“I like how red it is. I thought your hair was really red, but your beard is more so.” She narrowed her eyes suddenly. “In all this time, I’ve never seen if you . . .” she reached down for the covers over his hips, “...match.”
He chuckled louder and hurried to hold the bedding down.
“Come on. Just give me a peek.”
Laughing, he caught her hands, the blankets too, but she was rather good at wrestling and trying to lift the covers from him while she giggled rather loudly too.
An odd sound interrupted their guffaws, also invading the bubble of happiness within Duncan’s heart.
Fleur turned her head, and Duncan saw around her a slight form wavering in the open doorway.
“Ye two are loud enough to wake the dead.”
“Ma!” Duncan sat up, tried to spring from the bed. Realizing his state of undress, he clutched the covers as Fleur raced to her.
Helen was laughing and had one hand against the doorframe as he came closer, the white sheet wrapped around him. Fleur already had her hands over his ma’s forehead.
“I’m fine. No fever.”
“Are ye . . .?” He could barely ask. His throat tightened painfully.
Helen rose a shaking finger up at him, then surprising him, she shook at Fleur too. Helen said, “Now, I was funny and neither of ye laughed. A woman in my predicament might take that personally, if ye don’ remedy it.”
Fleur softly giggled, her eyes glistened with moisture.
Duncan couldn’t help but chuckle too, but it was perhaps too restrained. “Ah, Ma . . .”
“When is the wedding, hmm? Or did the two of ye already do the deed?”
Both Fleur and Duncan instantly quieted.
Helen laughed rowdily. “The deed of getting married, I was referrin’ to, not anythin’ else. My, but the two of ye have yer minds elsewhere, eh?” She laughed more as she turned, glancing down at Duncan’s self-made plaid of the blanket. “Get dressed, my lad, while I’ll have yer lady tell me everything, ‘cept what I don’ want to hear.”
With that his ma tottered down the hallway, Fleur at her side, holding her upright. Fleur glanced over her shoulder at him, smiling in exuberant disbelief.
He couldn’t believe it either. His ma was up and about, making jokes, and bossing them around. Lord, she’d just wondered about a marriage, and, depending on how long she’d been standing in the doorway, it was merited.
Until that moment, he hadn’t let his mind think of marriage, a wedding. Certainly, he’d played a trick on himself where he’d tried to fool himself into thinking he and Fleur had some kind of future. But eventually he’d chide himself, and realize the fae would sweep her away as soon as she was no longer needed.
Well, with his mother walking, talking, laughing, and living, Fleur was no longer needed, aye? Yet she remained.
Mayhap, just mayhap he did have a future with Fleur after all.
Chapter 23
“Now, I don’ want details, but I do wonder if there’s a grandchild of mine on the way,” Helen said as she got back into her bed. Her eyes flickered with mischief, and she even rubbed her palms together once she was settled.
Fleur giggled, while feeling fire burn through her cheeks. God, this was embarrassing, like getting caught by her Na. “No, no grandchildren on the way.”
“Ye certain?”
She couldn’t quite meet Helen’s eyes as she nodded. “We—we haven’t done anything to make a child.”
“Ye sure of that? It looked like ye kenned how to...make one.”
At that Fleur choked and laughed at the same time, then bit her lip. “I’m sure. No babies.”
Helen crossed her arms and grunted. “Well, then I can look forward to yer wedding, eh? Or did ye already say yer vows?”
Oh God, Fleur thought, she had been a wee bit...forward with Duncan. Perhaps too forward? As much as she probably should have chided herself, she couldn’t. Duncan was too tempting. She could hardly control herself around him. It was as though she had become someone else. She thought herself a linear thinker, controlling, measuring. Even her temper had always been in check, never confrontational, which socially seemed to make more sense. Everything had been logical, like one plus one equaling two. It was rational and always had the same comforting answer. But here...one plus one equaled something far greater. Here, in the Scottish Highlands during the seventeenth century there was something close to hyperbolic geometry, where one plus one and some kind of crazy integer could equal infinity. Here, she couldn’t contain herself. She wanted Duncan so badly she could hardly think of much else when he was around.
Last night she’d been so tired and had sought Duncan to relieve her while watching over Helen. But once she’d seen him—one of his long legs out from under the covers, his giant chest bare, his stomach exposed, and a thin wisp of a sheet covering his pelvis—well, she couldn’t seem to control herself. She’d taken off most of her clothes, telling herself that she’d snuggle for a bit. Only a few minutes. Maybe one hundred twenty seconds. Tops.
But then she’d fallen asleep.
What if something had happened to Helen? She never would have forgiven herself if it had. Thank God nothing had. Now, she was just embarrassed Helen had caught her with Duncan, which was kind of funny in a way.
Except when she asked about a wedding.
Panting, Duncan raced into the room, his clothes thrown on and in disarray, but covering that wickedly beautiful body of his. He was sinfully muscled, down to his chiseled stomach muscles that flexed and strained when she’d had her hand around . . .
Keep it together, she chided herself. She needed to focus on Helen. And just Helen.
Although Duncan’s clean scent threatened whatever calm she was trying to show.
“Ma, how are ye?”
Helen smiled and extended a hand for Duncan, which he held, then reached down for an embrace. He was such a huge man, and his mother had become such a small woman—the image should have reminded her of opposites, but it made Fleur think of their similarities. Both so stubborn, so brave, so graceful, and how she wanted them in her life for as long as they lived, how she wanted this clean feeling when she was in their presence.
Fleur ached then.
She never wanted this to be over, yet knew it would be.
Or did it have to end?
Duncan finally released his mother and straightened. “What can I get ye? Ye hungry? We should call for Mrs. McVicar. She’d want to ken of yer recovery.”
“What I want is to ken when the wedding is? Or was?”
Duncan’s smiling face switched instantly to planes of tension. He swallowed and looked at Fleur.
“I’ll go get Mrs. McVicar now.”
Fleur knew she was acting like a coward, running from the moment, especially abhorrent considering how Helen had finally woken and probably needed nursing. But it couldn’t be helped. Panicking, she raced from the room, feeling her eyes prick with the instant sensation of hot, grimy tears. She wanted to stay, not just in the chamber but in Scotland. However, the look Duncan had given her...the way he’d tensed...what if he didn’t want her?
Grabbing one of Duncan’s black leather coats that nearly scrapped the ground on her, she left the house in a hurry. Even though it was the early morning, already there were a few people marching toward Durness’s Green, probably going to market. And of course, at the front of the fence line were Duncan’s young soldiers. They immediately straightened when seeing her frantic face.
“Oh, my lady, whatever can I do for ye? Is it bad news?” A tall, skinny kid asked whose name Fleur couldn’t remember for the life of her.
She stopped running just a couple feet from him. “Actually” —she grinned and began to cry. “Actually, Helen’s woken. She’s in good spirits, but I wanted to retrieve Mrs. McVicar anyway.”
“’Course, ‘course. I’ll get her for ye.” The boy smiled back at her and was about to bound away when Fleur called out to him.
“Well, I wan
ted to go, go get her.”
Skinny guy’s dark brows drew down. “I—I’m not sure if Duncan would—”
The mere mention of his name, Duncan, and Fleur started to blubber. Moisture crashed down her cheeks, and she shook from crying.
She was hysterical in front of a stranger. Well, she knew the kid a little, but barely. The poor young soldier reached out for Fleur, but never touched her, as if her tears were contagious.
“I—I can go get Mrs. McVicar. But, well, why didn’t I think of this earlier? But o’ course! Why, Lady Fleur why don’ ye come with me. I bet ye need some fresh air, eh?”
Fleur couldn’t help but almost giggle at the kid trying so hard to appease her tears.
She nodded and jogged in the direction of Mrs. McVicar’s house.
“We don’ need to run. Oh, but ifnye want to, we’ll run.”
The instant her legs moved, her mind echoed thoughts about Duncan.
She should be thinking about Helen’s recovery, instead all she could contemplate was...what if Duncan didn’t want to marry her? Helen might be joking about the matrimony. Or not. She was a woman from the seventeenth century after all. However, in the time Fleur had gotten to know her, she thought Helen had been a rather free sexual being with Duncan’s father. They hadn’t married until after she was pregnant, although she had said something about handholding in reference to a wedding. Whatever that meant.
Still, joke or not, Fleur was scared of Duncan’s reaction. He’d frozen. He’d stammered. He’d stalled.
What if he thought she was too forward? What if he no longer respected her, because she had—well, she had tried to give him a hand job.
She was never like this in her own time. Sure, she’d had sex before, but it had been mutually consenting, well thought out beforehand, and...okay, a bit on the boring side. But it had been tidy.
She almost laughed at her absurd thoughts, nearly tripping. The boy running beside her looked winded, but he kept up with a wide smile, his green kilt flapping everywhere. And under Duncan’s coat she was nearly naked, making running a bit uncomfortable considering she wasn’t wearing any breast support. As much as the corsets were a pain, they at least made things stay in place. She could get used to them, the stays as Helen had called them.
Almost to Mrs. McVicar’s house, she nearly giggled. She’d gotten to know her way around Durness through the weeks of living here. And she liked it. She liked feeling intimate with the town, knowing where everyone resided, like back in Porcupine when she’d been a kid.
This—this place was so much like home. Only no home she knew.
It was messy here.
And, God, she’d nearly forgotten the threat of Cromwell. His army was on the way, and the muses had said something about finishing her mission before they arrived.
It was brutal here.
There was no order.
As she passed through Mrs. McVicar’s gate, Fleur realized she wanted to stay here, where nothing made sense. Where one plus one could equal infinity. Where it was undefined. Where she loved.
Mrs. McVicar raced out of her small wooden house, her face pinched with panic.
“Nay, nay! I was goin’ to try a new laudanum today. Nay, don’t tell me Helen’s passed—”
“Helen woke up!” Fleur shouted. Her emotions were all over the board. She chuckled as she cried. She thought in weird circular thoughts, no longer straightforward and logical. She was different here. Scotland wasn’t to blame. It was her. In just a few weeks she’d changed. Changed for the better.
Mrs. McVicar raced into Fleur’s arms, embracing her while laughing hysterically. “She woke up? She woke up?” Mrs. McVicar pulled away enough to face Fleur. “What’d she say?”
Fleur swallowed, but more tears flooded her vision and luckily her voice too.
Mrs. McVicar said something about grabbing her coat then checking on Helen herself and was gone before Fleur could give any kind of answer. Thank God too, because Fleur wasn’t too sure if she could repeat what Helen had said. It might hurt too much to say that Helen had asked about her marrying Duncan.
She’d never wanted the white wedding with a veil and the cake smashed in the bride and groom’s faces. She’d never wanted the billowing dress and the thin promises of the vows. Granted, she knew marriage could last and had fidelity. Hell, all Fleur need do is look at Rachel and Ian, who seemed happier now than when she’d first met them. But so much about weddings seemed too celebratory, as if it was covering up that no one knew if they had truly fallen in love.
No, she’d never wanted that.
But long ago she had wanted something like it. Back then she’d wanted a doeskin dress beaded with rattling elks’ teeth. She’d wanted to give her heart to someone who could run as fast as she. All right, she’d wanted those things when she was a girl. And had promptly abandoned her dreams as soon as she entered Texas, too afraid to wish for anything ever again.
She’d stopped hoping.
She’d stopped having faith.
She’d stopped living.
The muses had been right. Coyote had been right. She had been a shell of a person, of herself.
It was here in the Highlands that she felt like she was taking her first breath, breathing all the way down into her spirit.
She didn’t want to stop. But had she messed things up with Duncan by...she couldn’t seem to keep her hands to herself concerning him. Did he think less of her? What did he think of her anyway?
Maybe it was time to stop being a coward, running from her problems, but to run at them. Maybe it was time to ask Duncan a few questions.
But did any of it matter when the muses might take her away?
Chapter 24
It was a hot day, as if the sun knew Helen would rise today and burn Duncan with questions about his intentions regarding Fleur. Of course he wanted her! Of course, he’d take vows with her, for her. But she was...Hell, he wasn’t too sure what she was, little lass from the future. He believed her wholly about that. He just didn’t want to. If only she belonged to Scotland, to his time, to him.
In the late afternoon, as the sun swept its grueling heat on everything, making it a blurry yellow day, Duncan spent hours listening to Mrs. McVicar and his mother talk about her recovery. A few townspeople came by and wished her well, embracing him firmly with only love in their eyes, and all the while he noticed Fleur keeping her distance. That was more punitive than anything the sweltering heat could hand out.
As soon as Helen drifted off to sleep, Duncan searched for Fleur. About an hour ago, she’d vanished, and Lord it scared him that she might be gone for good. Mayhap she had been right all along—she had been sent here to care for Helen, and now that she was on the mend, Fleur would simply disappear, breaking his heart.
Her scent was everywhere in the house though—softly floral, thoroughly feminine. Ah, yes, she had said something about being outside if Helen needed her. Duncan had kept the home as cool as possible by drawing the curtains and closing in the cool morning air. But it was stifling inside. Not as hot as out of the house, but repressive nonetheless. He didn’t know why that was either. His mother was awake and seemed to have more energy than when he’d first come down from Sweden.
Actually, he knew why the house felt like the walls were closing in. His ma had jested so much about their upcoming wedding. And Fleur, woman decidedly not of his time and not for him, had tried to gain some ground from him.
Leaving the house through the backdoor, he spotted Fleur right away, in the tiny chamber he’d built out of chopped wood. Every time Helen had made a turn for the worst, he’d pound out his frustration on the wood, adding to the pile until it was no longer just a line parallel to Helen’s well-groomed, thanks to Fleur, vegetable garden. He’d made piles of wood into a geometric design around half of the house and had made a small room—three sides chopped wood, the fourth the back of the stone house. Mainly so he could find a little privacy. Since Fleur’s kidnapping the house had around the clock guards,
even though Rory had mysteriously vanished as of late. Also Mrs. McVicar and the laird’s personal physician visited every day. Although Dr. Stevens had returned to Tongue now, Mrs. McVicar and other townsfolk kept showing up, giving him no time alone with his thoughts, other than in Fleur’s chamber. And while in her room, he’d been too tempted to stay with her, kissing her, feeling her breasts against his chest. It had been too distracting. So he’d built the small room of chopped wood.
He stood at the one entrance and exit, wondering how to get Fleur’s attention. Sitting on a tree’s stump, she had her wee back to him, humming a sad tune. Duncan thought she was fiddling with her hands, doing something as she quietly sang her song.
He cleared his throat, feeling like an ogre.
She startled and jumped up, clutching a large white clump of Helen’s knitting to her chest. The beautiful woman was trying to finish the blanket his ma had started to make. Lord, she was such a considerate thing. So sweet.
So God damned beautiful it made his body instant coil with too much heat.
She chuckled when she saw him.
“Ye trying to finish it for my ma?”
She nodded. “I’m nowhere near the knitter she is though. Maybe I should stop.”
He couldn’t help but grin, not just because of her honesty, but because he seemed to keep doing that around her. Inspecting her work, he did notice her stitches were tighter than his mother’s.
“Nay, ye’re doin’ a real fine job.”
She shook her head and showed him even more. “See here, I’m knitting too tightly. It’s not going to look good.”
He shrugged. “Everyone has a different stitch. No one is the same as another’s. My ma kens this. She’d love that ye helped her. Don’t undo what ye done.” He tried to take the white bundle, but Fleur held it closer to her chest.
“You seem to know a lot about knitting.”
He snorted. “I did have many years watchin’ my ma do it. But soldiers, mercenaries, knit and sew. Have to after ye’ve survived a battle with torn clothes. Can’t stomp about without a stitch on, eh?”
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