Highlander of Mine

by Red L. Jameson

  “I—Promise me we’ll do this again. We’ll do it often.”

  He chuckled. “I promise.” And he meant it. He could make it up to her, having their first time behind his mother’s house, against a wall. It was rather passionate, but he wanted her in silk sheets and flowers around her wee body. He wanted to tempt her, tease her, draw out the love making until they both exploded, their bodies becoming limp and twisted around each other’s, where they’d lie for hours.

  Her gaze intensified, her fingers tightened in their hold of his hair and shoulder, then he felt her sex ripple with her orgasm. While still looking at him, she moaned and began to shake.

  “Duncan,” she whispered, “my love.”

  That was what broke his own control. He came immediately, feeling his heart expand at her words, the rush of too tight and too hot air flashed down his lungs, landing low in his stomach, until his testicles released their warm flow. He poured himself into her, thrusting himself all the way inside. His body twitched a few more times, especially when he felt her tight squeezes around him. Then his legs nearly buckled.

  He released his finger from her and wrapped both hands around her pert bottom. God, one of the ways he’d love to make love to her was with her back to his front, where he could see her lovely arse the whole time. She’d turn her head and kiss him over her shoulder and...he convulsed a few more times into her, spilling himself entirely as he planned their future. Cradling her close, he spun around, leaned his own back against the wall, then slid down until he sat with her still connected to him, but where his legs could finally become boneless.

  She cuddled into him immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck, settling her head on his shoulder. Her own breath was rapid, and he felt her damp brow.

  “Seriously, we have to do that again soon,” she whispered.

  He chuckled.

  She leaned back, her dark brows furrowed. “It wasn’t just me, was it? Did that feel...was it good for you too?”

  He caressed her cheek with one of his hands. “Perfect...nay, better than that, love. Heavenly.”

  She smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder again. “I like it when you call me that.”

  “What? Love?”

  He felt her shake her head. “Well, I like that too, but I like it when you say...my love.”

  He tilted his head and kissed her cheek. “Ah, sweet lass, my love, I shouldn’t have done it this way. I should have—”

  She lifted her head again as she placed her fingers over his lips. “Please don’t. I wanted it this way. I like that we were here, outside.”

  “But ye deserved better. We’re on the dirt. Ye deserved—”

  She shook her head, her brows furrowing deeply again. “I needed you, Duncan. I hope you needed me too.”

  He nodded. He needed her more than she ever could ever know. Lord, how he needed her.

  Chapter 25

  Fleur knitted three, pearled twice, then returned to knitting. The pattern was simple, but very pretty. Na had taught her how to knit, but it was while being around Helen that she’d remembered how the wool would feel as it slipped between her fingers, the mindless, zen place she’d find while continuing the pattern with her hands. How good it felt to check out, while she produced something as useful as a blanket.

  Knit, knit, knit . . .

  She glanced up at Helen in the waning evening’s light that sent shocks of orange and lavender throughout the room. Surprising Fleur, Helen’s warm hazel eyes stared back at her. She smiled slowly.

  “Where’s my Duncan?”

  “Rory came back from...well, wherever he’d gone. Duncan’s meeting with him, asking for more time away from training the troops.”

  Helen nodded. “Ye watchin’ over me, dear?”

  Fleur returned the grin and nodded. “I’m trying to finish your blanket, but I’m nowhere near the knitter you are. My stitches are too tight.”

  “Ye nervous, bonny lass?” Helen lifted herself on unsure arms, looking like a newborn colt.

  Fleur dropped the knitting on Helen’s canvas bag, then assisted Helen with a few fluffy pillows to sit more upright. As she did so, Helen grazed her arms with soft, warm, bony fingers.

  “I make ye nervous, eh?” Helen whispered, as one of her hands found Fleur’s. “I don’ mean to. I want ye comfortable with me, in my house, around my son.”

  “I—I’m comfortable.”

  Helen made a gargled derisive noise. “Nay, ye aren’t. But I don’ blame ye. I’m sorry for teasin’ ye and Duncan so. What ye do in a bed together is none of my business, is it?”

  Fleur squeezed Helen’s hand then returned to the wooden chair near Helen’s bed. Her heart sank. Here Helen was trying to overlook cultural dictates to make Fleur happy. As much as Fleur’s throat constricted and a part of her wanted to run from this conversation, she decided it was time to stand up against her own fears and talk.

  After clearing her throat, she said, “I think it is your business. We’re in your house.”

  Helen waved a hand, trying to clear the air. “Whatever makes the two of ye happy, makes me happy.”

  Fleur plastered on a smile, although her eyes instantly smudged with tears, making the image of Helen blurry. Helen clucked, but Fleur spoke faster than Duncan’s ma. “I don’t remember a time when I’ve been so happy. I love being here.” Her voice had sounded so childish. An octave higher, breathier.

  “Ye certain?”

  Fleur nodded through her moist eyes. It was the truth. As much as she loved her work, it was similar to knitting—numbing. Granted, everyone needed to check out from time to time. But she’d been doing it for years instead of the occasional meditation. Here, in the Highlands, she felt things—and it hurt. Her body ached with forgotten emotions she’d tried to bury as soon as she landed in Texas. It was as if she had never fully grown up since then. That she’d locked tight her sense of self to avoid any further pain.

  But here she couldn’t hide from it. And for that, she’d finally grown.

  She also couldn’t hide from the fact that she’d just attacked Duncan. God, had she just forced him to have sex with her? She’d wanted him so much, she hadn’t thought of anything else. And he sweetly tried to stop her, tried to talk about making their first time a little more special. But, honestly, if Fleur had to do it all over again the only thing she’d change was to tell him that she wanted to make love like that, with the soil under them. Not that the way she felt about him was dirty. No. It was...primordial, new, clean. Perfect. It had to be outside, close to the ground to represent how much it meant to her.

  But, again, she’d been a coward and hadn’t told him any of what lay in her heart.

  That had to end.

  Fleur looked up at Helen. “I love it here, Helen. You’ve made me so comfortable in your own home, with you.”

  “And my son?” Instantly Helen flinched. “Don’t tell me. I don’t need to ken.”

  A tear surfed down Fleur’s cheek, but still she looked Helen in the eye when she said, “I’m deliriously happy with him.” Another tear escaped, and Fleur wiped them away slowly.

  “Then why ye cry, lass?”

  Because nothing lasts. Because this isn’t my life. Nothing is my life. Because I have no control over if I stay or go.

  A breeze whispered through one of Helen’s open windows, and Fleur remembered again the muses saying that she had many choices to make while here.

  But it didn’t feel as if she did. Nothing ever felt as if she had a choice. The choices weren’t up to her.

  Yes, she knew she’d been the one to graduate with her degrees. She’d been the one to become a genealogist, when any field of science or mathematics was open to her. She’d made that choice. But living, truly living by engaging in emotions and wanting—wanting love, that she hadn’t felt was one of her choices. She was so scared to want Duncan. Obviously, she did. But she wouldn’t tell him how much, too afraid that if she finally did he’d vanish. No, it wasn’t that the peopl
e she loved disappeared. She did. She’d been forced away, then she’d been the one to pull herself into a shell and hide from everyone and everything.

  Fleur looked down at her hands. “Because I’m scared. I’ve never been this happy before, and I’m scared it will go away.”

  Helen extended her arms wide. “Come here, my sweet, come to me.”

  Fleur flew to her faster than she thought possible. Helen cradled her, forcing Fleur’s head on her tiny sharp shoulder, soothing her small hands around her hair and an arm.

  “There, there, my lass. There, there.” Helen’s voice lowered and whispered the mothering words. “’Tis hard not to be scared. That I understand all too well. I don’ want to leave this earth. But I’m goin’ to.”

  Fleur glanced up at Helen, shaking her head. “No, you’re recovering—” As the words spilled out, something in her brain rebelled, reminding her of when cancer metastasized. Words like terminal and fatal flashed through her mind, but she didn’t want to think it, didn’t want it to be the truth, and forced herself to think otherwise.

  Helen had tears standing in her own eyes. “Mayhap. But one day I will leave this earth. I ken death all too well. My first husband, Patrick, left me and Duncan so long ago. It was the silliest of an accident. He was out harvestin’ the oats, walkin’ behind another man who had his scythe over his shoulder. My love Patrick waved at me while I held our big baby, Duncan, then my Patrick walked right into the scythe, cut his own neck. He was nearly bled out by the time I ran to him. Had enough time to smile once more at me and our chubby bairn. Then he passed.”

  Fleur gently wiped the tears from Helen’s beautiful, gaunt face as her own spilled from her eyes.

  Helen smiled down at her. “Lord, I ken death. I ken change. Everything is transitory.”

  “I hate that.” Fleur’s whisper was child-like, and she felt like a kid, stating such a melodramatic thing.

  Helen’s grin widened though. “Ach, me too. Me too.”

  The words spilled out of Fleur then. “How—how are we supposed to . . .?”

  “Live? Love?”

  Yes, but Fleur had wondered more about control, about having some sense of control over her life.

  “So much is out of our hands, my dear. My Patrick dyin’, it changed everything. I felt for so long that I had to submit to the change, let it roll over me. I married a pig of a man afterward, because I felt I had no choice. But that wasn’ the truth, my bonny girl. The truth is, I was too scared to do anything different. Too scared to find love, the kind of love I felt toward my Patrick. Now I cursed all my sons with half truths of what love and life could be like. I did that because I was too scared to truly live.

  “I chose a silly lie for myself, tellin’ myself that marrying Albert made me safe, because he was a good provider. Nay, it was my sons who were good providers, but by doin’ so I forced them to give up their childhoods, give up the fun of life. I did so much wrong, Fleur, by being too scared, too scared to live, to love.”

  Helen caressed both her hands around Fleur’s cheeks. “Please, love, don’ be scared like me. I ken how awful change is. I ken that fear. I ken what ‘tis like to feel as if nothing is in your control, that everything will be taken away from ye. And there is so much that can prove that right, ye ken? There is death and storms that can flood yer house, take it all away. But what ye hold in yer heart no one can take away. That is yers to keep forever and ever. Don’ be a fool like me. Don’ waste yer life, thinkin’ about bein’ safe, when the only thing that’s safe is what’s in yer heart. That’s it. There are no other guarantees, but what ye want to put in yer heart and keep there. Then ye do yer best to fight for that, keep it there. And that, my love, is all that matters when ye’re lyin’ in yer deathbed—the people that ye bound in yer heart.”

  Clutching onto Helen, Fleur couldn’t help but think of the people bound in her heart—one brawny, tall red head with a talent for words and stories came to mind. Was she bound in his heart?

  Chapter 26

  Rory almost halted, fell to his knees, and gawked at Fleur’s beauty as she finished wringing a white cloth in Mrs. Cameron’s lantern-lit kitchen. Such a simple task, and yet Lady Fleur made it infinitely graceful. Lord, it had been so long since he’d seen her. Aye, a little more than a week, but in that time she seemed to have blossomed. Her gold skin glowed more than usual, and her dark eyes sparkled with life. She smiled widely at him, and after dropping the cloth on a counter, gave him a hard embrace.

  “So nice to see you, Rory.”

  He’d come with the excuse of visiting Duncan’s ill mother, appearing the concerned captain. But he’d wanted to see Fleur. Duncan had indicated he’d thought she might be in the kitchen, not seeming to care where she was. And Rory himself had steered through the house to find her, and—ach—now he was with her. His throat constricted from his emotions. It felt damned good, actually perfect, to hold her in his arms. An open window revealed the night sky—a thick black with perfect glimmering diamonds. The kind of gems he wished to lavish her with. Amazingly, he could one day. And one day soon. He couldn’t believe how efficiently his plans had started to come together.

  She extracted herself from his arms, pools of unshed tears in her eyes.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “About the embrace?” He wouldn’t let her go and held her by her arms, ensuring she stay close.

  She smiled through her tears. “I’m so happy about Helen’s recovery. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

  “Nay. Not at all.” Although he hoped she hugged him for more than merely her joy at Mrs. Cameron’s health. He expected she’d missed him. However, like him, she couldn’t say as much. ‘Twould be disrespectful to do so in Mrs. Cameron’s house. But he wished she’d be bold enough to say the words. Then he’d tell her his plans.

  Duncan lumbered into the room. Almost beside himself with annoyance at being in Duncan’s company again, Rory softened when he realized something was different. Granted, Duncan was still as an intimidating sight as ever. But something in Rory had changed. He wasn’t so...well, unsettled by Duncan. It helped that Rory knew exactly what would happen to the huge idiot in a few days’ time. The only hold up was his mother’s quick recovery. She would be the one person who might ask where he’d gone, since Duncan wouldn’t be able to. Still, Mrs. Cameron was sick enough it shouldn’t cause too much a delay. She probably couldn’t voice her concern very loudly, at least.

  Reluctantly releasing Fleur’s arms, Rory forced a wide smile into place and turned toward the large man. He shook his hand, as if they were old friends, though the charade to act as the concerned captain was becoming difficult. Feeling nearly giddy, he could hardly wait to tell Fleur his plans, their future.

  “Again, my friend, congratulations on yer mother’s recovery.”

  Duncan nodded and squeezed his hand a little too roughly, but Rory would never flinch. Duncan’s smile was also wide, but it didn’t approach his eyes. Ah, the big man must be playacting too. But why? He had no reason to be suspicious. Yet.

  “Thank ye, Rory. That’s awfully kind of ye.” Duncan’s gaze shot to Fleur. There was obvious tension from the man. But Fleur wouldn’t meet his gaze. Interesting.

  Her little infatuation must have passed as Rory had hoped it would. Nay, knew it would. Who would want someone like Duncan? As much as the man might be wise and knowledgeable about military procedures, that was the end of his skills. Rory was confident he had so much more to offer Lady Fleur.

  She gathered more cloths and folded them close to the washing basin. Ach, it was demeaning work for such a lady, and he’d sure as hell change that when his plan was set in motion.

  Well, it already was, wasn’t it? Cromwell’s captain of guards stood at alert, waiting for his order. His order. Rory MacKay, the second-born son of the laird, but the one who would wrest the leadership from his brother and simultaneously keep the clan powerful and wealthy, unlike any other in the Highlands during this tumultuous time. He a
lone would save his people and the dark lady beside him. If there were such things as minstrels in this forbidding age, they’d sing about him. Oh hell, he’d make sure there was a golden age for the MacKay clan. There would be minstrels singing in his castle.

  “Would ye care for an ale, sir?” Duncan asked.

  “Nay, I’ve extended my visit long enough. ‘Twas nice though to see yer mother. She looked well. Very well.”

  “Aye, she was thrilled by yer visit, Captain. Tired her out, it did. She’s sleeping now.”

  “She is?” Fleur’s head popped up from her folding.

  “Aye.” Duncan nodded.

  “She hasn’t had her laudanum yet.” The lady’s brow furrowed uneasily. She was so pretty even when she worried, worried for her people. She’d become a nursemaid for Helen, and the MacKay clan would love her, even if she were an outsider. Her actions would more than remedy the fact that she wasn’t born a Scot.

  It was the one wrinkle in his plan—Rory worried how the people would receive Fleur as his woman. Well, he’d give them food and money, thanks to the new alliance with Cromwell, and they sure as hell shouldn’t complain, should they?

  Fleur gathered one of the dry cloths and a wet one too. “I’ll give her the laudanum.” She turned to Rory and took one of his hands, giving it a squeeze. “Come back and visit, Rory. It’s so good seeing you again.”

  “Of course.” His heart expanded at least by a rod. He tried to trim his grin to something presentable, after all Duncan watched, but he wasn’t too sure as Lady Fleur left if he wasn't smiling like a dunce.

  Then he faced the large man nearby. “Again, glad to hear the news of yer mother.”

  “Thank ye. Thanks for visiting her too.”

  “Anything for my lieutenant.”

  Duncan cleared his throat and looked down to the fine wooden floor. “Thanks, and are ye sure ye wouldn’t rather hire another—”

  “I won’t hear of it, Duncan,” Rory argued. Duncan was referring to their earlier conversation regarding the man retiring. But that wouldn’t bode well for Rory’s campaign. So he’d made promises that Duncan need not train the troops for weeks more. He’d told Duncan to have some time to think things over, and if Duncan changed his mind, then Rory might agree. The whole while he’d tried to crush his grin, knowing Duncan’s eminent future.