A Duke By Any Other Name

Chapter One

1788, Bonnyrigg Estate, Scotland

A cry shattered the peace of the morning. The sound had come from beyond the lone Caledonian pine tree. Maxwell MacKenzie had been standing in the woods, admiring the ancient tree—there weren’t that many remaining since the navy had come knocking on the doors of all the large estates in their quest for timber. More ships had been needed as the war with America dragged on, and now the growing unrest on the Continent. Unlike his brother, Maxwell had no desire to join in any fight. He did not seek excitement and was content to stay at home.

At twenty-six years of age, Maxwell had always found plenty of work as a forester, or more recently a gamekeeper, where he spent his days surrounded by the natural world. Some might think that hunting animals was a strange occupation for one who loved all creatures, but Maxwell looked upon it as a chance to see that the gentlemen who came to hunt and fish did so in a responsible manner. Death was swift and as painless as he could make it, because he considered himself a protector of the land and those living upon it.

His close relationship with his surroundings had drawn much interest, and he had recently been offered a salary that would have made his father’s eyes water. But it wasn’t money that motivated Maxwell. He had agreed to take up a position with the Duke of Bonnyrigg because his estate included some of the wildest country in Scotland—untouched by human hand—and he aimed to keep it that way.

His thoughts returned to the cry he had just heard. Was it an animal in distress? Or some small creature falling victim to a larger one? Another sound, this time more of a whimper, had him hurrying forward, his long legs eating up the ground and his kilt swinging about his hips.

As he burst from the woods and onto a neatly scythed lawn, he stuttered to a halt. Before him rose the glorious castle of Bonnyrigg. Built of pale pink stone, it was bristling with turrets and towers which rose high toward the forget-me-not sky. Narrow windows reflected the rising sun and farther to Maxwell’s left, broad steps led up to the double entrance doors.

But it wasn’t the doors that caught his attention. From where he stood, to the right side of the castle, he could see a rope dangling from one of the windows. It was stretched tight, and attached to the end of it was a woman.

She looked to be clinging on for dear life. If it had been her idea to climb down the rope—which he saw now was made of bedsheets and other items of clothing tied together—then she had misjudged badly. There was at least a fifteen-foot drop to the ground. He stared in amazement as one of her shoes slid off and landed on the grass beneath her. Maxwell cautiously approached and tried not to stare at her shapely, stockinged legs kicking beneath her petticoats and skirts.

“Bloody, bloody, bloody...,” the woman was muttering beneath her breath as she wriggled on the rope.

Maxwell wondered how long she could hold on. She might break something if she fell. He was going to have to step in and catch her, but he knew from experience that women were unpredictable. They seemed to think a man could read their minds and then were quick to castigate him when he got it wrong.

“Do you need some help, mistress?” he asked politely.

She startled, causing the rope to swing wildly. For a moment he thought she was about to tumble into his arms, but she clung on with her legs and tightened the grip of her hands.

He had to admire her for her perseverance.

When she was reasonably secure again, she looked down. Until then he had seen mostly just her undergarments, but now he saw the rest of her properly for the first time.

She was strikingly attractive, with auburn hair which had come out of its pins and tumbled around her in a wild tangle. Her cheeks were pink with exertion, and her eyes, blazing down at him, were a brilliant blue.

“Help? Why should I need help?” she said, her voice lowered to a hiss. “It is my habit to swing from my window at dawn every morning.” Then, her voice rising into a whispered shriek, “Of course I need help, you fool!”

Maxwell wasn’t insulted—he was amused. No meek lady this one, and she was a lady—despite the insult, he could already tell that from her refined speech.

“Why no’ call for help then?” he asked curiously, shading his eyes to see her better. Och, she was pretty, very pretty, but there was nothing sweet about her. She was all prickles and thorns. “If you yell loud enough you can wake the whole of the castle and then you’d have help aplenty.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And that would be helpful , would it?”

“Well, it might save you some bruises and mabbe a broken bone or two,” he said in a practical manner.

She stared at him as if he were devoid of his wits. He could almost feel the heat from those flashing eyes as she blurted out the truth. “If I call for help they will know I am running away.”

Running away? That was when he noticed the bundle on the ground, where she must have dropped it from her window. Her belongings were wrapped in a shawl that looked like one of the fine silk ones found in the Far East. Rare and expensive. If the lassie didn’t want to be noticed on her adventure, then she was going the wrong way about it.

“Running away where?” he asked curiously.

“None of your business.” Her hands were slipping again and she grappled at the rope and only just saved herself from falling. She groaned and then gave him a look both desperate and haughty. “Help me down, sir.”

It was an order from a woman used to giving orders. Used to getting her own way, if he had to guess. Maxwell had made enquiries before he came here to work, and he knew that the duke was a widower with two daughters. This must be the eldest one, “the red-haired termagant” who caused nothing but trouble for her father. She certainly wasn’t the sweet fair-haired one whose smile could “melt a heart made of stone.”

When he didn’t respond quickly enough, she demanded, “Are you going to help me down or not?” and if she could have stamped her foot she would have.

Maxwell wanted to laugh. Here was a woman he’d love to tame. Not with a whip, as it was rumored her father had once used on her in a fit of desperation, but with gentleness and patience. The way he approached an injured wild animal in the forest, teaching it to trust him and feed from his hand.

He stretched up his arms. “I can’t reach you from here,” he said. “You’ll have to let go. Unless you’d rather climb back the way you came?” He looked past her up the castle wall to the window high above. “’Tis a long way,” he added with a grimace.

She tilted her head to follow his gaze and shuddered. “No, I would rather not,” she said decidedly.

“Then you’ll have to let go.”

She considered him suspiciously, chewing on her full bottom lip as she did so. It was very red, as if she had been chewing on it all morning, and something about that gave him a little jolt of lust. Perhaps he wasn’t that far from a wild animal himself. “Will you catch me?” she asked him, and there was a tremor in her voice.

Immediately, any selfish craving was forgotten in his earnest desire to help. “Yes, I will catch you.” At the same time, he wondered whatever had possessed the duke’s daughter to try such a risky venture. Was it sheer devilment, or was there something she was escaping from? He might have asked her, but she interrupted his thoughts in a challenging voice.

“Who are you? I have not seen you at Bonnyrigg before.”

“MacKenzie, the new gamekeeper to the duke, at your service, mistress.” He gave her a courtly bow, sweeping off his bonnet as he did so. When he looked up at her again, he had to push back his dark hair where it had fallen into his eyes.

She was staring. “We already have a gamekeeper,” she said automatically, as if she was accusing him of lying. “Old Hamish.”

He was impressed she knew the man’s name. “Hamish decided he was too old. His daughter wanted him to come to her in his final years, so that is where he is. Before he left, he gave the duke my name, and the duke wrote to me and offered me the position. I accepted and I was told to present myself here at Bonnyrigg castle, bright and early.”

“Oh.” She wriggled, trying yet again to maintain her hold on the improvised rope, but he could see her arms shaking with the strain. If she didn’t let go very soon, then she would fall. It was quite a drop and he really didn’t want to see her hurt.

Maxwell shifted his stance, judging the angle, readying himself. She was a stubborn one, but any moment now she would have to give up.

“Are you strong enough to catch me, MacKenzie?” she asked haughtily but with an undercurrent of doubt in her voice. “You look strong, but I’ve found looks can be deceiving. The man my father wants me to marry pretends to be well-mannered and charming, but I know he is neither of those things. I despise him.”

Ah, a forced marriage. It made sense that someone as strong-willed as this would run away rather than allow herself to be pushed into a union she didn’t want with a man she despised.

But all he said was, “I am very strong, mistress. I won the caber toss in my village when I was but fifteen years old.”

“As long as you don’t caber toss me,” she muttered under her breath. She stared down at him a moment longer, her blue eyes raking over his broad shoulders and wide chest, as if deciding whether he could do as he said, before returning to his face. “Very well,” she said firmly. “I am going to let go. Are you ready, MacKenzie?”

“I am, mistress.”

He had barely spoken the words when she released her hold and fell, letting out that soft cry he had heard when he first arrived. She landed with an oomph in his outstretched arms, and he caught her with ease, bending his knees to take her weight—which was greater than he had imagined. For she was a fine armful with her womanly curves. Maxwell found himself reluctant to let her go.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and a little shocked. There was a moment when they gazed at each other in silence, neither of them with the words to express what they were feeling. Finally she gave his shoulder a push. “You can put me down now, MacKenzie.”

He set her down gently, and when she swayed a little, as if unsteady on her feet, he took hold of her arm in a firm but gentle grip. She didn’t seem to mind, and in fact she leaned into him, as if his strong presence was a comfort to her.

Maxwell was aware that it was none of his business, but he was a curious man, so he asked, “Why were you running away, mistress? Are you in some bother?”

She tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sob. “Some—some bother,” she repeated. “You might say so, MacKenzie.”

He frowned, feeling the waves of misery coming from her. “Will you no’ tell me what the matter is then?” he asked gently. “Mabbe I can help. I am said to be good at solving problems.”

She stared up at him, blue eyes wide, her auburn hair catching the sun so it seemed to be almost on fire. For an instant he saw hope fill her face, the longing to unburden herself to him, a stranger, before her expression tightened, her eyes narrowed, and her mouth turned down.

“You can’t help me,” she told him bluntly.

Maxwell was not giving up. “Why not?” He sounded confident because he was that sort of man, and very little ruffled his feathers.

She was smoothing down her long sleeves and repairing her rumpled appearance. Her gown was made of gray silk, and there was a lace fichu knotted at the front to fill in the revealingly low neckline. The garment had slipped to one side so that her charms were momentarily revealed to him until she quickly tugged it back into place. Her cheeks looked even pinker as she bent to slide on her fallen shoe, which he could see had a silver buckle.

He wanted to point out that running away in such attire would make her an obvious target for thieves and cutthroats, but even as he opened his mouth he knew she would refuse to listen to him. She was a headstrong young lass. His thoughts scampered ahead. If she still intended to run away then he would follow her, to keep her from harm, because he could not do otherwise. Which meant he would miss his appointment with the duke. But it could not be helped. Maxwell already knew that this beautiful, willful woman’s safety meant more to him than his new position at Bonnyrigg.

She interrupted his contemplations, her voice bleak. “No one can help me. Certainly not you, MacKenzie.”

“You’re wrong. Nothing is beyond me,” he said sternly.

“I assure you this is!”

“I assure you ’tisn’t. I have mended a red kite’s broken wing so that it could fly again. And raised many a fawn deer when their mothers died. I even returned a gray seal to its island home when it came ashore lost and exhausted.”

She stared at him with wide eyes and for a moment he thought he had convinced her. But no, there she was glaring up at him again and declaring, “I am not one of your forest creatures, MacKenzie, and what is wrong with me cannot be mended.”

“Everyone can be mended,” he said boldly. “When I know you better I will be able to name which creature it is you bring to my mind.” His lips twitched. “A wildcat mabbe.”

Her blue eyes threatened to annihilate him on the spot.

She had opened her mouth to do just that when a loud, authoritative voice sounded from the direction of the castle stairs. “Luna? What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

It was a gentleman, dressed in baggy fawn breeches, stockings, and buckled shoes, with a brown coat over a long, embroidered waistcoat. His tricorn hat sat atop his gray wig, and he held an ebony cane. It was the duke, Maxwell was certain, and even more certain when the man pointed his cane at Maxwell and demanded, “And who the devil are you? This is private property and that is my daughter. Be on your way, sir!”

Instead of arguing with her father, Luna intervened in a calm voice. “I was enjoying the morning air, Father, when I happened upon MacKenzie here. He says he is your new gamekeeper. He says you are expecting him.” Her voice dropped, for MacKenzie’s ears only, “He says I remind him of a wildcat, but he could be addled in his wits I suppose.”

She gave Maxwell a coquettish sideways glance, and he worked hard not to smile.

“He speaks the truth. I have been awaiting his arrival.” The duke approached them then with quick, eager steps. He was only a little taller than his daughter and had to look up at his new gamekeeper with eyes the same color blue. “You look familiar, MacKenzie. Have we met before?”

Before Maxwell could answer, the duke noticed the bundle on the ground and the rope dangling from the window. “What is this?” He pointed his cane at her now. “Were you planning to run away, young lady? I locked you in your room so that you could ponder on your future, and you will stay there until you accede to my wishes, do you hear me?”

“You want me to ponder on my future but still accede to your wishes?” Luna retorted, her cheeks flushed with anger and indignation. “I have pondered, and I do not wish to be your prisoner any longer. Believe me when I say I will never accede to your wishes, Father!”

Her father’s face was even redder than hers, his hand clenched white around his cane as he shook it. “You disobedient chit! You will marry Sir Frederick. Why do you refuse to do as you’re told? Is a modicum of respect too much to ask of a daughter? I swear you will be the death of me, Luna!”

“Never,” she screeched, making Maxwell wince. “Chain me up if you will, but I refuse to marry Sir Frederick or—or anyone else against my will. No matter how miserable you make me, I will never surrender!”

Maxwell could see she was furious and hurt, but also that she was enjoying herself a little too much. And the duke spoke like a tyrant, but he did not think that was really true. His threats sounded more like the bluster of a father who longed for a peaceful life, when no matter what he did he could not make a dent in his daughter’s determination to thwart him.

“Sir Frederick will give you a home and money for dresses and—and jewels. That is what women want, isn’t it?”

“I am not an ornament, there simply to look decorative. I have a mind of my own, and I want a husband who will not laugh in my face whenever I offer an opinion.”

Her words appeared to confound the duke. “But a wife does not have opinions, Luna! She should hang upon her husband’s arm and make him feel important. When you told Sir Frederick that his views on chimney sweeps were utterly wrong, you embarrassed him.”

“So he should be embarrassed! Sending young children up chimneys to certain death—it should be stopped!”

“And who would clean our chimneys then? Enough, daughter, you will drive me to madness.”

“Which is it to be, Father, death or madness?”

“Both!” he roared.

Now they were shouting at each other so loudly neither could hear the other. Maxwell’s head hurt and he held up his hands and yelled, “Stop yer din!”

His voice was deep and strong, and there was instant silence. And yes, the silence was very nice, but there was no time for him to enjoy it if he was going to find a way to settle this squabble.

“Why do you fecht?” he demanded, looking sternly from one to the other, before remembering he was addressing an aristocrat who probably wasn’t familiar with his Scottish dialect. “Why do you fight, Your Grace? Who is this man you want your daughter to marry even when she feels so strongly against him that she wants to run away?”

The duke goggled at him and Luna looked amazed. She stared at him doubtfully. “You want me to tell you...?”

“Each give me your side of the argument,” he said. “But one at a time and no shouting.”

She cleared her throat. “My father wants me to marry Sir Frederick Forsythe. Not because Sir Frederick will make me happy, but so that my sister can then marry a gentleman in Edinburgh whom she says she loves.”

Maxwell thought a moment, but it made no sense whichever way he looked at it. “Why do you have to marry so that your sister can?”

“My mother’s dying wish,” Luna informed him with a long-suffering roll of the eyes. “She made my father promise her that until I married my sister cannot. I think she believed she was doing me a—a kindness, because my father has always favored my sister, Jennie. Mother did not want me to end up old and alone, like her own sister. You see I was her favorite.”

“It sounds medieval,” Maxwell said with distaste.

“My dear wife insisted her wishes be followed,” the duke explained in a glum voice, “and I swore upon the bible I would see it was done. Luna must marry before Jennie does, and by God so she will.”

Luna gave a shriek that made them all jump. “My mother would not have wanted me to marry Sir Frederick! She wanted me to be happy!”

“You will be happy if I have to whip you down the aisle,” the duke declared.

“No one understands,” Luna wailed. “Why will no one listen?”

MacKenzie wasn’t sure that was true, not of himself anyway, but he let it pass for now. “What is wrong with Sir Frederick, apart from being despicable?”

She looked at him with scorn. “What’s right with him, you mean. He is a fool, who values appearance before substance, and he is out every night drinking and raking.”

The duke cleared his throat. “What a gentleman does in his spare time is his business, Luna.”

“Not if I am married to him. I want a husband who will stay with me, not cast his eyes on other women. I would rather run away and live in the forest.”

“No daughter of mine will live like a vagabond,” her father roared. “Disobedient chit! If you had half your sister’s sweetness of character you would agree to my demands and secure her happiness.”

“Never!”

“But Sir Frederick isn’t the only fish in the sea, is he?” Maxwell frowned, confused. “Surely someone of such radiant beauty could find a man who loved her?”

Luna looked startled, and then gratified.

“We have searched far and wide,” the duke sounded as if the weight of the world was upon his shoulders, “but every man I bring to her she sends running in the other direction. She sets herself to discover what they most dislike in a woman and then takes on that aspect. There was Lord Menteith who had a horror of a giggling wife, and so Luna giggled incessantly. Then there was Mr. Dunbar with his dislike of crossed eyes, and what does she do?” He pointed accusingly at his daughter, “She crossed her eyes all through supper and drove him away.”

Maxwell choked.

“Oh, there were more!” the duke said, thinking Maxwell was struggling with his distaste when he was actually trying not to laugh.

“More? Surely there were some gentlemen who were willing to make allowance for such a bonny lass?”

“A bonny dowry, you mean,” Luna muttered.

“Yes, you are right, there were some who stood bravely and still asked my permission for her hand in marriage. On them she used her tongue like a lash. Some of the things she said made me blush.”

“Insults? From this beautiful mouth?” Maxwell pretended to be shocked. “I would not have let a few paltry insults stop me.”

A hopeful smile curved the duke’s lips. “You do seem familiar. Do you have a title, MacKenzie? Or a fortune hidden away? Surely you have relatives with both?”

Regretfully, Maxwell shook his head. “No title and no fortune. I have been told that we were once important folk until everything was taken from us by an enemy who pretended to be a friend. But that was long ago.” He gave Luna a quick smile. “Now we are nothing.”

“Pity,” the duke said bitterly. “I am almost tempted... But no, as much as I want Luna married and off my hands, she is a duke’s daughter, and I cannot give her to a commoner.”

Maxwell was not insulted. The duke seemed to be a gentleman very proud of his place in society, and MacKenzie was a commoner, it was true. “I’m sure there is someone who will take her,” he mused. “Someone who is addled in the wits, mabbe.”

By now Luna was glaring from one to the other. “How nice it must be to contrive my future without feeling the need to ask me what I want.”

“I was merely saying—” the duke began.

“That I should marry a man I loathe to make my sister happy, yes I heard you.”

The duke looked irritated rather than ashamed. “Luna, tell me who you will marry. Choose someone. A man we can both live with. I am not a cruel father, but you drive me to it.”

Luna stared at him, and Maxwell could see her thoughts working inside that pretty head. He suspected she was looking for a way to upset her father even more rather than to find a way out of this situation she found herself in. When she turned to Maxwell and tapped him on the chest, he knew he was right.

“Him,” she told her father. “MacKenzie the gamekeeper. I want him, Father.”

The duke began to bluster. “Never. Under no circumstances.” He huffed and puffed, working himself into another rage.

Luna smiled in triumph.

“I’d rather you lived and died a spinster than marry a commoner!”

“Fine. That is exactly what I want,” she declared, and with a flounce snatched up her little bundle of possessions and set off toward the castle doors.

They watched her in silence until she went inside, slamming the heavy wooden doors behind her as if that were the end of the matter. The duke seemed to have recovered from his fury and now just sounded weary. “I feel I should apologize, MacKenzie. My daughter is a law unto herself.”

“She has spirit,” Maxwell corrected him politely, “and I like that.”

“She has that,” he agreed wanly. “Well now, let us put aside my vexations. Come to my office and we will discuss your duties. If Luna has not dissuaded you from accepting the position as my gamekeeper? I swear, she could drive a saint to drink.”

Maxwell smiled and said he was happy to take up the position at Bonnyrigg. As he followed the duke he looked up at the sky and heard the birdsong and thought it was going to be a very nice day. And somehow Luna’s flashing eyes and hot temper had made it even nicer.