Highlander of Mine

by Red L. Jameson

  That was when he saw a small figure jump down to the beach and begin to follow Fleur. Several scrawny shadows scurried down to the cave.

  Shite, it was a band of orphan lads who had been thieving around the area. With so many men dead from Cromwell, and many a woman as well, the orphans had risen to levels no one knew what to do with. Gangs had escalated in the last year at an alarming rate, but what’s more they were getting better and better at organization and burglary.

  Duncan didn’t waste any more time, but loped toward the cave the fastest his legs would move. At the yawning mouth of the hollow he saw about a dozen young men, couldn’t be more than ten and three years of age, all clad in worn, dirtier-than-hell plaids and all staring inward at Fleur.

  “...all boys, so I had to learn how to defend myself.” He caught the tail end of something Fleur said to one of the tallest lads.

  “Aye?” The lad’s voice cracked. “Well, that makes sense. But ye can’t blame a man for tryin’.”

  Fleur silently chuckled and glanced up at Duncan. “Good morning.”

  The lads turned as one to look at him gasping for air. Somehow he muttered, “Ye all right?”

  “Yer princess stole Jamie’s sgian dubh,” a small blond lad hollered.

  “I—I wasn’ goin’ to hurt her,” said the tall, dark-haired lad a bit apologetically. “Not for real. Bein’ a princess, just wanted any treasure she might’ve had.”

  “I told you, Jamie.” Fleur shook her head, holding the small knife in her hand and away from the boy. “I haven’t got anything.”

  “’Tis true that the mosstroopers stole from her?” The tall boy, Jamie, asked Duncan.

  It was a lot of a conversation to glean with hardly enough breath in his lungs to save his life. He stared from Jamie back to Fleur, who seemed completely comfortable with the gang of wee thieves. Duncan narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “I believe so.”

  Jamie puffed out his chest. “Then, we’ll get it back for yer princess.”

  “Oh, no. That wouldn’t be safe. Besides,” Fleur took a little breath and looked to the ceiling of the cave. “Well, it’s complicated, but I did want to look again for my...things, but I seriously doubt they’re anywhere near.”

  Jamie took a tentative step closer to Fleur. He was a little taller than she, and the lad seemed to relish in the fact. The look in his young eyes was nothing short of smoldering infatuation. “I’ll find it for ye,” he said more seriously.

  Fleur shook her head with a small smile.

  “But—but I might need me knife back.” Jamie looked away then, obviously a bit embarrassed he had to ask for his own dirk.

  At that Fleur narrowed her eyes. “Let’s get out of the cave, and I’ll give you your knife back.”

  The lads shuffled out toward the beach, toward Duncan, but they carefully avoided him as if he were a boulder in their way. Jamie came to stand a few feet from him, rocking on his heels, craning his head back.

  “Yer princess is a good one. We’ll not steal from her.”

  Duncan knew he should have corrected them from the assumption that he was somehow affiliated with Fleur in a way that conveyed possessiveness. But he didn’t. He liked the notion. What pleased him the most was that Fleur hadn’t said anything contrary herself.

  Jesus, he didn’t know what had happened, but sometime last night he’d made Fleur a priority, as if his life, even his brothers’ lives, depended upon it.

  Nodding toward the lad, Duncan moved closer to Fleur. “Appreciate it if ye wouldn’ steal from anyone here in Durness. Besides, sticky fingers still get branded if caught. Or worse.”

  Jamie narrowed his eyes and nodded too, as if they were negotiating. With a cursory glance at Fleur, he said, “Understood, aye. But we gotta eat.”

  Fleur bit her lower lip, her dark brows pressed together to create a wee perfect vertical line above her nose. It wasn’t even half an inch long and utterly adorable. Clearly the lads going hungry upset her, but she was outright enchanting when she worried. It also urged Duncan to do anything he could to ensure she not fret further. Not that he didn’t care about the lads’ plight already, but with her there, her bonny face scrunched so, he would move heaven and earth to get the lads fed.

  “My captain is the laird’s brother. Let me have a word with him to see if I can have an audience with Laird Reay. There’s no need for ye lads to run ‘round as such for food. We’ll figure this out.”

  Jamie leaned back again. “I thought ye were the captain. Ye’re the one always tellin’ the troops what to do.”

  Duncan almost smiled at that, but he held it in, wondering how much the boy knew about him. “Aye. Well, Captain MacKay is new. I’m to help him.”

  “Then ye’ll go back to Sweden after ye’re done?”

  Duncan nodded absentmindedly, now very unsure how the child knew him so well. He certainly didn’t know anything about the tall juvenile.

  He was about to ask, but Jamie said, “With yer princess?”

  Nodding once more, Duncan suddenly stopped and stared at Fleur, but decided on another topic of conversation. “Do I ken ye? Ye seem to ken me.”

  Jamie smiled broadly. “Nay, but we’ve all heard of Duncan MacKay, the bravest Highlander from Durness there ever was. Yer brothers bragged about ye all the time. Sad, they were taken. So sad. But it was obvious ye were good at what ye did, what with yer ma’s house lookin’ like it does. ‘Tis the finest house in all of Scotland.”

  At that Duncan finally did let a grin crack through. “That’s mighty fine of ye to say.” Then his smile vanished when he said, “And if I catch any of ye stealin’ from my ma, I’ll—”

  “Fingers branded, cut off. They get it, don’t you, boys?” Fleur asked the short band of miscreants.

  Jamie scowled. But he turned toward Fleur. “We’re not all bad, ye ken? We’re just hungry.”

  Fleur’s sweet lips tipped down at the ends. “Of course.” She looked at Duncan. “What can we do for them?”

  Duncan blew out a sigh as he realized the lads had weaseled their way close to Fleur, close to her heart. Damnation, he was jealous of the children. What had this world come to?

  He nodded. “Let’s find ye something to break yer fast, then I’ll try to locate my captain.”

  *

  Three hours later after he’d fed the dozen lads as if he were their personal serving wench, Duncan should have resented his new position. But how could he when Fleur smiled at him so appreciatively, ran one of her wee hands up to his shoulder and gave an affectionate squeeze?

  Now, she sat next to Jamie on the ground under an oak in the corner of his mother’s front garden, laughing at something the lad had said. All the boys sat around her, transfixed by her voice and anything she had to say. That he understood all too well.

  “Those lads of hers, she’s good with,” Helen said, making Duncan jump a bit because she’d caught him unawares, as well as staring at Fleur.

  He nodded.

  “Last night,” Helen said, “we stayed up, so I could give her some clothes to wear—still can hardly believe someone stole her things—and we talked and talked. I haven’t gabbed like that since I was a lass. She told me her family was all boys. Well, her grandmother raised her—How did she say it? That she was her grandmother’s daughter? Something like that—Anyhow, everyone else was a lad. She said something about not even having any aunties close by. Isn’t that quaintest expression, auntie? Where was I? Ah, aye, Fleur told me how she used to be eager to go into town, just to see another lass.”

  Duncan caught himself smiling at that, while he kept his gaze on Fleur. He loved the way his mother could zigzag throughout her own conversations, but he adored it that Fleur shared so much with his ma.

  Finally, he turned to his mother. “Thank ye for feeding the lads.”

  She shrugged. “Ye’re the one that gave me all the money to spare, so why not, eh? I should be more charitable anyway. I’ve recently thought about giving some money to the kirk. Or, ye hear
d that Laird Reay is goin’ to build a new house for Himself. The castle is crumbling down. Mayhap I should give him some money for his house. What do ye think?”

  Duncan glanced back at Fleur, furious. Of course his mother wanted to give away the money he’d given her. It was the one way he felt as though he could provide for her, show his stepfather, although he was dead, he could do something significant with his life. He was worthy. But she wanted to spend it on an already rich laird’s new house? Jesus, he hated being back home.

  “Spend it however ye like.” His voice sounded too gruff, even to his ears.

  Helen sighed.

  Honestly, he had given her the money to spend whichever way she wanted. But he’d also given it to her as proof...Hell, he didn’t even understand why he felt the way he did. Yet he did feel it—resentment. Bitter resentment. He didn’t want to feel it. After all, when Helen had made the choice to marry, she had said she’d done it for him too. So he would have a roof over his head, eat regularly, and no longer live the life of a pauper, begging for scraps. He hadn’t minded that part though. Oh, he did now, because everyone in the village remembered when wee Duncan used to dance for a coin. They’d laugh about it. But those had been tough times. Only, he’d had no idea how hard until Helen had decided to marry Albert Cameron. Not that Duncan’s stepfather had beaten him or his mother. Albert’s methods were much more restrained, yet lasted a hell of a lot longer than a simple bruise. Duncan’s step-da would first criticize, then the critical words turned a bit meaner, a bit crueler with every mistake Duncan had made. Helen had tried to shield him from the harsh words, but after her second pregnancy she merely cleaned their sod-roof, dirt-for-floors house. She cleaned every surface, often taking the rushes off the floor and sweeping the ground until her fingers bled. That’s how she’d spent the rest of Duncan’s youth, cleaning or ignoring her husband the best she could.

  By the time Duncan was sixteen, his two younger stepbrothers lived with him in the barn. Then he joined the last few years of the now called Thirty-Years’ War, although it might have lasted longer. He’d gotten very good at the sword, but more than that, he’d gotten good at tactics, figuring out how to wheel around his enemy at whirlwind speeds, then break a line of men who fought with pikes, swords, or even poked holes into a cavalry line. His superiors had noticed, which had gotten him prestige and then jobs. How he’d landed in Sweden protecting the king was beyond him, but the money was good and in the summers it reminded him of home. At once, he missed Scotland so much it nearly broke his heart and then he’d hate it too. He didn’t understand the conflicting feelings. So he tended to avoid thinking much about those clashing sentiments.

  But with Fleur here, his mother beside him, and feeling more stuck than ever before, all the while knowing he wanted to stay stuck, he kept thinking about his past and bitter resentments.

  He really wanted to do the right thing by his ma. Hurting her would be the same as what Albert had done for so long. But the pain of the past haunted him at the worst of times. He took a quick breath and forced a smile on his face. “Really, Ma, spend the money how ye see fit. ‘Tis yers to deal with. I’m going to...I’m goin’ for a bit.”

  He didn’t give her time to ask where he might be heading. He didn’t know. He just strolled away, feeling like a prodigal son. Jesus, why couldn’t he have more manners? Why was he so rough? He walked several hundred feet away from his mother’s house into an open green field. But he wasn’t checking the early autumn colors of the grass, the red purple of the heather, or the little white and yellow wild flowers that sprang up under the taller greenery. He hadn’t been watching where he was going at all, when he ran into a thicket of heather that thrashed at the skin above his hose. Stomping and muttering curses under his breath, he finally broke free from the bushes when he heard an altogether too close feminine and pretty chuckle.

  Unsure how to react, feeling tenser than ever before, he decided to ignore the sound, turned, and kept marching, even if it was away from Fleur and her breathtaking visage. Damnation, those full luscious lips.

  Suddenly, cold strong fingers gripped him around his wrist. He might have thought her digits delicate, but Fleur stopped him in his tracks. He pivoted, staring into black sparkling eyes.

  “Rude much?”

  Lord, he loved how she got to the point. Loved even more her fiery spirit. He knew he was being impolite, not talking, but he was so...God, when was the last time he’d spent time conversing with a person. Still, he did have something to say to her.

  “I don’t brand fingers.”

  Her arched brows knitted, forming that perfect little line above her nose. “What?”

  “I don’t brand fingers or cut them off.”

  She still looked perplexed, which made him think about kissing that line. But he swallowed.

  “I—I’m not the sort of man who would cut off a lad’s fingers for stealin’ food. That’s the laird’s justice if he deems it so.”

  “Oh.” She nodded, her eyebrows relaxing.

  Lord, he started to dig a hole with his idiotic blathering tongue. “Not that I’d even enforce a law like that. I think it’s...barbaric, but the laird might...well Himself might think it justice to brand the lads for stealin’.”

  She cocked her head to the side, her eyes slightly narrowed. “I stole when I was ten. One of my cousins dared me to steal some candy, er, confections, so I did.”

  “Were ye caught?”

  “Yeah.” She laughed. “My grandma caught me, had me spend the night in jail.”

  Duncan felt his eyes narrow too.

  “Oh, it wasn’t a real jail cell, but my Na, that’s what I called my grandmother, she was friends with the Chief of Police, and he had me sleep in his office. But I was scared nonetheless.”

  Duncan shook his head. “I don’t think children should go to jail or dungeons or any of the like. Don’t see how it helps.” He realized then how disrespectful that might have sounded about her Na, so he added, “Sorry. I just don’t think—but what do I ken? I have no bairns of my own, so forget what I said.”

  Fleur smiled though. “What would you have done with the ten year-old version of me?”

  He nodded, thinking about Fleur as a little girl. “I’d—I’d have sat ye down.” But Duncan could see her only as woman, and he imagined her sitting on his lap and having to scold her. Well, his mind didn’t like that, so he erased the need to reprimand her with just sitting on his lap. Mayhap she could wear those trews she’d worn yesterday, but have on the shift and the upper portion of the kirtle she wore now, hidden under his coat, although the day was turning warm. Something about the image made his body too hot, too tight. “I’d—I’d have a stern talk with ye, I would.”

  Her smile grew. “Did you ever do anything...naughty?”

  He realized she still held his wrist, and his body wanted to do something that might be considered naughty. Nodding absentmindedly got himself an even larger grin and a chuckle from Fleur.

  “Going to tell me about it?”

  He shook his head.

  She laughed once more.

  God, he loved that.

  Her smile waned though, and she took a step closer to him tentatively. “Are you all right? I mean, I saw you talking with your mom, then you stormed off, and I thought...it’s none of my business, and you can tell me to—”

  “Are ye really from another time?” He didn’t know why he’d interrupted her. Lord, he knew it was ill-mannered, and he chided himself for it. He wouldn’t do it again. But suddenly he had to hear Fleur’s version of why she’d landed on the beach. He needed to hear why she was in his life at this very moment more than he needed to breathe.

  She blinked, but then nodded. “I know it sounds crazy. If you don’t believe me, I understand, but I’m not from this time.”

  “Why are ye here?”

  She licked her lips. “Well, I finally got some clarity on that.” She looked down, he thought, at where she still clung to him. “I’m here t
o help someone. In so doing, it’s supposed to help me. And then I can go back to my time. I think.”

  “That’s rather cryptic, eh?”

  She glanced up with a rueful smile. “You think so too? But I think I’ve got it figured out.”

  “Yeah?” He borrowed Fleur’s expression, liking it, especially since he’d heard it much in Prussia and Sweden.

  She nodded. “I—I think I’m here to help your mom.”

  He took a step away, breaking their connection. He didn’t mean to, but he had hoped...Aye, he’d hoped she was here for him.

  Fleur continued. “I’m here—again, this is just what I think—to take care of your mom, because—well, I didn’t take as good of care with my Na as I should have when she—when she needed me. I mean, I tried, but I had...oh God, it’s so complicated.”

  “Long story?”

  She nodded.

  “Goin’ to tell me about it?”

  She smiled when he’d used her phrase.

  He stepped closer to her, then took another step, realizing how she ducked her head, looking cold, although the sun showered down severe rays. Not being able to help himself he smoothed his hands along what should have been her arms, since she swam in his coat. Finally, he found an arm then the other and caressed her.

  She looked up with a small smile. “All of this is so hard to wrap my head around. I can’t believe I’m here. It’s hard for me to believe that you’re real.”

  “Why?”

  She looked down again, pink radiating from her cheeks. “I—I guess because you’re so nice.”

  At that he laughed. “Me?”

  She started to chuckle too. “And you’re also awful. Why are you awful to me? Why do you not answer my questions sometimes? It drives me nuts. And by the way, don’t ever, ever walk away from me again, especially when I’m talking to you. That really drove me nuts.”

  “Nuts?”

  “Bonkers. Insane!”

  “Ah,” he said while he nodded and still rubbed her arms. “I’m sorry I’ve been awful.” He took another step closer, letting her delicate floral scent invade his nose, then pour desire through his body. Everything tightened, seemed to sharpen his senses regarding her—how two long black strands of her hair reached out for him in the late summer’s breeze, how her cheeks glowed pink, similar to her luscious lips, how her dark eyes sparkled with life.