Page 4 of To Defy a Highland Duke

Marjorie unwisely permitted her mind to replay those last few moments with Roxdale last August.

Quite naturally, Graeme had partnered his new bride for the first dance. Which meant, according to custom, the next highest-ranking male and female should dance together. Determined to be gracious and forgive Roxdale his earlier offense, she’d faced him with a friendly, expectant smile on her face and awaited his request.

It never came.

The utter boor had declared he didn’t dance and turned his back on her, leaving her standing with everyone slack-jawed or whispering and shuffling in discomfiture. Liar. He did too dance. She’d seen him compete in the sword dance earlier.

In fact, she grudgingly—very grudgingly—admitted the duke was a bloody fine dancer. Agile, unexpectedly elegant, in absolute control of his sinewy form and movements. Yes, a damn, bloody brilliant dancer. And he’d publicly snubbed her.

What he’d clearly meant was he didn’t want to dance with her after the uncomfortable incident with her daughters.

Ever chivalrous, Camden had sprung to her rescue, leading her to join the other assembled dancers. Throughout the set, he’d murmured reassurances while making aspersions about Roxdale’s parentage.

Which, in truth, insulted Camden’s unfortunate aunt.

Enough! Do not spare the knave another thought.

Peeved that she’d allowed him so much contemplation, Marjorie pointed her toes up and down, up and down, and released a long, silent breath through her nose.

Why must she keep ruminating about the odious Duke of Roxdale?

Well, because, quite frankly, within minutes she’d have to plaster on a polite face and greet the pompous oaf.

In truth, she wasn’t sure she was up to maintaining the façade an entire week. Eight days to be precise. It would tax her resilience and fortitude, but if it killed her, she would be an example for her daughters. And she’d represent Clan Kennedy in the manner the noble tribe deserved.

As vexing as it was to admit, she’d lost her temper within fifteen minutes of meeting him last summer. She, who seldom indulged in displays of anger.

What would a week in his proximity do to her usually mild nature?

Marjorie shuddered to contemplate it. For her daughters’ sakes, she must put on an air of indifference.

At last, the coach bounced and jarred to a rocking stop before an impressive stone keep. Charming in a medieval, rustic way, Trentwick boasted three turrets: one on either side of the E-shaped main structure, and another high atop a rectangular tower. In the fading light, and with the ash-tinged, low-lying clouds shadowing everything, the castle had an almost mystical, fairy-like air about it. And the majestic turrets towered over it all, stoic sentinels keeping diligent watch.

Far better that than eerie.

Except she well knew no fairy folk resided within the stately structure. Nae, Satan’s spawn called the castle his home.

The girls had stirred when the coach ceased moving and, after yawns and rubbing their eyes, eagerly peeked from the windows.

“’Tis verra big, isna it, Mama?” Cora asked, her nose flattened against the smudged glass.

“Indeed,” Marjorie agreed with sincerity. Trentwick was significantly larger than Killeaggian Tower, Graeme’s keep and their home.

Elana sniffed disapprovingly and screwed her eyes tight. She hadn’t forgiven the duke for his harsh reprimand.

In truth, neither had Marjorie.

“I think our castle is much better,” Elana muttered unimpressed, sounding like a true Kennedy. “Our gardens and stables too. I bet their cook isna half so talented as ours. She probably burns the shortbread.”

A most serious offense, indeed.

A few heartbeats later, the women and children descended from the coach, and Marjorie took in the surroundings. Well-maintained grounds and buildings met her initial inspection. Pity that. She’d hoped he was a negligent laird. Perhaps his singular flaw was his critical, opinionated temperament.

In a blink, Graeme scooped Cora into his arms, and Camden did the same with Elana.

Marjorie held no doubts regarding her brothers-in-laws’ devotion to their nieces, and her daughters adored their brawny uncles. The girls giggled as the doting men swung them high, then pretended they were going to drop them.

Elana scarcely remembered Sion, and Cora didn’t recall her father at all. Marjorie’s heart twinged at that painful truth.