ugly, white-grey against the pristine bright blue that it should have been. And that was only half the problem. The left and right sides of the bumper now sat at very different angles. A good four inches of height difference between them.
‘How? I barely even touched the tree!’ she yelled in disbelief, only to shake her head and let out a long groan. It looked like she was going to have to make another stop before heading back to the White Hart.
Five minutes later, Bex was drawing up outside Eddie’s garage at a pace that would have put even Fergus’s most arthritic old dog to shame. She couldn’t have gone any faster than ten miles an hour the entire way, and every slight bump or pothole caused her to flinch. Now she was finally there, and her entire body was wrought with tension.
‘Bex!’ Eddie’s face lit up when he saw her. ‘I wanted tae come and find you. Was talking to my cousin, lives on t’other side of the loch. She’s got a wee bakery business, doing well and all, but having bother with ’er tax. Said you might be able to have a word with her. She’s not in a mess like me. Just lots of numbers, you know.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Bex nodded. She would have agreed to anything at that precise moment just to get Eddie to stop talking.
