Laird of the Highlands: International Billionaires IX: The Scots by Caro LaFever

ago.”
    There were too many damn people in this place. With a fervent slash of craving, he wished for his comfortable, familiar life in London. His quiet office that was guarded by two loyal PAs. His huge, modern penthouse done in black and white, with no colors to distract him. The private gym where his steel treadmill stood, ready to provide him with his daily run without throwing any commotions or complications in his way.
    His hands fisted in stunned surprise. “I haven’t run.”
    “What?” Hugh gaped at him from the bed, his face creasing with shock. “You always run. Every day.”
    “I haven’t.”
    “Run?” Reid looked puzzled. And also distressed. “What do you mean, Mr. Ross?”
    “I always run. That’s what’s wrong with me.” Walking to the armoire, he pulled out his running clothes. “I’ll run.”
    He’d been too preoccupied and surprised at what he’d found here. That was all. It had only been three days he’d been off his schedule. Three days of dealing with the woman and the villagers. Getting his computer set up and ignoring Reid’s whining. He wasn’t going to blame himself for not running. But it made perfect sense now. He lived by his schedule. His schedule gave him peace of mind. Without it, he grew agitated. He’d learned that at a very young age.
    “I’m sure this isn’t what’s wrong with you. Still, I’m too fagged to argue anymore. It was a long ride up here.”
    Lorne gave his friend another grunt, not willing to fight anymore either.
    “Where are you going to run, though, Skiff?” Doc pursed his lips at him. “There’s no handy treadmill to escape to.”
    He hadn’t run anywhere else than in the quiet of his gym in years. At Oxford, he’d had to endure running the streets of the college, trying to keep his focus from straying to the random barking dog or the couple kissing on the path in front of him. Yet he knew this land. There were endless quiet pathways within the forest, and a dozen handy lanes that rarely saw traffic.
    “I want ye both to leave me alone.” He pulled out his trainers. “I need to get dressed.”
    “I thought we were going to town and talk.” Doc’s voice was mellow, indicating he understood what Lorne needed at the moment. His words pricked, though, letting him know he wasn’t off the hook for long.
    “Later.”
    “Sir.” The solicitor took his ever-present handkerchief from his pocket and patted his brow. “I think it would be best if we left for London and let the courts do their work.”
    “No.” He stood by the armoire and waited.
    “Come on, Reid.” Hugh rose from the bed with a gusty sigh. “I know my partner, and when he says he has to run, that’s the only thing he’ll focus on. Best to let him have his way.”
    “But I think—”
    Hugh pushed the man out the double doors and slammed both of them behind him.
    In less than five minutes, Lorne was dressed and standing on the front steps of his castle. Looking at the cloudless, late-afternoon sky, he decided to take the path through the easy part of the woodlands. There’d be shade and no people.
    He took off at a brisk pace, across the garden, past the silent cottage, into the darkness of his da’s forest. He concentrated on his breathing, letting the fury and frustration drift away under the pounding of his feet on the hard ground.
    The path weaved around oak and pine, the rowan and birch. Sunlight flickered on him as he settled into the run, his legs moving in a steady rhythm, his arms swinging effortlessly at his side.
    He’d been an awkward child. A gawky teenager.
    His father had despaired at his lack of coordination, his mother had worried about him falling and hurting himself. He hadn’t been allowed on the roof anymore, or been given permission to play ball with other boys in the village square.
    Slowly, they’d caged him in.
    With love, he understood that now.
    He came out into the first meadow, the place where he’d shot his first and only pheasant,