Highlander of Mine (8 page)
D
uncan hadn’t slept so restlessly since his first battle. He’d tossed and turned in his straw bed. Oddly, his anxiety was similar to pre-combat jitters. He’d worried the whole night through that he wouldn’t do enough, would be too scared, wouldn’t do the right thing. When dawn arrived he finally admitted to himself whom he was nervous about. Fleur had left her mark on him as sure as if he’d fought against her. Actually, it had been his heart that had done all the fighting. Nonetheless, he knew she had been the winner.
He’d come a cropper.
Why, though, would he want a woman who wanted another man? A much younger, titled, probably richer man? It had nearly killed him seeing Fleur with Rory last night. All his jealous tendencies had flared, making him want to punch Rory in the too perfect nose. He hated the way Rory had looked at Fleur, his desire obvious.
As much as Duncan was dubious about working for the laird’s younger brother, he’d come to find that Rory was intelligent, sometimes funny, and usually considerate, especially regarding the green troops. That was a real asset to have in a leader, a man who treated his subordinates well. Rory would make an excellent captain one day soon.
It was clear he’d taken a fancy to Fleur too. Well, what man in his right mind wouldn’t? She was only the most beautiful woman any man had ever run across. Although, he might be biased, since beauty was supposedly subjective. Still, she was lovely with her long black hair, dark intriguing eyes, and those full lips that made him want to press his own against hers. Made him think of being close to her, of listening to her talk about anything she pleased.
Hell, he didn’t even know the woman, and he surely didn’t understand why he’d taken to her so quickly. Mayhap he should get to know her. Perhaps she was snobbish, too silly, or superficial. Further, she believed she’d come from another time, which might mean she was insane, at the least. But he kept hoping she’d merely gotten hit on the head and couldn’t remember why she was truly here. Such a God-awful thing to hope for.
He rolled out of his bed, shaking himself free from the straw, although none was on him. His mother had given him many a quilt and plaid to lie with, to keep him warm and free from the straw poking at him. He’d kept a bucket full of water to wash in, and did so letting the too cold water both soothe and invigorate his tense body. Yesterday’s run should have worn any stress out, but he woke feeling restless and...well, randy. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this was a fine mess, and making it worse he suddenly realized that when Fleur had been close to Rory, Duncan couldn’t recall her once looking at the laird’s younger brother with anything much other than polite curiosity. Duncan couldn’t help but wonder if she might...
Just as he was finishing brushing his teeth, he heard a quiet slap of a door being shut. Glancing through one of the windows in the barn, he saw Fleur, dressed in, what he could only guess was, one of his mother’s old black kirtles, and flying away at a quick gait. The sight of her in a dress...Lord, the image went straight to his cock. Yesterday, he’d enjoyed the view of her legs, something he’d rarely seen amongst women. However, he could only imagine her upper torso under that too-large black coat of hers. Until now, that was. She wore a white shift tucked into that boned kirtle, enhancing her breasts, forcing her décolleté to be seen. Suddenly, she stopped, twirled around, and ran back into the house. In a second she returned with one of his black coats wrapped around her thin shoulders, making her look so tiny with it reaching almost down to her knees. He liked her wearing his coat. He liked it a lot.
Then she took off, jogging, toward the east and back to Cave Smoo, he guessed. Without thinking, Duncan rushed out of the barn and after her, thanking God he’d had the foresight to put on his boots and even to have them laced. He decided reconnaissance would be for the best—to follow her, mayhap not approach, but to merely see what she was about.
And that wasn’t perverted at all.
Lord.
As he reconsidered his plan, to let her know he was following her, she hiked her skirts a little and began to run faster. A lot faster. It was hard to keep up with her actually. He admired her for running as fast as she could in thick skirts she held with firm fists at her sides. Before long he was puffing and beginning to sweat, then she sprinted toward the Geodha Smoo, and he realized they’d gone farther faster than he would have thought.
He slowed and tried to catch his breath as he saw her dip to the shore and trudge her way to the cave. Wanting to catch his breath before he approached her, he took his time, walking slowly and lifting his arms to try to get the air to stop spastically going in and out of his lungs.
That was when he saw a small figure jump down to the beach and begin to follow Fleur. Several scrawny shadows scurried down to the cave.
Shite, it was a band of orphan lads who had been thieving around the area. With so many men dead from Cromwell, and many a woman as well, the orphans had risen to levels no one knew what to do with. Gangs had escalated in the last year at an alarming rate, but what’s more they were getting better and better at organization and burglary.
Duncan didn’t waste any more time, but loped toward the cave the fastest his legs would move. At the yawning mouth of the hollow he saw about a dozen young men, couldn’t be more than ten and three years of age, all clad in worn, dirtier-than-hell plaids and all staring inward at Fleur.
“...all boys, so I had to learn how to defend myself.” He caught the tail end of something Fleur said to one of the tallest lads.
“Aye?” The lad’s voice cracked. “Well, that makes sense. But ye can’t blame a man for tryin’.”
Fleur silently chuckled and glanced up at Duncan. “Good morning.”
The lads turned as one to look at him gasping for air. Somehow he muttered, “Ye all right?”
“Yer princess stole Jamie’s
sgian dubh
,” a small blond lad hollered.
“I—I wasn’ goin’ to hurt her,” said the tall, dark-haired lad a bit apologetically. “Not for real. Bein’ a princess, just wanted any treasure she might’ve had.”
“I told you, Jamie.” Fleur shook her head, holding the small knife in her hand and away from the boy. “I haven’t got anything.”
“’Tis true that the mosstroopers stole from her?” The tall boy, Jamie, asked Duncan.
It was a lot of a conversation to glean with hardly enough breath in his lungs to save his life. He stared from Jamie back to Fleur, who seemed completely comfortable with the gang of wee thieves. Duncan narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “I believe so.”
Jamie puffed out his chest. “Then, we’ll get it back for yer princess.”
“Oh, no. That wouldn’t be safe. Besides,” Fleur took a little breath and looked to the ceiling of the cave. “Well, it’s complicated, but I did want to look again for my...things, but I seriously doubt they’re anywhere near.”
Jamie took a tentative step closer to Fleur. He was a little taller than she, and the lad seemed to relish in the fact. The look in his young eyes was nothing short of smoldering infatuation. “I’ll find it for ye,” he said more seriously.
Fleur shook her head with a small smile.
“But—but I might need me knife back.” Jamie looked away then, obviously a bit embarrassed he had to ask for his own dirk.
At that Fleur narrowed her eyes. “Let’s get out of the cave, and I’ll give you your knife back.”
The lads shuffled out toward the beach, toward Duncan, but they carefully avoided him as if he were a boulder in their way. Jamie came to stand a few feet from him, rocking on his heels, craning his head back.
“Yer princess is a good one. We’ll not steal from her.”
Duncan knew he should have corrected them from the assumption that he was somehow affiliated with Fleur in a way that conveyed possessiveness. But he didn’t. He liked the notion. What pleased him the most was that Fleur hadn’t said anything contrary herself.
Jesus, he didn’t know what had happened, but sometime last night he’d made Fleur a priority, as if his life, even his brothers’ lives, depended upon it.
Nodding toward the lad, Duncan moved closer to Fleur. “Appreciate it if ye wouldn’ steal from anyone here in Durness. Besides, sticky fingers still get branded if caught. Or worse.”
Jamie narrowed his eyes and nodded too, as if they were negotiating. With a cursory glance at Fleur, he said, “Understood, aye. But we gotta eat.”
Fleur bit her lower lip, her dark brows pressed together to create a wee perfect vertical line above her nose. It wasn’t even half an inch long and utterly adorable. Clearly the lads going hungry upset her, but she was outright enchanting when she worried. It also urged Duncan to do anything he could to ensure she not fret further. Not that he didn’t care about the lads’ plight already, but with her there, her bonny face scrunched so, he would move heaven and earth to get the lads fed.
“My captain is the laird’s brother. Let me have a word with him to see if I can have an audience with Laird Reay. There’s no need for ye lads to run ‘round as such for food. We’ll figure this out.”
Jamie leaned back again. “I thought
ye
were the captain. Ye’re the one always tellin’ the troops what to do.”
Duncan almost smiled at that, but he held it in, wondering how much the boy knew about him. “Aye. Well, Captain MacKay is new. I’m to help him.”
“Then ye’ll go back to Sweden after ye’re done?”
Duncan nodded absentmindedly, now very unsure how the child knew him so well. He certainly didn’t know anything about the tall juvenile.
He was about to ask, but Jamie said, “With yer princess?”
Nodding once more, Duncan suddenly stopped and stared at Fleur, but decided on another topic of conversation. “Do I ken ye? Ye seem to ken me.”
Jamie smiled broadly. “Nay, but we’ve all heard of Duncan MacKay, the bravest Highlander from Durness there ever was. Yer brothers bragged about ye all the time. Sad, they were taken. So sad. But it was obvious ye were good at what ye did, what with yer ma’s house lookin’ like it does. ‘Tis the finest house in all of Scotland.”
At that Duncan finally did let a grin crack through. “That’s mighty fine of ye to say.” Then his smile vanished when he said, “And if I catch any of ye stealin’ from my ma, I’ll—”
“Fingers branded, cut off. They get it, don’t you, boys?” Fleur asked the short band of miscreants.
Jamie scowled. But he turned toward Fleur. “We’re not all bad, ye ken? We’re just hungry.”
Fleur’s sweet lips tipped down at the ends. “Of course.” She looked at Duncan. “What can we do for them?”
Duncan blew out a sigh as he realized the lads had weaseled their way close to Fleur, close to her heart. Damnation, he was jealous of the children. What had this world come to?
He nodded. “Let’s find ye something to break yer fast, then I’ll try to locate my captain.”
*
T
hree hours later after he’d fed the dozen lads as if he were their personal serving wench, Duncan should have resented his new position. But how could he when Fleur smiled at him so appreciatively, ran one of her wee hands up to his shoulder and gave an affectionate squeeze?
Now, she sat next to Jamie on the ground under an oak in the corner of his mother’s front garden, laughing at something the lad had said. All the boys sat around her, transfixed by her voice and anything she had to say. That he understood all too well.
“Those lads of hers, she’s good with,” Helen said, making Duncan jump a bit because she’d caught him unawares, as well as staring at Fleur.
He nodded.
“Last night,” Helen said, “we stayed up, so I could give her some clothes to wear—still can hardly believe someone stole her things—and we talked and talked. I haven’t gabbed like that since I was a lass. She told me her family was all boys. Well, her grandmother raised her—How did she say it? That she was her grandmother’s daughter? Something like that—Anyhow, everyone else was a lad. She said something about not even having any aunties close by. Isn’t that quaintest expression, auntie? Where was I? Ah, aye, Fleur told me how she used to be eager to go into town, just to see another lass.”
Duncan caught himself smiling at that, while he kept his gaze on Fleur. He loved the way his mother could zigzag throughout her own conversations, but he adored it that Fleur shared so much with his ma.
Finally, he turned to his mother. “Thank ye for feeding the lads.”
She shrugged. “Ye’re the one that gave me all the money to spare, so why not, eh? I should be more charitable anyway. I’ve recently thought about giving some money to the kirk. Or, ye heard that Laird Reay is goin’ to build a new house for Himself. The castle is crumbling down. Mayhap I should give him some money for his house. What do ye think?”
Duncan glanced back at Fleur, furious. Of course his mother wanted to give away the money he’d given her. It was the one way he felt as though he could provide for her, show his stepfather, although he was dead, he could do something significant with his life. He was worthy. But she wanted to spend it on an already rich laird’s new house? Jesus, he hated being back home.
“Spend it however ye like.” His voice sounded too gruff, even to his ears.
Helen sighed.
Honestly, he had given her the money to spend whichever way she wanted. But he’d also given it to her as proof...Hell, he didn’t even understand why he felt the way he did. Yet he did feel it—resentment. Bitter resentment. He didn’t want to feel it. After all, when Helen had made the choice to marry, she had said she’d done it for him too. So he would have a roof over his head, eat regularly, and no longer live the life of a pauper, begging for scraps. He hadn’t minded that part though. Oh, he did now, because everyone in the village remembered when wee Duncan used to dance for a coin. They’d laugh about it. But those had been tough times. Only, he’d had no idea how hard until Helen had decided to marry Albert Cameron. Not that Duncan’s stepfather had beaten him or his mother. Albert’s methods were much more restrained, yet lasted a hell of a lot longer than a simple bruise. Duncan’s step-da would first criticize, then the critical words turned a bit meaner, a bit crueler with every mistake Duncan had made. Helen had tried to shield him from the harsh words, but after her second pregnancy she merely cleaned their sod-roof, dirt-for-floors house. She cleaned every surface, often taking the rushes off the floor and sweeping the ground until her fingers bled. That’s how she’d spent the rest of Duncan’s youth, cleaning or ignoring her husband the best she could.
