Duchess of Mine (23 page)

“Again, thankful to see ye, Captain, for I
needed Timothy to go, and I hated to think about Collin out here
alone.”

“I can defend ye, Lieutenant MacKay,” Collin
said. He was small for his age, but puffed his chest when he’d
spoken, making him appear almost eight and ten, instead of his five
and ten.

Duncan actually cracked a small grin at the
lad. “Aye, I ken ye can. Ye would do me great honor defendin’ me
and the lady and my ma.”

“What’s wrong with yer mother?” Rory finally
asked.

Duncan’s face contorted, twisted into deep
agony for a second. He glanced at Collin, but then finally huffed
and answered. “My ma,” he bitterly chuckled, “she still hasn’ told
me what exactly her sickness is. Stubborn woman—”

“Mother like son?” Rory asked, surprised to
find himself lightly bantering with Duncan.

Duncan slightly smiled and nodded. “Suppose
so. But,” he paused and cleared his throat, pain growing apparent
in his choked expression. “She—she has tumors. She’s just had a
second one burst.”

Lord, that was grave, Rory thought. Forcing
himself to do the humane thing, he patted Duncan’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

Duncan nodded grimly.

“Oh, Lieutenant MacKay, I’m sorry too, sir,”
Collin whispered reverently.

Duncan winced and tried to turn it into a
grin.

Rory thought fast. Lady Fleur had taken to
Mrs. Cameron, although God ken why. The woman let her sons sleep in
a barn for Christ’s sake. Aye, when he’d be with the lady, he’d
teach her to show compassion to people of Mrs. Cameron’s caliber,
mayhap give a little care, like a cold cloth on a forehead, but
little more. Rory could just imagine her showering the elderly
woman with attention and assiduousness at this critical time.

Lord, this put a wrench in his plans. He’d
designed them while Fleur had ridden with him back to Durness.
Certainly, she needed some time to recuperate, and he’d give it to
her. Let her visit with Helen for a while more. But then it was
time the lady accompany him to Tongue to meet his brother and live
in the castle. It was time for her to be his.

And it was time to be rid of the blubbering
big man beside him now. It vexed Rory to no end that Duncan was so
close to the lady. More than likely they’d spent time together
without him, he knew. What could they have possibly talked about?
What did they have in common? He was a simple-minded idiot, while
she was the moon and stars—an endless possibility of heaven. If
Duncan so much as touched Fleur, he’d kill him.

But, Rory devised, now was the time to show
the lady he was a deserving man of her, that he too cared, that he
was the right choice for her.

He turned to Duncan a little more, intimating
concern. “When Timothy comes back, I’ll go fetch a few of the
troops and head to Tongue and return with my brother’s personal
doctor.”

Duncan blinked and swallowed. He had to clear
his voice twice before he could say, “Thank ye, Captain. That is
most kind.”

Rory nodded. “I, ah, I’ve established a
rotating crew of troops to keep watch of yer mother’s house while
Lady Fleur resides within. I’m guessin’ she’s with yer mother
now?”

“Aye. Carin’ for her.”

“Aye. So I’ll keep the crew watchin’ while
the doctor heals yer mother back to health.”

Duncan’s face fell into an obvious frown. It
wasn’t a begrudging kind of expression. It was pure helplessness.
And for a moment Rory felt for him. His own mother was still alive,
but she’d run off to France when he was six. He’d never really
known her. However, he had loved his elderly father. When he’d too
escaped to France, to run from Cromwell, Rory had gone with him. It
had been a short six months together, but it had been a time Rory
would never take back, getting to know his strong father, learning
what type of leader he’d been. Then when Cromwell made false
promises, imprisoned his father, and executed him...well, it had
done much to Rory’s soul. It hadn’t necessarily darkened him, but
rather made him realize all the more the gifts in this life, like
Lady Fleur.

She would be his.

Unfortunately, he had to work this out so she
would come to him. Rory knew that much. Thus, he would playact the
concerned captain of Duncan’s, the caring laird’s brother. After
all, these were his brother’s people, hence his own. And in a way
he did care about them. Mayhap not as much as Fleur, but...It
occurred to him yet again she would be so good for him. Lady Fleur
cared for these people as if she were one of them, and was that not
the best way into the people’s hearts? If he was going to lead,
then her way was the right way.

When Fleur finally relented and came to him,
became his, he would repay her with his heart, for she would give
him the people’s. Aye, this would all work out. He just needed to
remain patient. Besides, Cromwell’s New Order Army was close, and
they would ensure not just that his plan would work, but also he
might not need to be patient for long.

Duncan suddenly straightened and looked out
to the village. “What did ye do with the prisoner, Greggor?”

Of course the man would think of such things
at a time like this. He was always concerned with all the details
of maintaining a strong military, which was helpful when under
tutelage, but annoying as hell. Rory slid a smile into place.
“Believe it or not, Jamie and his wee gang, the Lady’s lads, are
watchin’ over him in the one prison Durness has.”

Duncan actually smiled at that. “I hope the
lads don’ hurt the prisoner too much.”

Rory softly chuckled.

“Jamie, he’s awful fond of the lady,” Duncan
said.

“Aye.”

“Aye,” Collin added, reminding Rory he was
even there. “We all are, Lieutenant. She’s a real sweet one. Being
so bonny doesn’ hurt either.”

“Aren’ ye supposed to be patrolling the
parameter, Collin?” Rory arched a brow at the lad.

Collin sucked in a breath, started to jog
away, but then returned and patted Duncan. “Thanks to the captain,
we’ll get yer ma back to health. And I promise to protect ye and
the lady durin’.”

Duncan clapped the lad on the back. “Much
appreciated, Collin. And...I’m deeply honored.”

Collin swallowed, glanced at Rory, then
started to lope to the back of the house.

Rory wanted to shout in fury then. He knew
not why. He was incensed beyond words. Well, he hated to admit how
much he wished Collin would look at him the way he did at Duncan.
He coveted the way Collin talked to Duncan, so respectful,
deferential.

Well, Rory would work on the young troops
respecting him. That’s all he could do.

Once more, he gave Duncan his attention. “Let
me ken what more I can do for ye, what my brother might do for ye
and yer family, aye?”

Duncan nodded. “I—I want to be with my ma,
for” —he cleared his voice and looked up at the overcast night,
making everything seem too black and dark—“for my ma thinks she’s
dyin’.” His voice cracked under the strain of what he’d just
conveyed.

Rory nodded, wondering if it could be true.
Women seemed to know better than men about such things, and Mrs.
Cameron was a healer herself. Mayhap she was dying. Well, then
Fleur might come to him for comfort from her grief. He might not
need to be patient for much longer, indeed. Further, if Mrs.
Cameron died, his secondary plan, the plan that had been raging on
his soul, could come to fruition.

It had to be a sign. He hadn’t thought his
secondary plan would be his future. He’d thought he’d be dutiful.
But now...if he proceeded with the secondary plan he could wipe out
the crime in MacKay county, eliminate the threat of Duncan, and
Fleur would be his. He—oh, Lord—he could claim more than Fleur
too.

He hated to think of himself as an
opportunist who would take advantage of death, especially the death
of Mrs. Cameron. She was a nice enough woman, though weak and
strange. But with her death, he could gain everything he’d ever
dreamed of. And more.

Rory turned to Duncan, trying to dampen his
grin. “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’
happen, Duncan, that yer ma returns to health. We’ll take time off
from trainin’. For now, focus on takin’ care of yer mother.”

Duncan swallowed again and looked away, tears
forming in the man’s eyes. “Ye—ye’re” —he broke off and cleared his
throat again—“Ye’re a good man, Rory. Thank ye so much.”

Rory even patted Duncan’s shoulder once more,
not necessarily for effect either. The best way for Fleur to come
to him, rather than to Duncan, was to show humility. Great
humility. And as Rory squeezed Duncan, he knew that Fleur was again
making him a better leader, a better man. He felt that soon enough,
as Fleur herself had said, he wouldn’t surrender his dreams. He’d
make them a reality.

Chapter 20

F
inally, Helen relented and confessed
she had breast cancer. She’d been almost forced to tell, because
Duncan had insisted he stay in the room when Mrs. McVicar arrived.
Startled with the realization of
where
the tumor had burst,
his eyes rimmed with red, the planes of his face so tense, he
slowly approached the door before Mrs. McVicar examined his mother.
But before leaving, he asked if there was anything he could do for
her, his ma.

Fleur’s heart ached for him as he left. Those
wide shoulders took most of the doorframe’s width, yet how they
looked defeated. She longed to embrace him once more, but Helen had
asked her to stay while Mrs. McVicar tended to her. Holding her
hand, Fleur glanced down at Helen as Mrs. McVicar gently and slowly
tried to remove Helen’s shift. She’d covered herself in a brown
woolen blanket, and Fleur hadn’t seen—well, anything. But once the
blanket was removed, Fleur tried everything not to appear shocked
at the watermelon-sized black-red stain over Helen’s left
breast.

“How is the laudanum working, Mrs. Cameron,”
Mrs. McVicar asked quietly.

“Quite well. I’m not feelin’ a thing right
now. But when it wears off...Lord, I just hate that.”

“Aye.” Mrs. McVicar nodded, almost looking as
if it were an absent-minded answer, but Fleur had a feeling the
pleasant woman soaked in every utterance.

Having a biology undergraduate degree always
came in useful for Fleur. She knew the basic mechanics of the human
body quite well. And it didn’t hurt that Rachel, her best friend,
was a physical anthropologist who raved about her work, like Fleur
did to her. Yes, Fleur knew the human body better than most, even
within her own time. But glancing down at the explosion on Helen’s
shift, nothing could have prepared her for that.

“Helen,” she whispered before she could stop
herself.

Helen looked up, appearing as nonplussed as
if Fleur had asked what time in the night it might be.

“Are you sure you’re not in pain?” Fleur
asked, trying very hard to make her voice stable and strong.

Helen shook her head, but her lids fluttered
closed of their own accord. Still, she spoke. “Not feelin’ much, my
dear. But I am so tired. I wouldn’ mind a cup of that coca
tea.”

“Mrs. Cameron,” Mrs. McVicar said sternly.
“Ye need yer rest. Only take it if there’s an emergency.”

Helen’s eyes sprang open. “I had a princess
in my house, Mrs. McVicar. I couldn’ just sleep all day, like the
laudanum makes me want to do.”

“Oh, Helen.” Fleur choked as tears pricked
her eyes for the thousandth time that night. She squeezed Helen’s
hand even more.

“I—I—” Helen tried to articulate something
more, but her eyes shuttered closed again.

“I wish you would have told me. I would have
taken better care of you,” Fleur could barely utter.

Helen shook her head, her eyes refusing to
open. “Nay, I needed the time to get to ken ye, ken if ye were good
enough for my son.”

At that Fleur squeezed her own eyes shut,
feeling hot tears surf down her face.

“I’m going to have to rip yer shift, Mrs.
Cameron. I hope ye don’t mind,” Mrs. McVicar said, reminding both
Fleur and Helen of her presence.

Helen nodded, and swiftly Mrs. McVicar tore
into the thin muslin.

There it was. A map of the human body during
a violent war called cancer. One of Helen’s breasts was inflamed,
but what lay slightly above the nipple was blackened and oozing
something not quite blood-like because it was far too dark. Fleur
repressed the urge to clutch her own breast and hide away.

She leaned down and rested her head close to
Helen’s. Genetically, there might be only two genes responsible for
breast cancer, BRCA1 and BRCA2. Fleur knew the reasons for cancer,
when a man and woman, both carriers of either breast cancer genes,
have a match and make a child, then that child’s chances of having
breast cancer rise dramatically. What utterly baffled geneticists,
and Fleur too, was there were always the carriers that didn’t ever
have cancer. The odds were stacked against them, and some women,
when realizing their probabilities, went ahead with a full
mastectomy. Fleur didn’t blame them. That made sense. It was
rational to protect oneself from such a horrible disease.

But why were there carriers who didn’t get
cancer?

Why was life such a crapshoot?

Mrs. McVicar sniffed very loudly, and Fleur
finally opened her eyes to see what she was doing. She was smelling
Helen.

Smiling up at Fleur, Mrs. McVicar said, “She
doesn’ smell bad.”

Fleur tried to grin back, but wasn’t sure she
pulled off the feat.

“We have to ensure she remain without
infection.”

Fleur straightened and nodded. “What can I do
to ensure that?”

“I think it best to let the wound remain
open, release all the black bile.”

Instantly, Fleur flashed back to her first
biology class in Texas and the history of medicine. She remembered
being taught that once doctors and healers in the Western world
believed there were four humors that composed the human body and
all ailments—blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and of course the dreaded
black bile. Although, what oozed out of Helen wasn’t technically
bile, which is a mechanism of the liver and gallbladder. What Helen
secreted was a waste product of the body’s white blood cells trying
their damnedest to fight off the cancer. Still, this was no
time—hell, it was definitely not the time—to correct the
seventeenth-century midwife what was what.