Highlander of Mine (21 page)

Chapter 26

R
ory almost halted, fell to his knees, and gawked at Fleur’s beauty as she finished wringing a white cloth in Mrs. Cameron’s lantern-lit kitchen. Such a simple task, and yet Lady Fleur made it infinitely graceful. Lord, it had been so long since he’d seen her. Aye, a little more than a week, but in that time she seemed to have blossomed. Her gold skin glowed more than usual, and her dark eyes sparkled with life. She smiled widely at him, and after dropping the cloth on a counter, gave him a hard embrace.

“So nice to see you, Rory.”

He’d come with the excuse of visiting Duncan’s ill mother, appearing the concerned captain. But he’d wanted to see Fleur. Duncan had indicated he’d thought she might be in the kitchen, not seeming to care where she was. And Rory himself had steered through the house to find her, and—ach—now he was with her. His throat constricted from his emotions. It felt damned good, actually perfect, to hold her in his arms. An open window revealed the night sky—a thick black with perfect glimmering diamonds. The kind of gems he wished to lavish her with. Amazingly, he could one day. And one day soon. He couldn’t believe how efficiently his plans had started to come together.

She extracted herself from his arms, pools of unshed tears in her eyes.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“About the embrace?” He wouldn’t let her go and held her by her arms, ensuring she stay close.

She smiled through her tears. “I’m so happy about Helen’s recovery. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Nay. Not at all.” Although he hoped she hugged him for more than merely her joy at Mrs. Cameron’s health. He expected she’d missed him. However, like him, she couldn’t say as much. ‘Twould be disrespectful to do so in Mrs. Cameron’s house. But he wished she’d be bold enough to say the words. Then he’d tell her his plans.

Duncan lumbered into the room. Almost beside himself with annoyance at being in Duncan’s company again, Rory softened when he realized something was different. Granted, Duncan was still as an intimidating sight as ever. But something in Rory had changed. He wasn’t so...well, unsettled by Duncan. It helped that Rory knew exactly what would happen to the huge idiot in a few days’ time. The only hold up was his mother’s quick recovery. She would be the one person who might ask where he’d gone, since Duncan wouldn’t be able to. Still, Mrs. Cameron was sick enough it shouldn’t cause too much a delay. She probably couldn’t voice her concern very loudly, at least.

Reluctantly releasing Fleur’s arms, Rory forced a wide smile into place and turned toward the large man. He shook his hand, as if they were old friends, though the charade to act as the concerned captain was becoming difficult. Feeling nearly giddy, he could hardly wait to tell Fleur his plans,
their future
.

“Again, my friend, congratulations on yer mother’s recovery.”

Duncan nodded and squeezed his hand a little too roughly, but Rory would never flinch. Duncan’s smile was also wide, but it didn’t approach his eyes. Ah, the big man must be playacting too. But why? He had no reason to be suspicious. Yet.

“Thank ye, Rory. That’s awfully kind of ye.” Duncan’s gaze shot to Fleur. There was obvious tension from the man. But Fleur wouldn’t meet his gaze. Interesting.

Her little infatuation must have passed as Rory had hoped it would. Nay,
knew
it would. Who would want someone like Duncan? As much as the man might be wise and knowledgeable about military procedures, that was the end of his skills. Rory was confident he had so much more to offer Lady Fleur.

She gathered more cloths and folded them close to the washing basin. Ach, it was demeaning work for such a lady, and he’d sure as hell change that when his plan was set in motion.

Well, it already was, wasn’t it? Cromwell’s captain of guards stood at alert, waiting for his order.
His order.
Rory MacKay, the second-born son of the laird, but the one who would wrest the leadership from his brother and simultaneously keep the clan powerful and wealthy, unlike any other in the Highlands during this tumultuous time. He alone would save his people and the dark lady beside him. If there were such things as minstrels in this forbidding age, they’d sing about him. Oh hell, he’d make sure there was a golden age for the MacKay clan. There would be minstrels singing in his castle.

“Would ye care for an ale, sir?” Duncan asked.

“Nay, I’ve extended my visit long enough. ‘Twas nice though to see yer mother. She looked well. Very well.”

“Aye, she was thrilled by yer visit, Captain. Tired her out, it did. She’s sleeping now.”

“She is?” Fleur’s head popped up from her folding.

“Aye.” Duncan nodded.

“She hasn’t had her laudanum yet.” The lady’s brow furrowed uneasily. She was so pretty even when she worried, worried for her people. She’d become a nursemaid for Helen, and the MacKay clan would love her, even if she were an outsider. Her actions would more than remedy the fact that she wasn’t born a Scot.

It was the one wrinkle in his plan—Rory worried how the people would receive Fleur as his woman. Well, he’d give them food and money, thanks to the new alliance with Cromwell, and they sure as hell shouldn’t complain, should they?

Fleur gathered one of the dry cloths and a wet one too. “I’ll give her the laudanum.” She turned to Rory and took one of his hands, giving it a squeeze. “Come back and visit, Rory. It’s so good seeing you again.”

“Of course.” His heart expanded at least by a rod. He tried to trim his grin to something presentable, after all Duncan watched, but he wasn’t too sure as Lady Fleur left if he wasn't smiling like a dunce.

Then he faced the large man nearby. “Again, glad to hear the news of yer mother.”

“Thank ye. Thanks for visiting her too.”

“Anything for my lieutenant.”

Duncan cleared his throat and looked down to the fine wooden floor. “Thanks, and are ye sure ye wouldn’t rather hire another—”

“I won’t hear of it, Duncan,” Rory argued. Duncan was referring to their earlier conversation regarding the man retiring. But that wouldn’t bode well for Rory’s campaign. So he’d made promises that Duncan need not train the troops for weeks more. He’d told Duncan to have some time to think things over, and if Duncan changed his mind, then Rory might agree. The whole while he’d tried to crush his grin, knowing Duncan’s eminent future.

“Ye’re simply invaluable to me,” Rory said. “There’s no need to worry about comin’ back anytime soon. Stay with yer ma. If my ma was—well, if she were in Scotland and her health was...well—I would be at her side too. Ye’re a good son to do what ye do. A good man too. And that means the best for me and our troops. Don’ worry ‘bout a thing. I’ll do some training with the men while here in Durness. Then, when yer mother’s fully recovered, we’ll look at the options again.”

Slowly Duncan nodded. “Heard the laird is off to visit yer ma in France?”

Steeling his reaction even more, Rory nodded. Yes, that was another one of the puzzle pieces that had been all too easy to put in place. With his brother gone, he could take the title uncontested.

“That’s nice,” Duncan said. “Hope all is well with her.”

Rory nodded again. “She’s fine. The lairdship just wanted to see his mother.”

“And I forgot to ask earlier, but where are Evan and his brothers?”

Damnation, Duncan and his questions. Rory tried not to twitch to give away any sign that the young troops Duncan asked of were now in Cromwell’s captivity and would be shipped to the American colonies or the Fever Islands as indentured servants. Aye, those seven-year indentured servants had bought him time and his clan’s future.

“They—well, Evan fell for a tavern wench. He wooed her and I think she appreciated the young lad’s attention. I let them stay in Brae for a few extra nights. They promised to be back within the week.”

Duncan nodded then cracked a lopsided grin. “The lad’s keen on a woman, eh? Good for him. Good for him.”

Rory nodded and smiled himself. ‘Twould be difficult to keep with the lies, but as he made his excuses to leave Mrs. Cameron’s house and the unsuspecting Duncan, he knew it wouldn’t be too long before he could tell everything to Fleur.

Chapter 27

E
ven with only the moon and stars streaking their silvery light through the open windows, Fleur saw Helen no longer rested in fits with a glistening face, due to her fever. She appeared peaceful and even held a tiny smile. Fleur couldn’t help but grin back at Helen as she slept. Her heart felt as if it were swelling with warm, sweet...love. It couldn’t be anything else. She knew she loved Helen. It was hard not to. Not just because Helen looked so much like Rachel, but because she was completely honest. There were no pretenses. She’d made mistakes, but through it all she had just wanted love. That resonated with Fleur.

However, Fleur knew as much as she craved love, she was also terrified of it.

Everything is transitory,
Helen had said. That frightened Fleur. But she was so tired of being fearful.

Fleur leaned over and gently kissed Helen on the forehead and breathed a sigh of relief. No more long vigils of watching over Helen, praying her lungs kept lifting with the needed air. Something nagged at Fleur to follow the events to its logical end—Helen’s cancer had metastasized, after all. More caring and grave concern would come. But her mind wouldn’t grind any gear to finish the thought. She wouldn’t—couldn’t let it. Perhaps it was her heart not letting her think too far in advance.

Leaving Helen’s chamber, Fleur quickly tiptoed through the house, searching for Duncan. She might be scared of what she felt, scared of his reaction, but she also knew she couldn’t stop herself any more. She wanted Duncan. It was that simple.

No, it was a bit simpler than that.

She loved him.

When she couldn’t find him in the dark home, she glanced out one of the large arched windows in the back of the house and saw a light in the barn. The man was trying to retreat from her. Maybe he was scared too. Well, she had attacked him earlier, then avoided all eye contact like a coward. Jeez.

It was time to be a woman.

Wrapping a faded blue plaid around her shoulders, she ran out into the night. Although it hadn’t rained for a few days, the soil under her feet was soft and sometimes squishy. But it felt exalting to jog through. Soft grass met her toes closer to the barn, but then gave way to a hardened path, where animals had trudged over long ago. Helen had gotten rid of the barn dwellers after her sons had been captured.

God, the tragedies Duncan had endured. She needed to find him, talk to him, make him smile, kiss him, then . . .

Her body zipped with the thought of Duncan touching her. For such a huge man, he knew how to be gentle. It made her feel special. It made her feel loved.

He’d never said the words, but she hoped . . .

He hadn’t heard her enter the clean barn, too busy making a bed for himself out of the straw in a spare bin with piles of blankets. She stepped on some straw, finally making a loud enough crunch that Duncan straightened with fists near his chest. He relaxed his pose immediately, and Fleur rushed to him. She couldn’t help herself.

He grunted when she made impact, flinging her arms around his neck, and he stumbled back, holding her tight. Lurching to the side, he then tried to counter, but eventually fell back into the pile of straw and blankets.

They laughed when Fleur pulled back enough to look down at her captor. Somehow in the fall she found her legs and arms spread around him, holding him down. He was sitting more than laying, since many of the blankets were behind his back.

“What are you doing out here?”

His face sobered. “Well, my ma seems much better. And I figured I should stay out here.”

“Without me?”

His fingers loosened their grip around her.

“Are you worried about what your mother will think if you sleep in my bed?”

He cocked his head to the side. “I hadn’t even thought of that, but, aye, now I do worry ‘bout that too.”

She nodded, wanting to be respectful of Helen, but then she realized what he’d said. “Too? As in you worried about something else before I mentioned your ma. What else is there? Why don’t you want to sleep with me?”

“I didn’ ken ye’d want me to.” His voice was quiet, but rasped.

Some part of her snapped. This was the moment when she no longer wanted the luxury of her fear. It had made him feel as if she hadn’t wanted him, and that couldn’t be further from the truth. She needed him.

Wrapping her arms tight around his neck, she caressed his cheek against her own. His three-day-old beard was surprisingly soft, but it did have its blunt ends, roughly tickling her neck and face.

“I want you to,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be disrespectful of Helen, but I don’t want to be too far away from you ever again.”

Instantly, he wrapped his arms around her in a tight vise. She couldn’t breathe for a moment, but that was like love, wasn’t it?
For just a few seconds it grasps, no matter how you wrestle with it, and all you can think of is how crazy, scary, and so freaking fantastic love is. Then you can breathe again, and life is better than ever before.

“I worried...after, well, after this afternoon, when we’d...when I . . .”

She pulled away and smiled at him. “I attacked you. I’m sorry about that.”

“Are ye?”

Snorting a laugh, she shook her head. “Actually, no. But I don’t want to pressure you to make love to me.”

He gave a wide grin. “I didn’ feel pressured.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I did make you—”

“Ye didn’ make me do anythin’, Fleur. I was very much a willing participant.”

She felt him harden at the same time he’d said “very,” which had sounded like verrah, his “r” rolling through her chest. His reaction, his accent, made her stomach clench, her breasts felt so heavy. Instantly her body reacted, feeling as if it were melting with desire.

“Will you...make love to me again?”

He swallowed and looked around the barn. “But not here. Ye need a lovely place, where—”

“I want it to be here. I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

His smile turned wicked and his fingers dug into her hips, grinding his length against her. But then he blinked and slightly shook his head. “Nay, ye need it to be special. Ye need—”

“I just need you, Duncan. It’s special no matter where, because I’m making love with
you
.”

“Ah, my Fleur,” he whispered, then caressed one of her cheeks with his hand.

Savoring the feel of his roughened, calloused palm against her visage, she could only think of how much she wanted him. Her fingertips found his wide powerful chest. Sliding them down, she pulled his shirt from his kilt. Or tried to. In the end he had to help, pulling part of his plaid down his shoulder, then lifting the white linen from his giant form. She almost squealed in delight when she saw his bare torso. His shoulders were so broad, so muscled. His deltoids rounded perfectly. When he moved to hold her hips again, she was fascinated by the fibers gracefully gliding under his skin...skin flecked with a few almost translucent golden freckles and so many thin white scars. Most of his healed injuries seemed small, but a few ran long ragged lines over his perfectly chiseled body. She scuttled her fingers along a few of those scars, wondering about the battles he’d fought, suddenly protective of him and never wanting him to fight again. He was so big, so male. And for whatever reason, it surprised her his massive chest was hairless. However, under his belly button was the beginning of a dark red trail of hair that disappeared under his kilt. She wanted to kiss every naked inch of him, but she let her hands explore first.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered.

“Ach.” He grimaced. “I ken ye mean that as a compliment—”

“Oh, and I do,” she said as her fingers drifted down to where his rectus abdominis created hills and valleys perfect for her hands to travel. “You have a six pack.”

“A what?”

She giggled, feeling his erection press her hot core a little more as she laughed. That made her groan and sway her head back, relishing the feeling as she swayed against him. “It’s—you—you’re perfect.”

He grunted, a sound that seemed to indicate both understanding of her meaning as well as marveling in the sensation as she moved on him.

His hands latched around the back of her neck, then he caught her mouth with his lips, kissing her in a frenzy. She couldn’t seem to catch up, but simultaneously she wanted to go faster, wishing Duncan were already naked. Having made love the way they had, she had yet to experience the full intimacy of his bare body against hers. Even the thought made her breasts ache, the apex of her legs flare with even more fire.

Quickly, his hands glided down her waist, back to her hips, this time pushing and pulling her along his erection. He groaned as she placed her hands on his shoulders for better balance. Her tongue shot in his mouth, then one of his hands was once more at the nape of her neck. Fisting her hair gently, he tilted her head and thrust his tongue in her mouth. He began to time his actions, so that every time his tongue met hers, he’d slide her heat against his hardness.

Her body tightened, already wanting the release of an orgasm. It felt so good, and all Duncan was doing was rubbing against her.

Pulling away from the kiss, she whispered, “Tell me what you want me to do, Duncan.”

He didn’t respond, but kept grinding against her. Every time he moved, more of her skirts were pushed aside. She was down to only a few layers now, making it hard to think straight. But she wanted to do this right, she wanted Duncan to enjoy it. He’d had to be responsible for so much at such an early age, and the least she could give him was a rocking sex life. It’s not like she wouldn’t get anything out of the deal herself. Feeling his hands on her hips, touching his body so intimately, learning all those defined muscles by sight and touch...Yeah, it wasn’t like she was altruistic.

“Tell me what you want me to do, Duncan,” she softly repeated.

He held her still then, glancing into her eyes, his own were bright green and bursting orange. Something passed through his gaze. Some kind of mischief?

She giggled. “I want to make this good for you. What do you want me to do?”

“Ah, see, ‘tis always good with ye.”

“We’ve only done this once before.”

“As I said, ‘tis always good with ye.”

She laughed a little louder. “But I want...I want to make you happy. You made me so happy last time. Now it’s your turn. What are your fantasies? What can I do for you?”

He swallowed.

“Maybe you don’t fantasize about me?” She was surprised how much it hurt to think, let alone to say it out loud. God, she wanted him to think about her, dream about her, because he’d been all she could think of.

“Nay,” he chuckled softly. “I fantasize of ye.” He paused, swallowing again. “Do ye fantasize of me?”

She glided her hands over his huge body, from his shoulders down to his strong calloused hands. “Oh, yes. I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so long.”

“Since we first met?”

She nodded, her hand finding one of his nipples and lightly pinching the small pebble. He inhaled a sharp hiss, his eyes flickering shut.

“Does that feel good?”

“Aye.”

“What else do you want me to do?”

“I want ye to sit on my face.”

She stopped, but couldn’t pull her palms away from his iron-like chest. As he opened his eyes, looking a wee bit guilty, she asked, “But, well, that’s what I would want. What do
you
want?”

He took a sharp breath again. “That’s what I dream of. I want to taste ye on my tongue. I want to feel ye come against me.”

As he spoke, her body convulsed. She wasn’t too sure, but it felt as if he’d given her a small orgasm just by telling her what he wanted. Shuddering, she gripped at his shoulders again for balance.

“Do I offend ye?”

She shook her head, then smiled wide. “No, not at all. You just—I’m going to fantasize about this when we’re done.”

He softly chuckled, but the levity stopped quickly. “Ye—ye don’t ken me perverse?”

“God, no. You do remember that I’m the girl who insisted we make love at the back of your house against a wall, right?”

His smile slowly came back, this time decidedly more roguish. “There are other things we could try.” Yet he shyly looked away. “But we don’ have to.”

She placed her hands around his face, forcing him to look at her. “Yes, please. Let’s try it all.”

He moaned and leaned forward to kiss her sweetly. Pulling away, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I have to get ye out of ye kirtle.”

“Agreed.”

They both chuckled as they unfastened the black dress in a hurry. He kissed down her neck as he untied her petticoats. Her clothes were flung somewhere. She didn’t care, but loved it when Duncan lifted his legs a little, which gained her the position of his mouth level with her chest. He clamped down on her nipple through her corset, and the sucking motion, even through the fabric, was intoxicating. She moaned and tunneled her fingers through his hair, easily undoing the tie in the back. This was the way she liked him best. His vibrant red hair free, waving around his face a little wild. Looking down at him—oh, how she loved seeing him like this—her heart warmed.