Duchess of Mine (26 page)

He’d keep falling for Fleur; his mother’s
illness would augment; Cromwell’s New Order Army would continue
marching north, then he’d end up alone with his sword, the one
instrument in this world he resented more than anything else.

During this week he’d come to realize how he
hated being a mercenary, hated training young men to kill, hated
the lot of it. He’d have to talk to Rory about needing to stop,
permanently. But his captain had gone again with a couple dozen of
the troops. No one knew where he’d ventured, or what he was about,
but it gave Duncan more time to think of a way to convince Rory to
discharge him.

Duncan had no clue what he could do after he
retired his sword. But it felt like the right thing to do.

Besides, once his mother and Fleur left him,
he’d more than likely run around the countryside like a loon,
chattering to himself, and go insane.

Suddenly a small hand stretched across his
chest. A delicate forearm rested on him.

He hadn’t even seen her, Fleur, sleeping
beside him. He’d been so lost in his thoughts as well as trying so
hard not to think about some things.

Her head burrowed into a white fluffy pillow,
her long, black hair spread about like the remains of a storm. He
smiled at that. Even with the small amount of light the rising sun
offered, her hair shone with purple and red colors. Her tresses
were glorious always, but at that moment, so messy and wild, he
adored the way she looked. It clenched in his heart how much he
loved just peeking at her.

Oh, she was a bonny one. That there was no
denying. But it wasn’t the only reason why he loved to look at her.
It was...because she was she. He knew under the hair, the soft,
sleepy expression was a hellion who tempted him something awful, a
woman who held his mother tight when she moaned in pain, a woman
who held
him
tight when he wouldn’t utter a sound about how
hard it was to watch his mother become a living skeleton.

Fleur wiggled slightly, exposing more of her
face to him, stretching her body closer to his. He felt her warmth
first, then a fabric-covered soft breast nestled against his
arm.

Damnation.

Although only early autumn, the weather had
been so hot, and when he’d first been in Fleur’s bed, he’d slept
fully dressed. But he’d sweated so much he feared he’d musted her
bedding. He’d laundered them and washed himself. Of course, his
stepfather would have had a laugh at his expense for cleaning the
bedding, doing a woman’s chore. But it had reminded Duncan of
before Albert, of helping his ma with the clothing and such. And at
a time when all his family was either thrown to the wind,
or...Lord, he couldn’t admit what his ma’s health was, but at this
terrible time in his life, he philosophically wondered why women
had certain chores.

He’d gotten another letter from his brother,
Jacob, informing him they were all well in Virginia. Jacob had
written about different chores he did, also wondering if he were
doing women’s chores in America, but it was good to be helpful. The
lad had saucily used a code Duncan had taught him to let his big
brother know he was making love to a woman in the tribe. Duncan had
had to stifle his laughter at Jacob writing about clams and fish in
the sea—their code for coition.

That night Fleur had again coaxed him into
her bed, but after she’d kissed him, bitten down his neck and then
left him sweating and aching for her, he’d finally relented and
taken off his plaid. Being wool, it was too warm for the
summer-like nights anyway. But keeping his long shirt on had also
been a bit too hot. He hadn’t had to worry about being properly
covered in so long, and wasn’t too sure how to remedy his
problem.

Then last night had been...he remembered the
way Fleur had found him just outside her chamber’s door. Without
saying a word she reached up on her toes and kissed him, invading
his mouth instantly, hungrily. After a few moments, she’d let her
fingertips caress against his chest and stomach as if she were
memorizing his shape. Twice she’d grazed against his erection, and
he’d pretended each time that she hadn’t, trying with all his might
not to moan and shudder into the accidental touch.

Or had it been accidental?

Lord, she was bewitching him, torturing him,
seducing him without making love. So last night he’d slept
nude.

Now he felt every inch of his bare body
awaken with the realization that Fleur was snuggling closer. She
lifted her head, eyes still closed, then rubbed her nose against
his bare chest, next settling her cheek where her tiny nose had
been.

He had to leave. Get out of bed. He was
naked, and she was still in a shift. Thank the Lord her nightwear
was thicker than some of her other shifts, which he could easily
make out her nipples. Still, what she wore was the perfect
compliment for her golden skin, making it glow in the pale
morning’s light.

He needed to leave.

His cock tightened as she took in a deep
breath, her breast pressing against him, her arm squeezing him that
much more.

Why was she here anyway? Who was watching
over his mother?

Aye, he needed to get the hell away from
Fleur.

She moaned and stretched against him, this
time resting a leg of hers over one of his. He became glaringly
aware of her hot core pressed against his thigh. Swallowing, he
thought of her body, his own so vulnerable under the bedding.
Jesus, he was hard. So very hard.

He’d ached for her for near a month now, and
the last week had been excruciating with how she kissed him,
caressed him, and then would vanish. For a good cause. Aye, he
needed to get dressed and check on his mother.

But he kept staring at Fleur, feeling her
body against his, let her consume his senses. Her wee hand
stretched, and one finger flexed his nipple. He hissed as pleasure
spread throughout his body, but tried to repress it. Biting his
lip, he looked to the ceiling, praying for strength to leave the
bed.

Just lift her arm and squirm away, he told
himself.

He looked down at the dark head on his
chest.

Fleur’s eyes were open.

Oh Jesus. Lord have mercy.

She reached up without a word, eager lips
attached to his own before he could react. They both moaned, as if
they both ached for the same thing. The hand that had been on his
chest was suddenly against his cheek, holding him to her. Then she
slid her upper body on his, crushing her breasts against him. He
opened his legs slightly, when he realized she was balanced on one
of his. She adjusted and was somehow even more on him. Her hip was
now against his cock, making him nearly lose his mind.

His mouth gained entrance into hers as her
hand slithered down his too sensitive body. All he could do was
hold her, caress down her back, and try to keep up with his
mounting desire as well as hers. Their tongues met, as did their
breath. His lungs grew too warm and shaky, but he kept inhaling,
perhaps too fast. Then he realized her tiny hand was lowering down
to . . .

“Oh,” was all he could say as she found his
bullocks.

She lifted her bonny face, smiling at him as
she wrapped her hand around his length. “You are naked.”

“Mmff,” he whispered.

She silently giggled. Then she stroked up his
hardness and began to descend, when he finally grabbed her and
stopped the lovely motion.

She made a pouting noise, which made him
almost give up and let her keep doing what she was, but somehow a
crack of sense entered his mind, just as the sun was rising in the
horizon.

Although words were hard to think of, he did
manage to say, “Have to...check.”

Fleur’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry. I fell
asleep. I was going to wake you, but you looked . . .” She gazed
down at him, his chest, his stomach. Her hand was still on him, but
he had his hands over hers. Still, her dainty fingers squeezed
slightly as she tilted her head to look under the bedding to what
was in her palm.

He moaned as she did too.

“You looked so good.” Her voice was lowered
and hoarse.

Suddenly she stopped. “I keep doing this.”
Her hand sprang away, yanking and twisting in the process, making
him wince, grabbing his crotch, and stop breathing.

“Crap. I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

His testicles had suddenly entered his throat
when Fleur had accidentally jerked his penis. He’d live, he was
sure, and it was more than likely for the best that the pain he was
experiencing was enough to counter his desire for her. However, he
couldn’t quite talk just yet.

He nodded.

“I did hurt you?”

He tried to shake his head.

“I’m so sorry!”

“Nay,” he grunted. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell.”

Chuckling somehow made the dull pain erode
slightly.

She smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt
you.”

“I ken.”

Her grin waned. She blinked, then looked at
his lips. “I like your beard.”

He hadn’t shaved for the last few days. He’d
just forgotten. But it was making it so that every time he’d kiss
Fleur, her lips would redden and swell within a few moments.

“I like how red it is. I thought your hair
was really red, but your beard is more so.” She narrowed her eyes
suddenly. “In all this time, I’ve never seen if you . . .” she
reached down for the covers over his hips, “...match.”

He chuckled louder and hurried to hold the
bedding down.

“Come on. Just give me a peek.”

Laughing, he caught her hands, the blankets
too, but she was rather good at wrestling and trying to lift the
covers from him while she giggled rather loudly too.

An odd sound interrupted their guffaws, also
invading the bubble of happiness within Duncan’s heart.

Fleur turned her head, and Duncan saw around
her a slight form wavering in the open doorway.

“Ye two are loud enough to wake the
dead.”

“Ma!” Duncan sat up, tried to spring from the
bed. Realizing his state of undress, he clutched the covers as
Fleur raced to her.

Helen was laughing and had one hand against
the doorframe as he came closer, the white sheet wrapped around
him. Fleur already had her hands over his ma’s forehead.

“I’m fine. No fever.”

“Are ye . . .?” He could barely ask. His
throat tightened painfully.

Helen rose a shaking finger up at him, then
surprising him, she shook at Fleur too. Helen said, “Now, I was
funny and neither of ye laughed. A woman in my predicament might
take that personally, if ye don’ remedy it.”

Fleur softly giggled, her eyes glistened with
moisture.

Duncan couldn’t help but chuckle too, but it
was perhaps too restrained. “Ah, Ma . . .”

“When is the wedding, hmm? Or did the two of
ye already do the deed?”

Both Fleur and Duncan instantly quieted.

Helen laughed rowdily. “The deed of getting
married, I was referrin’ to, not anythin’ else. My, but the two of
ye have yer minds elsewhere, eh?” She laughed more as she turned,
glancing down at Duncan’s self-made plaid of the blanket. “Get
dressed, my lad, while I’ll have yer lady tell me everything, ‘cept
what I don’ want to hear.”

With that his ma tottered down the hallway,
Fleur at her side, holding her upright. Fleur glanced over her
shoulder at him, smiling in exuberant disbelief.

He couldn’t believe it either. His ma was up
and about, making jokes, and bossing them around. Lord, she’d just
wondered about a marriage, and, depending on how long she’d been
standing in the doorway, it was merited.

Until that moment, he hadn’t let his mind
think of marriage, a wedding. Certainly, he’d played a trick on
himself where he’d tried to fool himself into thinking he and Fleur
had some kind of future. But eventually he’d chide himself, and
realize the fae would sweep her away as soon as she was no longer
needed.

Well, with his mother walking, talking,
laughing, and living, Fleur
was
no longer needed, aye? Yet
she remained.

Mayhap, just mayhap he did have a future with
Fleur after all.

Chapter 23

“
N
ow, I don’ want details, but I do
wonder if there’s a grandchild of mine on the way,” Helen said as
she got back into her bed. Her eyes flickered with mischief, and
she even rubbed her palms together once she was settled.

Fleur giggled, while feeling fire burn
through her cheeks. God, this was embarrassing, like getting caught
by her Na. “No, no grandchildren on the way.”

“Ye certain?”

She couldn’t quite meet Helen’s eyes as she
nodded. “We—we haven’t done anything to make a child.”

“Ye sure of that? It looked like ye kenned
how to...make one.”

At that Fleur choked and laughed at the same
time, then bit her lip. “I’m sure. No babies.”

Helen crossed her arms and grunted. “Well,
then I can look forward to yer wedding, eh? Or did ye already say
yer vows?”

Oh God, Fleur thought, she had been a wee
bit...forward with Duncan. Perhaps too forward? As much as she
probably should have chided herself, she couldn’t. Duncan was too
tempting. She could hardly control herself around him. It was as
though she had become someone else. She thought herself a linear
thinker, controlling, measuring. Even her temper had always been in
check, never confrontational, which socially seemed to make more
sense. Everything had been logical, like one plus one equaling two.
It was rational and always had the same comforting answer. But
here...one plus one equaled something far greater. Here, in the
Scottish Highlands during the seventeenth century there was
something close to hyperbolic geometry, where one plus one and some
kind of crazy integer could equal infinity. Here, she couldn’t
contain herself. She wanted Duncan so badly she could hardly think
of much else when he was around.