Duchess of Mine (20 page)

He tried to smile, tried to think of
something to say to her.

“Don’t,” she ordered. Then she shimmied back
where she had been.

He grimaced as she surely felt why he had
pushed her away. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh.” Her breath whispered against his ear,
making his condition even more noticeable, he was sure.

Still, he tried to comfort her, caressing up
and down her back and arms. Her grip around his neck loosened
slightly, her trembling subsided, and her breathing became more
even.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she
whispered.

He couldn’t fathom a reason either, other
than he needed her. It had become quite simple as he had raced
through the countryside searching for her. He needed her. He didn’t
even understand why himself, but that didn’t seem to matter.

However, why would she need him?

He was broken in so many ways. He was only a
fiend of a man, living within armies and only knowing how to
communicate with men. Was he doing this right? Holding her the way
she wanted?

Of course not. He was hard against her, and
she just needed comfort.

Jesus, what could he give her to make her
need him too?

“When they took me,” she whispered, “all I
could think about was you. I thought I heard you in the wind,
calling out for me.”

He held her in a firm embrace of his own
then. He had called out to her. “I—I’d search for ye until I found
ye, Fleur. I’d search through hell for ye.”

She tightened her hold on him, rubbing her
cheek against his. He winced as he realized her refined skin caught
against his beard.

“I’m sorry. I need to shave.”

“I don’t mind it.”

He sighed. “I feel like I’m doin’ this all
wrong. Am I hurtin’ ye?”

She shook her head against his. “No. You’re
perfect.”

Lord, if that didn’t boost him and his
idiotic cock. Then she kissed his cheek. And kissed it again. That
was when he realized she was working her way closer to his suddenly
dry mouth. He swallowed. Or tried to. He hadn’t kissed a woman
in...God, years. He’d be bad at it, and she would need someone who
wouldn’t slobber over her face, someone who remembered how to
kiss.

“Lady Fleur? Lady? Are you out here?”

It was torture, as if someone told him he’d
been granted his one wish, only to take it away at the last
moment.

“I believe that’s Timothy, probably
establishing ye aren’t abducted again.”

She sighed and pushed herself a little ways
from him, enough to give him a smile. That grin held so much
promise, it nearly had him collapse from his heart’s skipping
beats.

Then she stood and held a hand out for him as
she called over her shoulder, “I’m over here.”

Duncan hoisted himself up, holding her hand
just to embrace it for a moment. Timothy’s footfalls were close. He
had to turn from the lad, trying to hide the evidence of his desire
for Fleur. Jesus, this was as bad as if he was a lad of sixteen,
wishing he’d thought of wearing a sporran to weigh down his plaid.
But he’d been too hurried to think of little else other than
Fleur.

“Ah, there ye be.” The young voice sounded
pleased. “With Lieutenant MacKay, I told the Captain he worried
over nothin’.”

“He’s looking for me?”

“Aye. But I told him it was for naught. Ye’d
be fine with Duncan.”

It took a bit, but the sound of Timothy’s
changing voice helped with Duncan’s condition, so he could finally
wheel around and smile at the lad.

“She’s fine. As ye can see with yer own
eyes.”

The lad did a quick scan of Fleur, but the
look was that of a young man appreciating a tad too much the sight
of the lady. The second before Duncan was ready to pommel him,
Timothy smiled and nodded.

“I’ll go tell the Captain.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re bleeding,” Fleur said,
which stopped Timothy in his tracks.

She placed her dainty fingers atop Duncan’s
chest, gently opening the rip in his shirt to reveal his wound.

“’Tis nothin’,” Duncan said, but gasped when
she pulled the sticky fabric of his shirt from his even stickier
wound. Lord, he felt masculine with that huff of his.

“Nothing. I don’t think so.” She glanced up
with narrowed eyes, then gauged his injury again.

“I was searching for spider webs to stop the
bleeding for myself and Greggor, yer . . .” Duncan paused not sure
how Fleur might feel about him caring for her abductor.

“Greggor’s injured?” She looked up again from
her inspection. “How?”

He thought about telling her. He truly did.
But one look at the impressionable Timothy made him think twice
before sallying Rory’s name. Besides, who was he to accuse Rory of
wrong doing? While he’d...as if beheading a man wasn’t bad enough,
but when the other sliced his own neck wide, blood had sprayed
along the valley floor, painting it a disgusting brown. Nay, he
would not reproach Rory of wrongdoing, not after what he’d done
this day, and especially not in front of Timothy who needed to know
his leader was a hero.

Duncan nodded. “He’s injured. ‘Tis deep
enough it persists to bleed, but the man claims he’s fine.”

Fleur nodded once, but cocked her head to the
side, studying him. Then she glanced at Timothy and bit her bottom
lip adorably.

“Spider webs. My Na used them on some of her
own wounds. I’ll help you find some.”

Timothy joined in, searching over the crag
for cracks that luckily housed many webs.

When Fleur found a large one, she’d balled it
up in her wee hand. Before Duncan could protest, not that he would,
she unlaced Duncan’s shirt in front of Timothy. But the opening
wasn’t low enough, so she tore through his top without a word and
dabbed her web along Duncan’s injury.

“Is that how it’s done?” she asked while
absorbed in her work.

It stung like a son of a bitch, her little
fingers piercing into his cut. But she touched him so intimately,
as if they were already lovers. So Duncan didn’t mind the pain. In
fact, it was helpful to keep his simmering body in control after
she’d ripped his shirt. Jesus, that had been...well, that had been
something spectacular, it had.

He’d grunted out something, then looked up at
Timothy, smiling.

“I might have a wound that is still bleedin’,
let me check,” the lad said while he chuckled at his own mirth.

Fleur gave him an arched brow, but then
smiled at Duncan’s chest. “It works! It really works. You’re not
bleeding anymore.”

Duncan inspected his cut, and couldn’t help
but laugh a little at her excitement. “Aye.” He tried to cover
himself by relacing his shirt together, but she pushed his fingers
aside and tied the laces herself. Assertive little lady.

And he adored her for it.

He watched her, so close to him, so focused
on her hands, on what she was doing, not paying heed that he
studied her from above. Her brows furrowed and formed that perfect
wee line above her nose. Her lips pursed, but then relaxed once she
got his shirt into a more put-together fashion. God, those lips. So
full, such a deep color of pink, like a rose.

He’d been so scared when she had been gone,
and it had become glaringly evident for him how he needed her. The
only complication was how to have her need him too. He couldn’t
seem to help himself but let his fingers feather along her slim
hips. Wanting nothing more than to draw her close. Plant his lips
against hers.

Timothy cleared his throat. Then Fleur lifted
her face to Duncan. “Will you be all right if we ride back to
Durness?”

Her concern made his heart trip then start to
thunder. “Aye.”

“Do you think Greggor will be all right? What
will happen to him?”

It was difficult to twist his mind away from
the seduction of his desirous thoughts, but he’d do anything for
her, so he tried.

He shrugged. “We’ll check on Greggor, aye?
Make sure he’s all right. And the laird will deem what’s best for
him.”

Fleur’s face tightened. “He—he was nice to
me. I don’t think he meant—God, I sound like I have Stockholm
Syndrome.”

“Pardon? Ye were in Stockholm?”

Fleur looked flustered then, but smiled.
“I’ll explain later.” She quickly reached her arms around his waist
and held him for a second, then pirouetted, walking around the
boulder to where the others waited.

Timothy followed her with his gaze then
looked back at Duncan with a sly smile. “She fancies ye.”

Duncan tried to shrug again, but something
warm was cracking through his heart and made him grin just a
tad.

Timothy chuckled slightly. “Lord, I hate to
break that to Captain Rory.”

Duncan winced slightly, agreeing.

“’Tis for the best, that she fancies ye. Ye
are the best man, after all.” And with that the half-man child
scampered off, probably trying to catch up with Fleur.

Duncan looked down at the web he’d found for
Greggor, still balled in his palm. He found himself needing a
moment to clear his mind, because suddenly he didn’t feel such a
fool to fantasize about Fleur, but more than that he thought the
warmth that coursed through him might be hope. Something he’d last
dredged for before Albert had married his mother. This feeling was
so foreign, so dark and beautiful he needed a second more to
compose himself, so he didn’t race away from the crag skipping.

Chapter 17

A
s soon as Fleur attempted to tend to
Greggor, Rory scooped her away from him. Ewan, funny blond boy,
promised he’d care for Greggor as she’d tried to protest against
Rory carrying her away in his arms.

Before she knew what was happening, he had
her back on his horse and ordered everyone to ride again. She’d
never seen this side of Rory before and didn’t know if she liked
it. No, she was fairly certain she didn’t, considering he wasn’t
listening to her and was already riding ahead of his troops.

“Rory?” She turned and looked at him.

She sat sidesaddle again, her hip against his
groin, and he kept pulling her closer and closer to that area in
particular.

The day had been so hot, but dark blurry
clouds framed the northwest horizon and sent a chilly wind to warn
of the storm approaching. Funny how now that she’d spent some time
with Duncan she knew which direction was northwest.

Rory looked down at her briefly, the sun
still high enough in the sky to set his hair on fire with gold, his
skin held a hue of gold too, making him look all the more handsome.
His bright blue eyes shone out at her, and his instant smile had
something in it that Fleur had never seen before. Whatever he was
feeling appeared intense.

“Sorry, did ye need more time to rest? Ye’ve
been up since yesterday. I just wanted to beat the rain that’s sure
to pour any moment.”

Fleur nodded, thinking that was a good
excuse. “I—yeah, I’m fine. We can push on.”

But she glanced over one of his wide
shoulders and saw that the troops were slow to obey, and then she
caught Duncan’s face. He’d been applying a web to Greggor’s
stomach, it looked like, but he stalled and looked at her.

He held unmistakable outrage and perhaps a
twist of betrayal in his eyes. That look knifed right through her
heart.

What was she doing with Rory? Back on his
horse? She straightened and looked ahead, trying to think of what
to do.

Behind that boulder, she had sat on Duncan in
a provocative way, and she’d known it. She’d meant to do that. All
she could think of was to get some kind of response out of him. He
didn’t seem to give a crap if she had survived getting kidnapped or
not. He’d ignored her, as if he’d merely come along to help Rory,
not to save her himself. That had hurt so much. She’d felt...she
didn’t have many friends, excluding Rachel and Ian. She didn’t let
people in. But she had let Duncan into her heart, into her dreams,
and when he’d neglected her it had hurt deep down to her bones.

Before she’d been kidnapped, she really
hadn’t cared about her former life, except in the moments when she
thought of Rachel. Besides that one exception, she’d wanted
this—Helen and Duncan—to continue. She liked it here, liked baking
bread on a fire, as Na had taught her to do once, liked making
fried bread for Helen to eat until her little belly was full,
liked—no,
loved
talking through the night with Duncan.

The heat they shared, the shy ways they
talked—it was a completion of something so perfect. It was
undefined, like the definition within derivative calculus.
Undefined was an answer to a problem. It meant that it was beyond
all known perception. It was beyond our expectations. It had no
limits. However, it could be finite. Or not. It was a most
frustrating answer, but the beauty of it, the far reaches of it,
was too poetic to ignore.

Whirling through Fleur’s mind was a
derivative formula that was undefined. She and Duncan were
undefined.

No limits. No limits. No limits.

Her brain faltered. And only one thought
radiated through. No, it wasn’t a thought.

She
felt
the limitless, dark, poetic
beauty she saw in Duncan eyes. Only in his eyes.

“I was so worried,” Rory said into her ear,
jarring her with the reminder of where she was.

She looked at him and glued a smile into
place.

“I’m so glad ye’re fine. Ye are fine,
aye?”

“Yes.”

He pulled her closer as his grin grew. “We
may not ken each other well, but I’ve grown rather fond of ye.”

She patted his shoulder. “Me too. You’re a
nice man, Rory.”

“Ye’re a nice woman...Fleur.” It was the
first time he’d called her by her first name, but she didn’t mind.
After all, she’d been calling him Rory for a while now.

Suddenly her manners kicked in. “Thank
you—thank you for saving me. I’m—” Tears pricked her eyes before
she could say another word.