Duchess of Mine (19 page)

He withdrew the knife and wiped the blood on
the kidnapper’s plaid, then bound the man’s hands together with the
strip of reins he’d cut. After that, he took the reins again, and
fastened them to the back of his saddle. Then he jumped up behind
Fleur.

Aye, everything was right in the world again.
Mayhap even better than usual, for the lady was in his arms,
holding onto one of his hands, which was wrapped around her thin
belly. As they rode forward to the sounds of the lessening strains
of the fight, Rory couldn’t help but feel that finally his life was
going in a direction he wanted.

Until he saw Duncan, glorified battle god,
ensure victory over the arses who had dared to steal Fleur.

Chapter 16

D
uncan wasn’t sure what hurt the
most, seeing Fleur’s eyes widen, become fearful and perhaps
disgusted when she looked at the blood and gristle of his kills, or
seeing her wrapped in Rory’s arms. He hadn’t meant to kill anyone
this day, although he’d been angry beyond compare, worrying about
Fleur. But he was merely to arrest the abductors, for the laird to
do with as Himself saw fit. Now though, whomever the men belonged
to had reason to retaliate against the MacKay. Jesus, he’d made a
mess of things.

But that large man, the one with the black
beard now headless and limp in the middle of the trail, had gone
after him in such a rage. Duncan’s old instincts had flared to
life, to protect himself against all odds. More than likely the man
was simply desperate to get Fleur to his poor laird and seek her
ransom, but the way he’d fought against Duncan, with savage,
unthinking, blundering moves, made him think that the man was half
mad. Perhaps even a little suicidal.

Lord have mercy, for Duncan now wondered if
he had helped the man to his death. After the beheading, another
one of the abductors tore at Duncan, and he’d merely defended
himself with his sword. But the repercussion of Duncan’s one
defensive move caused the man’s blade to swing backward, toward its
owner too fast, too furiously. The man slit open his own neck with
that fatal blow. After blood spilled at an alarming rate from both
dead men, the rest of the kidnappers raced away. Duncan had had to
call out to his young troops to let the abductors flee.

The sun had risen and already the heat of the
day simmered close to unbearable. Duncan thought it was Ewan, good
lad, who had ordered the men to start digging holes for the
deceased. The valley they stood in was a lush green and would have
been beautiful if not for the stench of the coppery blood and the
already buzzing of flies. Duncan hated blood loss now. He even
hated the violence. God, he hated that his body knew how to perform
it more intimately than he knew how to please a woman.

He glanced away from Fleur, wondering if she
recriminated him, and the thought speared through his toughened
skin to his heart. Lord, but he was a beast of a man. He didn’t
mean to be. He hadn’t meant for any of them to die. Years of
training had come through at the worst of times. That, and he truly
wasn’t sure if that first big bloke didn’t aim at trying to kill
himself.

“Once the men are buried, we’ll go back to
the horses, ride for a bit,” Duncan ordered.

“First, though, my lady,” Rory said loudly
enough for everyone to hear, but obviously aimed his statement at
Fleur, “would ye care to rest? Before we go back?”

Duncan frowned, wishing he’d thought of
saying as much, thinking of her needs above his own powerful need
to inculpate himself.

She shook her head. “I just want to get back
to...Helen.”

For a heartbeat, Duncan had thought she would
say his name. But that would have been ridiculous. Fleur was the
most beautiful creature probably to have ever entered Scotland, and
why would she want a monster like him? She was better off with a
man like Rory who could provide for her without already sacrificing
his soul, a golden man everyone seemed to like and respect, a
titled man who could give her wealth and power.

What did he have to give her? A scarred
heart? Did he even possess a heart any more, Duncan wondered.

Soon enough the dead were buried, and Duncan
and the troops were well on their way. He wondered why Rory had
taken a prisoner, who held his hands close to his belly, his face
ashen and his bright blue eyes wide. The prisoner hadn’t said a
word, but kept glancing at Fleur, as if...as if worried about
her.

Laird MacKay would more than likely brand the
man or send him back to his laird, if he had one, with an apology
for Duncan’s accidental killings. And Himself would need to issue
an apology. Duncan would say sorry to the laird too, try to explain
himself.

Then the thought of leaving home flittered
once more through his mind, but instead of taking the bait and
thinking of ways to escape Durness, he looked at Fleur, still
tucked against Rory. Her face was pale, her hair a beautiful mass
of black that swirled and swayed with the horse’s gait. A few
strands escaped the mess of a chignon and framed her face, teased
around her thin shoulders.

She wore one of his mother’s old kirtles
again, this one a rusty red with a white lace-up shirt he’d
fantasized of unfastening. She’d been wearing his coat yesterday
morning, but now she didn’t, and she looked frozen through. Lord,
he loved it when she wore his things, making him feel...ah, hell,
it made him feel as though she already possessed him. He’d thought
she had liked wearing his coat too, once his plaid, wrapped tightly
around her wee shoulders. But now she looked so vacant. She
probably hated him for what he’d done, for killing.

No matter how she felt about him, he wanted
nothing more than to hold her. To feel her little body against his,
to ensure she was safe and close. Make sure she wasn’t scared.

It was noon when they stopped by a stream to
water themselves and the horses. Rory watched and clucked over
Fleur like a mother hen, which ensured that Duncan avoided her,
although he wanted nothing more than to ask her how she was.

Instead, he took the prisoner and walked a
distance with the limping man, both of them stretching their legs.
The captive looked exhausted and mayhap sick too. Duncan had untied
the man, thinking he might want to loosen his grip against his
belly, but his hands stayed clenched to his torso.

“Need water?”

The man nodded.

Duncan handed him his leather bag he’d filled
with boiled water. One never knew about the rivers and creeks, what
with the recent outbreaks of cholera. With one hand still on his
belly, the man gulped down the water. That was when Duncan saw
blood ooze between each of the man’s fingers.

“Ye’re bleedin’.”

“So are ye.” He nodded at Duncan’s chest.

Lord, he knew he was hurting but thought it
had more to do with Fleur sitting with Rory. There, over his heart
was a gash. Not too deep, but wide enough to sting.

“Didn’ even notice.”

The man tried for a smile, seeming peaceable
and compliant—although, Duncan well knew looks could be
deceiving.

“What’s yer name?”

“Greggor.”

“I’m Duncan. ’Tis yer wound bad?”

Greggor slowly let the water drop beside his
hip. He glanced around Duncan, eyes narrowed and weary, never
answering.

Duncan followed his gaze to Rory, standing
more than a hundred yards away. It simply hurt too much being so
close to Fleur and not having her at his side, asking her if she
was all right, checking for any signs that she was hurt. So he’d
walked as far away as he could.

Finally the prisoner said slowly, “I gave the
lady up quick. I—at first I thought ye mosstroopers, trying to nab
her from us. But then I realized ye were her people and gave her
up.”

“How—?”

The man spied down Rory again with a note of
anger darkening his eyes.

“Captain MacKay attacked ye? Unprovoked?”

The man shrugged, then winced. “I stole her
from ye. I doubt he was unprovoked.”

Still, it bothered Duncan that Rory would
harm the man, especially since he was giving up Fleur. There was no
honor in that sort of assault. Well, perhaps Greggor wasn’t telling
the whole of the story. Mayhap the man was a liar. But then what he
said next floored Duncan.

“Something’s not right with that man.
Fleur...she’s good and sweet, and she shouldn’ be with him. I—I ken
we shouldn’ done what we did, but we needed the money—”

“Did yer laird send ye for her for
ransom?”

“None of us have a laird anymore.” The man
spit in the opposite direction from where they stood. “Haven’ ye
heard? Cromwell’s killed most of them. We have nothin’ now.” He
glanced up at Duncan, full of remorse. “Faolin, the one I reckon ye
beheaded, got drunk from drinking rotten apples, then had the idea
to kidnap yer princess when we heard of her.”

“Heard of her?”

“Lord, ‘tis throughout the land how the great
Duncan has himself a princess.”

“Ye ken me? That’s how ye ken her name?”

He hesitated for a beat, but then nodded. “I
wasn’ for the plan. I thought it stupid and suicidal to oppose the
likes of ye, but Faolin...ah, the man was deranged, but so big and
bullish no one would argue sense into him. So we came, none of us
a-wantin’ to.”

Duncan looked down at his boot. “I’m sorry
about his death and the other too.”

“’Tis for the best. The two of them were
goin’ to get us all killed. Ifn ‘twill be just me and Faolin and
Broo, then that’d be for the best. Let the other men live,
aye?”

Duncan shook his head. “I doubt the MacKay
will execute ye. We aren’ goin’ to hunt down the others either. As
long as they stay away.”

Greggor shrugged and looked again at Rory.
“They’ll stay away now that Faolin’s gone.” He took a sip of a
breath and winced. “The lady tried to protect me. She might try to
say a word for me to yer laird, hmm? But that one,” his eyes
narrowed at Rory then, “he’s goin’ to kill me. I saw it in his
eyes.”

Nothing about this sat right with Duncan. He
hated to believe Greggor. After all, he’d been weak enough to be an
accomplice in abducting Fleur. Still...something about the story
rang true, and that made Duncan feel as if his innards might reject
the little that was in there.

“Will the lady tell me the same story ye just
did, about the captain attackin’ ye the way he did?”

Greggor shook his head. “Nay. That man waited
‘till she looked away, then stabbed me. Said if I told her, he’d
kill me, and I believe him.”

Duncan stretched one side of his neck,
thinking. “I’ll make sure Ewan watches ye, while I find ye a web to
stuff around that bleedin’ gut o’ yers. Ye sure ye’re not hurt
deep?”

Greggor shook his head. “Not too deep. Just
hurts like a son o’ a bitch and won’ stop bleedin’.”

Duncan called Ewan and Thomas to watch over
Greggor then hiked around a crag for a spider web. Ashes might stop
the bleeding too, but Duncan doubted he could find anything like
that out in the wilds. Walking around a large boulder, he looked
for cracks in it, where spiders usually liked to claim their homes.
Lord, his own cut wasn’t too deep either, but kept bleeding. He
stopped his search and peeked under his white shirt. Gasping, he
was surprised it would hurt so much to have the fabric peel from
his tender skin.

That’s when he heard the unmistakable sound
of quick footfalls. Expecting one of his own men, he turned,
pointing at his cut.

“Why didn’ anyone tell me I was
bleedin’?”

He saw a blur of dark red, then realized wide
flowing skirts and a dirty white shirt approached in a flurry.
Fleur! She caught him completely by surprise, jumping on him, and
they fell. He somehow sat upright but was stunned with her in his
lap holding him tightly around his neck.

She didn’t say a word, but crawled up until
she sat astride him, holding him in a vice he wasn’t sure he could
breathe in, her head beside his, her soft cheek next to his
whiskered one. Then he felt her shaking. Placing his arms around
her, he soothed his hands down her back.

“I’ve got ye,” he finally thought to say.

She pulled away enough to stare at him in his
eyes, her own shooting accusations at him. “Don’t you care about
me?”

He couldn’t tell her how much, but gurgled an
odd noise.

“Why didn’t you at least ask me how I was
doing? If I was all right?”

“I wanted to.”

Her full lips broke into a silent snarl. “Why
didn’t you?” A perfect tear streaked down her cheek.

He wiped it away tenderly and couldn’t help
but keep his hand on her silky skin. It was more pleasure than he
could have ever imagined, touching her like this. The intimacy she
had forced on him, sitting on him like this. She wasn’t just in his
arms, she was so close he felt her light weight on his thighs. If
she weren’t wearing so many skirts, her center would touch his. And
when she’d held him, he’d felt her breasts and stomach against his.
God, that had been heaven.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked again. “Do you
care about me? I know you probably think I’m insane, and, honestly,
I wouldn’t blame you for that. Because I’m not sure how I got here
either, but—and I know we haven’t known each other long, but don’t
you care at all about me?”

“Probably too much, aye.”

Her slim shoulders slumped and her eyes
softened. She wrapped her arms around his neck again and held him
close. This time, he did the same around her waist. He felt her
trembling, then the sensation of something wet met his neck, right
where her face was pressed against him.

“I’ve got ye. Ye’re safe now, Fleur.”

She squeezed him tighter, scooted until her
skirts were no longer in the way, only his plaid. The realization
that her body aligned with his stole every thought in his mind. For
a moment. When he hardened, he pushed her away slightly, not
wanting to make her uncomfortable.