Duchess of Mine (41 page)

Finally free from the horse, Duncan clapped
it on its rump. It streaked away as he saw an English soldier, pike
lowered, jogging toward Fleur’s back. Oh, there was no way in hell
anyone would touch his little Valkyrie.

Wearing a helm was always a good protection
while in battle. But in hand-to-hand combat it was as useful as a
blindfold. Making sure he was in the soldier’s blind spot, he
charged, shoving the soldier with a powerful push from his chest
and arms. The man collapsed a few feet from impact, and Duncan
stole his pike while he kicked his head, ensuring he stayed down.
Wheeling about, he saw the English officer Fleur had bettered was
on his knees, and she contended with another soldier who tried to
strike at her with a mace. With the extension of the mace and the
English man’s longer arms, Duncan could see it was no contest.
Fleur would have to get in too close to strike a blow, giving the
soldier too much an advantage.

Somehow though, as Duncan took aim with the
pike, she shivered low when the soldier charged, and cut him across
the back of his leg as she rolled past him, straightening within a
heartbeat into a defensive stance. It was like watching a trained
soldier, and he was in awe of her form. But more than that, he
needed to protect her. He took aim again and threw the pike as hard
as he could. The English wore the steal helms and thick metal or
leather vests. There were few places to strike, save the arms,
legs, groin, and...The soldier gurgled as the pike sliced through
his throat.

The morning light brightened, helping Duncan
see Fleur’s eyes widen as the soldier fell at her feet. Then she
followed the trajectory the pike had taken until her eyes landed on
him. He couldn’t rip his gaze from her, even though he knew he
needed to check his surroundings, ensure they were safe, but once
she began to run toward him—her face half terrified, half
relieved—he couldn’t look anywhere else, even though he heard the
unmistakable pounding of horses nearby and men screaming in agony.
She stopped before she embraced him, throwing down her knives, but
then she gasped.

“What happened to your face?” Her voice
rasped, but was so beautiful.

Along her jaw line was a dark bump that
looked as wide and long as a man’s fist. He cupped her face,
tenderly assessing her own visage. “What happened to ye,
darlin’?”

She smiled, then wrapped her arms around his
waist, tucking her head under his. “I was so scared.”

“Ye didn’ look it.” His voice came out so
rough, holding her as tight as he dared, hoping he wasn’t breaking
her ribs. Finally he glanced about, amazed that of the few English
soldiers still fighting, they were getting bombarded with rocks.
The majority of them were running for their lives, while small
forms on horses chased after them. “Whose army is this, Fleur?”

She pulled away enough to look up at him,
flinched—he must have looked affright, then smiled. “It’s my boys.
Jamie and his gang. And” —she turned around quickly—“shit, where’s
Greggor? He’s here somewhere.”

Leave it to the stunning woman to have a man
who’d once kidnapped her for bounty to fight for her. God, who
wouldn’t love her after a few seconds? Especially love her as she
swore, he thought with a silent chuckle.

Duncan looked about and soon enough saw a man
he thought was Greggor helping free the rest of the chained troops.
Jesus, it was over then. His men were free, the English were on the
run—well, one of the officers was surrendering to what appeared to
be about five nine year-old lads, all cocking their slingshots at
his head. Vicious little urchins. Vicious for her, Duncan knew.

“I know I need to help Jamie,” she said, “but
I can’t seem to let you go.”

He glanced down, trying to grin himself, but
it hurt like hell on one side of his face. “I can’t let you go
either. I was so scared, Fleur, so scared of what to do.” Still, he
panicked as he remembered everything prior to getting knocked out.
“Rory—‘tis Rory’s doing, all of this. Where is he? How did
ye—?”

She touched her cheek, right over the dark
bump on her face. Proof enough that Rory had struck her. Duncan
could only think of grabbing hold of his throat until the bones
ground between his fingers.

“He came to the house . . .” She looked up at
Duncan, her eyes so wide.

The air—the bloody air became too thick to
breathe, but he couldn’t get enough of it either. “He hurt ye.”
Duncan’s stomach and chest clenched tightly.

She actually rolled her eyes. “Well, he
tried.”

“She beat him senseless by the time I
happened upon her.” Greggor interrupted their reunion with a wide
smile, looking proudly down at Fleur.

“Ye beat him?”

“He hit me first,” she said a touch
defensively.

Duncan couldn’t help but laugh, yet how he
gripped onto her, so scared of what Rory might have done. What the
devil had gotten into the man? He’d find the answers later. Right
now all he wanted—nay, all he could focus on was Fleur. He’d almost
lost her. He’d almost been lost himself.

“Duncan?”

“Aye, lass.”

She licked her lips, then looked over her
shoulder at Greggor, standing back watching as wee lads made a game
of tying together the English soldiers who remained. The boys, as
Fleur called them, laughed and carried on as though it was all a
sport. Greggor shook his head.

“I need to get in there and stop them from
harmin’ the English.” He glanced back at Fleur then Duncan. “Our
prisoners would make a nice bargain for more grain this winter,
eh?”

Duncan nodded. “Cromwell would give more than
grain for that officer.”

Greggor’s eyes narrowed, but his smile
widened. “Aye, so I best make sure the lads don’ kill him.” He
jogged toward the boys, chuckles left in his wake.

Duncan couldn’t help but grin too. God, it
felt too good to be true, his arms around Fleur again, his body
close to hers once more.

She reached up on her toes, and whispered
into his ear. “I—I asked to stay here. With you.”

“Actually, she didn’t ask to stay here.”

A calm female voice with a noticeable Greek
accent interrupted the sweet moment. Fleur turned in a flash, her
hand protectively gripping his.

“I did too ask. Haven’t you talked to
Coyote?” Fleur’s voice was beyond incensed, and Duncan’s mind went
blank for about two heartbeats.

He couldn’t believe it as he looked past
Fleur to see two tall women, dressed in golden togas in the middle
of the finished battle. His eyes must be playing tricks on him
because everything and everyone stood still. Frozen. The lad’s
laughing faces were stuck as they tied an English soldier to
another, making it look like they were—well, Duncan hoped they were
trying to make it look like the pair played leapfrog. But they were
as still as statues. None of them made a noise, not even a peep of
a chuckle.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell?” Duncan
demanded, hoping he hadn’t gone mad.

He heard a deep, throaty chuckle and suddenly
a man, not quite as tall as him, appeared. He wore leather
leggings, a breechclout, and something called a hunter’s shirt. Or
Duncan guessed as much from the descriptions his brothers had
written in their letters. The man’s hair was free and almost as
long as Fleur’s, a similar hue too. But hers had a sheen of red to
it, while his was almost blue. He smiled up at Duncan.

“I do like him,” the man said. “He’s a good
choice for my Fleur.”

Fleur inched closer to Duncan, her hand even
tighter in his. “Duncan, this is Coyote and the muses I was telling
you about.”

One of the tall women touched her chest
lightly. “I’m Clio, Duncan. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She
gestured toward the other women who looked like her twin. “And this
is my sister, Erato.”

Erato waved enthusiastically. “Hi, Duncan.”
She glanced over to Coyote. “I know, right? He’s perfect for Fleur.
He’s so brave, like she is, like I always knew she was.” She walked
slowly toward Fleur. “You were so beautiful and courageous, soaring
over the boulder like that. Wasn’t she?”

For a moment Duncan was surprised Erato had
asked him anything. Well, this whole moment was more than shocking,
and if Fleur wasn’t constantly holding his hand, he wasn’t too sure
if he’d sit down on a rock and think himself a loon.

He nodded. “My wee Valkyrie, she was—is. My
Fleur.” He was so stunned by what was happening he sounded daft.
But Erato nodded as if she understood his meaning.

She stood close by, and soon enough her
sister appeared at her side. “My sister has some bad news,
Fleur.”

Fleur backed into him, still one hand in his.
“No. I’m not leaving. Not without him.”

Clio sucked in a breath. “Well, we have a
problem. History has been altered.”

Erato cocked her head, looking at her sister.
“How did you let it get to this point?”

Clio openly glared at Coyote. “I was
distracted.”

The man silently laughed and looked pointedly
at Duncan, wagging his brows a couple times as if they were old
friends and Duncan was in on a secret.

Erato gasped. “Coyote, I thought...but we . .
.”

“Are you serious?” Clio yelled at the man,
er, god. “You and my sister too?”

Coyote merely shrugged. “I told you I would
run this
glimpse
my way.”

Clio made an angry strangled noise, while
Erato sniffed. After some serious head shaking and finger pointing
at Coyote, Clio finally turned to her sister, offering a comforting
arm around her.

“Anyway, history has been altered, and it’s
difficult to know what to do now.” Clio nodded for a moment, as if
gaining strength to say what was needed to be said. “Helen,” she
glanced at Duncan, a worried expression fluttered through her eyes,
“Your mother was supposed to die a week before she did. I can only
guess she held on, making sure that you and Fleur were in love
before she let go.”

His throat and chest constricted. He couldn’t
breathe. His eyes stung with the thought that his strong mother
lingered to make sure...Suddenly, he remembered the last thing his
ma had said:
Protect my son
.

Did Fleur ask to be here because of Helen’s
dying wish? His heart broke all over again.

He felt so hollow then, looking down at
Fleur. The wee thing stood protectively before him.

Clio had been talking for a while, and Duncan
strained to understand what she said.

“...so, yeah, some of it I can cover for.
Like when the English marched the captured Highlanders back to
London, most of them disappeared. But some of the other history, I
don’t know how to remedy.”

“Tell her what part, Clio,” Coyote said, his
voice suddenly deep and serious.

Clio huffed. “Duncan is sold to an English
lord in the Caribbean, where he’s worked to death a year from
now.”

This moment, the bizarreness of it all and
the overwhelming emotional information had been striking him,
making him feel as if he was in a boxing competition with his hands
tied behind his back. But the details of his imminent death almost
had him double over. “I never see my brothers again?”

Suddenly Fleur turned, her arms around him in
a flash.

“I’m sorry, Duncan,” Clio said. “No, you
never see your brothers again. Not in the history I know.”

Fleur tightened her grip, whispering, “I’m so
sorry. I’m so sorry.”

A tear fell from his eye before he could
censor it. Angrily, he wiped it away then glanced at Coyote
standing behind Fleur.

“What she’s not telling you is that you can
have a different history now,” the god said. “In fact, that’s why
she’s here, to give you another history, to balance out time.”

Fleur turned around. Again, her body between
his and the muses and Coyote. “Duncan can have a different history,
as in a different future now? So we can stay here? Together?” She
sounded giddy.

As much as it pained him, he couldn’t have
Fleur because she felt obligated by his mother’s last wish. He
wanted her here, aye, but he wanted her to want that for
herself.

He stepped aside, craving to hold her in his
arms once more, but he couldn’t be that selfish. “Nay, my
Fleur—Fleur. Ye can’t stay here.”

Her bottom lip quivered for a moment when she
looked at him.

Duncan couldn’t gaze into her dark beautiful
eyes and tried to let go of her hand, which she still clung to.

“Ye’re free to go back to yer own time,” he
choked. “Ye have no obligation to me.”

Everyone was quiet for a long time, and
finally he looked back at Fleur. Her eyes glistened and slowly her
brows knitted together, making that perfect wee line over her
nose.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Well, he hadn’t expected her to say that.

“No obligation?” she yelled. “No obligation?
Is that all I am to you? An obligation?”

He was confused and looked around as if the
others could help.

But Fleur grabbed hold of his jaw. He almost
winced at the pain as she forced him to gaze at her. “Look me in
the eyes and tell me I’m just an obligation to you.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Duncan. I’ve given you my
heart, and I’m just an obligation to you?”

Given her heart?
Duncan stared down at
her, not sure if he’d heard what he had. “What?”

She threw her hands up to the still dark
heavens. “I love you, and you want to push me aside? I’m an
obligation to you?”

His heart stopped then started almost
painfully so. He wanted to clutch at it, but he reached for her
arms, holding her still, making sure she looked at him. “Ye love
me?”

“Yes!” She ground her teeth and the pooled
tears spilled over. “Or should I say, ‘Aye.’ What would make it so
you understand that I—”

He kissed her. He couldn’t hold in his
emotions and pummeled his lips against hers.