Page 66 of Highland Games
The fucking Earl of Kinloch.
She got into the truck and drove out of the car park, her breathing fractured, too shocked yet to cry. The drive to the cabin was taken care of by her unconscious mind. She was aware of none of the journey until the transition from smooth road to muddy track jolted her back into the present. She saw Rory’s truck, parked by the cabin. Rage boiled up, so intense it was blinding. She saw the MacGinley family coat of arms emblazoned on the side of the driver’s door, the truth hiding in plain sight, taunting her. She remembered the bull bars on the front of her truck, a ridiculous addition she thought she would never need. Then she put her right foot to the floor and drove her truck straight into Rory’s.
The distance wasn’t far but the impact was big. She reversed to see the entire driver’s door bent in. Bandit leapt off the porch barking, and Rory came running out of the cabin. She wound down the window.
‘What is your name?’ she screamed at him.
His face was white. ‘Rory.’
‘Not Stuart?’ she yelled.
Silence.
She put her foot down and floored her truck again into his.SMASH! The sound of crunching metal amplified the adrenaline rushing through her.
She reversed again, seeing the damage she had made. The driver’s door was staved in, the bottom of the window bent, the window cracked. The coat of arms was scuffed and twisted. It was getting difficult to make it out. She wanted to obliterate it.
He ran off the porch to her truck, holding the edge of the window. ‘Zoe, stop! Please, I’m sorry!’
‘Say it. Tell me your name.’
‘Stuart Somhairle Archibald William Rory MacGinley. I’m the Earl of Kinloch. Zoe, I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you, I just didn’t know how—’
‘Go! Get off my fucking land. Now!’
He paused, looking at her desperately. She revved the engine. He tried to open the driver’s door but it was bent shut. He whistled to Bandit and walked around the other side, getting in and shuffling across. He reversed up the track, and was gone.
Zoe wound the window up, killed the engine and walked over the sodden ground to the cabin. Inside she sat on the sofa, staring out into space. The only time she had come close to this level of shock was when her mother was diagnosed with cancer. This hurt was different but it cut as deep. It was as if she had been ripped in two, the torn edges of her body flapping noisily in a bitter wind. She still couldn’t process anything, so curled up on her side and closed her eyes, praying that when she woke up, this would all have been a terrible dream.
Zoe was wokenby the sound of loud banging on the cabin door. Startled, she sat up. The cabin was almost in darkness and getting cold. How long had she been asleep? Had he come back?
‘Hang on.’
Her arm was tingling with pins and needles from lying awkwardly, and she shook it to get the circulation back. She glanced at her watch. Half past three. She walked to the door and opened it.
Standing on the porch were two police officers: a bearded man who looked like he arm-wrestled bears for fun, and a woman taller than her, with her dark hair scraped back into a no-nonsense bun. Behind them was a police car and a police van.
This didn’t look good.
The woman spoke. ‘Good afternoon, I’m PC Ballantyne and this is PC Fraser. We’re investigating several allegations. Can you confirm your name for me please?’
‘Zoe Maxwell,’ she stammered.
‘Can we come in?’
Zoe nodded, and retreated into the cabin, her heart hammering. Was this because of Rory’s truck? Had he called the police?
‘Can we sit down?’ asked PC Ballantyne.
Zoe nodded again, and sat at the table across from the two officers.
PC Ballantyne gave Zoe a perfunctory smile. ‘We want to let you know someone has identified you as being responsible for criminal damage, trespass, theft and attempted murder. I’m arresting you for these offences. You are not obliged to say anything but anything you do say will be noted and may be used in evidence. Do you understand?’
‘What? No, I don’t understand. Attempted murder? You are shitting me! Theft of what? Trespass where?’ Zoe replied, her voice getting higher.
‘Here. You are being accused of squatting in this property.’
Her brain was pushing on the inside of her skull, lights flashing on and off behind her eyes. ‘This, this is my home!’ Her hiccupping breath turning into a panicked hysterical laugh. ‘This is mine.’
