Scurdie Ness Lighthouse
And Castle Drummond
The quaint whitewashed building seemed to huddle like a child at the knees of papa lighthouse.
Alex unlocked the door and entered, then shut the door behind himself, refreshed by the still, cool air and utter aloneness. This is where he was invariably drawn by two memorable incidents, just days apart. One of them, his mind had already calloused over—himself as an anguished prisoner waiting to be shot. Now, two months later, he remembered only the triumph of escape and the pain of falling like a parachutist with no landing gear onto the hard-packed sand outside the high rear window.
The other memory, of being pinned against this door by Rory Drummond, he relived every time he walked in here.
Alex squatted against the door and gazed up at the dirt-streaked window several feet above his head, watching the dust motes whirl in the subdued light. He thought about his Levi’s being yanked to his knees…his helpless prick shouting its need…Rory’s practiced tongue…not a soul to hear his guttural release…
The fucking cell phone could not have clamored at a worse time.
He stood erect and pulled it from his front Levi’s pocket. It was Rory, of course. He smiled through a frown. Come here, Rory, help me out, willya…?
“Hi, love. What’s up?”
“Um, kind of, Rory.” He fondled his dick. “But keep talking.”
The sexy lift and fall of his voice, the cadence of his soft burr, turned him on always. A secret he’d probably never divulge to his lover.
“Father wants to see us right away. Some kind of business deal, I think. But he won’t talk to me without you, and Alain too.”
His hard-on wilted at the words “business deal.” Fuck. The other shoe drops.
“Ah, okay. What about, do you know?”
“It was one of his typical phone calls. From A to Z with no alphabet in between. How many minutes away are you, lad?”
“Give me twenty.”
“I’ll meet you at the guard shack. Te quiero, corazón.”
“I love you too, Rory.”
Alex shrugged at life’s inevitable ass-kicks and walked outside, pulling the padlock tight after jamming the shackle into place. He walked quickly to the lighthouse and checked the large security lock before half-jogging back to his abandoned bike. Reaching into the small rucksack on the back, he pulled out a bent sandwich and ate it one-handed while biking back down the narrow promontory path, a short kilomester to Beacon Terrace where he’d parked the Jeep.
He fixed Old Paint to the rear bike rack and climbed behind the wheel of the Wrangler. The time had finally come—the confrontation he’d been avoiding ever since he and Rory had put on the simple rings that told the world they’d taken the plunge. Alain, the family’s steward and vest-pocket lawyer, had vaguely hinted at it. Kenneth, even more circumspect, had never said a word except to congratulate them. But Alex knew…
The fucking pre-nup.
The idea of signing a pre-nup had eaten away at his core almost from the beginning. To put his signature to a document like that was the same as telling Rory, “I’m marrying you for what I can get out of you after you dump me.”
His hands tightened on the wheel. There was a reason he preferred staying in the stone cabin instead of the castle. Couldn’t anyone see it? He’d rather wake up every morning looking up at rough wooden trestles, not glaring into a shimmering chandelier. Give him that cold bath in a second-hand tub, and the rubblestone fireplace in his two-room hideaway. Fuck the castle and all its trimmings. Except for Rory, of course, and his wonderful parents.
He wanted what he loved: simplicity, and family. But in this world of old castles and older money, he was a skunk in the woodpile.
By the time he got to the turnoff from A92 to the castle, he was a nervous wreck. Feeling the sweat building between his shoulder blades, he wiped his palms one by one on the worn denims and settled his features into his most non-committal cop face before pulling up to the guard shack.
To be continued…
The first two chapters? Find them on the side panel of this blog.
The Nevada Highlander Series? Find all of them right here: