Miriam Macgregor - Heir To Glengyle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Title Page Heir to Glengyle Miriam MacGregor www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CATHIE CAMPBELL inhaled a breath of clear Scottish air as she stood on the balcony of the impressive Crieff Hydro hotel. Below her lay a section of its extensive gardens, and beyond them the town of Crieff, built on the River Earn in Perthshire, and gateway to the Highlands, clung to its steep hillside streets.

Gazing at the distant scene, she made an effort to etch it into her memory, because her period in Scotland would be limited; within a few days she would be on the other side of the world, at home in New Zealand.

It was her mother’s last letter that had sent Cathie to Crieff, pleading with her to make a duty call. ‘Before you come home, please do try to visit Aunt Amy,’ Mavis Campbell had written. ‘She is my mother’s sister, and therefore your great-aunt. She’ll be terribly hurt if she hears you’ve reached Edinburgh and haven’t made the effort to go the extra distance to Crieff, which is only about fifty miles away, more or less.

‘I know you’ve never met her,’ the letter had continued, ‘but Gran is sure to tell her you’re in Scotland, and it’s a matter of family contact. You know how Gran goes on about family .’

Indeed, Cathie knew how Gran went on about family. It was an obsession with her. ‘The family is a unit,’ she was in the habit of expounding. ‘Members should be able to rely upon each other in times of need. There should be family loyalty to give the unit strength. It’s a matter of united we stand, divided we fall.’

Cathie smiled whimsically. Unfortunately there were too few families that could qualify for Gran’s standard of perfection. And then she thought of the last lines in her mother’s letter. ‘If you are running short of funds, dear, just give us a phone call and your father will arrange for money to be sent. We’ve missed you and will be glad to see you home in New Zealand.’

The offer of financial assistance was in keeping with Gran’s philosophy, but in this case it was unnecessary. Cathie had saved for her holiday in the United Kingdom, and she had not spent lavishly despite the numerous items she had longed to purchase. Nor would she have stayed for even one night at the costly Crieff Hydro had it not been for its close proximity to the street in which Great-Aunt Amy MacGregor lived, and the fact that she could walk there.

It was early afternoon when she set off to visit her elderly relative, and as she walked down the hill she tried to recall what she’d been told about her grandmother’s sister. But only vague snippets of conversation filtered back into her mind, reminding her that Amy was the widow of Peter MacGregor, who had been a businessman with fingers in numerous pies.

Amy had nursed his first wife until that woman’s death, and now she lived very comfortably on the income provided by what was known as the Glengyle Estate. What would happen to the estate after Amy’s death Cathie was unable to remember, but in the meantime she understood it provided sufficient money for Amy to employ a companion-help to assist in overcoming her soul-destroying condition of arthritis.

It did not take long for Cathie to reach her destination, and for a short time she stood on the opposite side of the street while examining the white two-storeyed house. Solidly constructed, and with chimneys rising from the two end gabled walls, its oblong design was relieved by dormer windows and a garage built on to one end. Hanging baskets filled with pink petunias and trailing blue lobelia removed any austerity from the front façde, while the small garden offered a colourful display of impatiens , or Busy Lizzies, as her grandmother called them.

She crossed the road and went towards the front door which had a single word above it. ‘Glengyle.’ And even as she raised her hand to press the bell she was gripped by the oddest premonition that she would find more than her great-aunt in this house. But of course you will, stupid—she has a companion, she reminded herself.

However, she was not prepared for the sight of the man who opened the door, and for several moments she stood staring at him while becoming aware that he was one of the most handsome men she had even seen. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had dark auburn hair which betrayed a touch of bronze where the afternoon sun fell across his brow. His brown eyes regarded her with interest while he waited for her to speak.

At last she found her tongue. ‘Does Mrs Amy MacGregor live here?’

‘Yes. May I tell her who is calling?’ His deep voice with its resonant ring was without trace of a Scottish accent.

‘Would you please tell her it’s Cathie Campbell from New Zealand?’

‘ Campbell ?’ The man frowned as a complete change of expression swept over his features. His jaw tightened and a cold light crept into his eyes. ‘ Campbell ?’ he repeated, as though the name belonged to an enemy.

‘I—I think she’ll know who I am,’ Cathie faltered, feeling slightly nonplussed by the intangible aura of antagonism that seemed to emerge from him.

His eyes took in details of her slim form, then moved from the curled ends of her wavy shoulder-length red hair to the tendrils framing her face. His gaze held her steady hazel eyes for several moments before he muttered in a cool tone, ‘Excuse me—I’ll see if she’s receiving visitors today.’

‘She’ll receive me—’ Cathie began, then found herself left standing at the door. ‘Especially after coming all this way,’ she mumbled audibly to herself, feeling vaguely irritated by this man’s offhand manner. Who was he? she wondered.

While waiting, she peeped into the hall, noticing that the floor was well carpeted, and that the walls were panelled. A large oil painting of the Scottish Highlands hung on one side of the hall, and an antlered stag’s head gazed sightlessly from the opposite wall. The solid hallstand and chair appeared to be of an earlier period, causing her to wonder if they were valuable antiques.

And then a woman came into the hall, her appearance giving Cathie a shock because of the strong likeness to her grandmother—except that on closer observation this person appeared to be slightly older and more frail. Also, her movements were slower, and she walked with the aid of a walking stick—but when she spoke her voice could have belonged to Gran.

‘Cathie—is it really you—one of my own people from so far away? Why Baird left you standing on the step I’ll never know.’

Fascinated, Cathie looked at the short wavy grey hair and at the bright blue eyes. Then she entered the hall and kissed her great-aunt.

She was then led to a living room where the sun filtered through windows to fall upon the two occupants of the room. One was a comfortably built middle-aged woman who Amy introduced as her companion, Elspeth Johnstone. The other was the Greek god who had opened the door to her, and who now sat at a table with several books spread before him. He stood up as they entered.

When introducing him Amy said, ‘This is my late husband’s grandson, Baird MacGregor. You should find plenty to talk about because he also comes from New Zealand.’ Then to Baird she explained, ‘Cathie is my sister’s grandchild.’