Christmas at the Castle. Marion Lennox

      ‘Gran!’

      ‘We might even have fun,’ Maggie conceded. ‘If we can avoid the Earl.’ And then she paused.

      She needed to pause. The knock on the cottage’s thick wooden door reverberated around the living room, imperative, urgent. Maggie frowned. ‘It’s nine at night. Who... One of the neighbours?’

      She half rose but Holly was before her. ‘Let me.’

      ‘Take the poker, Holly, love,’ Maggie said but Holly, sated with apple pie, wine and heat, was in no mood for axe-murderers. Without the aid of a poker, she opened the door. A blast of snow rushed in, but not as much as she might expect.

      The snow was blocked.

      On the doorstep stood Maggie’s greatest fear. Their new employer. The Earl of Craigenstone himself.

      ‘I’m sorry to disturb you so late at night,’ he said, while Holly stared at him stupidly and thought...What? ‘But I have an additional position to fill and I wondered if you’d add it to your position as cook...as chef.’

      ‘What?’ Holly said, thoroughly confused.

      ‘I’m in a bit of trouble,’ the Earl said. ‘I’ve made a promise I intend to keep but, to do so...Holly, I need a fiancée. Just for Christmas. I need you, temporarily, to agree to marry me.’