Page 25 of A Highland Duke to Claim Her Heart

She considered this. “I do like to rise to a challenge.”

He nodded. “I think you will learn the ropes very quickly. In fact, I would be willing to wager that you are the last person to mess it up.”

She had just opened her mouth to respond when they heard several people shouting in their directions, and he looked up to see several of the local farmers, tankards of ale in their hands, grinning at them.

“When is the bedding ceremony to begin, Your Grace?” one of them shouted.

“It is past time!” Another called.

“Time to get the new duchess to bed!”

Several others took up the hall, and then, to Ewan’s horror, a chant was struck up:“Take the Duchess to bed! Take the Duchess to bed!”

It was mostly the farmers who were chanting, but even a few of the more gentile guests, who were very drunk by now and red faced, also began to chant.

Ewan could not look at Cassandra. His face felt very hot and his stomach was in knots again. He did, however, catch a glimpse ofLady Pembury’s face. She looked horrified, and her husband was glowering.

Something in Ewan snapped. All of a sudden, all the heat drained from his face, and the same anger that he had felt earlier flared inside of him.

He stood up very suddenly. The hall fell silent as he glared around at all those who had been chanting. The look on his face left little room for interpretation: They were not to speak about his wife in this way.

“I beg your pardon,” he thundered, his voice echoing around the hall. “Her Grace and I will retire now.”

And, with all the dignity he could muster, he turned to his wife and offered her his arm. She stood shakily and took it, and then they left the hall together, the silence following them.

Together, they walked down the corridor back to the entrance hall, then up the stairs, and down another corridor to his bedchamber.

Her own bedchamber was next door.

His own hand shook as he reached out and pulled open the door, then stepped inside, bringing her with him.

The door closed behind them, and silence settled over them. They were finally alone together, as man and wife.

Chapter 10

Cassandra looked around the room, her heart hammering in her throat. The duke’s bedchamber was large and bright, lit with candles.

They burned in bronze sconces along the walls and from candelabras that had been set on the dresser, the escritoire, and the vanity. The room smelled of lavender and soap, and she realized, with a jolt, that it had been prepared for her.

Prepared for the wedding night.

Cassandra looked around the room, her pulse racing.

Behind her, she heard the key turn in the lock and spun around.

“I am not locking you in,” he said, his voice deep and soft, like velvet. “I just do not want anyone trying to drunkenly get in.”

“Do you think they would do that?” she asked, her nervousness mounting.

The duke hesitated. “Scottish men can be… uncouth. Especially when they have been drinking. And especially when they have been drinking at a wedding.”

She tried to laugh, but the sound didn’t come. Her throat was too dry. He gazed at her for a moment, then crossed the room to a crystal decanter of some golden liquid. Pouring two glasses, he held one out to her. She crossed to him and took it, then took a sip. The liquid was so strong and tasted like a bonfire, and she choked.

“What is this?” she gagged, her eyes filling with tears as her throat burned.

“Islay scotch,” he said. He sounded amused. “It is not to everyone’s liking. Especially sassenachs such as you.”

She set the glass down on the dresser and looked at him. He was so tall, he seemed to take up the whole space of the room. Close to him like this, she felt particularly small and fragile, his looming bulk masculine and earthy in a way that made her stomach tie itself into knots.