Duchess of Mine (22 page)

He growled and ground his length against her
stomach and, in the process, making her back up again against the
wall. This time when he lifted her, she did wrap her legs around
his hips. They both moaned as he found her center with his
hardness. Yet again, only his plaid lay between them.

“We have to stop,” he said as he nibbled down
her neck.

She gasped. “I know. I agree too. I just
don’t know how to.”

He silently chuckled as he straightened his
head. Then his smile waned into serious contemplation. Still
holding her backside with one hand, he swept some of her hair away
from her face.

She smiled. “Are you,” she swallowed, “Are
you—you need sleep.”

“Aye.”

“Are you going to sleep . . .?”

He swallowed.

“I mean, maybe we could talk inside.”

“Talk?” He slightly pressed his erection
against her more.

She couldn’t help but flutter her lids closed
and lean her head back at the intimate touch. When she opened her
eyes, he was smiling at her. “Well,” she whispered, “we could do a
little more than talk.”

He chuckled and the way it rippled down her
body made her shudder.

A muffled thump sounded from the kitchen
door.

They both stiffened and Duncan set her back
down on the ground, his face suddenly viciously protective as he
swept her behind him. “Let me check what that was.” His voice was
little more than a primitive growl.

Then they both heard Helen call out, “Duncan,
that you lad?”

Duncan raced inside, Fleur right behind him,
clutching the plaid around her once more, thanks to Duncan’s swift
reflexes and thinking.

“Ma!” He hurried a few feet, close to a large
blue pantry, where Fleur could finally see the outline of Helen.
She lay in a lump on the floor. Panic erupted through Fleur, and
she rushed to Helen too.

“I—I slipped, I think,” Helen said shakily,
while Duncan hefted her in his arms. “I needed to empty my chamber
pot, then I heard voices...yer voices, then, I think, I tripped on
something.”

“I’m so sorry, Helen,” Fleur said, and
reached out to hold her hand while Duncan promptly took her back to
her bedroom.

“I—I can’t remember if I slipped or not,”
Helen said softly as Duncan gently placed her on her bed.

Helen couldn’t remember? Fleur noticed
Helen’s hand was as chilled as...she wouldn’t let herself finish
the morbid thought.

Chapter 18

A
fter setting his ma on her bed,
Duncan struck a match and lit a candle. But he turned quickly back
to Helen when he saw the startled look on Fleur’s face. There,
around his mother’s pale lips, were spots of blood.

“Did you hit your mouth in the slip,
Helen?”

Immediately, his ma reached up and felt
around her lips. But it was the way she touched herself, the way
her eyes were downcast, that made Duncan suddenly feel as if the
ground might give way at any second.

Helen didn’t answer, but kept inspecting
herself, when Fleur sat closer and looked deeply at his mother’s
face.

“It doesn’t look like your pretty lips are
swollen.”

Then Helen looked down at her hands, covering
her chest with the bedding, as if embarrassed.

“Ma, do ye think something smacked yer lips
as ye fell?” Duncan asked a bit more forcefully than he’d
meant.

Helen finally looked up, but then bashfully
glanced at Fleur to answer. “Nay, I—I don’t think so.”

Fleur took a deep breath, as she
simultaneously brushed his mother’s hair away from her face. She
wore a braid over one shoulder, and it was then that Duncan allowed
the fact that there was so much gray in her bonny dark hair. It had
been a luscious auburn at one time, but turned a wee bit darker
after Albert had entered their life, the sheen of red disappeared.
Later the gray came, and when he’d first returned from Sweden he
couldn’t believe the elderly woman was really his mother. But
then—well, he couldn’t explain it, other than he denied what she
really looked like. He kept trying to imagine her with fuller hair,
redder, less gray. He kept trying to think her younger. Fatter.
More healthsome.

Lord, he knew she was sick. But he couldn’t
face that. He’d lost his brothers to Cromwell then Virginia, and he
figured he’d ponder his mother’s weight loss when he’d retrieved
the lads from America. But Helen had insisted the lads stay where
they were, and Duncan here with her. He’d had almost a year to come
to terms with the fact that something was eating away at his
mother, but until this night, when his devilish angel Fleur had
told him she was his, then he finally relented and admitted
something was very wrong with his mother.

“Helen, honey, did you cough the blood on
your mouth or vomit it?” Fleur asked calmly. Well, Duncan could
tell she was trying to remain calm, but her hands shook.

In just the few days since she’d been here,
she’d grown attached to his mother and vice versa. He could tell
from her strained voice that she knew Helen was sick too. Much more
sick than either of them had anticipated.

Helen glanced at Duncan, almost looking as if
she weren't going to answer, but she finally relented. “I
vomited.”

“All right.” Fleur kept brushing Helen’s
hair. “How long have you been throwing up blood, sweetie?”

Duncan’s heart both ached and felt blissfully
warm. Fleur cared so much for his ma. There was such comfort in
that. But whatever sickness Helen had was not good.

“About four months now.”

The ground. It was moving. Shaking. It would
suck him in a quagmire. A black hole.

“Duncan, my lad, sit. Ye don’t look so
well.”

He hardly heard his ma say the words. Fleur
was suddenly before him, steadying him to sit on his mother’s bed.
Then he turned to the one woman he’d loved his whole life.

“Why didn’ ye tell me?”

She licked her colorless lips, her face
ashen. The half-moons under her eyes were lavender and slightly
blue. Through it all though, Helen tried to smile and reached out
for him.

“I didn’ want ye to worry, my sweetling.”
Helen caught Duncan’s hand and held it in hers while tears formed.
“I didn’ want to worry ye. I wanted ye to stay with me when ye came
back from Sweden, but not to fret.”

Duncan scooted closer to his ma. “How—how
long have ye known?”

“A little before the lads started fightin’
against Cromwell.”

“Jesus.”

“Don’ take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Sorry, Ma.” He sniffed, feeling his throat
close in and his eyes stung. “I just—I just—what is it? What’s
makin’ ye so sick?”

Two tears flowed down her cheeks. Duncan
gently reached out and tried to wipe them away. She caught his hand
and held it close to her cheek. “I love ye, my son. My first
born.”

Her words blurred his vision.

She reached out and smoothed her hands across
his cheeks. “I wish I didn’ have to tell ye what it is. I kept
playin’ a silly game with myself where I kept thinkin’ I wasn’
really sick. I wasn’ so bad, I told myself.” Her heroic smile waned
as she continued. “’Bout three months ago my tumor burst. Hurt me
so. That’s when I saw Mrs. McVicar, the midwife. Ye remember
that?”

“Yer
tumor
burst?” Duncan wasn’t sure
if he was panting or holding his breath or some variation of both.
He scooted even closer to his mother.

She glanced away then, at Fleur, standing
beside him, holding his shoulder with a cool hand.

“I—I hid it from him,” Helen confessed.

Duncan glanced to Fleur, hoping she might
give him the resolve to continue this conversation. Oh, but how it
tore through him. His mother had been in pain, had a tumor that’d
burst.

Fleur nodded and tried her best to give Helen
a reassuring grin.

“I hid it,” Helen said, “because I needed a
woman to tell him for me. I needed ye. I prayed for ye. I
even—Lord, forgive me—but I asked the fae for ye.”

“Why, Ma? What couldn’ ye tell me?” His voice
was soft and he barely recognized it himself, because he sounded
like an agonized lad.

Helen smiled as a tear stole from her eye.
“Oh, I could tell ye, but—well, I ken ye needed a lass in yer life.
One just for ye. One that would heal all the wounds...I’d
accidentally inflicted.”

The standing moisture in his eyes couldn’t
dam anymore. He began to cry, wondering if Fleur thought less of
him. But he couldn’t help it. Not after what his mother had
said.

“Oh, Ma, ye never inflicted—”

“Now, Duncan, ye’re a horrible liar, ye are.
These are my last days, son. So no more lies. I should have left
Albert. I shouldn’ have married him in the first place. I wanted a
nice da for ye. Instead—oh, Lord, I regret that.”

“Stop, Ma. Please, stop.” He couldn’t hear
any more. Every word Helen spoke pierced him, hollowed him, made
him nothing but that lad at nine who slept in the barn. The lad who
had run to her whenever he’d scrapped his knees. The lad who had
cried to her, but then had to stop when she had married.

He wiped his tears from his face angrily.

Helen glanced at Fleur, and Duncan refused to
look at her. But then his ma shook her head. “Oh, lass, I didn’
mean to make ye cry, neither of ye to cry.”

He peeked up at Fleur, who held him by his
shoulder in a vise grip. She glanced at him, then rushed in for a
quick embrace, holding him so tight for a second, Duncan wondered
if she’d let him breathe. Yet too soon she released him.

Straightening, Fleur said, “Should I leave?
Let you two talk?” Silver streaks of moisture floated down her
cheeks.

“Nay, my sweet, Fleur,” Helen said calmly,
although she too continued to cry. “I need ye here for my son.”

Fleur pointedly looked at him then. “Do—do
you want me to—?”

“Stay,” was all he could ask, beg of her. His
voice little more than rasps.

“Although,” Helen whispered, then cleared her
voice. “I do need Mrs. McVicar again.”

“Aren’t there any other healers, Ma?”

“I was just the one here. Of course in Tongue
they have a doctor even, but here ‘twas just me, love. So now Mrs.
McVicar is the only one to help me.” Helen turned to Fleur. “My
dear, would ye go call on her. I hate to do it in the middle of the
night, but my second tumor burst.”

“Yer
second
tumor?” Duncan asked,
feeling on the brink of breaking through bricks yet so helpless
too. “Jesus, Ma, are ye in pain?”

Helen shook her head. “Not now, nay. But I
will be. Mrs. McVicar prescribed me some heavy laudanum, the black
pills, for the pain. Can’t feel much of anything right now. But
when it wears off, it’ll hurt like a son o’ a bitch. Oh, excuse me,
Fleur, for my language.”

“I think it’s quite applicable. No need to
excuse yourself.”

Helen smiled lightly, then continued on.
“Mrs. McVicar also gave me a new tea called coca, or something like
it. It gave me energy.”

“Opium and cocaine.” Duncan heard Fleur
whisper. He turned to her, but she shook her head and bit her lip,
refusing to say more. However, her wide eyes disturbed him. Did she
know something about his mother’s medicines? He’d ask later.

“Of course,” Fleur said, “I’ll go fetch—”

“Nay, I’ll go fetch Mrs. McVicar.” Duncan
interrupted. “I’m scared to have ye leave my sight. Scared of. . .
” Scared she would vanish into the too thick air, thick with his
mother’s illness. He was so scared Fleur wasn’t for him. So scared
that what had happened earlier had been a figment of his
imagination, because he needed her now. He needed her so much.

Fleur nodded, but then arched her dark brows.
“You said Timothy and Collin are watching the house? We could send
one of them for Mrs. McVicar.”

“I ken she was the one for ye, Duncan,” Helen
said as her lids fluttered closed. “Damnation, the coca tea is
wearing off.”

“Does it hurt, Ma?”

Helen shook her head as her lids stayed shut.
“I just get tired, that’s all.”

“I’m going to get Timothy.”

“Nay, I will.” Duncan stood and pushed beyond
Fleur. But he stopped and turned around when she swiftly caught him
in another fierce embrace. She’d lifted on her wee toes, so he
could feel her cheek pressed against his. He held her firmly, even
lifting her off the ground for a moment, enough time to regain his
strength so he could talk to the lad, Timothy.

He lowered Fleur back on the ground, and
immediately she released him, giving him a small grin, the kind
that made his heart grow warm.

How had it happened? It wasn’t supposed to
happen like that, was it? So fast he’d fallen for her, come to
depend on her, need her. She was a gift from the fae, the little
tricksters, who might take her away at any second. He shouldn’t
depend on her, for fear of her soon departure, but there was no
fighting his heart.

Chapter 19

R
ory couldn’t stay away, even if
Fleur was more than likely sleeping. He’d made a plan, decided his
fate. Mayhap her fate too. While asking Timothy and Collin why the
light still flickered inside Mrs. Cameron’s house, he was surprised
to see Duncan suddenly emerge from the dark. He was puffing and
appeared pale, mayhap in pain.

“Is it Lady Fleur? Has she been taken again?”
Rory asked before the huge man could speak.

Duncan shook his head. He clamped a mighty
paw on Rory’s shoulder.

“Nay, the lady is fine. I’m glad to see ye,
Captain.” He turned to Timothy, his hand still on Rory, making him
itch to remove it. “’Tis my ma. She’s so sick. Would ye go and
fetch Mrs. McVicar please? My ma needs her.”

Timothy nodded and scampered away with wide
brown eyes.

Rory turned to Duncan, forcing the man to
remove himself from his touch.