Highlander of Mine (25 page)
N
ever one for being comfortable in a crowd, Duncan was relieved to follow Fleur into the cellar and away from the continual wake. The solemn, sad wake. His mother had been loved. Cherished. It took her death to finally see that everyone in the town had treasured her, respected her, and also him. He’d thought they had laughed at him, at his pain. He’d thought they had been apathetic. Instead he found, time after time, the Durness’ folks approaching him hesitatingly, not because they didn’t care, but because they cared so much. They’d told him tales of his mother, tending to each and every one of them. After she was done mending them, she’d brag about his exploits. Due to his mother, Duncan had become famous.
So too they’d remembered the times with Albert. One man came up to him at the wake and said he’d prayed for Albert’s death, even knowing the consequences of eternal damnation for it. But that hadn’t stopped him from making the request.
Initially, Duncan had wondered why the man hadn’t gone ahead and killed Albert or helped Helen to leave. But almost as quick he knew the reason. It was difficult to know the right thing to do sometimes. Helen never left Albert, so was it anyone else’s place to force her?
It had all gotten to him, made his heart feel full of understanding, forgiveness, and warmth. With it too, and it might always be there, was the pinching anger toward Albert. But it had nullified, mollified, changed into something less bitter. Perhaps now it was more righteous.
Spending so much time with the people of Durness, Duncan realized he liked them, liked the village. It was beautiful here, so lush and green. This year was hot, but it usually wasn’t so unbearable. Typically it rained by now. A lot. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if Fleur would like to live here with him. Would she tend to the garden, while he mayhap plowed some fields? Grow some wheat. Or oats. Hell, he’d heard that outside of London they were growing that American corn, and making huge amounts of money from it. Fleur could teach him how to grow it, mayhap. At night he could write his stories, find Fleur afterward, and make love to her for hours on end, until they had their bairns.
He liked fantasizing about their future.
Yet he worried if she ever thought about it. Or if she could stay.
Hefting the heavy door to the cellar, he blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. He knew Fleur was still down there, seeing the light from her lantern, but she was so quiet. Creeping down the earthen steps, he wondered about her silence, when he finally saw her, sitting with her dark dress swirled around like a cloud. The lantern illuminated her gorgeous face, making her look as though she glowed. She sat so still that he couldn’t help but worry.
“Fleur?”
Slowly she turned to him, her dark eyes so wild and wide.
He rushed to kneel beside her. “Fleur, darlin’, what’s wrong?”
She glanced away from him, briefly opening her mouth, but never said a word, just staring for a bit at a shadow. Then she lunged for him, pulling her arms around his neck in a mighty hold. “You found me.”
“O’ course.” He couldn’t help but caress down her back—mayhap too low, feeling her pert round bottom in his palms. It had been three, almost four, days since he’d made love to her, but it felt like an eternity. Suddenly, lust coursed through his veins.
She pulled back enough to say, “Do you remember seeing me that first time in Cave Smoo?”
He nodded. “I’ll never forget it.”
She smiled. “I won’t either. I couldn’t stop staring at you. I knew it then. I knew it. I knew you were for me.”
He sat down, shocked by her honesty. “Did ye now?”
“Didn’t you?” Her eyes rounded, and he could have sworn he heard her heart rumble waiting for him to answer.
“’Tis hard to explain how I felt.”
She frowned.
Well, he couldn’t let that happen. Chucking a finger under her chin, he made sure she looked at him when he answered. “I was so powerfully drawn to ye. There I was soakin’ wet, more tired than I’d ever been, and I walked to ye as if I had no other choice, as though my legs would have walked another hundred miles to reach ye.”
She took a deep breath and lunged for him again. This time her full pink lips were on his, feathering against him. He crushed her to him as he exploded with need. Her kiss had been so dainty, so tender, while he’d nearly forced himself on her. He pulled back, trying to pace himself. But she was there, encouraging him with a kiss turned fierce. Lord, how he loved this. Loved her.
Caressing a hand along his freshly shaven face, her other pulled on his shoulder. “Duncan,” she whispered.
He couldn’t seem to hold back any longer. Kissing her with probably too much passion, too much strength, he pushed his tongue in her mouth. She sucked on it—Oh, he liked that—shocking him with how he instantly turned hard. As if reading his mind, she sucked again. He wrapped a hand around her chignon, already loose and hanging close to the nape of her neck. Fisting that perfect black silk, he arched her head to deepen the kiss. She moaned in his mouth.
He had to have her. Right here. Right now. This second.
Growling, he bowled her over. He was going to lie on her, pull up her skirts and . . .
Jesus, he was at his mother’s very long wake!
He leaned away, which unfortunately made her wobble. Catching her before she fell, he pulled her to his chest, where his heart boomed.
“I’m sorry,” was all he could think of to say.
She smiled up at him. “Oh?”
He rolled his eyes. “I was going to have my way with ye right here on the ground.”
“Who says that’s not
my
way?”
He laughed. Then he’d almost said it: “I love ye.” He’d almost let that slip. But he worried so much she’d run from him if he did. He knew though one of these times it would come out. He’d tell her he loved her, then she’d...
She had just told him that she thought he was for her. Lord, he hoped that meant what he wanted it to.
“I suppose we should check on the wake, make sure the people have their whisky.”
He nodded. But he didn’t want to leave the earthen hole, so filled with his love for her, so heady with lust and the unspoken sentiment. He spoke without even thinking through what he was saying. “Ye ken how to grow corn?”
She furrowed her dark brows, but smiled. “When my grandpa was alive, we had a small garden. We grew corn. I think I remember how to do that. Why?”
“Mayhap we should grow some here.” He hoped she hadn’t noticed how he’d said we, as if it hurt a little to say it. It had, for he was terrified of the future, scared she’d leave at any second.
“It’s too late this season,” she said. “But maybe next year? I really don’t know how it would grow in humidity like this, but we could see, huh? How long is the growing season here? We could figure out what kind of corn to grow, depending on how long it’s warm. Oh, wait, what am I saying?”
He held his breath as she widened her smile.
“There’s probably only a couple varieties of corn right now. But we could experiment with the crops, make a corn just for the Highlands, something that would work with this humidity. And in your spare time you’d write me your mystery story about Pocahontas.”
His heart almost burst. That’s how it felt. He’d been feeling surprisingly warm and comfortable about the people of Durness, making his heart grow. But this—Fleur talked of
their
future. A long one with many seasons for growing.
He crushed her all over again, but this time he just held her, too afraid he’d make an arse of himself and say something too profound or not nearly thoughtful enough. She wanted to be here, experiment with the crops, live with him. Well, he hoped she wanted to live with him. Mayhap it was time to ask her to marry him, to be his.
“We’ll have fun growing corn, growing a garden together,” she whispered. “You’ll have to show me how to do some things, since I probably forgot.”
He nodded, his throat so damned tight.
“We should get back to the wake, don’t you think?”
With his future looking so bright, he nodded again. Releasing her, he then helped her to stand beside him. Ach, she might stand beside him for the rest of his life.
She took his hand, while giving him the lantern. Even though he held the light, she guided him. Extracting himself and Fleur out of the cellar, he felt a completely changed man. Gone was the bitterness he’d had as a companion for so many years. Gone was the worry about his mother. It was all replaced with hope and love. He still worried. Hell, he had no clue if Fleur loved him, but it seemed possible she did. So much seemed possible.
She had the whisky in her hand when he closed the doors to the cellar, her back to him.
“They left.”
He glanced up and around. Sure enough the crowd of mourners had left in the short while he’d been gone.
“Do you think they went inside?”
Not on such a hot day. He shook his head. Had they left because they could sense he might need to grieve for years to come, but he was done with the heavy sadness? Done with the solemnity of the ceremony?
He was ready for the next phase of his life . . .
Fleur turned toward him. “I guess I should have been quicker about getting that whisky.”
He laughed. God, it felt good to do that.
Carefully he reached for the whisky, took it from her and set it on top of his wide, round tree stump of a chopping block. When he straightened, he caught sight of her, as he had that first time. She smiled at him as if she knew something, but was surprised by it too. Her full lips thinned with the expression, but only a little. The skin around her eyes crinkled a tad. One day she would have wrinkles. And he’d love every single one.
He grabbed her by her waist and forcefully drew her against him.
She giggled, but he caught her lips, curbing her laughter. He fisted her hair again, and the loose knot weakened in his grasp. Her black silk flowed free within a few moments, and he loved her wild mane gently caressing him as he kissed her. Thrusting his tongue in her mouth, he loved how she easily opened for him, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The second her breasts touched his chest, he’d had enough of waiting.
Lowering his hands to her backside, he lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him as he’d wanted. There were too many layers between them, but he’d remedy that soon enough. Marching to the back door, he nearly kicked it down, but somehow opened it, then closed it behind him. The kitchen was too hot, even though they hadn’t lit the fire for days, eating the tavern’s food or snacking on apples grown in the back of his ma’s land. Actually, it was
his
land now. Where he would live the rest of his days, loving Fleur.
His erection had lessened when he’d known he’d have to be amongst people again, but now he was rock hard in an instant, thinking of his Fleur. The woman, his woman furiously kissing him back, her hands grabbing his plaid and shirt and pulling. He found her bedchamber. She’d left the windows open, which should have made it too hot like the rest of the house, but the room was surprisingly cool with a gentle cross breeze. Lowering her onto the bed, he landed on her, needing to feel every inch of her wee body. She rocked into him. Somehow she tugged his hair free and tunneled her fingers through.
He feared he would be too fast, too frantic for her. But he wasn’t sure how to slow down. Each time he told himself to do just that, she moaned or arched or touched him, sending him another jolt of energy to keep escalating, until they were both sated. She tore at his plaid over his shoulder, unlatching the broach in a hurry and dropping it with a thud on the floor.
“I’m sorry. Should I have been more careful with that?”
He shook his head and dove in to kiss her all the more.
She had his belt in her wee hands before he could think about anything other than her breasts against his chest. Surprising him even further, she unbuckled it in a flash and his plaid was loose around him. In a few more moves, she somehow had the plaid off, and was lifting his shirt over his head.
“I still have my boots on.”
“I don’t care.”
That made him laugh. But not for long as her dexterous hands traversed his body, down his arms, then found his waist. She took advantage of the little space between them and had her hand around his cock, making him moan.
Lord, she was stripping away his fortitude. He’d explode soon at this rate.
Gripping her hand, he made her stop.
“Was I doing it wrong?”
The look on her face was so innocent, as if she wanted nothing more than to please him. His chest tightened. He’d thought she might have had a lover or two before him, but now he wondered.
“Nay, darlin’. Doing it too good.”
Her smile melted his heart.
“I want you.” She lifted her skirts, showing him her amazingly long stocking-clad legs. Black hose today. His mouth went dry. He liked the stockings. Loved her legs. She didn’t have shoes on, and he wondered how and when she’d kicked them off.
“I do too,” he said.
“Now.”
He sat on his shins between her legs, then cupped one of her breasts, while the other unlaced the dark dress she wore. It was plain, and he promised himself that he’d buy her prettier ones. Buy her silk with her favorite flowers embroidered all around it. Something bonny that she’d like.