Duchess of Mine (4 page)

“Duncan!” he yelled with all the authority he
could muster. He detested how his voice wasn’t as deep as he wanted
it to be. In fact, it cracked a tad when addressing the man. Lord,
but Duncan was daunting. And he hated to admit that too.

Duncan didn’t turn immediately. Slowly,
however, he did, ensuring the woman stayed behind his too-large
form.

He bowed his head. “Nice to see ye caught up,
Captain.”

Rory felt his eye twitch at the comment, but
held his temper in check. “What have ye there?”

Duncan took a mighty breath, then stood to
the side. “May I present Lady Fleur Anpao. She is visiting from
the...American colonies. She is...here at my mother’s request. As
an...ambassador, of sorts, to confirm my brothers’
whereabouts.”

That was the most Rory had heard Duncan
speak. Ever. And the manner in which he’d spoken made Rory wonder
if Duncan believed any of what he’d just said.

Granted, Rory hearkened back to Duncan’s
brothers, shipped off to the colonies, but had never heard the man
himself retell the events. Everyone well knew of the Highlander
soldiers sold to the rich American farmers, due to Cromwell’s
unholy reign. It was damned good to finally have an ambassador here
to confirm where some of the men had landed in the colonies.
Interesting that she was a—well, she was a she, and might she be an
Indian? Dealing with the English, albeit the American English, was
a trial. Hence, it was better if she were an Indian. Besides, he’d
heard tales of many of the indentured Highlanders running away to
the tribes.

Rory jumped from his ride in a polished
fashion and walked with the horse toward the dark beauty who seemed
to shuffle closer to Duncan, her eyes wide, fearful. He didn’t
recognize her surname, but her first was obviously French.

He bowed low before her.
“C'est un plaisir
de vous rencontrer, ma dame. Comment puis-je vous aider?”

She blinked rapidly for a moment and
performed a small curtsy while extending her hand. “I’m sorry. My
French is rusty. Nonexistent actually.”

Well, he didn’t like speaking French anyway.
He kept holding her hand while he said, “It is an honor to meet
you, my lady. How may I be of service to you?” Then he kissed one
of her delicate knuckles and thought he heard Duncan give a small
growl of disapproval. Good, let the brute get jealous.

Tugging, she pulled her hand away and
swallowed. However, her gaze was glued to him. He smiled, hoping to
God she liked what she saw. Lord, but her garb was odd though. From
her shiny black trews to her outlandish—what were they
called?—moccasins. Stripes of bright greens and blues leather
swirled and were tied with white ribbons over her dainty feet. But
his gaze ran back to her black trousers, since they fitted such
long, long legs. Her roomy black coat-like garment, though, stopped
his inspection of her derrière and hips. Too bad. Although, they
looked promising as well. She was a bit on the thin side, a bit
muscular—pedestrian, but on her it was lovely somehow.

“Lady Anpao.” Duncan interrupted Rory’s
thoughts. “I’d like ye to meet my captain, Rory MacKay. Brother to
the MacKay, Laird Reay.”

The pretty wee lady blinked rapidly. She
didn’t look impressed, and Lord, how that excited Rory. Granted, he
liked admiration as much as the next man, but to be given esteem as
a mere extension of his older brother rather than what he had done
to earn it, well, Rory wasn’t fond of that idea.

“Nice to meet you.”

She didn’t gush or pump him full of
compliments. And it was beyond refreshing. It was a challenge. Rory
longed to earn the lady’s admiration. He smiled again, which
brought another quiet growl from Duncan. Rory wanted to laugh at
that.

“How may I assist you, my lady?” Rory asked
again.

Fleur then broke his heart by looking to
Duncan. Her dark eyes sparkled with something. Trepidation?
Intimidation? What was that?

Duncan sighed again, but then smiled quickly
down at the lady. A smile? Rory was sure that was the first he’d
ever seen Duncan perform the feat.

“Begging yer pardon, my lady. But excuse my
captain and me for a moment, please.”

Hesitatingly, she nodded. “I’ll go stand by
the—what’s this called again?” She waved a hand out to the bay.

“Geodha Smoo,” Duncan said quietly, almost
reverently. And before Rory could.

The lady repeated what she’d heard as she
headed toward the geodha, but mangled the word horribly. She tried
again, which sounded fairly descent, and Rory smiled once more.

He looked up, suddenly aware that Duncan was
very close. The hulk lowered his head and voice. “I’m afraid she’s
been the victim of a robbery. She doesn’ remember much, but her
things were taken. Must have been a mosstroooper.”

Rory’s gaze flashed back to the dark lady,
standing close to the lapping bay. His heart reached out to her.
“Her things have been stolen, ye say?”

“I believe so, aye.”

“Is she hurt? I can’t believe she’s traveled
this far and had such a horrible thing happen to her. But look how
strong she is.”

Duncan didn’t acknowledge most of what Rory
had said but narrowed his eyes as he looked away. “I think she’s
been hit on the head.”

“Poor little creature.”

Duncan nodded. “My mother lives close. I’ll
have her see to the lady, have her stay with my ma for a night or
two, until we can find Lady Anpoa’s things.”

Rory took a step back, incensed. “I assume
she’s some sort of an Indian princess from the Americas, and you
want her to stay with your
mother
?” Rory shook his head.
“Nay, I can’t have that. She’ll stay with my brother and his family
and me at Tongue, at Caisteal Bharraich, where an ambassador should
stay.”

Duncan moved his jaw around as if he’d bitten
his tongue. For a long time, he didn’t say anything. Finally, he
nodded. “But I’ll have my mother look at her. She’s nearby.”

Knowing Duncan’s mother to be a healer, Rory
nodded. But he loathed having the huge man tell him how things were
to happen. He was the damned captain of this army, was he not?
Duncan was just a lieutenant of sorts, although he clearly knew a
hell of a lot more about the army than Rory, which, yet again, Rory
had a hard time admitting.

Duncan pointed, tilting his head east. Some
of the fastest of the troops were finally catching up. “Have the
men rest for a few minutes, but we need to spread out and search
for the mosstroopers. They might be close by. And we need to catch
them while we can. Have Ronald in charge of twenty men and head
them west. Ewan in charge of another twenty and head east. Then
Michael’s to have the rest of the men to the south. Hopefully we’ll
find the thieves.”

Rory huffed, but the advice was sage. He
nodded.

“I’ll take the lady to my mother.” It wasn’t
a request and was spoken with far too much authority.

Rory frowned but nodded.

“May I have yer horse, so the lady might ride
upon it?” It was a question, but sounded like another command.

Rory had had enough of being ordered about.
“Why don’t ye take my family jewels too?” He cupped his bullocks
through his dark plaid. But then he realized the lady could catch
sight of him and immediately let go, glancing at the dark woman as
she flung a small flat rock out into the bay. The stone skipped
several times before sinking into the greenish gray water.

Sighing in relief that she hadn’t seen his
vulgar act, he looked up at Duncan who hadn’t responded, but there
was a purple vein standing out on his forehead.

“Fine. Take my horse.” He slapped the reins
into Duncan’s outstretched hand.

“Ye ken where my mother lives?”

Rory nodded. It was one of the grandest
houses in all of the MacKay lands. Everyone knew her house. “Aye,”
Rory said, hating to admit as much, again, but he’d be an idiot if
he didn’t. “After I spread the troops to the winds for the thieves,
I’ll find both of ye and take the princess back to Tongue. She is a
princess, isn’t she?” He realized he sounded a wee bit too
enthusiastic and cleared his throat.

Duncan looked back at the lady. His eyes were
still narrowed, but he watched her find another small flat stone
and threw it sideways so it skipped at least twenty times before it
sank. She looked over her shoulder at that, smiling. Duncan’s face
cracked. His smile was fast and wide. That grated on Rory. Seeing
the gigantic man have any kind of response to the lady annoyed him.
For Rory knew he was fond of the lady already. Quite fond. Lord,
those legs of hers were enough to make him stutter.

Slowly, Duncan nodded. “Aye, she’s a princess
all right.”

Rory gritted his teeth as he watched Duncan’s
gaze drink in the lady. Damnation.

Well, this was to be his challenge, wasn’t
it? As much as Rory needed Duncan to train the lads into some
semblance of an army, he also needed to wrest the authority from
him. Granted, Rory fancied Lady Fleur, and what better way to prove
himself than by taking the bonny lady for his own?

Chapter 4

F
leur turned from the gray-green
geodha into a horse’s face. It was a palomino, blond much like his
owner, also very beautiful. But unlike the gelding, she doubted
anything about Rory was not sexual. Wow, that Rory was handsome.
Should have been in the pictures, Na would have said.

But it was Duncan who utterly distracted her.
As he’d emerged from the cold bay, his huge arms bent so he could
smooth his unruly red hair away from his face, his white shirt had
been completely translucent, clinging to every ridge and band of
his torso. He was the epitome of masculinity, stunning, and
chiseled. Before he’d stalked into the water, something had crossed
his eyes. Pain. Raw, overwhelming, and making the sculpture of
Duncan into a beautiful human she wanted to draw into her arms and
comfort. Which, being the guarded woman she was, made no sense.

She had to shake herself, pay attention to
the horse sizing her up. Slowly, she lifted her hand to his
velvet-soft nose, letting him take in her scent.

“
Wíyuškiŋyaŋ waŋčhíí yaŋke he,”
she
whispered

The sun was stolen from the sky suddenly, and
she looked up at Duncan, creating instant shade as he towered over
her.

“What’d ye say?”

Feeling heat rise to her cheeks, she
sheepishly looked to the steed. “That I was pleased to meet him,
pleased to meet the horse. It’s customary to make introductions,
you know.” She patted the yellow mount and nervously smiled up at
Duncan, hoping he’d take the comment as a joke, although she did
believe in giving a horse some time to get to know her.

Already, the horse radiated a sense of calm
and reassurance to her presence, his ears pricking toward her.
She’d been riding before she could walk, so being around the horse
provided her with a sense of peace she didn’t feel. She’d thought
about freaking out when Duncan had told her the date, screaming,
crying, maybe both? But...what good would that do?

When she’d first seen Duncan, she’d thought
him some local guy—although, he’d been wearing a kilt, and she’d
hardly seen a man before him don one while here in Scotland, which
utterly disappointed both she and her best friend, Rachel. After
that nightmare of a nap to wake up to the sight of him had been
dreamy and wonderful. But then she’d seen the small houses dotting
the horizon, the road had changed from paved to dirt, and he’d told
her the date. The freaking date! No, she couldn’t be in
seventeenth-century Scotland. But some part of her knew she was.
After all, in that, ah, hallucination, or whatever it was, she’d
been promised to go back a long time ago, to get a
glimpse
,
and here she was.

Duncan was silent for a moment, his
explosive-with-many-colors hazel eyes turning a shade darker. He
nodded, and before she could let out a peep, he wrapped his hands
around her waist and hefted her onto the horse’s saddle as if she
didn’t weigh more than a child, a small child. Lifting a leg, she
sat astride the gelding, never too sure how women rode sidesaddle
in the first place. She gripped the horse’s mane over his withers.
Duncan hadn’t jumped behind her as she’d expected but was still on
the ground, holding the reins. Seeming to make sure she was settled
first, he started walking forward.

“I’m takin’ ye to my mother’s,” Duncan said
almost softly. “She’s a nurse, a healer. Can help ye.”

Fleur panicked, wondering if he’d kept his
promise. Leaning beside the horse’s neck, she whispered into
Duncan’s ear, “What are you going to tell her? What did you say to
that Rory guy?”

Thoroughly surprising her, Duncan let out a
chuckle. But recovered quickly. He slightly turned his head, where
hers was only inches from his. “Ye might fall off, lass. Please be
careful.”

She rolled her eyes. It had only taken a
couple seconds to register the horse’s center of gravity, the way
his energy bounced out and into her, and the fact that he was an
obedient mount, seeming to calm himself with every step. She would
not fall off.

Fleur caught Duncan grinning yet again after
her theatrical eye roll. But he attempted to stop. Fleur thought he
was trying to look nonchalant, distant.

“I—I,” he paused and pursed his lips as if
frustrated, but then continued, “I asked
that Rory guy
,”
he’d said those words with particular sarcastic joy, “to spread the
men out and find what was taken from ye. Ye did lose something, eh?
At least, that’s what ye said at the cave.” He spoke carefully,
enunciating every consonant. That had not been the case for most of
the Scottish people she’d met so far. Although she liked the
accent, it was hard to understand without some serious
concentration. However, she thought Duncan was purposely trying to
help her understand. It was sweet, and she was grateful.