Duchess of Mine (18 page)

“But I’m not—”

“I ken. I ken.”

“What did ye say to her?” Faolin had snuck up
behind Greggor, hollering.

Greggor jumped and removed his hand from
Fleur as if she’d burnt him. “Nothin’,” he said.

Faolin glared at Fleur for few menacing
seconds.

Asshole.

Finally, Faolin glanced again at Greggor.
“See if she needs to water a bush. I’ll get the
highness
something to drink.” Clearly Faolin had disdain for royalty, and
Fleur thought to tell him she was no one of consequence. No one
would miss her. Not here. Not even where she lived.

No, that wasn’t true, but by then truth had
taken a serious beating from her self-pity.

“Ye—ye need to, ah, relieve yerself, Fleur?”
Greggor’s voice came out reedy, but was gentle nonetheless.

She didn’t know if she did. She couldn’t feel
anything within her body, other than the cold, hollow sensation of
hopelessness.

Greggor watched Faolin for a few moments, and
as soon as the obvious bully of a leader was farther away he leaned
close, pressing his hand against Fleur’s calf once more. “I hope I
didn’ scare ye. I’m sorry about the circumstances I met ye.” He
paused as Fleur finally met his gaze. He appeared worried. “Ye
should ken that I wouldn’ harm ye.” He leaned even closer then,
narrowing his eyes. “And I vow to no’ let anyone harm ye either.”
His gaze skid to meet the imposing form of Faolin.

As much as she believed Faolin would kill
her, she thought Greggor would try to protect her. But he would
fail.

Her heart sank. Or did it become more numb?
She couldn’t tell anymore.

Then she couldn’t explain what happened next.
Not even to herself, because what happened was even more fanciful
than believing a horse could listen to her pleas.

A cool wind pushed through her hair, nestled
close to her cheek, then whispered how Duncan was coming for
her.

She couldn’t give up. Not now. Not ever.

Chapter 15

R
ory, Duncan, and the green troops
had caught up then passed Lady Fleur’s lads long ago and rode
through the night, stopping only occasionally to water the horses
and check for traces of her. Somehow Duncan followed the
kidnappers’ horses’ tracks as if he knew exactly where the
mosstroopers were trying to take Fleur. Rory thought it...well, it
was unsettling. It was as if Fleur were sending out a beacon that
only Duncan could see. Of course, he knew Duncan could hunt by
moonlight because he was that much more skilled, and Rory also
recognized that this was no time for glory, this was the time to
find Fleur and save her. Still, it galled him that Duncan seemed
more attuned to the lady than he.

Once again Duncan made the sign he was
stopping, and the other troops slowed their horses. As the night
progressed they’d had a waxing thick, bright moon show them the
thin game trail they followed. But now there was a flickering from
the east. The sun would rise with its early lavender light,
enhancing the sky with pink and orange. But not just yet. Still,
the slim morning light was enough for Rory to guide his horse less
from the noise belonging to Duncan’s mount and more from sight.

Duncan jumped off his dark steed before it
stopped and lowered to peer at the ground. Rory halted his own
horse beside the kneeling man. He straightened and jogged to a
hill’s crown, holding out his palm to the troops, making them wait
while he spied over the rise.

Crouching low, Duncan then hurried back to
Rory and the recruits. “They’re just over the crest of the
hill.”

Everyone hushed, solemnly quiet as they
should be.

Rory nodded and gazed toward the direction
Duncan pointed but couldn’t see anything over the rocky crag.

“They move very slow. More than likely their
horses are close to giving out,” Duncan whispered. “Fan out.
Captain Rory and Ewan, ye take half the men to the other side of
the rise there.” He pointed the direction he wanted the men. “I’ll
have the other half here. We’ll wait ‘till yer in place, then rush
down the side of the hill into the valley they’re riding
through.”

Rory leaned over his horse. “Won’t they hurt
the lady if they see us coming in an ambush like that?”

Duncan thought for a moment and nodded. “Get
off yer horse. All of ye get off yer horses. We’ll attack on foot.
‘Tis more difficult, but more stealthy. But ye must run with all
haste while we have the opportunity.” He nodded, probably to convey
how important it was to sprint, which Rory was proud he’d trained
the men at least that much. Then Duncan continued. “When ye attack,
ye jump on the abductor’s horse. Or cut the mount down, ye ken? We
have strength in our numbers. From their tracks and from what I
just saw, I’d guess there’s less than a dozen of ‘em. We have
almost four times as many men, and we have the element of surprise,
but still be careful. Be quiet. And we’ll get us back our
lady.”

Quiet ayes and grunts were issued from man to
man, and Rory was proud of the lot of them. Even though many were
much too young, they wore the faces of warriors ready to save a
damsel. Rory too was caught up in the heroism of their feat. Lord,
he was about to save Fleur.

If Duncan didn’t get to her first.

Immediately, they tethered their horses close
to water and green grass, so they would munch happily and not give
away the troops location. Rory led half the men to the site Duncan
had advised. Spying over the top he saw thirteen horses and riders.
Near the middle, one of the horses carried two dark forms. Rory
swallowed, gazing across the thin valley as Duncan descended like
an oily shadow in the night. Rory could hardly believe such a huge
man could make so little sound, let alone be so clandestine. He
tried to follow suit as did the rest of the men.

Again, this galled Rory. He knew it
shouldn’t. It was time to focus on saving the lady. But he hated
how Duncan led the men so easily, and how they’d listened to him so
respectfully.

As Rory stalked forward, the riders became
clearer. Each was cloaked in their plaids, and one man had his
around himself and another. Finally Rory snapped from his
pettiness. This truly was about Fleur, and she must be cold and
scared.

Not for long.

One of the riders suddenly disappeared. The
man hadn’t even made a grunting noise, and Duncan flung himself on
the horse and rode closer to another man, easily pulling him off
his horse too. That was when Rory decided to do the same. He
silently crisscrossed from heather bush to another and waited for a
rider to come too close, while anger built through his shaking
hands. How dare these men steal Fleur!

His heart beat in his head, making logic a
thing of the past. He leapt as soon as he saw the legs of a horse
approach. Surprising Rory, a man toppled down on him, leaving both
of them breathless and tangled together as the horse neighed loudly
and crow hopped away. Someone shouted something. More shouts. The
man on Rory yelled loudly and managed to punch him in his ear, next
his shoulder. Rory held out an arm to defend himself and saw the
man reach for his dirk in his hose. Startled, Rory made an effort
to push away and run, but had thrown his head about wildly and
accidentally head butted the man. Rory’s heart then pounded even
louder in his ears as the man’s eyes rolled back, revealing
sickening white in the early light of the dawn. Jesus, his head
ached, but the man fell forward in a limp heap.

Rory stole the
sgain dubh
and managed
to extract himself and rise on his wobbly legs. His men were
surrounding the riders. Many were fighting and pulling down the
kidnappers. Glancing quickly, Rory saw that the one horse with two
forms was somehow racing away. With another cursory look, he saw
Duncan fighting on horseback, sword to sword, against a man almost
as large as the former. The man might have been as big, but he
didn’t have the years of training Duncan had. It was easy to spot
whose life would be taken.

Rory searched for a horse without a rider.
The morning’s light was streaking bright orange through the sky,
making the attack easier. Ah-ha! He spotted a gray that was only a
few feet away. His feet got him to the mount faster than he thought
possible, and with a jump he was on it, chasing after what he hoped
was the princess and her abductor.

Within a few minutes, he caught up to the
riders. A plaid wrapped around both the forms suddenly tore free,
waving like a flag behind them. Rory saw Fleur’s black hair,
tangled and messy. But that was all he could see, since the man
enveloped the wee lady with his form. Rory urged the horse to run
faster, but it seemed the mare was no longer responding to him. He
kicked at its sides, forcing the reins, urging the horse on with
brutal determination. However, instead of speeding up, the mount
seemed to slow even more.

Damnation!

The riders before him came to a quick stop.
Rory approached, seeing Fleur twisted to look at her abductor. The
man held her firmly, shaking his head.

Rory withdrew his sword and pointed it at the
man behind Lady Fleur.

“Unhand her this instant.”

The lady leaned around the man, her eyes
almost seeming disappointed when she saw him. “He’s released me,
Rory,” she said calmly.

The man had a black scarf tied around his
face and unraveled it; although, Rory wasn’t too sure why the
disguise. The man was a stranger to him. He bowed his head toward
Rory once he was done.

“She was never harmed.” The man’s voice
scratched and had an almost imperceptible accent. What that accent
was, Rory had no clue. Fleur’s abductor continued. “My leader just
wanted the money her bounty might bring.”

As Rory heard those words a sickening brown
blurred his vision, something rumbled through his mind. Rage
coursed through his blood. He reared back his sword, planning to
crash it down on the man, when Fleur screamed and the horse under
her backed away.

“Rory!” He barely recognized Fleur shrieking
his name.

The man behind Fleur tightened his grasp of
her, but it was more a protective stance than to run off with her
again.

“Rory, this man was...was kind to me.” Fleur
hollered reproachfully. “Don’t. He doesn’t deserve to die.”

Surprising him more, Fleur held an arm behind
her, guarding the man. That was when Rory saw she held the reins.
Not the man. She had the control.

Something had soared through him so fast and
so pervasively that he hadn’t even noticed when it had happened,
other than now when it was fading. He’d heard of bloodlust before,
but until that moment, he’d thought it some odd vampire-like
notion. He hadn’t wanted to bathe in the man’s blood. Rory had
simply wanted the man behind Fleur dead. It had seemed so pure and
just to do. It had seemed like the perfect thing to do, in fact.
And for a moment he regarded the lady, wondering why she would
demand such an insane thing.

But he sheathed his sword, and words finally
came back into his mind. Somewhat.

“O’ course,” was all he could utter.

He reined his horse to walk to hers, glancing
at the beautiful lady in the orange and pink glow. Lord, she was
heavenly. Her skin was just a tad dirty, but under the smudges was
a gold radiance similar to the dawn’s light. She brought his senses
back to him. She would be so good for him once he could make her
his.

“Yer dirk,” Rory demanded of the
kidnapper.

He leaned to one side and extracted his knife
from his hose, handing it, handle side, to Rory, which he placed
alongside another dirk in his hose.

Language, once again, was difficult to
remember, so Rory stole the lady by her waist onto his horse. In
the process she made a small noise, almost sounding like a protest,
but her arms were around his neck when she was before him. He
reached over and grabbed the reins of the abductor’s horse with
narrowed eyes. When he looked down at the lady in his arms, he
couldn’t help but smile. Something felt right in the world again,
like cogs twirling together in a clock. He held her closer, feeling
her cold soft cheek against his own, her breast fitting nicely
against his chest. Releasing her to sit in the fore of the saddle,
he wished she would reach one leg around and sit astride him. He
longed to have her closer and felt his already tight cock begin to
lengthen at the thought.

She stiffened, and he withdrew from their
embrace.

Again, words, which usually came to him so
easily and with a certain amount of charm too, evaded him, and he
could only struggle with his thoughts as he looked down at her.
Finally, he said, “I’m glad to see ye fine.”

She smiled, but it seemed forced. Well, the
woman was probably scared out of her clever mind, poor thing.

“Stay,” he said to Fleur, dismounting from
his horse.

Having both reins in his hands, he retrieved
one of the knives within his hose. Cutting a foot from the leather
reins, he turned his horse, with Fleur still sitting atop, toward
the direction of the fighting. With her back to him, he jumped up
enough to grind the knife into the side of her kidnapper’s gut,
making him groan and pitch forward. He pulled the man down to
whisper in his ear. “Tell the lady of yer wound, and I’ll ensure
the dirk go through yer heart instead o’ yer innards, ye ken?”

The man nodded slowly and looked to the lady.
Rory glanced her direction too, noticing she had twisted and
watched him. He smiled at her, sure his shoulder protected her from
viewing his blade in her kidnappers’ side. Her grin jerked into
place and again it looked compulsory. She looked forward once more.
He’d purposely aimed the knife where he knew little harm would come
to the man, other than he might bleed for a few hours. But he
deserved much worse. He’d tried to take Fleur away from him. No one
would live through that.