Highlander of Mine

by Red L. Jameson

  “Ow.” Then he quietly laughed. “I suppose I deserved that.”

  She pursed her lips, but liked that he had called her not manly, and liked even more his focus on her breasts. Any other man, she would have thought indecent. But she wanted him to notice her, especially the fact that she was a woman. Because she felt so, well, feminine to his masculinity. So then she turned her head and reached up, kissing him on the cheek quickly.

  Settling back against him, she felt him chuckling more than heard anything, and decided to keep the conversation going. “I like Galileo. In my time, he’s called the father of science. He charted the stars better than any other astrologer before him.”

  “I wouldn’ say that.”

  She turned again, their faces so close. “You wouldn’t?”

  “Nay, before Christianity took hold of Scotland the religions here were based on the stars and their movements. There’s still much of the old ways about us, the way we do things.” She settled against him again, one of his arms reaching around her, twining their fingers together on her lap. “The elders told of how difficult it was to convert to Catholicism. Perhaps that is why so many Highlanders chose Protestantism. Mayhap they thought it more akin to our old ways. Who kens.”

  “What do you think? Are you Protestant?”

  He didn’t answer for a beat, but when he finally did, his voice was lower and bounced through her ribs. “I suppose I lost faith in anything a long time ago. I wouldn’t call myself a man who believed in much.”

  She turned once more to face him. “Faithless? I wouldn’t describe you like that.”

  He swallowed and looked deeply into her eyes. “Perhaps I’m changin’.” He shrugged against her. “Mayhap I have a wee bit more faith than I once did.”

  The day after that conversation Fleur was with Helen as they sat in surprisingly comfortable chairs at a corner of Durness’s Greens, which she had discovered was the name of the center of town, where communal sheep and cattle sometimes grazed, but in the past week and a-half had been converted into Duncan and Rory’s training ground. The sun shone brightly in dandelion yellow, making everything around them seem colorful, cheerful, as if the white washed taverns and small houses that surrounded them were about to become animated and dance like in a Disney movie.

  Helen and Fleur sat in the shade of the nearby Green Cat tavern. Fleur couldn’t seem to stop herself from remembering the way Duncan had looked at her last night. The coals from the fire were a bright orange, and his eyes, although a dark forest green, also radiated with sparks of orange that made her heart thud against her ribs. She wasn’t too sure how they could part so amiably when their fire would burn out, the chill from the air settled in, yet their words—no, it was the unspoken ones—stretched inside her, making her desire Duncan in a way she’d never felt before.

  She looked over at Duncan’s mother, worrying, like so many times previously, why she was here. The muses had said something about this glimpse not being just for her. Helen’s lids slipped closed as her head leaned over to a pillow Fleur had propped for her on the back of the chair. The fact was other than Helen being a bit pale, maybe a bit thinner than she might have been otherwise, Duncan’s mother did not appear very sick. Granted, Fleur could smell the cancer, which was never a good sign, but she seemed to have boundless energy. Well, except for now.

  Watching Helen doze off, Fleur remembered Na doing the same in the hospital and the sense of impending doom. Maybe that was because Na had been in a hospital, and already her feet had been removed as well as two fingers. Her vision had hardly been beyond a few feet, and Fleur felt like such a failure for not knowing how bad it had gotten before she’d come to the Pine Ridge Hospital. Na had been so little and her hair had grown so white, but she had smiled and hugged Fleur as if her weakened muscles didn’t restrain her.

  It had felt so good to be held like that, and as Fleur studied Helen’s sleeping form, she wished she could hold her. In the last few days, she’d grown to love Helen. She and Helen spent hours together, watching Duncan train his troops. Helen had a special tea that she’d taught Fleur to make for her. It smelled a bit too much like a rancid tree, so she’d declined when Helen had offered her sips.

  While helping bake bread on an open fire, Helen had told her of Duncan’s father, her first and only love. They’d met when they were both sixteen, and had waited until she was nineteen before they’d wed. Then Helen had laughed and admitted it was because she was pregnant with Duncan.

  “Oh, we’d had quite a time trying to make that lad, we did.” Helen had leaned in close, conspiratorially. “We’d practiced tryin’ to make him for more than a year before we had to wed.”

  Fleur had blushed and shook her head. “Am I really supposed to know this?”

  Helen held her hand. “’Tis so nice to share. ‘Tis like ye are my daughter. Nay, ‘tis like ye are my friend. I suppose that’s what a daughter in-law is like, hmm?”

  The flames in Fleur’s cheeks intensified while thinking of her secretive meetings with Helen’s son.

  Later, Helen had spoken softly about her time married with Albert.

  “First, I married the man, thinkin’ him a fine provider. That he’d give Duncan and me a fine home, and we’d never worry about food ever again.” Helen had sipped her tea, which usually seemed to give her more energy, but had made her seem glassy-eyed and nostalgic that day. Her face had dropped into despair when she’d turned to Fleur. “He wasn’ neither. The home ye see now, Fleur, is all Duncan’s doing. He bought every single stone, even the ground the house sits upon. For Albert only rented it. Duncan paid for men to build me this huge house. I think to tell me once and for all, he was done with Albert. Done with that man. Made it so nothing resembled him, ye ken? Duncan single-handedly made it so none of us remembered that I was married to that mean man, or that he’d fathered Duncan’s half-brothers. But even with all the finery Duncan gave to me, we all remember.” She took a small sip of her tea, wincing upon tasting it, but gulped down more within a few seconds’ time. “Albert never hit us. But he did with words. He said the most unkind things anyone could ever say. At first, because Albert was so pleasant in public, I thought I was imaginin’ the harshness. But those words, the hits those words made, they festered. Unlike a bruise or a cut, the injuries Albert made seemed to last an eternity. And I was too weak to stop any of it.”

  Fleur held Helen’s hand, trying to shake her head. But Helen would have none of it.

  “’Tis true, beautiful Lady Fleur. I can’ lie to you. I ken I should have left that man, but I—I didn’. I was too scared by then. Albert had told me what a common wench I was, how no man would ever want me and all my sons. I ken he was a liar. I ken he was wrong. But I was too weak to prove it to him.”

  Fleur clutched at Helen’s hand then. “I understand that. I do. I understand that kind of fear. How it’s paralyzing. You can’t move.”

  “Aye,” Helen said breathlessly. Then she shuddered. “But for the sake of my lads, I should have done something.”

  Fleur shrugged. “Maybe, Helen, you did the best you could.”

  Tears formed in Helen’s eyes. “The Lord does have mercy, for I’ve longed to hear that. Still, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing better for my lads, especially my Duncan.” Then Helen had clutched at Fleur fiercely. “My dear, Fleur, I don’ ken how to stop that kind of fear, but if it ever happens to you, then shake it off, lass. Do whatever ye can to get rid of it. I don’ regret anything but havin’ that fear and not doin’ what I needed to do for myself and my sons. So shake off that fear, hear me?”

  Fleur had nodded.

  Back in the Commons, Fleur shuddered as she remembered Helen’s urgency.

  Fleur glanced again at Duncan, showing a few of the lads how to punch. Something about the man made her heart lurch to a painful stop, then beat furiously fast a second later. Her body smoldered when thinking of him and wishing each night he’d lean in and kiss her. Maybe when Duncan started to teach the boys wre
stling, then she could teach the big guy a few moves of her own.

  She skimmed her hand over her cheek, trying to calm her thoughts in front of Duncan’s sleeping mother. But it was difficult. She was crushing on the man in a way she’d never felt before. There was nothing linear about the process between her and Duncan. It just was. And it scared the crap out of her.

  But something else nagged at her currently. Something was amiss. What it was, she had no clue.

  She noticed Rory who was smiling at her. Waving at him, his grin grew and he returned her wave, then turned to explain how to use a sword. He seemed like such a nice guy, and, boy, she hated to admit how his attention was flattering. But that was merely her hungry ego liking his responsiveness. She knew it and felt she should say something to him. But what? Then again, maybe she was reading him wrong. Maybe he was just polite to what he thought was a Native America ambassador. It was strange, but while glancing at him, something seemed not right. No, it wasn’t Rory who was wrong it was...what was it?

  Something shifted. Now it felt as if she were in the Willy Wonka movie. God, the community center in Porcupine had played that over and over again, so Fleur had watched it, each time a bit disgusted and yet fascinated. That’s what everything felt like right now. The colors seemed to come out of an old television—too bright and brassy. The sense of looming trouble almost suffocated her.

  Fleur glanced again at her sleeping companion, then made sure she was breathing. After watching a loved one die, it was hard to watch another’s chest and wonder the same thoughts. “Please don’t die. Please don’t die. Please don’t die.”

  Helen’s chest moved easily up and down in a peaceful sway, making Fleur take a deep, relaxing breath of her own.

  She looked out to the boys, specifically to Duncan and Rory. They had their backs to her and were now close enough their elbows almost touched.

  Before she could let herself think any further, something pressed hard against her mouth, then something else had her under her armpits and lifted her up and over the chair she sat in. Hands. It was hands all over her. Big, too rough hands, lugged her through an alley.

  When she realized it was hands carrying her away from Helen, her first thought had been how ridiculous it was to be abducted.

  To be abducted. To be abducted.

  Her brain had snapped and tried everything it could to turn from reality, but after the third time thinking it to herself, she finally realized she was truly being kidnapped.

  She thrashed and tried to scream. But the hand over her mouth was too firm, and the hands holding her body held her tighter, hurting her.

  About seven men held her, transporting her hurriedly through Durness. They were tight enough together that they blocked the sun. Then they began to run. They had scarves covering their noses and mouths. Their shirts were yellowed from grime and dirt, and their kilts were worn and filthy. As much as she saw stains, she was surprised they didn’t carry a strong odor. In fact, almost all of them smelled of the outdoors, of heather, and of smoke. She struggled again, especially as they jogged even faster and the landscape changed from the small homes of Durness to something greener and wild. God, they were taking her away from Duncan!

  Chapter 13

  Duncan had noticed when his mother had fallen asleep. He’d noticed when Fleur’s chair was vacant but had thought with his ma in dreamland, she had gone into a tavern to get some water, for the day was a hot one. He’d been drinking water from a leather pouch and flung it at Rory, noticing the man licking his lips for the thousandth time.

  Rory nodded his appreciation, and then called the troops for a break to drink water from the Green Cat Tavern. He gave Ewan a few coins to pay for the drinks, and Duncan appreciated that Rory hadn’t expected the tavern owners to compensate for the beverages, even if it was merely water. Feeling a sense of pride come over him, he couldn’t help but smile at Rory as the troops slowly trudged off the Greens.

  “What?” Rory asked, almost defensively as he finished gulping down the rest of Duncan’s water.

  That made Duncan smile even broader. “Ye’re a good leader, Captain. Good to the men. Good to the people here at Durness.”

  Rory squinted his eyes, but slowly smiled himself. “Ye better stop with the compliments. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think ye were almost too fond of me.”

  Duncan found himself chuckling, utterly surprising the both of them. “Well, ye are a bonny lad, that’s for sure, but I’m not that fond of ye.”

  Rory smiled, but then tried to quell his grin. “I’m holdin’ ye to that, Duncan. For I’ve well heard how men, when alone on a long military mission, get a wee bit too fond of each other.”

  “Ah, sir, I hate to break this to ye, but ye wouldn’t be my first choice ifn we were alone for a long time. Ewan bakes a hell of a bread.”

  “I’m heart broken. I am,” Rory said, then smiled brightly at Duncan. “So then we’ll probably have to fight over Ewan.”

  As much as Duncan was beginning to enjoy the humor of the conversation, something about Rory’s last sentence sucked away all the frivolity. Still, he plastered a grin into place and chuckled as good naturedly as he could. Rory’s own smile had dimmed, but then vanished as he peered over to Duncan’s ma.

  “Where is Lady Fleur?”

  “Thought perhaps she was at the Green Cat. Mayhap she wanted a beverage too.”

  Rory nodded, but didn’t stop staring at where Fleur was supposed to be.

  “Will ye come with me to find her?” Duncan asked, not sure why he’d extended the invite to Rory. When it came to Rory being close to Fleur, he’d prefer the two never saw each other again. Lord, he was jealous of Rory, and if Fleur wanted the golden lad, he wouldn’t fault her for it. But he would try everything he could to have Fleur look his way, instead of Rory’s.

  Rory nodded and they began to follow the young troops. Nearly to the door, Duncan heard a thudding that only belonged to feet running as fast as they could. Already he was bothered by something—he hated to admit that it gnawed at him when Fleur wasn’t there to watch him show off. Lord, he was a royal arse, vying for the woman’s attention like a knight of yore would have by his jousting prowess. Nay, he was much worse. He’d seen many a peacock in Sweden’s court, although it seemed they never lasted through the winters, but he feared he was strutting about like one of the colorful birds. Jesus.

  But something else was off. The pounding of feet racing toward him seemed to confirm it. He wheeled about. Jamie, the young lad who every day since he’d met Fleur in the cave had come to call on her with bouquets of leaves and sticks, came racing toward him, his gang in tow. His too large feet and hands made running seem almost impossible, but somehow he kept sprinting toward Duncan.

  Jamie was trying to shout something, but Duncan couldn’t make it out. He began to jog in the direction of Fleur’s lads, as they were now called, finally catching the words. “...got her! They’ve got the princess.”

  Before he knew what he was doing, Duncan had reached for his sgain dubh from his hose and been about to charge in some wild direction, when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned to Rory, slightly flinching from the knife Duncan accidentally aimed it at him.

  “We need a plan, Duncan.”

  He couldn’t even nod, but looked at Jamie as he lowered his blade. “Who—who took her?”

  “Mosstroopers,” the lad huffed, his hair a tangled mess, his face covered in grime and sweat.

  “Where? What direction?” Rory asked almost calmly.

  Panting, Jamie pointed south.

  “What’s this about?”

  Duncan could hardly believe his mother had come up on them unawares, and her voice felt more like a dirk inserted into his ribs.

  Rory turned to her. “Mosstroopers spirited Lady Fleur away.”

  Helen clasped her hands over her mouth, then to her heart. She turned to Duncan. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’ have—”

  “’Tis no one’s fault, save the mosstroo
pers,” Rory interrupted. Then he glanced at Duncan. “And they’ll pay for what they’ve done.”

  Duncan ground his teeth, but nodded at the sentiment. “Aye.”

  Within a few heartbeats, they had a plan. Duncan wasn’t sure how Jamie and the orphan lads had gotten involved, but they had. They would track the mosstroopers, while he and Rory and the troops would try to gain as many horses as possible, then hunt down Fleur’s abductors like the thieves they were.

  Chapter 14

  Fleur lashed out with all her might. One pair of hands dropped her right shoulder, and she swung out violently. When she made impact with a man’s stomach, he groaned. The running stopped.

  “Greggor, grab hold o’ her.”

  Fleur kept swinging until someone took hold of her hand then crushed it in his grip, pain ripping all the way from her fingers to her chest. She shrieked, or tried to, but the noise was muted behind a giant hand. Suddenly, a pair of bright green eyes, heavily rimmed with red, hovered above hers.

  “Hold, or I’ll slice off that wicked arm of yers.”

  The eyes held a menace she’d never seen before. They were cruel and desperate.

  She remained motionless, wanting to cry.

  No, this couldn’t be happening. No! She was here to do something good, then she’d go back to her time. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be...

  “Grab her arm like I told ye,” the man with the green eyes said.

  Her arm was clutched at, but the man who she’d hit in the stomach didn’t hold her so tight. It was subtle, but he held her looser. She searched for the man holding her arm amongst the mass of her brawny kidnappers and finally found arctic blue eyes. They were such a light color they almost looked like ice reflecting the sky. He glanced down at her and when their eyes met, she could have sworn he grimaced. He should have appeared even more villainous with those light eyes of his. But the way he looked at her, showering her with compassion and worry, she thought him oddly kind, although the son of a bitch was abducting her.