Duchess of Mine (40 page)

Fleur jogged to Greggor, to the sign.

“They’re walking through the fields now.
It’ll be harder to find them. We’ll have to take our time to find
the signs.”

She sighed, her patience already worn too
thin. But she knew he was right.

The English, probably fearing being caught by
the Highlanders, were marching through the fields. If they had
walked through the wheat or oat lands, it would have been easy to
spot the broken stalks. But, of course, the English were more
clever than that. However, Fleur found traces of the men here and
there. It was hard to hide the fact that more than thirty men had
stumbled through an area, especially if it had tall grass. She
guessed they were following a game trail, but being that there were
many men, made the trail wider as they went, made more signs of
their presence.

She could almost envision Duncan in chains,
tormented and bloody. She’d guessed, since Rory paid her the visit
so soon, what leverage Rory had used to force him to submit. They’d
used her, probably telling him they’d kill her if he didn’t do as
he was told. It yanked at her heart. She hated that she had been
Duncan’s weakness. To make him think more of her wellbeing than his
own.

But she knew she would have done the same if
their positions were reversed.

Maybe weakness wasn’t the right word,
especially when thinking of the asshole that had tried to take
advantage of Duncan’s feelings for her.

As she searched for the next sign, she
thought of the heady, pleasure-filled gift Duncan gave by wanting
her. He was the best man she’d ever known. Ever. And he wanted her,
had made love to her tenderly and gently and had planned a future
with her. She felt so honored. So grateful. And so in love.

The knowledge gave her legs more speed as she
raced across a flat field, watching for bent grass, broken heather
branches and other marks that her heart had been there.

It seemed like an eternity, running, waiting
for Jamie and the others to catch up, hoping to find Duncan. Just
as Fleur cusped into despair, she heard the telltale sign of
horses. On a hard surface, a horse’s gait can clearly be detected.
The clop-clop-clop is unmistakable. However, on a field of grass,
she knew the ground had enough absorbency to captivate the impact
and sound, but the whish-whish-whish of a horse’s forearm
whispering against tall grass was conformation.

The problem was, there were only two horses
making the noise with about thirty men walking, some in chains. It
wasn’t Jamie coming to her rescue with the other lads. She and
Greggor and only twenty boys had caught up to the English soldiers.
To her Duncan!

She shushed Greggor as soon as she realized
what the noise was. Suddenly appearing like wee ghosts, five lads
emerged, confirming with hand signals that over a hill were their
men and the English. Greggor knelt, tilting his head the direction
indicated, then nodded.

She fumbled to her own knees close to
Greggor, as did one of the older boys, Owen.

“What do we do now?” She swallowed, hoping
her whisper was quiet enough.

Greggor looked to the boy, probably almost
fourteen, like Jamie, but a bit smaller. He swallowed too, but
said, “Ambush?”

It had been what Duncan had done to rescue
her, Fleur remembered. She thought back to how the men had charged
at her kidnappers from both sides of the hill.

Crawling on her belly, she pushed closer to
where she could see over the knoll. It took a while to gain a
vantage, but there they were. At the front of the line were two men
on horses, behind them were about ten soldiers, looking as though
they carried pikes. Next, all clumped together in chains, making
clanging noises, were their men. Their captive men. Duncan! Duncan
was somewhere in that mix. And behind the captives were another ten
or more soldiers. She couldn’t see any long weapons, but that
didn’t mean they weren’t carrying any.

Fleur scanned for extra-wide shoulders, a
head above most other men’s.

There.

At first, she hadn’t caught sight of him,
because he wasn’t with the rest of the prisoners but pulled behind
one of the horses. He was hunched over. His steps seemed clumsy.
More than likely he was hurt.

Venom poured through her veins, clenching her
stomach and heart tight.

A hand gripped her arm, and angrily she
glared at Greggor.

“We need a plan before we attack.”

She hadn’t realized she’d moved. But after
Greggor had whispered, she glanced at where she was. She’d crawled
a few feet without even knowing it. So desperate to get Duncan
back, she’d almost done something foolish.

Nodding at Greggor, she scuttled closer to
him, farther from where the English could see her.

“Owen, take the lads on this side of the
hill.” She pointed back and slightly to the side. “Greggor and I
will take the other hill over yonder.” Again, she pointed. And
everyone nodded. “First, we distract them. Scream as loud as you
can after Greggor and I begin. Spread out and scream. They will
think there’s a lot more of us.”

Then Fleur felt murmurs of noise in the
ground, through the air, but not quite to her ears yet.
Thud-thud-thud. Thud-thud-thud. Jamie and the gang were right
behind them.

“Jamie’s almost here.”

Owen nodded. Fleur wasn’t too sure if he
heard the horses or not, but he was following her lead. And wasn’t
that something?

“We go now. Jamie will figure out the plan,”
she whispered to both Owen and Greggor, looking at the other boys.
She wasn’t going to tell them to attack. She’d try to protect them,
keep them innocent as much as she could. Glancing back at Owen, she
said, “Spread out. Greggor and I will start yelling, then you all
scream.”

“Scream real loud,” Greggor added.

Owen nodded seriously.

If everything went as she hoped, Jamie and
the horses would be upon them as soon as they started scaring the
English. And then they’d...and then she’d . . .

Shit, she was going to attack English
soldiers, carrying nothing but a couple fillet knives she’d fetched
from the kitchen. Greggor had an ax and a blade, and Owen and a few
of the boys had the swords from the unconscious English guards that
had surrounded her house.

God. Shit. Holy hell.

Fleur swallowed her fear though when she
started to wonder what Duncan would do if their roles were
reversed. He’d be brave and only think of the plan and how to
execute it best. That quieted her thoughts, calmed her, then gave
her an extra ripple of energy to fight for her man.

Before she realized what she had done, they
were in position. Greggor and she had situated themselves ahead of
the English caravan, the night slipping away with an angry streak
of red in the horizon. It was better for seeing what she was doing,
Fleur surmised, but also worrying since it improved the English
soldiers’ vision too.

Suddenly one of the leading soldiers on the
horses—she guessed they were officers, since they both had a
horse—held up a hand and called out, “Halt.” Jesus, had she been
spotted already? Greggor and she were behind a giant rock, perfect
for concealing two people hunched over. What about the boys? She
glanced to the other side of the small valley. She couldn’t see one
of the lads. Not one.

Greggor and she were about thirty feet from
the soldiers with a few other boulders in the way. Her breathing
was too loud, so she tried to hold it. In it’s place was a loud
thump-
thump
, thump-
thump
, thump-
thump
of her
heart.

“Horses,” Fleur heard one of the soldiers say
to the other.

They looked behind the train as did Fleur.
She felt the pounding of the horses’ hooves more than heard them.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only who could do that, since the one
officer had alerted the other.

They both nodded and spoke to each other, of
which Fleur heard only tidbits, like, “...several horses . . .” and
“...damned savages, trying to rescue their kin . . .”

That name. That word,
savage
, stirred
her blood even more.

She hadn’t known about the common thread
between Native Americans and Highlanders—for hundreds of years the
Highlanders had been
the savages
. If it weren’t for Duncan,
she might not have paid attention to that similarity. If it weren’t
for the nights when she’d leaned against him, staring up at the
profuse black and silver starry night sky, and the way his red-red
whiskers glinted from the small fire she’d made. The way he’d tell
the stories of his past, his people’s past, eager to listen to hers
as well, had captured her heart. His throaty whisper, the way he
smelled of clean soap and something spicy masculine, the way he’d
touched her. No, he’d tried so hard not to touch her, it had
seemed. Then
she’d
kissed him, and her world had
changed.

She remembered the way Duncan felt inside
her, always so careful, trying so hard to please her. Her body
restlessly recalled with a slick feeling of warmth and loneliness
without him.

She needed him.

She loved him.

As the English soldiers discussed what to do,
she realized this was her chance, the time to fight for Duncan.
Glancing at Greggor, she nodded. Then he did as well.

It was his voice that cut through the
lightening night sky first. Manly and angry, he bellowed. The lads
on the other hill yelled immediately. Such good lads. They were
much louder than just Greggor, and the English horses nervously
tore into the ground.

She stood without even thinking and shrieked
as she ran straight for those men on the chargers. She’d never
heard herself like that. It was a war cry. Two guttural,
filled-with-rage screams she rent through the midnight blue sky as
her legs carried her to a boulder parallel to the English
officers.

Chapter 35

Y
elling deafened Duncan’s already
sensitive ear. It had been bashed along the way. When he’d gained
consciousness, deep searing pain cut along the side of his face.
Being dragged behind a horse by his wrists, harsh rope biting into
his hands, he’d been hauled over a stone that tore into his ear and
cheek. The English officers had stopped the train long enough for
him to stand and quickly start marching, while he’d felt warm blood
drip down his neck.

As he’d internally questioned his fate once
more, he heard the lone scream. It was filled with hostility.
Greeting the one shout, were several other loud yells. One of them
was filled with such anger he turned in the direction it came,
surprised to see a shadow racing toward him. Then several shadows
sprang from behind rocks and bushes and like phantoms they floated
quickly toward him, toward the English soldiers.

Metal clanging sounded through the night.
Some of the soldiers grunted. One of the English guards standing
close to him suddenly dropped, and Duncan was fairly certain a rock
missile powered by a slingshot had struck the guard. A lad’s toy,
the slingshot, but it had been used in the Highlands as a weapon
for many a year.

Thinking quickly, he wondered who they could
be? Troopers from another clan who happened upon the English
caravan? He didn’t think he was far from MacKay country, if not
still in it. But there were so few men from his clan, especially so
from Durness, and Tongue was just too far away to have been any
help.

Whoever they were, he was grateful. The first
time in many decades, he gave a silent prayer of thanks for giving
him the opportunity to escape, for giving him the chance to fight
for his fate. He yanked hard on the rope around his wrists, knowing
the mount he was tethered to was already nervous—apparently not war
horses, used to ambushes. The steed's head crashed into the other’s
neck. The English officers bellowed something, and one of the
nearby soldiers on foot backhanded him across his already stinging
face.

Suddenly, a shadow was there, only ten feet
from him. It was so slender and graceful, and he knew those thin
shoulders and hips.

Lord have mercy, that was his Fleur running
up a boulder, screaming.

Spirit warriors, fighting ghosts, these were
legends so ingrained in him he didn’t think twice about it.
However, he knew that otherworldly wee warrior. Intimately. Loved
her. His stomach hollowed as he watched her sprint to the top of
the boulder, then leap off, flying through the air for all eternity
it seemed. She soared and had such height, was so high, only her
leg smacked into the officer nearest her, but it was enough for him
to topple over. Landing on the other officer, she took him with her
to the ground, where Duncan couldn’t see her through the bucking
horse. Finally free from its rider, it galloped away. The mount he
was tethered to tried to rear, but he pulled it down by the rope
around his aching wrists. Catching hold of the steed, he turned to
see his shadow warrior already standing over the English soldier
she’d taken down.

Little Valkyrie knew how to fight.

The other officer charged after her, and
Duncan tore into the knot in the horse’s saddle. Jesus, he’d been
gawking for too long. Hearing a gasp, he turned before he untied
himself, scared to death of what he would see.

Fleur stood in a defensive stance, her arms
slightly turned out. But the officer was gripping at one of his
shoulders. Fidgeting with the knot that bound him, Duncan tried to
watch as the officer charged again at Fleur only to repeal away,
grunting and holding his other arm. That’s when he saw his Fleur
held dirks in her fists. Only, she concealed them by having the
blade toward her forearm. When the idiotic English officer attacked
again, she was ready with a quick blow up and across his jaw. The
officer halted and held his surely bleeding face in his hands,
groaning in agony.