Duchess of Mine (25 page)

“Wake me up in a few hours.”

“Aye.”

She pulled away from her perfect spot,
glancing up at him. “I mean it, Duncan. Wake me soon. And wake me
up...for anything, all right?”

He swept down and kissed her, unable to
resist those flawless pink lips. So full. So sweet. He leaned back
before he let himself get carried away.

“Aye. I’ll wake ye.”

She smiled.

As they walked into the house, she unlaced
herself from the rusty, dirty kirtle she wore. It was as if they’d
already been intimate, shared everything with each other. And for a
moment, Duncan was confused about time. He thought he glimpsed into
the future and saw they were that familiar with each other, she had
already been naked before him, they’d already made love. Numerous
times. That they were in love. And had children. That she was his
forever more, and he wouldn’t have to worry about another woman he
loved leaving him. Not until he was an old man.

Fleur turned at his brothers’ chamber’s door.
Her shift was in place, not revealing a thing, but her dress was
loose and soon would be off. She smiled at him drowsily.

“You promise to wake me?”

He blinked and knew he was in his own time,
his mother was deathly ill, and Fleur would leave him one day soon.
Swallowing, he somehow found the courage to show her a smile, so
she’d feel reassured enough to sleep.

“I promise,” he could only whisper, feeling
his heart rip into more pieces than he thought he could recover
from.

Chapter 22

I
n her sleep Fleur rolled her
beautiful face toward Duncan, smiling. He couldn’t help but grin
back. She looked so relaxed, calm, at peace.

It had been six hours and was now a little in
the afternoon. Helen had woken twice—once to ask for more laudanum
and another time to ask for food, which Duncan thought was a good
sign. However, his ma hadn’t smiled, not even as he forced his face
into the position, as if he weren’t worried, weren’t scared for her
life. Grinning was something his ma did all the time, even through
the years with Albert. She’d grin and bear whatever the man had
said to her, or to her sons. Trying so hard to either ignore the
verbal punches or mayhap she had been trying to placate Albert.
Duncan never knew, but all the same, she’d always had a soft smile
on her face.

Now though, her complexion was gray. Nay,
actually it was lavender. The light purple tone under her eyes and
around her lips made Duncan all the more aware how grave the
situation was. As well as the fact that his mother grimaced in her
sleep. Lord, how he wished he could fight off the cancer for her.
He wished it could be that easy, that he could take his sword and
battle against it as if it were a human foe. How much simpler it
would be if that were true. He’d risk his own life for her.

No matter what he felt about Durness, his
past, his upbringing, and his feelings of residual resentment
towards his mother for staying with a prick of a man for a husband,
no matter all that, he’d always come to his mother’s aid if she
needed him. He’d always wish it were him vanishing into cancer
rather than her. She had tried so hard to give him love. Her
constant forced smiles were proof of that.

However, now he had time with his mother,
alone, as he’d always wished when Albert had been alive. But,
Duncan felt robbed again, because Helen was dying.

Fleur whispered something in a different
language then giggled. Her long black lashes fluttered open. He
worried that he appeared like an arse, standing beside the wide bed
she lay on, staring at her.

“I—I shouldn’—”

She reached out for him, making him stop his
words. He gently pressed his hand against hers, not sure if she
were truly awake. Lacing her fingers betwixt his, she gently tugged
him down until he sat close to her.

“How long did you let me sleep?” Her voice
was thoroughly melodious and a tad dreamy. It sent an instant shock
to his stomach, his cock, making him think too much of her lying
there, and what it might be like to roll his body on hers.

He swallowed. “A few hours.”

She gave him a lazy smile. “You let me sleep
too long.” Then she sat upright with a bolt, her face mere inches
from his. “Is she all right?”

That helped his body simmer down. He nodded.
“She’s sleepin’. Still. She did wake about three hours ago and want
some soup.”

“Did she have some laudanum too?”

“Aye.”

“She’s probably due for more in an hour or
so.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t
like that his ma needed the medicine so often. That was decidedly
not a good sign. So he changed the subject.

“Ye speak a different language, eh?”

Her dark brows furrowed. “I speak a little
Latin. It’s been useful with my career. But I—” she stopped quite
suddenly, almost appearing as though she wouldn’t continue. Her
lips pursed, twisted, then softened with a shy smile. “I speak a
little Lakota Sioux, my native language. At least I did when I was
young. I don’t know if I remember much of it.”

“Ye do in yer sleep.”

Those lovely dark brows shot up, arching in
surprise. “Really?”

He nodded. “It sounded so bonny, what ye
said.”

“Can you repeat it?”

He struggled to remember, then shook his
head. “Sorry, nay. But it was pretty.”

For a long moment they stared at each other.
She caressed some of his wild red hair from his cheek, pulling it
behind his ear, where her delicate fingertips lingered on his lobe,
then grazed his whiskered jaw line. He caught her hand, laying it
on his blue plaid lap, making her stop the blazes it evoked.

He tried to think of something else to say,
anything, because the heat in her eyes made him think that if he
divulged in it he would surely drown in her fire. Again, she must
have read his mind, for she pushed forward, catching his lips to
hers. It was just a slight taste of her, barely a kiss, but the
instant she touched him, he was done fighting. His mouth moved of
its own accord, melding against her, pushing back. His tongue was
in her mouth faster than he could think, his hands around her
uncorseted waist quicker than he should have moved.

She merely wore a white shift. And when he
kissed down her thin neck, he saw that the fabric was nearly
translucent, allowing him to glimpse at her perfect round breasts,
the dark color of her nipples showing as they pebbled while he
kissed along her collarbone. Lord, how he wanted to cup her globes,
feel her hardened nipples against his palms.

Wrapping her fingers into his shirt at his
shoulders, she pulled him down. Easily he acquiesced, licking and
kissing the valley between her breasts. Her skin was so luscious
and golden. So lovely. And somehow tasted lightly of salt
and...flowers. Or perhaps that was her scent invading his thoughts?
Her natural odor was soft, floral, feminine, yet somehow still
strong. It was intoxicating, especially so as he nibbled around her
neckline, wishing her shift would simply vanish.

She channeled her fingers through his hair.
He felt the leather tie at the nape of his neck give, and she
fisted his waves, slightly pulling as she gasped when he kissed
closer to her right breast. Glancing up, he gauged her reaction.
Had he gone too far?

Of course he had. He was mauling her mere
minutes after she’d woken. He tried to brace himself with his arms
beside her body, tried to lift away, but she caught him, pulled his
lips to her own, where she hungrily tasted him, invaded his mouth
with her hot tongue. She kept tugging, pulling, arching until his
chest met hers. He moaned into their kiss as he felt the tight
peaks of her breasts brush against him. His body instantly reacted,
tugging at his bullocks, making his cock come to life. Jesus, he
wanted her, wanted nothing more than to strip her naked, kiss every
inch of her lithe body, then lick her between her legs until she
cried out for him. Only then would he fill her, let himself feel
her internally. He thought of her hot and wet and ready for him,
and through brute force he pulled himself away from her, fearing
what he wanted was too much, too fast, too sweet. And would hurt
like hell when she left. It would hurt that much more if he made
love to her.

She gasped looking up at him quizzically. Her
lips were reddened and slightly swollen and he wondered if he’d
already been too rough. He had to shave, that was for sure.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I think I’m supposed to be the one sayin’
that.”

She grinned, but shook her head. “No, I took
things too far.”

So they had pushed things a bit much. She
agreed apparently.

His heart tugged within his chest. He’d hoped
she’d think the kiss, actually the kisses, hadn’t gone too long,
hadn’t had too much passion, but was the right thing to do.

Swallowing, he tried to think of anything to
save his wounded pride. “While ye slept—”

“Which you let me sleep way too long.”

“Ye needed it.”

“So do you. Lay down. It’s your turn to
rest.”

Before he could stop her, he found himself
right where her wee body had been. She’d pulled him down, and the
instant he lay on the pillow she’d been on, he scented her all over
again, making his erection more noticeable, he was certain. He
tried to sit up, but she straddled him in a heartbeat, pushing him
down with her hot core on his stomach, the heels of her hands
pressed against his chest.

“I insist you sleep here.”

Lord, if she wiggled down, she’d find his
hardness against her pert bottom.

She cocked her head with a grin. “I want you
closer. You sleep here from now on. Got it?”

He could only nod, barely able to think other
than her warmth on his belly. Then in a flash she flung herself off
him. He still had both feet on the ground and faster than he could
protest, she was unlacing his boots. After taking both hoses off
his legs, she made sure he was fully in the bed, under the covers,
which he bunched around his pelvis, hoping it concealed the proof
of his desire for her.

“I’ll tend to Helen now. You rest. Got it,
big guy?”

He found himself smiling at that as she stood
beside the bed with a faux scolding expression.

“I want to meet the laird’s personal
physician when he’s here.”

She nodded. “Then I’ll wake you at that
time.”

That would more than likely be six hours
away, and he wasn’t sure he could sleep. He should have been
exhausted. Hell, he knew he was. But with Fleur’s scent invading
his mind, his body, he could think of precious little else other
than the way she kissed, the way she pulled him until they’d
touched, heart to heart.

God, it would kill him when she left him.

She gave him a sweet, tiny kiss, then
straightened. “I know you understand orders, so listen to me,
Duncan. I need you to get some rest now. I’ll take care of
everything meanwhile. If something happens, I’ll wake you. I
promise. But now, you just sleep.”

She soothed some hair from his face, caressed
his forehead with her cool fingertips, and before he knew what had
happened, he followed her orders.

~*~

A
week passed with Fleur seducing
Duncan into her bed, only to have her leave it the moment his head
hit the pillow. There were strange interludes where Fleur would
kiss him senseless, and he would wonder if he wouldn’t just give
in, roll onto her and see where things might take him. Of course,
he knew where he wanted to go with her.

Or did he?

She would leave. Leave him.

Everyday Helen made little progress, further
dampening Duncan’s mood. If it weren’t for the mind-blowing
sessions with Fleur, he might have taken to the sport of caber
tossing. He did feel tense enough to uproot a tree and throw it.
And as much as kissing Fleur made his head spin and put a massive
grin on his face, the moment it was over he was drawn back to his
time, this moment.

His mother only woke for more laudanum. Mrs.
McVicar and he had to force her to eat. He woke once to hear the
sounds of coughing and retching, then found Mrs. McVicar, Dr.
Stevens—the laird’s physician, and Fleur funneling a tincture of
beef tea and medicine down Helen’s throat. It was wretched to
watch, and he could only turn, feeling like a coward. He should
have helped, he thought. But he couldn’t.

That was his ma who wouldn’t wake.

That was his ma who starved into a small
shape of herself, her face more bones than soft smiles.

That was his ma. The women he’d loved and
adored throughout his life, no matter her decision about
Albert.

She was leaving him.

Since he’d come back from Sweden, he’d
felt...being home and around his mother, it had started to feel as
it should have been all along—a connection with his ma that he’d
remembered from when he was a bairn. But now she was . . .

He couldn’t finish that thought. Wouldn’t
dare.

Waking in the early dawn, tucked deep into
Fleur’s scent and white blankets, he felt at once more lonely than
ever before as well as more content. As much as he knew Fleur was
leaving, like his mother, he couldn’t stop himself from
feeling...

Well, that was another thought he didn’t want
to finish.

He knew he felt strongly for the lass. There
was no doubt about that. But let himself name that feeling? Nay.
May as well finish him off then, for he knew once he gave the word
for how he felt, he’d want Fleur to stay with him. Thanks to the
fae, or however she’d come to be here, she was already gone while
she remained.

Duncan stretched in the large feather bed as
he noticed through one of the chamber’s windows pink etchings
against puffs of midnight blue clouds. This room had been his
brothers’. But hardly one of them had lived here. It was such an
odd predicament, and somehow like Fleur—gone while she remained, a
comfortable room where no one lived. It was a dichotomy he didn’t
know how to remedy, other than to just let it happen.