As if sensing Fleur’s worry about what to do, Helen spoke reassuringly. “Mrs. McVicar is right to leave the wound open. We just need to keep it clean. Let it air out a bit, then seal it.”
“All right.” Fleur nodded and looked at Mrs. McVicar. “How do we seal it?”
“Burn it, darlin’.” Helen responded again. “Like the first burst tumor.” Sleepily she lifted the remaining particle of her shift and let Fleur see her scarred right breast.
Reality squeezed Fleur’s lungs shut, her eyes closed, and her brain stuttered with the comprehension that Helen couldn’t get chemotherapy. She couldn’t get radiation. Hell, Fleur doubted she could get surgery.
“Surgery,” Fleur all but screamed out. “Can we remove—?”
Helen clutched at Fleur’s hand, pulling on it until Fleur looked at her in the eyes. “’Tis too far along. My dear, my cancer has spread. ‘Tis sittin’ in my gut now, like a toad, makin’ it so I’m almost always nauseated, makin’ it so I throw up every day now. ‘Tis also in my lungs too. Can ye hear it?” Helen was silent for a pause, letting Fleur listen to the slightly sickly suckling noise Helen made with every breath. Then she gracefully covered her raw, red, and scarred right breast with the blanket. “I’ve always loved to be a healer. It gave me freedom from my husband. Sorry, Mrs. McVicar, if that’s disturbin’ to hear.”
“Nay.” Mrs. McVicar gently began to clean Helen’s chest with a basin of water and a white cloth. “I love my husband. I do. But bein’ a midwife is much the same. ‘Tis about the time when I’m thinkin ’I might slit his throat from ear to ear, then a lass is needin’ me for birthin’. I spend a few days away from home, and I can’t believe I ever thought of killin’ me beautiful husband.” She giggled.
Helen joined her.
Fleur tried to make some kind of noise similar to a chuckle, but the moment was heady with...it was far too real. Tangible. Helen was an actual woman, who was dying. And after nursing Na, watching her take her last breaths, she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to do it again.
“As I was sayin’, Fleur, I loved bein’ a healer, kenning the things I do. But when I first found the lump in my breast, I played the most devilish game with myself. I kept pretendin’ it wasn’ really there.”
“Ah, the things we tell ourselves, aye?” Mrs. McVicar asked ruefully.
“Aye,” Helen said, her eyes again closed. “It was Mrs. McVicar that kenned something was amiss with me, when I had to ask her for help to lift one of the people I was carin’ for.”
Mrs. McVicar straightened and worked at a knot along the base of her spine, also tilting her head. Her long dark braid with a few silver threads cascaded down to a hip. She grinned at Fleur with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Ye don’ think Duncan comes by his strength just because he’s so big and brawny, do ye? Nay, ‘tis because his mother was one of the strongest women in all of the Highlands, I’d wager. And when she actually asked for my help, I kenned something was very wrong.” Mrs. McVicar’s grin vanished as she looked down at her patient. She lifted the basin to her hip. It was filled with dark bloody water now.
“Let me get you more clean water.” Fleur tried to jump up, but Mrs. McVicar held her hand out.
“Nay, Mrs. Cameron needs ye to hold her hand now. She’s done this before. All alone. Now that the stubborn woman has finally told, she needs ye.” With that, Mrs. McVicar left with the red basin and red cloth, made all the more ominous from the waning candlelight.
Helen cracked her lids slightly and glanced up. “I do need ye. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Helen. It’s my honor to be here. I just—I—I’ll do my best. You let me know if I can do anything for you, all right?”
Helen smiled, then released her grip of Fleur’s hand and reached up to pat her on the cheek. “I finally ken what having a daughter would be like.”
Fleur broke down. She’d wanted to be strong, but she couldn’t stop her tears at that point. Nor the words she spoke. “And I finally get to know what having a mom would be like. Oh, I had my Na, my grandmother. And she did a wonderful job raising me.”
Helen glanced up. “Aye, she did. Ye are so good, so kind and considerate. Ye have a strong heart, strong enough for Duncan.”
Fleur felt another wave of tears hit her.
“Ye are more like my daughter in-law, but I’ll always think of ye as my daughter.”
Fleur shook her head. “He hasn’t even—”
“Oh, he will, my beautiful lass. He will.”
Chapter 21
Fleur came out the kitchen’s door, close to the woodpile, and flung another dark red basin of water and Duncan’s mother’s blood beside the pink wild rose bush.
“Fleur,” he whispered.
She jumped, since apparently she hadn’t seen him. He’d been sitting on the chopping block. After splitting wood through the better part of two hours, the sun had begun to just kiss the horizon. It would be a lovely warm day, and the sky streaked of violet and lavender, yet a few diamonds hung in the sky. The stubborn stars made him think of when he was a lad and his ma would ask him to make wishes not only on the first star in the night sky, but on all the stars. She had wanted to give him every single one of his wishes.
Lord, she’d tried so hard to make that true. Even marrying Albert might have been construed as his wish, because once he had wanted a father.
Fleur clutched her free hand to her heart, but when she saw him, a grin quickly glowed from her bonny visage.
“Sorry. I didn’ mean to frighten ye.”
Leaning over, she placed the basin on a large stone that guarded his mother’s onions. She straightened as she walked toward him, keeping her beam aimed at him. It made his aching heart warm and grow. He continued to sit on the tree stump, and when Fleur extended her arms wide, he took her, probably too forcefully, and sat her on his lap to hold.
With his face deep in her long free hair, he asked, “How is she?”
“Sleeping now. She’s had another dose of opium, er, laudanum.” She talked beside his ear, sleepily, sweetly, mayhap without her knowledge it also dredged in his mind and body what making love to her might be like.
He pulled away from the floral scent of her hair, trying to regain his senses. He took a deep breath, then thought of his ma. “Is it—is it bad?”
Fleur’s face fell. He knew the answer.
He nodded. “How—how long?”
Fleur’s dark brows furrowed and the crease above her nose appeared. Either she didn’t know what he was asking, or didn’t want to tell him. Hell, he didn’t want to know the answer anyway. He didn’t want to know how much longer he had with his mother. He didn’t want to know how much more she would suffer.
He tried to think of anything else to say. “Jesus, ye come here to my Highlands, because of some weird trick of time, then ye’re spirited away, and now takin’ care of my ma.”
“Yes, you do keep a girl on her toes.” She feathered away some of his unruly red curls from his ear, still a smile upon her lips.
He chuckled, but then buried his face against her hair again, needing to hold her so close he couldn’t distinguish himself from her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, embracing him just as fiercely. Again, beside his ear, she whispered, “You look tired, Duncan. You want to get some rest?”
He shook his head. “Nay. You?”
She sighed. “I am exhausted. I’m thinking of diving into your mom’s cocaine stash.”
“Hmm?”
Fleur pulled away enough to look at him. “The laudanum, the big black pills, your mom is taking is somewhat legal in my time. It’s called morphine. Of course, laudanum is broken down a bit differently from the morphine of my time. I can only guess what your mom is taking is more potent. I should have deduced she was taking it, her runny nose . . .” she sipped a breath and shook her head. “Anyway, the laudanum affects her pain receptors, making it nearly impossible to feel, well, much of anything. So it’s worth it for her to continue taking. B
ut the coca tea, cocoa leaves, your mom was taking.” She stopped, tears forming in her huge dark eyes. “She—she said she needed to take it because I was her guest, to keep up with me. But I don’t think it’s good for her. It might have exacerbated her—”
He pulled her against him then, shushing her. “’Tisn’t yer fault, Fleur.”
“But I—”
“Shh, my Fleur. Shh. Don’t ye think it.”
“But I do. By being here, I might have made your mom sicker.”
He shook his head. “Nay, darlin’. Ye made her so happy, ye did. I—I don’ remember my ma ever that happy. The time I walked in on ye laughin’ so hard, ye both rollin’‘round on the floor with yer giggles, why, I’ve never seen her like that.”
Fleur leaned away again, a wee grin in place. “She was telling me about how you were conceived, how she and your father were making love against a—”
“I don’ want to ken that.” He made a strangled, disgusted noise. “I really don’ want to ken that.”
She smiled wider. “Right. I wouldn’t either, but it is a funny story about a tick going—”
He made a gagging noise, thankfully preventing Fleur from saying anything further.
She giggled. Slowly her laughter waned as she stared at him.
Lightning struck through him, first his heart, then it zipped from his solar plexus straight to his cock. He wasn’t sure if it was her or him, but suddenly he was kissing Fleur. Her lips tasted of chamomile tea, then she slid her tongue in his mouth, and he tasted honey too. The energy from his heart intensified. He pushed his tongue against hers, and she let out a soft mewl. He fisted his hand through her hair, amazed at the luxurious silkiness of it, the weight of all that black in his palm.
She pulled away, huffing slightly. “I just kissed you for the first time only a few hours ago.”
“Aye.”
“It seems like a lifetime ago.”
He agreed, but couldn’t find the words. So he kissed her again. And again. Nibbling down her neck, her soft floral scent invaded his blood, his brain. He stopped thinking then, and only needed. He needed her. This was more than just desire. He needed her here. But she—how long would she stay? How could she stay? She had said something about needing to take care of his ma. Then what?
Reaching back up to her lips, he plunged his tongue in her mouth once more.
Jesus, she would leave one day. She would.
And if she did . . .
His heart broke.
He stopped kissing her, leaving his forehead against hers, feeling her panting breath against his face. He prided himself in that. She wanted him.
But how could she ever need him?
Both he and Fleur heard a woman’s voice softly being cleared. He glanced up and saw the smiling face of Mrs. McVicar.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
Fleur stood and he did too. He had no clue how tired he was until he did so. Lord, he wasn’t sure if his legs would hold for much longer.
Mrs. McVicar came into full view, her grin still in place as she looked at the both of them. But then she took a sharp breath. “I think it best to take turns with yer ma.” She looked more at Duncan then. “I—I ken it uncustomary to have a man care for her, but being her son...She might—”
“I want to care for her,” Duncan said.
Mrs. McVicar nodded. “She’s properly covered now, Duncan, so ye can. Ye both need yer rest. One of ye watch her for a few hours, then the next. The last thing ye need, or Mrs. Cameron, is for both of ye to get sick, aye? So try to rest.”
It was like the noise of a cannon exploding nearby—the stark realization that Mrs. McVicar was giving directions to tend to his mother in her sickbed, as if it might soon be her deathbed. Granted, he knew she was ill. Very ill. But until that moment, he had thought she might bounce back at any second.
His throat clenched shut, and his eyes pricked like sand was lodged in them. He nodded.
Mrs. McVicar tried to muster another grin, this one, Duncan thought, was the one he’d seen his mother give when he was a lad and followed her to the sick. She’d give it when the people were gravely ill, when their loved ones needed comfort and strength.
Fleur turned to him, tears standing in her own eyes. “Why don’t you get some rest, Duncan? I’ll watch her now, then wake you in a bit.”
But the dark shadows under Fleur’s eyes made him summon the strength to stay awake for hours more. He shook his head. “Nay, my princess, ye had a rough couple days. Ye need yer sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”
“I’ll return toward the evening,” Mrs. McVicar said.
“Rory, Captain MacKay, said something about seeking a physician from Tongue.” Duncan thought it best to alert the midwife. “The doctor might be here about the same time.”
“Do ye ken if it’s the famous Dr. Robertson that’s comin’? I’ve always wanted to meet him.”
Duncan shrugged. “Sorry, I don’ ken.”
Mrs. McVicar nodded, then took another breath. “Well, make sure ye both get rest, aye? Take good care of each other. Don’t forget to eat, ye hear? Ye need yer strength.”
Both Fleur and Duncan nodded. Then Mrs. McVicar said her farewells and vanished.
Fleur turned and planted her arms around Duncan, snuggling her head against his chest. Lord, that felt so good, to have her do that. It made him feel as though he was the perfect compliment for her. They matched. He threaded his fingers through her hair.
Against his chest, she asked, “You sure about taking the first shift?”
“Aye.” He lifted her hair in his hands over and over again, surprised it was so heavy, so soft.
“Wake me up in a few hours.”
“Aye.”
She pulled away from her perfect spot, glancing up at him. “I mean it, Duncan. Wake me soon. And wake me up...for anything, all right?”
He swept down and kissed her, unable to resist those flawless pink lips. So full. So sweet. He leaned back before he let himself get carried away.
“Aye. I’ll wake ye.”
She smiled.
As they walked into the house, she unlaced herself from the rusty, dirty kirtle she wore. It was as if they’d already been intimate, shared everything with each other. And for a moment, Duncan was confused about time. He thought he glimpsed into the future and saw they were that familiar with each other, she had already been naked before him, they’d already made love. Numerous times. That they were in love. And had children. That she was his forever more, and he wouldn’t have to worry about another woman he loved leaving him. Not until he was an old man.
Fleur turned at his brothers’ chamber’s door. Her shift was in place, not revealing a thing, but her dress was loose and soon would be off. She smiled at him drowsily.
“You promise to wake me?”
He blinked and knew he was in his own time, his mother was deathly ill, and Fleur would leave him one day soon. Swallowing, he somehow found the courage to show her a smile, so she’d feel reassured enough to sleep.
“I promise,” he could only whisper, feeling his heart rip into more pieces than he thought he could recover from.
Chapter 22
In her sleep Fleur rolled her beautiful face toward Duncan, smiling. He couldn’t help but grin back. She looked so relaxed, calm, at peace.
It had been six hours and was now a little in the afternoon. Helen had woken twice—once to ask for more laudanum and another time to ask for food, which Duncan thought was a good sign. However, his ma hadn’t smiled, not even as he forced his face into the position, as if he weren’t worried, weren’t scared for her life. Grinning was something his ma did all the time, even through the years with Albert. She’d grin and bear whatever the man had said to her, or to her sons. Trying so hard to either ignore the verbal punches or mayhap she had been trying to placate Albert. Duncan never knew, but all the same, she’d always had a soft smile on her face.
Now though, her complexion was gray. Nay, actually it was laven
der. The light purple tone under her eyes and around her lips made Duncan all the more aware how grave the situation was. As well as the fact that his mother grimaced in her sleep. Lord, how he wished he could fight off the cancer for her. He wished it could be that easy, that he could take his sword and battle against it as if it were a human foe. How much simpler it would be if that were true. He’d risk his own life for her.
No matter what he felt about Durness, his past, his upbringing, and his feelings of residual resentment towards his mother for staying with a prick of a man for a husband, no matter all that, he’d always come to his mother’s aid if she needed him. He’d always wish it were him vanishing into cancer rather than her. She had tried so hard to give him love. Her constant forced smiles were proof of that.
However, now he had time with his mother, alone, as he’d always wished when Albert had been alive. But, Duncan felt robbed again, because Helen was dying.
Fleur whispered something in a different language then giggled. Her long black lashes fluttered open. He worried that he appeared like an arse, standing beside the wide bed she lay on, staring at her.
“I—I shouldn’—”
She reached out for him, making him stop his words. He gently pressed his hand against hers, not sure if she were truly awake. Lacing her fingers betwixt his, she gently tugged him down until he sat close to her.
“How long did you let me sleep?” Her voice was thoroughly melodious and a tad dreamy. It sent an instant shock to his stomach, his cock, making him think too much of her lying there, and what it might be like to roll his body on hers.
He swallowed. “A few hours.”
She gave him a lazy smile. “You let me sleep too long.” Then she sat upright with a bolt, her face mere inches from his. “Is she all right?”
That helped his body simmer down. He nodded. “She’s sleepin’. Still. She did wake about three hours ago and want some soup.”
“Did she have some laudanum too?”
Highlander of Mine Page 18
