Duchess of Mine (13 page)

She cocked her head to the side, her eyes
slightly narrowed. “I stole when I was ten. One of my cousins dared
me to steal some candy, er, confections, so I did.”

“Were ye caught?”

“Yeah.” She laughed. “My grandma caught me,
had me spend the night in jail.”

Duncan felt his eyes narrow too.

“Oh, it wasn’t a real jail cell, but my Na,
that’s what I called my grandmother, she was friends with the Chief
of Police, and he had me sleep in his office. But I was scared
nonetheless.”

Duncan shook his head. “I don’t think
children should go to jail or dungeons or any of the like. Don’t
see how it helps.” He realized then how disrespectful that might
have sounded about her Na, so he added, “Sorry. I just don’t
think—but what do I ken? I have no bairns of my own, so forget what
I said.”

Fleur smiled though. “What would you have
done with the ten year-old version of me?”

He nodded, thinking about Fleur as a little
girl. “I’d—I’d have sat ye down.” But Duncan could see her only as
woman, and he imagined her sitting on his lap and having to scold
her. Well, his mind didn’t like that, so he erased the need to
reprimand her with just sitting on his lap. Mayhap she could wear
those trews she’d worn yesterday, but have on the shift and the
upper portion of the kirtle she wore now, hidden under his coat,
although the day was turning warm. Something about the image made
his body too hot, too tight. “I’d—I’d have a stern talk with ye, I
would.”

Her smile grew. “Did you ever do
anything...naughty?”

He realized she still held his wrist, and his
body wanted to do something that might be considered naughty.
Nodding absent-mindedly got himself an even larger grin and a
chuckle from Fleur.

“Going to tell me about it?”

He shook his head.

She laughed once more.

God, he loved that.

Her smile waned though, and she took a step
closer to him tentatively. “Are you all right? I mean, I saw you
talking with your mom, then you stormed off, and I thought...it’s
none of my business, and you can tell me to—”

“Are ye really from another time?” He didn’t
know why he’d interrupted her. Lord, he knew it was ill-mannered,
and he chided himself for it. He wouldn’t do it again. But suddenly
he had to hear Fleur’s version of why she’d landed on the beach. He
needed to hear why she was in his life at this very moment more
than he needed to breathe.

She blinked, but then nodded. “I know it
sounds crazy. If you don’t believe me, I understand, but I’m not
from this time.”

“Why are ye here?”

She licked her lips. “Well, I finally got
some clarity on that.” She looked down, he thought, at where she
still clung to him. “I’m here to help someone. In so doing, it’s
supposed to help me. And then I can go back to my time. I
think.”

“That’s rather cryptic, eh?”

She glanced up with a rueful smile. “You
think so too? But I think I’ve got it figured out.”

“Yeah?” He borrowed Fleur’s expression,
liking it, especially since he’d heard it much in Prussia and
Sweden.

She nodded. “I—I think I’m here to help your
mom.”

He took a step away, breaking their
connection. He didn’t mean to, but he had hoped...Aye, he’d hoped
she was here for him.

Fleur continued. “I’m here—again, this is
just what I think—to take care of your mom, because—well, I didn’t
take as good of care with my Na as I should have when she—when she
needed me. I mean, I tried, but I had...oh God, it’s so
complicated.”

“Long story?”

She nodded.

“Goin’ to tell me about it?”

She smiled when he’d used her phrase.

He stepped closer to her, then took another
step, realizing how she ducked her head, looking cold, although the
sun showered down severe rays. Not being able to help himself he
smoothed his hands along what should have been her arms, since she
swam in his coat. Finally, he found an arm then the other and
caressed her.

She looked up with a small smile. “All of
this is so hard to wrap my head around. I can’t believe I’m here.
It’s hard for me to believe that you’re real.”

“Why?”

She looked down again, pink radiating from
her cheeks. “I—I guess because you’re so nice.”

At that he laughed. “Me?”

She started to chuckle too. “And you’re also
awful. Why are you awful to me? Why do you not answer my questions
sometimes? It drives me nuts. And by the way, don’t ever, ever walk
away from me again, especially when I’m talking to you. That really
drove me nuts.”

“Nuts?”

“Bonkers. Insane!”

“Ah,” he said while he nodded and still
rubbed her arms. “I’m sorry I’ve been awful.” He took another step
closer, letting her delicate floral scent invade his nose, then
pour desire through his body. Everything tightened, seemed to
sharpen his senses regarding her—how two long black strands of her
hair reached out for him in the late summer’s breeze, how her
cheeks glowed pink, similar to her luscious lips, how her dark eyes
sparkled with life.

She shrugged. “Well, awful’s a strong
word.”

“But applicable, I’m sorry to admit.”

She studied him taking in everything, he was
sure. Could she see straight to his heart? Until yesterday, he
wasn’t sure he even had one anymore.

He inhaled a sharp breath. “I’m out of
practice. I’ve been alone a lot.”

“You’ve been a mercenary?”

He nodded. “Well, the last few years I’ve
been a protector, a personal guard to a good man, a wealthy man,
so—”

“You were around people in that time then.
What do you mean you’re out of practice?”

“Well, aye, I was around people. And I told
‘em where I thought a suspected threat might be comin’ from. I
planned with other men how best to protect our charge, but
conversing...talking about anythin’ beyond my sword or someone
else’s, I haven’ done in a while.”

She nodded. “That I can understand. I can
understand that really well, actually. I’m a bit the same. I talk
about my work a lot, my job, my career, my—does that
translate?”

His hands stopped, but he nodded. “Ye have a
job of work?”

She nodded with another rueful smile. “I—this
might sound so crazy to you—but I’m a scientist. A—um, what would
it be called here?—a philosopher of the material kind? Does that
make sense?”

“Aye,” he said skeptically. He didn’t want to
believe this part. But the more she talked, the more he did.

“I’m a genealogist, which basically means I
study where people came from. Now, if you don’t believe me, what
I’m about to say might lead to you wanting to burn me at a stake
for witchcraft, but I figure out where people descended from, and
my research goes back thousands and thousands of years.”

He was amazed at what she was telling him.
“Oh,” was all he could blurt out. Remarkably, his knees felt weak,
as if she’d hit him over the head. He saw a nearby patch of soft
grass. “Mayhap we could sit for a spell. Let me work this over in
my mind.”

“Yeah, sure.” She smiled and followed him
closely, sitting less than a few inches from him.

She looked up at him expectantly, and that’s
when he realized he could no longer hide from the truth. He
believed her. He wished it wasn't so, because that would mean she
would leave, go back from whence she had come.

“Ye like yer job?” His voice cracked more
than usual.

She nodded. “It—it’s been the one thing in my
life that has given me a sense of accomplishment and . . .” She
seemed to be searching for words that Duncan knew too well.

“It gives yer life meanin’, eh? It makes it
seem that while yer doing what ye do that all’s well. That things
aren’t as bad as it might be.”

“Yes,” she answered breathlessly.

He nodded and looked away from her. “I don’t
mean to be awful, especially not to ye. I’m out of practice talkin’
and the like, but one reason why I’m not my best is that I hate
bein’ here.” From his periphery, he caught her looking at him and
continued. “’Tis the town I was born and raised, and I suppose I
should love it, but I don’t ken how I feel. I hate it, but then I
don’t. I love it and miss it terribly, especially my ma and
brothers—” He couldn’t talk after he’d brought them up. By now he
should have fetched them, brought them where they belonged.
Here.

Fleur wrapped her long delicate fingers
around one of his hands. Lord, she must have been a princess of
science, for her hands looked so refined and elegant. He couldn’t
stop himself, but placed his other hand over hers, ensuring she
keep touching him.

“I think we have a lot in common.” She
smiled. “Because I know exactly what you’re talking about. It’s
such an odd dichotomy, the love we have for our family and then the
feelings that are...less than love. The utter loyalty we have
towards a place, without understanding why.”

He smiled down at her, finding that she had
discovered the exact words for what he’d been struggling for. Fleur
scooted closer to him, settling her hip against his, one of her
arms melding with his. Slowly she leaned her lovely head on his
shoulder, her delicate floral scent wafting around him, making him
hold his breath in the hopes she might never move again.

“My grandmother opted to send me away when I
was fourteen. I know why she did it. I know she was trying to give
me a better future, and I know many kids have life a lot worse than
I did, and, hell, I met many kids in my same predicament. But the
hurt and resentment was still there, and no matter how much I tried
to circumnavigate it, it came back. Then, ten years later, my Na
needed me because she was dying. I returned to my hometown,
Porcupine, where I was born and raised, and hated it and loved it.
Resented everyone around me and adored them. Through it all, I
should have taken really good care of my Na, and I tried so hard,
but I asked her why she’d done it, why she’d sent me away. She’d
tried to tell me, and some part of me listened, but then...I should
have done better for my Na. I lost her, and I can’t help but think
that I’m here to help your ma.” She looked up suddenly, her eyes
wide. “I mean—not that Helen’s—”

“She’s sick, aye. I ken.” It pained him to
admit as much out loud, and that was when he realized how
dreadfully skilled he’d been at not admitting things to himself. He
patted her hand, because he knew Fleur was trying to comfort him,
but he feared for his mother too.

“I think”—she wrapped her hand more firmly
around his— “I can take care of her, make her life comfortable and
maybe even fun. I think I’m here to make up for what I didn’t do
for my Na.”

That made sense, and honestly it did him good
to think that she was here to help him do what he thought he was
botching horribly. Mayhap Fleur was here for his ma, but he would
learn from her. He didn’t want his mother to die and think he was
an ungrateful son. God, the thought tore him to pieces.

He reached an arm around Fleur’s shoulders,
pulling her even closer. He’d hoped in the process he’d feel
something more akin to brotherly toward her. But he didn’t. Her
scent tormented him, and he wanted to kiss her neck. He wanted to
lay her down and mayhap roll on her and . . .

Jesus, he needed to feel something more
amiable concerning her. Something friendly, but not too close.
After all, she was a gift from the fae, and going to leave at any
moment. It would be futile to spend his time and energy on a woman
he couldn’t have.

That little pearl of insight bit him right on
the arse. Not that long ago, it wouldn’t have bothered him to
expend a little time on a woman he’d never see again. In fact, he’d
preferred it that way.

Duncan scanned Fleur’s sweet face, unable to
help himself as his stare focused a wee bit more on her lips. Aye,
Fleur had positively left her mark on him if he already worried
about her leaving, worried that it would hurt when she did.

Chapter 11

F
leur and Duncan were right where
Mrs. Cameron had guessed they might be, a few rods from her house
yet protected from view by a small hill covered with heather. Rory
spied them sitting as if the sun was out just for them, smiling at
each other. Duncan sat with his legs bent before him, but the lady
rested with her legs angled to the side, letting her black skirt
hide her long limbs, except for a peep of her colorful
moccasins.

They were talking. Talking! Damnation. The
huge mercenary wasn’t supposed to open his mouth with words. He was
supposed to be a brute who would mumble and grunt and disgrace
himself to the lady.

The wind carried much of their conversation
to him.

“Truly?” Duncan said while smiling down at
Lady Fleur. “How’d ye take the dirk from the lad?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t really think he’d use
it, but it pissed me off, er, I got mad that he’d even try. I
reacted before I thought through what I was doing, and” —she
snapped her fingers— “like that I had his little knife.”

Duncan grimaced and leaned away from the
lady. “Beggin’ ye pardon, but ye never call a man’s, even if he is
still a lad,
sgian dubh
little.”

“The knife is a skain doo?”

“Aye.”

“And I can’t call it little?”

Duncan shook his head reproachfully as the
lady silently chuckled. The huge man broke out in a smile of his
own and leaned closer to her once more.

“But”—her smile turned wicked— “what if it
is...small?”

Duncan slapped a hand over his heart and fell
over backwards, making the lady giggle loudly.

Lord, the double entendre was killing Rory.
He felt it stab through his innards, his head ached. Especially so
as the lady leaned over Duncan, a few of her long black strands
seeming to reach down for the mercenary when she asked, “Did I kill
you?”