Page 27 of Duke It Out
“Let’s go,” he says, gathering up his reins.
We set off out through a gate which the pink-haired girl holds open for us, her eyes wide.
“Do you often have that effect on people?”
“Not often enough.”
“Your Grace.” I look at him sideways. “Should I be calling you that?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Sir? My Lord?”
“Rory is fine.”
“Okay. You can call me Edie,” I tease. It’s hard not to be cheerful on a day like this when the sun is shining and the breeze gently lifts the long mane of my mount.
“I could call you a lot of things,” he says darkly. “But as we are here, and as you’ve signed an NDA, I’m going to assume that even you aren’t going to risk the wrath of my legal team coming down on you and that you are genuinely here to work.”
“I am.”
“Right.” We turn onto a track on the moorland, thehorses’ footsteps muffled by the springy turf. “If we’ve got that cleared up, I thought this was a good opportunity to show you the estate, give you a rundown on what I’m hoping to achieve, and set some expectations.”
“And there I was thinking we were out for a bit of fresh air and a nice ride in the sunshine.”
He inclines his head slightly. “This whole situation is not of my choosing.”
“I’d figured that bit out. So, what exactly are your expectations?”
“My father left a complete shitshow behind. As you may or may not have been told, it’s an expectation – well, an obligation – that the Duke of Kinnaird leaves a comprehensive record of his tenure.”
He says it like it’s a job title, not a birth right, like someone’s going to come along and check his credentials.
“The previous dukes kept annotated diaries – some more detailed than others, depending on temperament – that recorded the history of their generation.” He runs a hand down his horse’s neck. “It might seem absurd to you and me, and believe me, I think it’s a waste of time, but it’s our duty.”
“I love history. We can learn so much by looking at the past, don’t you think?”
He grunts, so I carry on.
“It’s why I studied it. And you’re so lucky to have all this history right here, to be surrounded by it every day.”
“Suffocated might be a better word for it.”
I look at his profile. He gives nothing away, his expression completely blank. I wonder if it’s learned, or if it’s something that comes with a lifetime of people looking at you, knowing one day you’d be one of the richest men in the country with land and property all over the Highlands and the world.
“Anyway,” he says after a moment as we stop on the crest of a hill. “This is what I’m doing this for.”
Below us we can see the castle in the distance, cradled by the forest which wraps around it on either side. The loch glimmers steel-blue in the sunshine. There’s a distant rumble of a tractor somewhere out of sight. He seems lost in thought.
“You mean for the castle?”
He shakes his head. “The people who rely on me. You’re going to find my father’s notes are… somewhat erratic.”
“In what way?”
He turns his horse to set off down a trail that climbs up between coconut-scented yellow gorse bushes and down towards a stream. I’ve gathered he’s a man of few words but?—
“In what way?” I ask again, tentatively. Moss tosses her head so the bit jingles in the silence and I steady myself in the saddle. It’s surprising how easy it is to ride after all this time – like getting back on a bike, only one with four legs and an entire personality. I run a hand down her neck, feeling the silky smoothness over the hard muscle. The horses have fallen into step beside each other so we’re almost touching.
