Chapter 30
To retrieve more whisky, Fleur took each stair of the earthen cellar slowly, holding the lantern above her head, but still she could hardly see a thing. The underground storage was built a few steps from Helen’s kitchen, yet seemed to be a world away with its dark and musty scent and the dirt floor and walls. Suddenly, Fleur stumbled. She caught herself soon enough but had scraped the back of her ankle on a stair in the process. Balancing against the moist wall, she felt the welting skin. It hurt, but it didn’t compare to every time she thought of Helen—her heart twisted in shards of itself.
Granted, something in her had thought Helen’s passing would be an eventuality, but she hadn’t expected it while she stayed here in the Highlands. She hadn’t expected any of this.
As she found the last step into the cellar, the lantern’s light bounced off the walls and seemed to intensify. Gathering her courage, she ventured into the dirt storage space, only to stop when she saw a spinning whisky bottle on the ground. Her heart thudded in her ears loudly as the lantern’s light brightened all the more, revealing a man with long black hair sitting cross-legged in front of the wheeling flagon. The bottle stopped, pointing at her.
Coyote laughed. “Ah, too bad. I don’t kiss taken women.”
With all the sadness and mourning, seeing the trickster god was like seeing the sun after a hailstorm. She lowered the lantern to the ground and sat across him, the whisky between them. “That’s good. I don’t kiss old men.”
He shot a hand over his heart, feigning wounded pride, but silently laughed.
“You do remind me of my grandpa.”
At that he grunted from his wound and fell over backwards. “You injure me so. Old man...grandpa . . .” He sat up suddenly. “I don’t look it, do I? I mean, if you weren’t taken with that giant red head, you’d think I was still hot, right?”
She smiled at him then slowly shook her head.
He winced, yet through it all grinned.
“You seriously do remind me of my grandpa. He died when I was little, but I remember him some. He had gray in his hair, even though you don’t, but he looked a lot like you. I think you’re more my grandma’s type.”
Coyote’s smile grew a tad more serious. “Now, there was a woman. Not that you aren’t, but your Na was...she was one of my favorites.”
Fleur’s heart pinched, she looked down at the cold, damp earth. Picking up some in her hands, she played with it. “I can understand that. She was my favorite too.”
“Until the red head.”
Fleur caught his gaze for a second, but then resumed fingering the earth. “I can’t list my favorites in hierarchical terms. They’re just my favorites.”
Coyote was silent for a long while, making Fleur finally look up at his speculating face. “I like you like this, you know?” He pulled some of his hair over one of his mighty shoulders. “I like how strong you are now. I like your sass. Oh, and I’ve stopped time for a bit. So we can talk. Talk as long as we want.”
Fleur’s jaw dropped. “How—how—how can you do that?”
He shrugged.
Fleur couldn’t help but gawk then smile. He had complete control over the physics of the universe, and he just shrugged it off, as though it was as possible to do as breathing. Further, it wasn’t until then that she had questioned the time-leaping thing. How the hell did it work? Event Horizon here on earth? Photon Sphere? She’d taken a few physics courses—for the math, because who didn’t enjoy a good Kerr metric puzzle?—but she’d never quite comprehended the theory behind the calculations.
“So, little sister, what do you think of your glimpse now?” Coyote asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Fleur pondered if she should shrug too, but she didn’t. She was much more honest. “It’s tough. I didn’t expect Helen...sweet Helen to . . .”
Coyote nodded. “I thought she would pull through too. I’m sorry. I know you two were getting close.”
Fleur rubbed over her heart while she nodded. “I loved her.”
“It’s an easy thing to do, love people.”
Fleur shook her head. “No, it’s not. Not for me. I don’t let myself feel like that.” She had far too much rawness in her voice. She was angry and missed Helen so much, also every second of the day she feared being taken away from Duncan.
Coyote’s face fell into complete stillness. Then he nodded. “At the risk of sounding like a head shrinker, how do you feel about that? How do you feel about letting yourself feel?”
“Letting myself feel for another human and then having her ripped away from me? How does that make me feel?” She was almost yelling.
Coyote nodded solemnly.
“Like shit, you—you ass. How do you think it makes me feel?”
Coyote kept nodding. “But you didn’t break apart into a million pieces. You’re still standing, Fleur. Well, sitting now, but you know what I mean. You’re still alive.” He swallowed and lowered his voice. “It’s a funny thing, trauma. Your Na worried that forcing you to leave would traumatize you. And it did. But, Jesus, what a decision to make. You have this glorious brain that understands bits of science and math better than the majority of human beings, Fleur. Your Na understood that. She knew you had a gift to give to the world, and if she held onto you—well, you know. You were there. Still, she knew it would traumatize you to let you go when you were so young.”
He took a deep breath and scooted closer. Utterly surprising her, Coyote’s dark eyes instantly filled with tears and spilled down his face. “My people are not strangers to trauma as you know. Sometimes the trauma is as huge as the desolation of a tribe, of many tribes. Sometimes the trauma seems small. But trauma is trauma. One reason why Na decided to let you go was because she thought you were strong enough to take it, to take on this world without her.”
Fleur swallowed, her throat so tight.
Coyote frowned. “You know, Na will forever regret her decision.”
That killed Fleur, to think that Na, in whatever realm she was in, had a regret. That like Helen, she lamented making a major decision. Two smart, capable women trying so hard to make a wise decision, when there wasn’t a right or a wrong.
Regret...would she regret decisions in her life too? When Fleur lay on her deathbed, what would she regret?
Being a coward and not telling Duncan how much she loved him.
“I,” she took a deep breath, “I want to stay here.”
“In Scotland? In the Highlands?”
Shaking her head, she amended her wish, knowing that Coyote was a charlatan at times. “Wherever Duncan is, I want to be with him. Always.”
Coyote straightened his back, narrowing his eyes. “Why? Why would you give up your science? After everything Na sacrificed for you—”
“She made the sacrifice to give me a better life, and I know it. Now it’s my turn to make the hard decisions, to decide what’s right for me. And that’s Duncan. I’m not going anywhere without him. Got it? He’s mine. And you can tell those two redheaded muses the same.”
Coyote slid a one-sided smile into place. “That’s my girl. There you are.” He nodded. “I’ll pass on the message to the muses.”
“No. You’re going to tell them I’m staying with Duncan. Tell them. Order them. I have to be with Duncan.”
“Does he have any idea how you feel about him? That you’re willing to give up your job for him?”
She shook her head. “It’s—it’s not like that.”
“But it’s exactly like that.”
She sighed and looked back at the earth in her hands.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to give up your life for him, to sacrifice your job. You can contribute so much with your work.”
She huffed. “Don’t you get it? I don’t have a life without him!”
“You love him then?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why haven’t you told him?”
She pursed her lips. “Because I’m a weakling.”
He reached out, holding her hand. “No, you’re not.”
She relaxed her shoulders a little.
“You’re a brave woman, Fleur. With everything that happened you just forgot how brave you are. Were. You were once a firecracker of a girl, sassing your cousins and kicking their little asses. In Texas you learned a different way to survive that wasn’t good for you, repressing and suppressing your emotions and instincts. But now you’re changing all that. You want Duncan. There’s no repressing that, huh?”
Fleur gave him a small shy smile.
He took a quick inhale. “You know, I love manners. It makes it easy to find prey for some of my pranks. People who are so filled with politeness, they overlook their instincts. I always wonder about that. I wonder how it gets drilled into their heads that being polite is better than listening to their instincts and letting me make a complete fool of them.”
Fleur frowned. “What are you getting at? You think I’m not listening to my instincts? I know what I want. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want Duncan. He’s mine. Got it? You can’t take him away from me.”
Coyote held his palms out to her. “Okay. Okay. I got it. Wow, talk about a warrior spirit. See, you’re quite the fighter. But I’m not talking about your heart being connected to Duncan. What you feel towards him is loud and it vibrates through all your bones, into your cells.”
“Down to my last mitochondrion I want him, need him to be in my life.”
Coyote laughed. “Understood, geek girl. But I’m not talking about those instincts. Love can be so big and noisy like that. It helps you learn, or relearn in your case, how to listen to your other instincts, the instincts that are often smothered by rules of politeness, not rocking the boat, not wanting to think through what your instincts are whispering to you.”
Fleur thought quickly. “Well, yeah, I get it. If I stay here, times will be tough. Cromwell’s approaching.”
“The New Order Army is already here in MacKay Country.”
“What? I have to warn Duncan.” She rose to race away.
Coyote pulled Fleur back down. “Yes, you do. But I need you to listen to your instincts, the ones you’ve made quiet because you’re too scared of being impolite.”
Rory. The one word, one name floated through Fleur’s mind. She’d hugged him earlier and didn’t know why she’d done that. She hadn’t wanted to. She just thought it would have been rude otherwise. He’d been so kind to her since she’d gotten here. She thought she owed him...What? What did she owe him? She felt guilty because her heart had always been Duncan’s. So why would that make her feel uncomfortable?
Finally, the answer came: She guessed Rory had a wee crush on her and felt bad for not reciprocating the feeling.
“I—I might have made a man think he had a chance with me. And now—”
“You strung him along?”
“Well, no.”
“Then . . .?”
“I didn’t outright tell him to leave me alone. I mean, he wasn’t rude to me, so why be rude to him?”
Coyote nodded for a long time. Finally, he squinted his eyes. “Right, why be rude?”
Fleur snorted. “You expect me to be rude to the man, although he’s done nothing to me?”
He shook his head. “No. What I hoped was that you would tell that mammoth of a man you love your feelings. He’d tell you his. Afterwards, when Rory doesn’t take the obvious gesture that you and Duncan are meant to be, then be rude.”
“You mean, if. If Rory doesn’t take heed of the gesture.”
Coyote narrowed his eyes all the more but then finally smiled and nodded.
Fleur’s heart raced in nervous anticipation at the way Coyote smiled.
Chapter 31
Never one for being comfortable in a crowd, Duncan was relieved to follow Fleur into the cellar and away from the continual wake. The solemn, sad wake. His mother had been loved. Cherished. It took her death to finally see that everyone in the town had treasured her, respected her, and also him. He’d thought they had laughed at him, at his pain. He’d thought they had been apathetic. Instead he found, time after time, the Durness’ folks approaching him hesitatingly, not because they didn’t care, but because they cared so much. They’d told him tales of his mother, tending to each and every one of them. After she was done mending them, she’d brag about his exploits. Due to his mother, Duncan had become famous.
So too they’d remembered the times with Albert. One man came up to him at the wake and said he’d prayed for Albert’s death, even knowing the consequences of eternal damnation for it. But that hadn’t stopped him from making the request.
Initially, Duncan had wondered why the man hadn’t gone ahead and killed Albert or helped Helen to leave. But almost as quick he knew the reason. It was difficult to know the right thing to do sometimes. Helen never left Albert, so was it anyone else’s place to force her?
It had all gotten to him, made his heart feel full of understanding, forgiveness, and warmth. With it too, and it might always be there, was the pinching anger toward Albert. But it had nullified, mollified, changed into something less bitter. Perhaps now it was more righteous.
Spending so much time with the people of Durness, Duncan realized he liked them, liked the village. It was beautiful here, so lush and green. This year was hot, but it usually wasn’t so unbearable. Typically it rained by now. A lot. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if Fleur would like to live here with him. Would she tend to the garden, while he mayhap plowed some fields? Grow some wheat. Or oats. Hell, he’d heard that outside of London they were growing that American corn, and making huge amounts of money from it. Fleur could teach him how to grow it, mayhap. At night he could write his stories, find Fleur afterward, and make love to her for hours on end, until they had their bairns.
He liked fantasizing about their future.
Yet he worried if she ever thought about it. Or if she could stay.
Hefting the heavy door to the cellar, he blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. He knew Fleur was still down there, seeing the light from her lantern, but she was so quiet. Creeping down the earthen steps, he wondered about her silence, when he finally saw her, sitting with her dark dress swirled around like a cloud. The lantern illuminated her gorgeous face, making her look as though she glowed. She sat so still that he couldn’t help but worry.
“Fleur?”
Slowly she turned to him, her dark eyes so wild and wide.
He rushed to kneel beside her. “Fleur, darlin’, what’s wrong?”
She glanced away from him, briefly opening her mouth, but never said a word, just staring for a bit at a shadow. Then she lunged for him, pulling her arms around his neck in a mighty hold. “You found me.”
“O’ course.” He couldn’t help but caress down her back—mayhap too low, feeling her pert round bottom in his palms. It had been three, almost four, days since he’d made love to her, but it felt like an eternity. Suddenly, lust coursed through his veins.
She pulled back enough to say, “Do you remember seeing me that first time in Cave Smoo?”
He nodded. “I’ll never forget it.”
She smiled. “I won’t either. I couldn’t stop staring at you. I knew it then. I knew it. I knew you were for me.”
He sat down, shocked by her honesty. “Did ye now?”
“Didn’t you?” Her eyes rounded, and he could have sworn he heard her heart rumble waiting for him to answer.
“’Tis hard to explain how I felt.”
She frowned.
Well, he couldn’t let that happen. Chucking a finger under her chin, he made sure she looked at him when he answered. “I was so powerfully drawn to ye. There I was soakin’ wet, more tired than I’d ever been, and I walked to ye as if I had no other choice, as though my legs would have walked another hundred miles to reach ye.”
She took a deep breath and lunged for him again. This time her full pink lips were on his, feathering against him. He crushed her to
him as he exploded with need. Her kiss had been so dainty, so tender, while he’d nearly forced himself on her. He pulled back, trying to pace himself. But she was there, encouraging him with a kiss turned fierce. Lord, how he loved this. Loved her.
Caressing a hand along his freshly shaven face, her other pulled on his shoulder. “Duncan,” she whispered.
He couldn’t seem to hold back any longer. Kissing her with probably too much passion, too much strength, he pushed his tongue in her mouth. She sucked on it—Oh, he liked that—shocking him with how he instantly turned hard. As if reading his mind, she sucked again. He wrapped a hand around her chignon, already loose and hanging close to the nape of her neck. Fisting that perfect black silk, he arched her head to deepen the kiss. She moaned in his mouth.
He had to have her. Right here. Right now. This second.
Growling, he bowled her over. He was going to lie on her, pull up her skirts and . . .
Jesus, he was at his mother’s very long wake!
He leaned away, which unfortunately made her wobble. Catching her before she fell, he pulled her to his chest, where his heart boomed.
“I’m sorry,” was all he could think of to say.
She smiled up at him. “Oh?”
He rolled his eyes. “I was going to have my way with ye right here on the ground.”
“Who says that’s not my way?”
He laughed. Then he’d almost said it: “I love ye.” He’d almost let that slip. But he worried so much she’d run from him if he did. He knew though one of these times it would come out. He’d tell her he loved her, then she’d...
She had just told him that she thought he was for her. Lord, he hoped that meant what he wanted it to.
“I suppose we should check on the wake, make sure the people have their whisky.”
He nodded. But he didn’t want to leave the earthen hole, so filled with his love for her, so heady with lust and the unspoken sentiment. He spoke without even thinking through what he was saying. “Ye ken how to grow corn?”
Highlander of Mine Page 26
