Duchess of Mine (37 page)

He growled, loving the display, even though
he was nearly going to explode. She reached behind her, and he was
quite surprised the little vixen cupped his bullocks, squeezing
just right.

“Lord, I can’t hang on much more.”

She chuckled then rode him faster.

He thought she was trying to push him, tease
him until he begged for release, but then he felt her internal
muscles tighten. She moaned and rolled her head back as she kept
lifting her hips. Applying just a bit more pressure to her
clitoris, he watched amazed as her motions quickened. She hugged
herself again, this time sliding a hand over her breast,
contracting the nipple hard.

“Look at me, darlin’.”

She did as he asked, and then she suddenly
stopped, her body spasming internally. She swayed, lifted on him,
jerked, then moaned. “Duncan.”

He held her hips as she leaned forward, her
shaking hands on his chest. Pounding into her a few more times, he
quickly found his own release, feeling it pour through him, from
his head to his toes, the intense heat flooded with something
special and soft. A feeling that was only for her. He poured
himself into her, holding her still as he shuddered.

Slowly, gently she reached down and kissed
him. That was when he realized she was still coming.

“
Čhaŋtóóčhignake,”
she whispered.

His breath was stuck in his throat. He had no
clue what she’d said, but could guess the meaning.
“Tha gaol
agam ort.”
His heart spoke and in his original language. He
loved her. God, so much.

She fell on him, wrapping her arms around
his. Her hair spilled all around, enveloping him in her floral soft
scent. It was such a dainty smell, but always there. He held her
tightly to his sweaty body. Her breath came in quick gulps, and he
loved her heat, the slickness of her skin against his. His cock
appreciated the feel of the smoothness inside her still quivering
body. Lord, he could have another go at making love to her.

Slowly, he circled his hips. She moaned. It
was a happy little noise, and if she made even the slightest
protest he’d stop. But she never did.

“I think you have to be on top this
time.”

Smiling, he rolled her under him. “’Tis my
pleasure to do as my princess wishes.”

She giggled. “I’m not a princess, and you
know it.”

He lifted himself enough to look at her,
stare into those dark intense eyes. “That’s right yer not. Ye’re a
queen, my Fleur. My wee flower queen.”

She caressed his cheek as he slowly found a
rhythm. Pulling him down, she kissed him, kissed him so powerfully.
Kissed him hard enough he forgot all over again to worry if she’d
vanish.

Chapter 32

R
ory couldn’t believe his eyes. Nay,
he couldn’t be seeing what he was.

He’d gone back to Mrs. Cameron’s house
because when he’d left with his young troops, they’d divulged the
latest town gossip. Lady Fleur and Duncan were allegedly in love.
It was quite fitting since Duncan was so traveled and so rich,
someone had said. Another in the crowd agreed, saying Duncan
deserved a princess like the bonny Fleur. They made a handsome
pair, a nearby woman had said. The whole town was abuzz with their
upcoming marriage vows, wondering if they would wed here or in
America or mayhap even in Sweden, where the king could bestow them
with an elaborate ceremony. As sad as it was that Mrs. Cameron had
passed, it brought Duncan and Lady Fleur all the more closer, a
chit had swooned.

Duncan would be flogged. Nay, Rory thought,
the man would have his entrails out before nightfall, for allowing
the rumors in the first place. However, the English Captain had
told him strapping men like Duncan were worth three times more when
sold. And Rory had been bragging about Duncan’s strength, saying he
could plow a field himself without need of an ox. Which could be
true, but by that time Rory had been drunk with the idea of money,
finally feeling it roll around in his pockets. It was enough to
secure the lairdship, the coup nearly complete, save for selling
off the last batch of men that included Duncan, which would happen
soon enough. It had been a difficult decision, selling off his own
men. But worth it. The English promised a band of soldiers to
assist with the takeover. Then Rory would toughen his troops, and,
with the aid of the English soldiers, they’d capture all the
mosstroopers, sell them to the Fever Islands or America, ridding
his land of criminals. Aye, he’d not only be laird soon, but a good
one at that.

Rory had returned to confront Duncan, scream
at him for letting the simple folk of Durness think anything would
happen betwixt the old mercenary and the princess. But then he’d
stumbled upon the two.

He’d tripped, tumbling on a heather’s root.
In the confines of the purplish bush, Rory had seen Duncan roughly
pull the lady against him outside the cellar doors, quickly
capturing her lips under his. Rory had tried to call out for Lady
Fleur, yell that he was coming to rescue her, when he saw her place
her arms around Duncan’s thick neck.

Nay, mayhap he hadn’t just seen that. Mayhap
Duncan had forced her to do that, he told himself.

Trying to heave through the heather to stand
again, Rory caught Duncan lifting the lady. She wrapped her legs
tight around his hips, then Duncan stormed into his house.

Rory worried for a moment that she had
wrapped her legs around him of her own accord. But that was
preposterous. She was being forced. She had to be. He raced after
them, thinking to charge through the door Duncan had entered, but
then decided to try another entrance, one that might take Duncan by
surprise. That’s when Rory yet again stumbled, this time upon a
chamber’s open window.

Duncan didn’t even have the decency to close
the curtains, as if he had wanted Rory to see him with Fleur. Rory
found a spot where the glass of the window reflected all that
happened in the room, then watched horrified as Lady Fleur giggled
then moaned as Duncan cupped her breasts.

With growing fury, Rory observed Fleur strip
Duncan of his clothes, then bore her own nude body for the man—the
ingrate, the wretch. The little slut then rode Duncan.

Rory hated them both, was disgusted and
heartbroken.

Ah, but he had wanted her...wanted her unlike
any other before.

He turned away from the scene, swallowing
down the bitter, bitter taste of bile and the ashes of his
dreams.

But wait! Fleur had told him to never give up
his dreams.

He’d come so far already. He’d done so much.
He couldn’t stop now.

Once he purged Duncan from Scotland, hell,
even the Continent, Fleur would be his. Rory would then purge
Fleur’s body from what she’d done with Duncan. Oh, he wouldn’t rape
her. And it might take time to seduce the lady, but she would
submit to him eventually. He’d wear her down. Then she’d feel his
body under hers, she’d make him come, and she wouldn’t have a
second thought about Duncan.

No one had to know about her indiscretion.
Well, no one would know about her either. Since he’d have to keep
dealing with the English, she had to be a secret anyway. He’d lock
her in a chamber for his own needs, and soon enough the only thing
she would remember was that she was his. Only his.

Rory skulked away, planning his revenge. He
hadn’t intended to take Duncan until two more days passed, but he
could make haste for this. In just a few hours, he’d have Fleur all
his own.

Chapter 33

I
n the dead of night Duncan woke when
someone loudly knocked on the door of his mother’s house. Er,
his
house now. The thought made his heart pinch.

It was so dark he could hardly make out
Fleur’s hand fluttering up his chest.

“What is that?”

There was just enough light to make out her
dainty fingers, which he caught then kissed. “I’ll find out. Wait
here.”

She giggled and lowered the sheet. Even
without much light, he saw her bare breasts, her skin always
glowing. “Good idea. I don’t think I should answer the door like
this.”

He growled and found one of her soft nipples
with his mouth, capturing it and suckling. She grabbed hold of his
hair to tug him closer, but he pulled away. Fleur made an
irresistible pouting noise, and he almost kissed her when the
banging erupted throughout the house again.

“Duncan, ye there?”

“Who’s that?” Fleur asked, sounding worried
now.

He shrugged. “I’ll find out. Be back
soon.”

“Yes, please hurry back.” She pulled the pale
sheet back over her chest, but he saw the shadows her nipples made,
peeking through the fabric.

He moaned. Turning away was torture. Somehow
he managed the feat, finding a plaid and wrapping it around his
waist. Jesus, this had better be important. Stomping through the
house, he couldn’t quite figure who was calling for him. The voice
was so raw, desperate.

Yanking back the front door, he stared at
Rory. “Lord, ye all right?”

Rory was covered in soot and drenched from
water or sweat or both. He shook his head. “Sorry to bother ye, but
there’s a fire, probably set by Fleur’s lads, down by Cave Smoo.
With the wind hitting it just so, it’s goin’ to sweep into Mr.
Brown’s field.”

“Damn.”

Rory nodded.

It was then Duncan saw at least a dozen of
the young troops a little beyond Rory, all blurry eyed as if
recently roused, but looking ready to fight the threatening
flames.

“Can ye help with the fire?” Rory asked.

“’Course, o’ course. I’ll get dressed and be
right back.”

Duncan assumed the troops and Rory would set
to without him, let him get outfitted then catch up. But Rory stood
on the porch, looking at Duncan with narrowed eyes. Closing the
door slightly, Duncan rushed to Fleur’s bedchamber. He supposed he
could call it his now too.

He made sure the door was latched before he
said, “There’s a fire, darlin’. I need to help.”

“Oh.” Her voice dripped with disappointment.
God, he liked the sound of that. But then she said, “Oh! Should I
come and help?”

He pleated his plaid on the floor, then slid
on a shirt. “Nay. Sleep. I’m sure ‘tisn’t too bad.” He donned his
hose and boots quickly. Wrapping his plaid around his waist, he
belted it into place. Finding his broach to gather the ends over
his shoulder, he pinned it.

“But I can help.”

His eyes had adjusted to the dark, for he saw
her sit erect, her beautiful breasts perking up, begging for his
mouth. He nearly moaned again. “I ken ye can help. And if we need
more hands, I’ll come and get ye. But for now, why don’t ye
sleep?”

“Will you come back to me all smoky and
sooty?”

“I’ll wash up before I come back to ye.”

She shook her head. Still on the bed, she
knelt on her shins. The night light made erotic shadows of her
body, curving lusciously around her waist, flaring out at her
narrow hips. “I want you to come back to me dirty.”

He softly chuckled, wanting so much to touch
her, touch her everywhere. “I love yer wicked mind. I’ll come back
to ye dirty. Mayhap ye’ll need to clean me?”

She nodded and flashed him a vixen’s smile,
her white teeth glinting in the dark. “First, you’ll make me dirty,
then we’ll clean up afterwards.”

At that he did growl and nearly catapulted
himself onto her. “Lord, ye make it difficult to do anything other
than to be in bed with ye.”

“I was hoping so.”

He leaned over, aware of his erection tenting
his plaid, but tried to kiss her quickly, not as passionately as he
felt. She didn’t help, with her little tongue darting in his mouth.
But somehow he pulled away and was out the door, trying to calm his
cock before the others saw.

“Let’s go,” he said to Rory when he was on
his porch.

Rory appeared to glare at him for a quick
beat. But then again, it was hard to make out his expression. His
face was dark from soot, and the night was indeed obscure. He
smiled a moment later, his teeth bared, the whites of his eyes
seeming to gleam a little too much.

Before Duncan could think much of it, they
jogged through the garden, out the gate, then down the road. Duncan
saw the thick smoke, clouding over the stars and smelled it. He
just couldn’t see any flames yet. The odor wasn’t what would burn
close to Cave Smoo—grass and heather, that slightly sweet-smelling
smoke. This reeked of wood and something wet, like seaweed.
Odd.

The young troops said their condolences again
and asked if he needed anything. Wasn’t that kind?

Duncan also thought it was a bit abnormal
that only Rory had soot on his face, his plaid. The troops looked
freshly stirred from bed, like Duncan. Briefly, he thought about
staying on as their lieutenant, but the thought of becoming a
farmer with Fleur, reading to her his stories in their spare time,
and having several little girls won him over. That was what he
wanted.

As much as he missed his ma, and he missed
her something fierce, he couldn’t help but look forward to the
future. When he was a wee lad, before Albert, he’d felt this
excited about life and what it could hold. He hadn’t experienced
this delirious and hopeful sentiment since then, which had been
decades. Lord, Fleur was so good for him. He hoped to God he was as
good for her. He’d spend the rest of his life trying to be, that
was for certain.

So deep in thought, Duncan hardly noticed
that no flames licked along the shoreline or beside the road. As he
ran, he noticed no fire close to Smoo, yet smoke was all about. Was
the fire out already? About to ask Rory, Duncan heard one of the
young troops make a strangled noise. Glancing in the direction of
the gurgling moan, he could barely make out the shadows of men
fighting. His young troops were under attack. It was so dark he
could hardly see friend from foe but knew the enemy from the way
they pointed their pikes at him. Jesus.