Duchess of Mine (38 page)

Wheeling around a pike, Duncan found the
owner of the weapon and pummeled him with a punch upwards. The
attacker fell with a grunt. It had been months since he’d felt
another man’s jaw against his knuckles, and the pain tore up his
arm momentarily. But he steeled himself from further reaction.
Another assailant tried to move a pike his direction. That was the
problem with wielding such a long weapon. It took too long to
maneuver in hand-to-hand combat, like this. Duncan avoided the
stick then jabbed the man’s jaw, and he went down as fast as the
first. Realization dawned: the men he fought wore loose breeches,
thick leather vests, and helms that only came from England.

The English had arrived. Cromwell’s army was
attacking!

He only thought of protecting Fleur. She had
to stay safe. He’d kill them all to keep her from this. An English
soldier wielded another hefty pike at him, but he easily plunged
the sharp end into the sand, kicked that same sand in the man’s
face, then pummeled an elbow into the soldier’s nose. The English
combatant groaned and fell backwards.

Duncan glanced up in time to see Rory
standing over the soldier, shaking his head. An English fighter
raced toward him, and Duncan shouted to warn Rory. But then the
captain calmly raised one of his hands at the running soldier.
Shocking Duncan senseless, the helm-wearing man stopped in his
tracks.

“I told ye, not a man is to be hurt.” Rory’s
voice was disturbingly composed.

The English soldier nodded and shouted an
order. Instantly, the fighting ceased, but the Englishmen began to
shackle some of the Highland troops lying dazed on the beach.

Duncan straightened, trying to understand
what was happening. Gutting him was the knowledge that Rory had
betrayed him—him and the young troops. Rory had sided with the
English.

One of the Highland lads jumped into action,
fighting an English soldier. Duncan flew into a fighting fury too.
Leaping through the air, he kicked one of the soldiers closest to
him. The heel of Duncan’s boot tore into the face of the English
soldier and made a satisfying crunching noise. Then Duncan lunged
toward Rory. One of the English soldiers rammed himself in front of
Rory, taking the blow meant for the captain. Duncan’s aim had been
off, and he’d hit the soldier on the side of the helmet, rather
than Rory’s face. Even so a thick, metallic thud sounded across the
bay. The soldier went down with a groan, and Duncan wasn’t too sure
if he’d broken his hand. Pain radiated from one of his knuckles.
But he cocked his arm back, ready to strike Rory, when his former
captain lifted a spyglass for defense.

“Ye’d kill Fleur if you hit me.” Again,
Rory’s tone was much too calm. Eerily so.

Duncan froze, feeling the words skid down his
spine like ice.

Rory had been wincing slightly, but then
relaxed and straightened, extending the spyglass to Duncan. “Have a
look for yerself. I have four English soldiers ‘round yer house. If
I don’t give them a signal, they will break through the doors and
kill her. Probably rape her first, since the English are barbarians
to women.” He’d spoken in Gaelic, Duncan was sure, so the English
soldiers surrounding them didn’t know what he’d said.

Duncan finally took a shaky breath and
glanced in the direction of his mother’s house,
his
house,
the house he would give to Fleur.

Another lad fought an English soldier, but
soon enough the dozen troops, not a one of them twenty years of age
yet, were confined in shackles and chains.

“How could ye?” Duncan was surprised he could
talk. All he thought of was Fleur, saving her. How to do that?

Rory looked surprised. “That’s none of yer
business, Duncan. ‘Tis about time ye kenned yer station, boy. I’m
not a man to trifle with. I’m the son of a laird.”

“Soon to be laird.” An English accent wafted
toward Duncan, and he searched through the dark night for its
source. Finally, he saw four men emerge from the cave. One of them
was obviously an officer of some kind, holding a lacy kerchief to
his nose, as if the Highlands stank.

The officer stalked closer to Duncan. “This
is the man you spoke of, MacKay?” His Gaelic nearly perfect.

Rory nodded.

The Englishman smiled. “He probably
can
plow a field without the use of an ox.”

Having enough of the talking, Duncan plowed
his fist into one of the English soldier’s faces, then circled low
to kick another’s legs out from under him. He turned again, but
this time found himself face to face with the end of a sword.
Stilling, he stared at the officer.

“You didn’t tell me he’s had training,” the
English man said. “He’s a soldier.”

Rory grimaced. “He’s been a mercenary, aye.
But he won’t be a trouble to ye.”

Duncan stared at Rory, barely able to control
the black rage.

Rory smiled at Duncan. “I’ll kill his bitch
if he gives ye any trouble. Do ye hear me, Duncan? Ye’re going to
do as I tell ye, then as the English captain says. Ye’re going to
march south with the troops, get on a boat, and find yerself in
Virginia. Else I’ll kill Fleur. I’ll kill her myself. Once ye start
marching south, the soldiers will leave yer house, and I’ll keep
her safe. Unless ye try to escape. If ye make one move to get back
to her, to get back to Scotland, I’ll kill her. I hate to do it.
But I’ll do it nonetheless. If ye cooperate though, then she’ll
live a long life here. I’ll move her in to the castle, and she’ll
live the life of a real princess, which ye never could give
her.”

The English captain’s sword faltered, and he
sheathed it in a polished move. “I say, MacKay, this sounds more
like revenge than political strategy.”

Rory turned to the officer. Even with the
stars dampened and shedding little light, Duncan saw his face had
turned into twisted, poisonous rage. “’Tis none of yer business
what this sounds like.”

The English captain frowned. “Don’t take that
tone with me, Highlander.” He’d spit out the last word as if it
were profane.

Then Duncan decided to try once more to save
Fleur, to do something. It was desperate, and he knew that was
never good in war, but this was his life, his love, he was fighting
for. He tumbled to the sand and rolled into another English
soldier’s legs, taking him down quickly. Punching, kicking, and
flailing about, he finally stopped when he felt a sick stab slice
across his shoulder. Then he heard such a familiar sound,
everything in his body instantly numb.

What was that noise?

He couldn’t think, couldn’t recall, as his
legs gave way under him. Falling fast, his vision blurring, he
finally realized that wet thudding blast had been something hitting
the back of his own head. The night went completely black then,
even though he clawed at his consciousness, trying with everything
in him to rescue Fleur.

Chapter 34

A
fter waiting an eternity for Duncan,
executing a million sexy poses on the bed for him to discover when
he was done putting out the fire, Fleur huffed and threw on a
shift. Maybe she should help. If it really was a small fire, he’d
have returned by now, right? Donning a plaid, she walked out of the
room she now shared with Duncan.

Weird, but she didn’t smell smoke. An hour
ago, she thought she’d detected a little more than usual, but
nothing now. Normally, there was a constant smell of smoke from
kitchen stoves and the like. Sometimes it smelled of peat, and she
had to admit she loved that scent. Placing a hand on her heart, she
reaffirmed it to herself. Her mind was made up. She would stay here
with Duncan. She’d miss Rachel and Ian so much. But she might make
other friends eventually. In the meantime, she had Duncan, and
she’d never known love like that before.

Wasn’t that peculiar? She hadn’t even thought
about her job.

She didn’t need it anymore, she surmised,
that’s why she hadn’t thought about it.

She’d miss it, but not like she would have if
she hadn’t let herself fall for Duncan. She felt completely
different. Clean. Fresh. New. This was her life now, and she loved
it.

Something clicked against a window in the
kitchen, and Fleur wrapped the plaid tighter around her shoulders,
feeling tingles of fear tickle down her spine. She wished Duncan
would come back already. But wasn’t that like him to be a hero
right now? He was so...virtuous. Sure, she’d met some great people
in her life, Rachel being one of them, but Duncan was truly
valiant, astounding in his bravery, and all hers.

God, it was long overdue, the man needed to
know how she felt about him. She loved him.

More clacking against the kitchen window made
Fleur’s heart race, ascending to her throat. She tried to swallow
down her fear, but then something scratched against the window.

A crazed bird?

Another noise at the window didn’t make her
think it was some blind fowl wanting inside. This sounded very
human, someone who was persistent. Ducking down, she crawled closer
to the window, looking out but saw nothing.

Then a small pebble crashed against a pane in
the glass right in front of her nose.

Yes, very human.

“Fleur,” someone whispered.

The voice was not a man’s. And for a
heartbreaking moment, she wondered if Helen had...Helen was gone,
she had to remind herself. Tears rushed to her eyes, and her heart
pinched, but she stood to see who the hell it was throwing rocks at
the window.

No one.

She glanced in every direction, but the
person who had thrown the stones wasn’t there. About to give up,
she saw a huge shadow walking into her view. Hunkering down, she
made sure she could see the man, but he couldn’t see her. Fleur
didn’t recognize him. There weren’t a lot of men from Durness, but
she could identify all of the males by now. This man was big,
almost as giant as Duncan. He appeared to be wearing some kind of
metal getup, looking like a conquistador. Her stomach bottomed out.
Oh God, soldiers of this time wore the same kind of suits, didn’t
they? A metal helm, metal vest piece, and thick leather jackets to
protect from arrows, swords, and the weak bullets spit at them.

Fleur couldn’t breathe for a moment, could
hardly think. A soldier, more than likely an English, New Order
soldier, was in her back yard. Something scraped against the
kitchen door, and she flinched, holding the plaid closer, as if
that could protect her.

“Lady Fleur,” a thin whisper sounded through
the door, “’Tis me, Jamie.”

It did sound like one of her lads, not quite
a man’s voice and held a bit higher from desperation and panic.

The English soldier was fifteen feet from the
whisper, from Jamie. With her heart pounding in her ears and
throat, she scurried to the door and unbolted it, then quietly
opened it.

She almost cried when she saw it was really
him, on his knees, hunched over in a dark plaid, camouflaging most
of his body. Letting him in, she closed the door as softly as she
had opened it. Placing a finger over her lips, she then pointed to
where the soldier stood. Jamie nodded.

An odd strangling noise erupted from where
the English soldier was. Jamie carefully angled his head to the
side and lifted himself like a trained soldier to see out of the
window. Fleur didn’t know what was more shocking, that a little
fourteen year-old boy knew how to protect himself from such
violence, or the noise that was getting louder. Mimicking Jamie,
she tilted her head similarly and saw with one eye out the glass
the large soldier clutched at something around his throat. There
were eight boys, four on each side, of a rope looped around the
soldier’s throat. They tugged until the huge man fell to his knees.
The whites of his eyes became glaringly visible. Then the soldier
plummeted, face first, into the ground.

“Jesus, I hoped that’d be more quiet,” Jamie
whispered.

Fleur gripped onto the boy’s arm.
“Duncan.”

That was all she could think about. Where was
he? What had happened?

Jamie nodded solemnly. “My lady, they have
him.”

Fleur winced, the words hitting her as if
Jamie had struck her with his dirk deep in the belly. No, in the
heart.

“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I
wouldn’ ha’ believed it,” Jamie said. “But Captain MacKay led yer
man away with a few of his troops, led ‘em close to Cave Smoo,
where there were English soldiers who’d filled the place with
smoke, so no one could see, then captured them.”

Captured them.
Captured her Duncan.
Her man, Jamie had called him.

Being frightened for so many years, so scared
of making the wrong move, so scared she wouldn’t gain approval,
Fleur was unfamiliar with the anger that suddenly pounded through
her veins. It snarled and snapped for action.

“Duncan’s been captured by English soldiers?
And Rory did this?” She didn’t recognize her voice. It was deeper
than usual. Calm. Menacing.

Jamie glanced at her askew, but then nodded.
“Aye, Rory’s sided with that damned Cromwell, it seems.”

Her heart no longer thundered in her ears. An
eerie silence ensued.

Rory and his English cronies had taken Duncan
from her?

“I’m going to kill Rory.”

Jamie’s eyes widened momentarily, then he
nodded. “I would for ye. He’s on his way here.” Jamie took a sip of
a breath. “There are four soldiers ‘round yer house. Well, three
now, thanks to my men. And we’ll take out the others and Rory
too.”

“Rory’s on his way here?”

“I’m guessin’ so. He seemed to head this
direction.”

“And he stole Duncan to give to the English?”
It made her angry with herself that she needed to hear it one more
time, but she did. She needed to know in no uncertain terms that
Rory was the cause of this. Plus it helped give her time to think
about what to do next.