Highlander of Mine (15 page)

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.

He growled and ground his length against her stomach and, in the process, making her back up again against the wall. This time when he lifted her, she did wrap her legs around his hips. They both moaned as he found her center with his hardness. Yet again, only his plaid lay between them.

“We have to stop,” he said as he nibbled down her neck.

She gasped. “I know. I agree too. I just don’t know how to.”

He silently chuckled as he straightened his head. Then his smile waned into serious contemplation. Still holding her backside with one hand, he swept some of her hair away from her face.

She smiled. “Are you,” she swallowed, “Are you—you need sleep.”

“Aye.”

“Are you going to sleep . . .?”

He swallowed.

“I mean, maybe we could talk inside.”

“Talk?” He slightly pressed his erection against her more.

She couldn’t help but flutter her lids closed and lean her head back at the intimate touch. When she opened her eyes, he was smiling at her. “Well,” she whispered, “we could do a little more than talk.”

He chuckled and the way it rippled down her body made her shudder.

A muffled thump sounded from the kitchen door.

They both stiffened and Duncan set her back down on the ground, his face suddenly viciously protective as he swept her behind him. “Let me check what that was.” His voice was little more than a primitive growl.

Then they both heard Helen call out, “Duncan, that you lad?”

Duncan raced inside, Fleur right behind him, clutching the plaid around her once more, thanks to Duncan’s swift reflexes and thinking.

“Ma!” He hurried a few feet, close to a large blue pantry, where Fleur could finally see the outline of Helen. She lay in a lump on the floor. Panic erupted through Fleur, and she rushed to Helen too.

“I—I slipped, I think,” Helen said shakily, while Duncan hefted her in his arms. “I needed to empty my chamber pot, then I heard voices...yer voices, then, I think, I tripped on something.”

“I’m so sorry, Helen,” Fleur said, and reached out to hold her hand while Duncan promptly took her back to her bedroom.

“I—I can’t remember if I slipped or not,” Helen said softly as Duncan gently placed her on her bed.

Helen couldn’t remember? Fleur noticed Helen’s hand was as chilled as...she wouldn’t let herself finish the morbid thought.

Chapter 18

A
fter setting his ma on her bed, Duncan struck a match and lit a candle. But he turned quickly back to Helen when he saw the startled look on Fleur’s face. There, around his mother’s pale lips, were spots of blood.

“Did you hit your mouth in the slip, Helen?”

Immediately, his ma reached up and felt around her lips. But it was the way she touched herself, the way her eyes were downcast, that made Duncan suddenly feel as if the ground might give way at any second.

Helen didn’t answer, but kept inspecting herself, when Fleur sat closer and looked deeply at his mother’s face.

“It doesn’t look like your pretty lips are swollen.”

Then Helen looked down at her hands, covering her chest with the bedding, as if embarrassed.

“Ma, do ye think something smacked yer lips as ye fell?” Duncan asked a bit more forcefully than he’d meant.

Helen finally looked up, but then bashfully glanced at Fleur to answer. “Nay, I—I don’t think so.”

Fleur took a deep breath, as she simultaneously brushed his mother’s hair away from her face. She wore a braid over one shoulder, and it was then that Duncan allowed the fact that there was so much gray in her bonny dark hair. It had been a luscious auburn at one time, but turned a wee bit darker after Albert had entered their life, the sheen of red disappeared. Later the gray came, and when he’d first returned from Sweden he couldn’t believe the elderly woman was really his mother. But then—well, he couldn’t explain it, other than he denied what she really looked like. He kept trying to imagine her with fuller hair, redder, less gray. He kept trying to think her younger. Fatter. More healthsome.

Lord, he knew she was sick. But he couldn’t face that. He’d lost his brothers to Cromwell then Virginia, and he figured he’d ponder his mother’s weight loss when he’d retrieved the lads from America. But Helen had insisted the lads stay where they were, and Duncan here with her. He’d had almost a year to come to terms with the fact that something was eating away at his mother, but until this night, when his devilish angel Fleur had told him she was his, then he finally relented and admitted something was very wrong with his mother.

“Helen, honey, did you cough the blood on your mouth or vomit it?” Fleur asked calmly. Well, Duncan could tell she was trying to remain calm, but her hands shook.

In just the few days since she’d been here, she’d grown attached to his mother and vice versa. He could tell from her strained voice that she knew Helen was sick too. Much more sick than either of them had anticipated.

Helen glanced at Duncan, almost looking as if she weren't going to answer, but she finally relented. “I vomited.”

“All right.” Fleur kept brushing Helen’s hair. “How long have you been throwing up blood, sweetie?”

Duncan’s heart both ached and felt blissfully warm. Fleur cared so much for his ma. There was such comfort in that. But whatever sickness Helen had was not good.

“About four months now.”

The ground. It was moving. Shaking. It would suck him in a quagmire. A black hole.

“Duncan, my lad, sit. Ye don’t look so well.”

He hardly heard his ma say the words. Fleur was suddenly before him, steadying him to sit on his mother’s bed. Then he turned to the one woman he’d loved his whole life.

“Why didn’ ye tell me?”

She licked her colorless lips, her face ashen. The half-moons under her eyes were lavender and slightly blue. Through it all though, Helen tried to smile and reached out for him.

“I didn’ want ye to worry, my sweetling.” Helen caught Duncan’s hand and held it in hers while tears formed. “I didn’ want to worry ye. I wanted ye to stay with me when ye came back from Sweden, but not to fret.”

Duncan scooted closer to his ma. “How—how long have ye known?”

“A little before the lads started fightin’ against Cromwell.”

“Jesus.”

“Don’ take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Sorry, Ma.” He sniffed, feeling his throat close in and his eyes stung. “I just—I just—what is it? What’s makin’ ye so sick?”

Two tears flowed down her cheeks. Duncan gently reached out and tried to wipe them away. She caught his hand and held it close to her cheek. “I love ye, my son. My first born.”

Her words blurred his vision.

She reached out and smoothed her hands across his cheeks. “I wish I didn’ have to tell ye what it is. I kept playin’ a silly game with myself where I kept thinkin’ I wasn’ really sick. I wasn’ so bad, I told myself.” Her heroic smile waned as she continued. “’Bout three months ago my tumor burst. Hurt me so. That’s when I saw Mrs. McVicar, the midwife. Ye remember that?”

“Yer
tumor
burst?” Duncan wasn’t sure if he was panting or holding his breath or some variation of both. He scooted even closer to his mother.

She glanced away then, at Fleur, standing beside him, holding his shoulder with a cool hand.

“I—I hid it from him,” Helen confessed.

Duncan glanced to Fleur, hoping she might give him the resolve to continue this conversation. Oh, but how it tore through him. His mother had been in pain, had a tumor that’d burst.

Fleur nodded and tried her best to give Helen a reassuring grin.

“I hid it,” Helen said, “because I needed a woman to tell him for me. I needed ye. I prayed for ye. I even—Lord, forgive me—but I asked the fae for ye.”

“Why, Ma? What couldn’ ye tell me?” His voice was soft and he barely recognized it himself, because he sounded like an agonized lad.

Helen smiled as a tear stole from her eye. “Oh, I could tell ye, but—well, I ken ye needed a lass in yer life. One just for ye. One that would heal all the wounds...I’d accidentally inflicted.”

The standing moisture in his eyes couldn’t dam anymore. He began to cry, wondering if Fleur thought less of him. But he couldn’t help it. Not after what his mother had said.

“Oh, Ma, ye never inflicted—”

“Now, Duncan, ye’re a horrible liar, ye are. These are my last days, son. So no more lies. I should have left Albert. I shouldn’ have married him in the first place. I wanted a nice da for ye. Instead—oh, Lord, I regret that.”

“Stop, Ma. Please, stop.” He couldn’t hear any more. Every word Helen spoke pierced him, hollowed him, made him nothing but that lad at nine who slept in the barn. The lad who had run to her whenever he’d scrapped his knees. The lad who had cried to her, but then had to stop when she had married.

He wiped his tears from his face angrily.

Helen glanced at Fleur, and Duncan refused to look at her. But then his ma shook her head. “Oh, lass, I didn’ mean to make ye cry, neither of ye to cry.”

He peeked up at Fleur, who held him by his shoulder in a vise grip. She glanced at him, then rushed in for a quick embrace, holding him so tight for a second, Duncan wondered if she’d let him breathe. Yet too soon she released him.

Straightening, Fleur said, “Should I leave? Let you two talk?” Silver streaks of moisture floated down her cheeks.

“Nay, my sweet, Fleur,” Helen said calmly, although she too continued to cry. “I need ye here for my son.”

Fleur pointedly looked at him then. “Do—do you want me to—?”

“Stay,” was all he could ask, beg of her. His voice little more than rasps.

“Although,” Helen whispered, then cleared her voice. “I do need Mrs. McVicar again.”

“Aren’t there any other healers, Ma?”

“I was just the one here. Of course in Tongue they have a doctor even, but here ‘twas just me, love. So now Mrs. McVicar is the only one to help me.” Helen turned to Fleur. “My dear, would ye go call on her. I hate to do it in the middle of the night, but my second tumor burst.”

“Yer
second
tumor?” Duncan asked, feeling on the brink of breaking through bricks yet so helpless too. “Jesus, Ma, are ye in pain?”

Helen shook her head. “Not now, nay. But I will be. Mrs. McVicar prescribed me some heavy laudanum, the black pills, for the pain. Can’t feel much of anything right now. But when it wears off, it’ll hurt like a son o’ a bitch. Oh, excuse me, Fleur, for my language.”

“I think it’s quite applicable. No need to excuse yourself.”

Helen smiled lightly, then continued on. “Mrs. McVicar also gave me a new tea called coca, or something like it. It gave me energy.”

“Opium and cocaine.” Duncan heard Fleur whisper. He turned to her, but she shook her head and bit her lip, refusing to say more. However, her wide eyes disturbed him. Did she know something about his mother’s medicines? He’d ask later.

“Of course,” Fleur said, “I’ll go fetch—”

“Nay, I’ll go fetch Mrs. McVicar.” Duncan interrupted. “I’m scared to have ye leave my sight. Scared of. . . ” Scared she would vanish into the too thick air, thick with his mother’s illness. He was so scared Fleur wasn’t for him. So scared that what had happened earlier had been a figment of his imagination, because he needed her now. He needed her so much.

Fleur nodded, but then arched her dark brows. “You said Timothy and Collin are watching the house? We could send one of them for Mrs. McVicar.”

“I ken she was the one for ye, Duncan,” Helen said as her lids fluttered closed. “Damnation, the coca tea is wearing off.”

“Does it hurt, Ma?”

Helen shook her head as her lids stayed shut. “I just get tired, that’s all.”

“I’m going to get Timothy.”

“Nay, I will.” Duncan stood and pushed beyond Fleur. But he stopped and turned around when she swiftly caught him in another fierce embrace. She’d lifted on her wee toes, so he could feel her cheek pressed against his. He held her firmly, even lifting her off the ground for a moment, enough time to regain his strength so he could talk to the lad, Timothy.

He lowered Fleur back on the ground, and immediately she released him, giving him a small grin, the kind that made his heart grow warm.

How had it happened? It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, was it? So fast he’d fallen for her, come to depend on her, need her. She was a gift from the fae, the little tricksters, who might take her away at any second. He shouldn’t depend on her, for fear of her soon departure, but there was no fighting his heart.