Kindubh - Scotland
I look at the road ahead of me, remembering the conversation I had with Adeela when I told her that I now consider Scotland my home—and it’s true.
At first, I thought it was only my husband’s company that made me like the countryside of his native land so much. And of course, having my handsome duke by my side counts for a lot. But the truth is, I’ve fallen in love with the place.
Ever since we returned from Rheadur, he has been managing his business from here, from the duchy, instead of using the London office as he did in the past. I suspect it’s because of me. Rodrick isn’t very good with words, but he knows how to weave his love into every cell of my body. It’s the small gestures that make me feel adored and, above all, respected.
After our honeymoon, he started teaching me how to drive, and then, every weekend we spent here or in the Highlands, I received new lessons. He said that one good thing about me never having taken driving lessons before was that Ididn’t find it strange that in Scotland, just like throughout the entire United Kingdom, drivers drive on the “wrong side” of the road. It really didn’t make a difference, but I avoided going out alone with the car because I still didn’t feel completely confident.
Today, however, I decided to surprise my husband. One of the castle’s cooks told me that as a child he loved eatingcranachan, a dessert made with fresh cream, raspberries, oats, and whisky.
I’m not the best homemaker in the world—once, I almost set our kitchen in London on fire—but since this dessert follows a step-by-step recipe and the head cook of the castle promised to guide me, I think everything will turn out fine.
When I went to look for one of the ingredients, however, I realized there were no fresh raspberries in the castle. I could have asked one of the staff to buy them, of course, but as silly as it may sound, I want to make this little treat for my love myself. So I’ve taken the car and driven to the duchy’s commercial center.
Another aspect I enjoy about being in Scotland is that I feel free. Because the town is small, I don’t have bodyguards following me around twenty-four hours a day, unless I leave the duchy’s limits, which I gave my word to Rodrick I wouldn’t do without informing him first. He’s been more controlling because of the pregnancy, worried about every little aspect of my life.
I park in front of the grocery store that sells a bit of everything—both processed goods and fresh fruit. It even has a small butchery section.
“Good morning,” I greet the owner, an elderly man who looks quite tired.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” he says, and I hide a smile. “What does Your Grace need today?”
People are slowly starting to accept me. The first few times Rodrick brought me here, even after we were married, they called me Princess, and I understood the message behind the falsely polite words: you are not one of us.
I don’t consider myself particularly sensitive, but I even cried once because of it. It’s like living in limbo—being accepted by neither culture. The men who tried to kill me in my country considered me a traitor for marrying a Westerner, and the people here see me as some kind of usurper who took the “spot” of duchess from one of their own candidates.
So a simple greeting like this still warms my heart.
“I’d like fresh raspberries please.”
“They arrived this morning. How much do you need?”
“I want to preparecranachanfor the duke. Could you tell me the exact amount I’ll need?”
“Oh, so you’re learning our recipes? Have you triedcranachan? It’s delicious.”
I nod in agreement because I don’t want to offend him by saying that I don’t consume alcohol, not even in dessert.
Although now I couldn’t anyway,I think, caressing my belly.
I’m distracted, chatting with the man, who now seems more open and asks questions about my marriage, until someone speaks behind me:
“I didn’t know your establishment was frequented by such poor clientele, Mr. Bell.”
The aggressive tone surprises me enough that I turn around before fully processing what the woman said.
Elizabeth Boyd stands there with the same look of hatred she had the last time we saw each other at my engagement party.
“Don’t be disrespectful to the duchess, Miss Boyd, or I’ll have to ask you to leave my shop,” the shopkeeper says, defending me.
“You can relax, Mr. Bell. Apparently, your customer doesn’t understand social rules or hierarchy. Are you aware that you are on my lands, Elizabeth?” I say, not at all concerned about usingmiss. I’ll respect whoever respects me.
“Not your lands. Your husband’s, you mean. A man you’re not worthy of,Princess,” she says, using my title as an insult.
I take a step closer. “Do you have any idea how humiliated and desperate you look, Elizabeth? Like it or not, I am your duchess, if you wish to continue living on our lands. I could make Rodrick force your family to sell their property in the duchy today, but since my heart is full of love because of the baby I’m expecting, I’ll forgive the offense.”
“What? A baby? It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience! He shouldn’t have touched you!” Her expression when she says that is unhinged. “Rodrick can’t have a child with you. It will be a mixed-race child! He should marry someone of his own kind.”