Duchess of Mine (21 page)

He wrapped his one free arm around her and
held her close. “’Tis my pleasure,” he whispered in her ear.

She knew she should have said something,
especially as it was apparent that part of him was getting a little
excited at the close contact. But she spun her head forward again,
stiffening, and tried to scoot away from his crotch.

She’d wanted this reaction from Duncan, and
it had somewhat surprised her when she’d gotten it. Through all
their talks, she knew her reaction to him was strong and from time
to time she needed to remind herself not to jump on him, as she had
behind that boulder. But Duncan had always been so careful, almost
painfully so. It had made her wonder if he wasn’t attracted to her.
Then she remembered holding him while behind that boulder, the feel
of him pressed against her, his steel chest smashed against her
breasts, of needing him so badly she’d thought about wiggling until
his kilt rode up and then there would be nothing between them.

So what the hell was she doing with Rory?

She agonized over the answer until the sun
set and the warm torch light of Durness grew in the twilight. So
sick with herself, Fleur flew away from Rory when he’d stopped in
front of Helen’s large house. She raced toward the welcoming big
black door as soon as she saw it opening, and a tearful Helen
holding her arms wide.

Helen’s embrace was firm and comforting. “Oh,
my lass, my lass.”

As Helen petted her hair from her too hot
face, she burst into tears as she thought about the fact that all
she had wanted to do was run away from Rory and to cling to Duncan.
But she hadn’t said a word, been too much a coward. She hadn’t
asked for what she wanted, needed.

Who the hell was she to let someone get in
her way of what she wanted? Who the hell was she?

Helen held onto her cheeks, gazing deeply
into her eyes. “Yer safe now, aye?”

Fleur burst into more tears, hiding her head
on Helen’s bony shoulder, knowing she wasn’t merely crying from her
fear being kidnapped, although that had been traumatic enough.

It was then Fleur realized that her abduction
was a perfect metaphor for her life. Only it wasn’t a metaphor. It
had really happened. But in her old life, she’d gotten so lost.
Granted, being dropped in Texas had been hard as well as the
consequential years, but she had been the one who had hidden
herself away until she could no longer find her soul, her spirit.
Maybe initially she’d had a good reason to kidnap her spirit. But
she didn’t anymore.

She could have asked Rory to stop, to take
her to Duncan. But she’d been too scared, too scared of Rory’s
reaction—although he’d never done a thing to frighten her. She’d
also been too scared of her reaction. Too fucking scared.

She was inconsolable then. Her sobs against
Helen were brutal, and Fleur forced herself to stop, afraid she
might hurt Duncan’s kind but fragile mother.

Helen held her face in her hands again,
studying her. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through. But yer
here now. Safe.”

Fleur wrapped her hands around Helen’s
fingers. The comfort she gave in those words, the nonjudgmental,
blessed words Fleur knew her spirit had wanted to hear for so long.
It finally gave her to courage to say it to Helen, to herself, “I’m
all right now.”

The men worked out shifts to guard the house,
while Helen prepared a bath for her. It was way too much work for
the woman, so Fleur got her tears under control and did the rest.
She wanted Duncan to come in and help, but he was nowhere in
sight.

Fleur didn’t blame him.

She’d ridden off with Rory. Maybe that was
why Duncan had initially ignored her after she’d been saved from
her abductors. She’d been with another, while he had done all the
work of the actual rescuing.

God, she really needed to talk to him, try to
understand...explain.

Helen helped her clean herself. After two
days straight of riding on a horse, no sleep, and then finally
sliding into milky warm water, Fleur’s lids kept closing of their
own accord. Yet she reminded herself that she needed to talk to
Duncan.

She woke in the dead of the night. The wide
window’s curtains had yet to be drawn, allowing the silver light
from the moon to illuminate that she was completely alone. How had
she gotten into bed? Checking the shift she wore, Fleur also
couldn’t recall how she’d gotten it on. It was a flimsy white
thing. But it was what lay under the fabric that called to her. Her
body and heart craved Duncan. She had to talk to him.

Wrapping a light blue plaid around herself,
she padded out of the bedroom, er, chamber. It had been the lads’
room, Helen had explained, and had only one large bed, larger than
a king size, where the now grown men could sleep together. However,
Helen had said sadly, many of them would still sleep in the barn,
even after their father’s death.

The room was filled with blankets and plaids
and a few wooden swords, but little else. Once Helen had received
news of her sons’ whereabouts, she’d sent their clothes and other
personal material. Fleur didn’t understand why Helen didn’t want to
leave Scotland, why she insisted on Duncan staying here, or why she
insisted on the lads staying in America. Oh, she understood Helen
thought the lads were better off, but why not go to America too
then? Why not have their eldest join them?

Well, Fleur would get to the bottom of the
questions soon enough. But first she would talk to...Geez, where
was Duncan? She’d expected him to be in the house, although she
didn’t know why. He’d never slept there. But she’d hoped he’d
wanted to be close after such a big scare. And it hurt that he
wasn’t there.

She pulled the plaid even tighter and
ventured out the kitchen door. That was where the back gardens
stood tall and fruitful with neat piles of chopped wood and beyond
the potatoes was the barn. The first few steps in the night were
freezing to her warm toes, but she had to find him. More than that
though, the ground soaked into her, through her feet, making her
feel whole and secure in what she was about to do. She was about to
jog through the garden, when she heard, “Fleur.”

Turning quickly, she beamed at Duncan
standing a few feet from the woodpile.

“What are ye doing out? Go back to bed. Ye
need yer rest.”

“I had to see you.”

“Go back to bed. Ye haven’t slept in
days.”

Okay, he wasn’t going to make this easy on
her. She felt the chill from his tone, from his arms crossing over
his powerful chest. But, again, she didn’t blame him for his
response.

Timidly, she walked closer to him. He widened
his stance, as if she were an opponent, readying to strike him.

“I had to see you.”

He didn’t say anything and seemed to hold his
breath as she neared.

Less than a foot away, the cool earth
energized her, strengthened her resolve. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “’Tisn’t yer fault. I
should ha’ thought that ye might be spirited away. After all, ye
are a purported princess. I should ha’—”

She placed a hand over his lips. His eyes
widened.

“I’m sorry about...Rory. I wanted to be with
you.”

He swallowed.

He was so still, that she finally did what
she had wanted to do for so long. Reaching up on her toes, she
withdrew her fingers and tried to lean in, but suddenly he held her
by her hips, holding her away.

His eyes glittered orange and anger.
“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

He let go of her, but straightened, towering
over her. “Why not, ye ask. Why not?”

That was the first clue he was more than
frustrated. He was pissed.

“Why not, princess. Well, let me tell ye.” He
took a giant step forward, domineering her, making her take a step
back. His breath was hot and full on her face. The fat moon illumed
the tense plains of his cheeks, the way his jaw punched, the
glaring orange in his otherwise dark eyes. “Fleur, don’t play games
with me.”

“I’m not.”

“False! That’s false, and ye ken it.” He
walked her into the house, where she felt the cold stonewall bite
through the plaid and shift, settling its chill into her skin.

“I—didn’t—”

“I don’t share. Especially not
ye
. I’m
not sharin’ ye with him. Ye’re either mine, all mine, or—”

“I don’t share either.”

He made an odd noise that was part huff and
part grunt. Exaggeratedly, he looked around the yard. “I don’t see
me
ridin’ off with a lady.”

“You know,
you
could have asked for me
to be with you too. Yes, I wanted to be with you, and I should have
told Rory as much. But you could have too, big guy. You could have
said something as well.”

He opened his mouth, ready to protest, but
she broke him off by slamming her lips into his. Wrapping her arms
around his neck, she was surprised his lips moved with hers. At
first they were hesitant, but then they feathered against hers,
over and over again, each time adding a bit more pressure, as if
they already knew each other’s rhythms and rhymes. She slid her
tongue into his mouth, but then he pulled away, panting.

He shook a finger at her. “Don’t ye—”

“If you don’t want me, then—”

“Don’t want ye? Hell, woman, I want ye so bad
I wax poetic in my head just about the way ye walk, the things ye
say. How sometimes I replay a word ye said, or two words,
like—like,
deoxyribonucleic acid. Lord, ye make
that sound bonny.”

She instantly smiled, but chilled her
reaction. “Then why are you—what are you so mad about? I’m sorry I
rode off with Rory. At first I was so shocked I didn’t notice I was
with him. Then I just wanted to be with you, and I should have made
Rory take me to you. But you hadn’t said anything, so I—”

“He’s—” Duncan halted and looked down at the
small space between them. “I’m sorry for actin’—for being an arse.
I’m sorry.” His voice suddenly softened and cracked. “I wouldn’
blame ye for wanting him instead of me. I’m an arse and an animal.
He’s rich, titled, and—”

“Shut up. I won’t hear another word.”

“But Fleur, he’s—”

“I’m yours,” she said. The words were little
more than a whisper, the sentiment so powerful it left her throat
dry. She swallowed. “I’m yours, Duncan. No other’s.”

Then he reached down to cup her cheeks and
kissed her. She smiled into his lips, and felt him grin as his lips
moved with hers. But when he slipped his tongue in her mouth, she
stopped smiling. Oh, that felt so good. He tasted like whisky and
honey, and she wondered when he’d had that. It didn’t matter. It
tasted sweet and sexy, and she was easily intoxicated from the
sample. She tarried against his tongue with her own, earning her a
groan from deep in his chest.

Reaching up on her toes again, she made the
kiss easier, letting their bodies collide. His chest pressed
carefully against hers, but it wasn’t enough of him. She curved her
body along his, and again he made an appreciative noise. She’d had
the plaid wrapped in her fingers, but at that moment she didn’t
care about her covering. Actually, she wanted him to cover her. She
dropped the plaid, and his hands shifted to her waist, holding her
closer. He wrapped one arm powerfully around her, then the other.
Soon enough, Fleur no longer felt the ground under her feet as
Duncan lifted her.

She wanted to wrap her legs around him. But
she stopped and looked at him, gauging his reaction.

“I’m finally kissin’ ye.”

She smiled amazed at feeling like she weighed
no more than a feather in his strong arms. “You’re really good at
it.”

“Am I? Jesus, I worried I’d be...well,
awful.”

She kissed him again, instantly invading his
mouth, tasting his desire. The scrape of his whiskers against her
mouth sent shivers down her spine.

“Yer cold.”

“Actually, I’m not.”

“But yer tremblin’.”

She smiled bashfully.

“Oh.” He huffed. His red brows suddenly
furrowed, and he put her back on the ground, even gaining a few
inches distance. “I’m scarin’ ye.”

She stepped into him, pulling him back with
her grip around his neck. “No, I’m...I’m excited, that’s all.”

He huffed again and cracked a wide grin, the
kind that made her heart stutter. She spoke without any further
restraints. “You’re so handsome.”

He shook his head.

Before she could protest, he said, “We can’t
do this.”

It felt like her heart had been slammed
against the wall behind her. “You don’t want me? But you said—”

He shook his head again. “It’s obvious how
much I want ye.” Glancing down at the sliver of space between their
bodies, he raised a brow at his tented kilt and erection against
her stomach. “But I don’ want to be caught by my troops. Timothy
and Collin are watchin’ the house. Jesus, I can almost see through
yer shift.” His head was bowed and he stared down at her
breasts.

The heat from his stare caught her body on
fire. As if it weren’t already. And from the apex of her legs to
her breasts zinged an intense impetus. Passionate power zapped her,
making her nipples tighten.

He groaned. Then surprising her, he fell to
his knees. “Yer so beautiful,” he whispered as he clutched at her
hips. His head was exactly at her chest level, and softly he began
to kiss around the neckline of her low-cut nightgown. She purred
and tilted her head back, savoring the feel of his soft lips, his
course whiskers whispering across her skin. Tunneling her fingers
through his hair, she easily untied the leather thong at the base
of his neck, and gently fisted his silky, wavy hair in her
hands.

Almost as suddenly as it had began, he was
back on his feet, pulling her hard against his iron-like body.

“We can’t do this out here.”

She nodded, but began to kiss along his neck,
tasting salt and his skin.