Page 1 of A Highland Duke to Claim Her Heart

Chapter 1

Scottish Highlands, 1820

The sun was high in the sky, warming the back of his neck, as Ewan Dunmore dug the shovel into the firm earth. The soil was good this time of year, damp enough from the spring rains that it gave easily, but not so damp that it wouldn’t hold.

He had learned this the hard way over the years, but this afternoon, as the sounds of the men working filled the air around him—picks into stone, shouts of laughter, grunts as men hauled up the broken rocks—he was confident that the drainage system would be repaired without too much hassle.

Ewan leaned against the shovel for a moment, wiping his hand across his brow, which was covered in a sheen of sweat, and looked around.

He and half a dozen local tenants were out in the field, which stretched for miles in every direction, the green patchwork giving way to scarlet and purple mountains that rose up dramatically throughout the Scottish Highlands.

The fields of different tenants were marked with low stone walls, separating the O’Murphy tract from the Heaney field. On a distant mountain, sheep were grazing, little flecks of white against the vibrant purple.

In the other direction, atop a low hill, was Calder Castle. The castle was so large, that even from this distance, he could make out the sandstone towers and turrets, the flag with his family’s coat of arms flapping in the breeze from the West Tower.

From behind him, he heard a shout. “Your Grace!”

He turned to see Mr. Gregory Lawton waving at him. “I think we got the blockage in the drain cleared!”

“Very good!” Ewan called back. “Was it a collapse of the pipe?”

“Aye, sir, it was!”

“Then I will send several carts to clear away the debris,” Ewan said. “And order more stone from the quarry as well.”

After another quick catch of his breath, he turned back and continued to shovel into the dirt. Even with the drain cleared, this section of the pipe would also need replacing, and there were still hours of work left ahead of him.

Already, he was covered in dirt up to his knees, his jacket abandoned over a nearby bramble of thistles, his cravat tossed aside as well. If anyone had seen him, they would have no idea that he was the Duke of Calder, and not another farm laborer.

But this was how Ewan preferred it. He was much more comfortable working the land with his tenants, rather than ruling from on high in his castle. This was what a real duke did, if you asked him. He tended to his land and his people.

From behind him, he heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching, and he turned back toward the road, which cut directly through the fields, to see a rider approaching. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he squinted at the figure, until the shape of him became clear.

Smiling, he raised his tanned hand in greeting, setting down the shovel and making his way back to the road, where his friend and estate manager, Alaric Greybourne, reined in the horse and came to a stop.

Alaric was tall and rangy, with sandy brown hair that looked perpetually wind-tousled—especially after he had been riding—and warm brown eyes that always seemed to be laughing. Despite his height, however, Ewan still towered over him.

But Ewan dwarfed everyone. He was used to it by now, the way his height and bulk seemed to always take up too much space, the way his long, dark hair and weathered skin made him appear practically wild.

Maybe that was why he preferred to be outside, in the fields, rather than in his castle. He didn’t seem so unnaturally large, out of place, and uncouth in the wide open countryside.

“Good afternoon,” Alaric said, as he swung down from his horse. “I see that you have decided to be a field hand again.”

“The duke is the part I am play-acting,” Ewan said with a small smile. “The field hand is the part I was actually born for.”

Alaric laughed and shook his head. “Just do not say that around your brother. He is already resentful enough that he was not born the eldest son.”

Ewan frowned. “Christopher is not resentful,” he said. “A little restless, perhaps, and directionless… but not resentful.”

Alaric raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” Ewan insisted. Alaric continued to look skeptical, so Ewan put a bracing hand on his shoulder. “I know my brother’s exploits concern you—”

“It is for you that I am concerned,” Alaric said. “The man is eight-and-twenty and acts as if he is eighteen! Always gallivanting off to London to gamble and drink and Lord knowswhat. I fear that he will cause you some irreparable damage, or that you will have to pay off his debts again.”

“That was one time,” Ewan said quickly, his heart racing at the memory of when he’d had to bail his brother out from the Bow Street Runners after a creditor accused him of not paying his loan. “And yes, Christopher is not always wise in his choices. But he will be married in just a few weeks, and then he will be forced to make smarter decisions. He will have a wife to care for, and then a child.”

“Let us hope he does not ruin them both,” Alaric muttered darkly.