The Highland Duke

by Amy Jarecki

  “My doing?” She flung her finger toward the window. “I see our despicable divorce did nothing to change your ways. You’re still fornicating with any harlot who catches your fancy.”

  “Akira is a healer, damn you. She saved my life.”

  “I’m sure she did. In more ways than one.” Elizabeth paced. “How could you allow your children to see you come back from the dead with a wench on your arm?”

  “That wench to whom you just referred kept me from meeting my end on the battlefield.” He sprang to his feet, throwing up his hands. “God on the cross, why am I bloody trying to explain this to you? Think what you like and leave my chamber.”

  With a cough, she drew a hand to her chest. “You are a barbarian, just like all Scots.”

  “Aye? Well, you are a self-absorbed prude.” Geordie strode to the sideboard.

  “Well, I’ve never—”

  He removed the silver lid from a flagon. “What? Why don’t you go back to Surrey and keep company with your father?”

  “I prefer the convent. It seems, though I may be a duchess, I have no tolerance for mingling with dukes.”

  “That would be right.” He poured himself a dram of whisky. “One prude cannot bear another.”

  “Stop!” She stamped her foot. “You are insufferable, and I refuse to tolerate another moment in your presence.”

  Geordie bowed and gestured toward the door. “Last I checked, this was my chamber. As a matter of fact, this is my castle. You are free to take your leave, Your Grace.”

  With a deep inhale, she thrust her nose in the air. “I’ve never been so insulted.”

  Geordie picked up his glass and saluted her. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  Elizabeth moved to the door, but stopped with her back to him. “I was hoping to propose a truce—to stay in the dower house—for our children. But I see that will not work. No. I shall return to Flanders.”

  Slamming the glass on the board, he gestured eastward. “Shall I arrange a coach to take you to the port?”

  “A ship sails a fortnight hence.” She regarded him over her shoulder.

  “Very well, then.” Geordie made an exaggerated bow and waited while Elizabeth flounced out the door.

  Good Lord, I must endure the dragon’s presence for a fortnight?

  He quickly poured another tot and downed it in one gulp.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The following day, wearing a new kirtle and arisaid that Fiona had laid out, Akira applauded as Jane jumped her garron pony over a small log. Honestly, the lass had far more skill with a riding crop than Akira, who had only her forced experience on the back of a horse. Jane expertly sat sidesaddle, too. Akira rubbed her thighs, still sore from their flight from Glen Spean. If only she’d had a sidesaddle, she mightn’t be so sore. And she was nearly out of salve.

  The groomsman beckoned the young lady and gave her some instruction. Akira leaned forward to better hear. Lord knew, when it came to horses, she could use every bit of advice she could find.

  “There you are,” came a deep voice from behind, a voice she’d never in her life be able to forget.

  When she turned, however, she hardly recognized Geordie.

  He looked every bit a duke, and nothing like the man who’d accompanied her through the Highlands for the past fortnight.

  Hopping to her feet, Akira dipped into a curtsy. “Your Grace, I was just watching Lady Jane demonstrate her horsemanship.”

  “Ah, she’s reeled you in, has she?” The man grinned like Geordie, had shiny hazel eyes like Geordie, but he wore a brown velvet doublet over his shirt and sported an ornate cravat and cuffs of lace. Worse, atop his head he wore a periwig. Aye, all the gentry wore periwigs, but Akira never imagined Geordie in one. At least his kilt and hose were somewhat recognizable.

  “Da!” Jane hollered, cantering in a circle. “Watch me jump the log.”

  His gaze swept to his daughter as a proud smile spread across his face. “Let us see how much you’ve progressed.”

  With a renewed look of determination, Jane jumped the log for the umpteenth time.

  “Well done, lassie.” Geordie strode forward and grasped the horse’s bridle. “I am duly impressed.”

  The little girl beamed. “Thank you.”

  Geordie gestured to the groom. “When do you think she’ll be ready for a higher jump?”

  “Her Ladyship is ready, Your Grace. I just didn’t want to make such a change before gaining your approval.”

  Akira’s head swam. How on earth would she remember so many formalities? How stiff everything seemed. She far preferred her Geordie over the Duke of Gordon. It was as if the Highlander had transformed into a stiff marionette with his every action rehearsed. Even his stance appeared stiff and practiced.

  Geordie patted the garron’s hindquarters. “Very well, you have my permission to raise the jump another six inches.”

  “Aw, but I’m ready to jump a whole fence, Da.”

  “You’ll be ready when I say you’re ready.”

  Jane jutted out her bottom lip, while the groom grasped the bridle and continued with the lesson.

  As if remembering why he’d made an appearance on the grounds, Geordie held up his finger and grinned at Akira. Wee butterflies tickled her insides. Aye, that grin was more like the Highlander she knew. “I have something to show you.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  “Something I think you’ll like. Come along.” He offered his arm and they strolled across the pathway as if they were dancing an allemande—except for Geordie’s limp. They walked toward a stone manse, every bit as large as Coll of Keppoch’s home. “The servants haven’t opened it yet, but I wanted to show you the dower house.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “That’s the dower house?”

  As they climbed the porch steps, a hundred thoughts popped into her head.

  Ma would be in shock. My sisters could gain so much from tutors, learning to ride, living away from the filth of Dunkeld…

  But something needled at Akira. “Why doesn’t the duchess live here?”

  He smirked, placing his hand on the latch. “Lady Elizabeth detests the sight of me. She’d rather cloister herself in a convent in Flanders—cannot even bear to stand on the same soil.”

  “But why? You are not only a duke, you have a kind heart. I just saw you with your daughter—you were kind and gracious like a father ought to be, and in turn, Lady Jane adores you.”

  “Unfortunately, I made too many mistakes when it came to Elizabeth. She’s the daughter of the Duke of Norfolk. Her expectations were…Let’s just say her expectations exceeded that which even the Almighty could have delivered.” With a sigh, he opened the door.

  Stepping inside, Akira nearly swooned. “Holy fairy feathers!” she mumbled, her gaze sweeping up to an enormous chandelier in the entry. Encrusted with innumerous crystals, it sparkled even without the candles lit. That piece alone must have cost an untold fortune. And on the floor, an oriental silk carpet in muted blue tones made the entry truly welcoming.

  Geordie ushered her toward an open door. “To the west is the tapestry drawing room. When she was alive, my mother had it renovated in the French style.” He pulled off a sheet of linen covering a chair embroidered in ivory with a leaf-and-rose pattern in the center and around the edges. “It will look a mite better once the dust covers are removed.”

  Akira didn’t know what to say. The drawing room was every bit as opulent as any chamber she’d seen in the castle. And the tapestries were incredibly intricate, depicting scenes of lords and ladies picnicking, with trees and birds and oh, so many flowers.

  “Do you like it?” Geordie asked.

  “’Tis…” What should she say? She regarded his face—his eyes hopeful, his stance relaxed. Indeed, without anyone else around, he behaved more like Geordie and less like the pompous duke who’d appeared on the castle foregrounds. But Akira’s spine wound tighter than a spring and her chest tensed. “I do like it. ’Tis fan
cier than anything I’ve ever dreamed of. However—” She turned away, clutching her hands over her heart.

  When he moved behind her, the heat of his body radiated against her back. “However?” He placed his hands on her shoulders, big, strong hands that could wield a sword and fight for her freedom. Warm hands that had been tender with her and shown her love.

  How could she deny him when he offered so much?

  I must.

  “This”—she gestured to the chamber—“doesn’t feel right.”

  A deep cavern pinched between his eyebrows. “No? Whatever is bothering you, I can fix it. Is it this chamber? Is it too French? Is there not enough light? It will look so much better when the linens are removed, I promise.”

  “No.” She whipped around and faced him. “This.” She flung her arms to her sides. “Can you not see? I am but a poor maid. I live in a one-room shieling with my mother and three sisters. It has one small fire pit, one wooden table with two benches, and a dirt floor. I share a bed with my sisters—all four of us in one bed, whilst Ma sleeps on a pallet near the fire.”

  He blinked, as if trying to comprehend. “And you do not want to improve their lot in life?”

  “Of course I want such comforts for them, and mayhap I’m being selfish, but I feel out of sorts. You’re wearing a pompous periwig, a-and outside you were so inordinately stiff, I wanted to pinch you to see if you were the real Geordie.” Akira clapped her hands to her head. “And since I’ve uttered your name, pray tell: How should I address you now we’re in Huntly and you’re the Duke of Gordon?”

  “You—”

  She cut him off with a slice of her hand. “I feel awkward. Fiona, my chambermaid, lives better than I do in Dunkeld. I should be fortunate to be employed as a servant carrying your slops.” Tears burned behind her eyes and threatened to burst forth. “I’m a simple maid. A healer.”

  “I ken all that,” he replied, ever so softly. “And those are the reasons I love you.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand, every nerve in her body firing at once. Her head spun. “Please, do not say it. How can a man like you love me?”

  He clasped her hands between his warm palms. “Because you were kind to me when you didn’t know who I was. You were gracious to me, not to a duke, and not because it was something I ordered but because you have a kind heart.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head, a tear streaming down her cheek. “I would show such kindness to any man who needed my help.”

  “And that is what makes you so endearing.” He pulled her into his embrace and pressed his lips to her forehead. “People have behaved respectfully to me all my life because I was born into an affluent family. It pains me to admit it, but women have fallen at my feet because I have the means to give them nice things—women who are as hollow as a gourd. But all those women left me soulless. Until…”

  Inhaling deeply, he clutched her tighter against him. “Until I found you.”

  Unable to push away, Akira dropped her head against his chest. Must he be so warm, his arms so inviting, so soothing? Curses. Why did such action bring her so much solace at a time when she needed to be firm? “But you offered me payment to care for your wounds. You employed me.”

  “I did.” With a gentle touch of his finger, he raised her chin. “And I need to make good on my debt.”

  “Aye,” Akira agreed. No matter what happened, her family would need those ten shillings. “And you must take me home to my family.” Stepping away, she covered her eyes with her hand, forcing herself not to cry. Regardless of how much she loved him, she didn’t fit in at Huntly Castle—and in no way did she want to be looked down upon by the servants for being His Grace’s mistress.

  “I will take you home, and I aim to meet your family and bring them to Huntly, no matter how long it takes me to convince you to open your heart to me. And, remember, you promised me a fortnight.”

  Dear Lord, didn’t he know the depth of her torture every moment she spent in his presence? “It is unduly awkward knowing the duchess is here.”

  “Aye, but she will keep to her rooms just like she has for years.”

  Akira wrung her hands. “What should I do if our paths cross?”

  “I doubt they will, but perhaps I should have the dower house prepared now.”

  “You mean for me to stay in this enormous house alone?”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “I’d be more than happy to sleep outside your door, m’lady.”

  She scoffed. “I could never ask you to do that.”

  Rolling his hand, Geordie bowed. “Or inside your chamber—ah—if it please m’lady.”

  Goodness, now he’s teasing me.

  “I am not a highborn lady, Your Grace.”

  “You are to me.” He pulled her into his arms. “And, please, when we are alone together, call me Geordie. It sounds best rolling off your tongue.”

  Akira’s knees turned to butter as he gradually lowered his lips to hers and claimed her mouth. Restless desire pooled in her loins. Merciful heavens, how did she end up in this situation? She craved Geordie more than food, more than the flowers and butterflies or the air she breathed. Heaven’s stars, keeping this man at bay would pose far more of a challenge than she’d first imagined. She’d allow him time as he’d asked, but then she must return to her family.

  * * *

  Geordie’s blood boiled when he read a missive from the Privy Council condemning the Jacobite action in Hoord Moor as treason. The redcoats had attacked them, not the other way around. For the love of God, had all the gentry in Scotland gone soft?

  “Your Grace.” Oliver stepped inside the solar. “Forgive my intrusion, but a most interesting caller has arrived.”

  “Oh?” Tension flared up the back of Geordie’s neck. It was odd to see his man-at-arms announcing a caller. Such a task was usually handled by his valet, Byron, unless the visit was of a tactical nature. “Who is it?”

  “Captain Roderick Weaver of the Marquis of Atholl’s Thirty-Second Dragoons.”

  To mask the sudden quickening of his heartbeat, Geordie calmly folded his missive and tucked it away inside his doublet. Christ, the devil wasted no time. “Did he state his business?”

  “Was a bit aloof, I’d reckon. He said he had something to discuss only with you.”

  “Has he questioned anyone?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, and I’ve been with him since he dismounted in the courtyard. He asked me if you’ve been away.”

  Willing his inner calm, the duke smoothed his hands over the table. “What did you tell him?”

  “Exactly as we discussed. That you recently returned from a visit to your estate in Inverness.”

  “Very good.” Geordie rapped his knuckles. “Bring Captain Weaver in and let us hear what he has to say.”

  “Straightaway, Your Grace.”

  Geordie held up a finger. “But do not allow anyone else in the household to speak to him—and make bloody certain Miss Akira remains out of sight.”

  “I’ll see it done.”

  Standing, Geordie moved in front of the mirror and straightened his cravat. Then he regarded his periwig. It was a daft mass of curled horsehair, and he hated the damnable thing, even more so since Akira had drawn attention to it. Perhaps he would do away with wigs. He’d spent far too much of his life worrying about his appearance and not enough worrying about the people under his care. He chuckled to himself. How ironic that it took a wee healer to show him the error of his ways.

  When the familiar sound of footsteps echoed in the passageway, George Gordon, the Duke of Gordon, took his seat and assumed his most haughty expression.

  He’d certainly need it.

  The door opened, and Oliver introduced the captain, then remained standing at ease near the door—though the Highland soldier’s sword was at the ready.

  The captain bowed. “Your Grace, ’tis reassuring to see you in good health this afternoon.”

  “Good health? I am but three and thirty. Why w
ould my health be otherwise?” Dear God, he was well practiced at being an imperious aristocrat.

  The captain tugged at his collar and stretched his neck. “Would you mind if I sat?”

  “If your business will take more than a minute, then by all means.” He gestured to the seat.

  “Thank you. I am rather parched. I’ve been riding for days.”

  Geordie opted not to offer a refreshment. “Days? What on earth brings you to Huntly?”

  The captain reached inside a satchel at his hip and pulled out Geordie’s flask. “Did you lose this recently?”

  “Ah.” Reaching for it, he turned the gift from his father over in his hand. “My word, I thought this was gone forever. Where did you find it?”

  Frowning, Captain Weaver crossed his arms. “In Hoord Moor on the battlefield—immediately following the skirmish where we cut off a mob of angry Jacobites. It seems Highlanders were not impressed with the queen’s response to the Scottish Parliament’s Act of Security.”

  “Indeed. Just this day I received a missive from the Privy Council regarding the upstarts.”

  Weaver pointed to the flask. “That’s an expensive piece—one I’d think even a duke would cherish.”

  Geordie eyed the man with distrust. “I daresay, I agree.” He rested the flask on the table.

  “How did you lose it?” The bastard was digging.

  But Geordie had concocted an iron-clad alibi. “’Tis embarrassing to admit, but I lost the flask at cards in Inverness. I had a slip of judgment and made a wager with the damnable thing. Whisky will do that to a man.”

  “You are aware your cousin William showed his colors at Hoord Moor?”

  “I’d heard.”

  “Did you ride into battle with him, Your Grace?” The man asked the question as if he were asking if the sun rose that morning.

  “Believe me, if I had ridden with my cousin, you would have kent about it afore the first shot was fired.”

  “Hmm.” The captain scratched his chin. “I tracked one of the traitors from Hoord Moor all the way to Huntly.”

  Now Geordie knew the dragoon was fishing. He doubted very seriously Captain Weaver would have been able to track anything from Glenlivet onward. He feigned boredom. “That’s quite a distance to follow a man. No wonder you have a thirst.”