out,
doesn’t she?” Clio asked Erato.
Erato lifted her hand and smiled at Fleur.
With a wink and a snap of the fingers, the muses were gone. Fleur
stepped back until she fell on her ass close to some posy flowers.
Blooms that supposedly warded off death, but had done nothing to
stop the black plague. Fleur worried her bottom lip while she
scanned the pretty blossoms.
Chapter 6
“ W hat do you mean there’s something
wrong with the lady?” Helen asked as she stood on a step leading to
the colorful gardens at the hindmost of her home.
Duncan hadn’t meant to say it exactly like
that. Yet it had come out anyway. How could he tell his ma that
Fleur had said she’d come from another time? How could he tell her
that Fleur might be crazy? Or worse, he might, because something in
him believed her.
Lord, that scared him too. A woman flung back
in time to Scotland, that was the making of a good tale. His life
was far from a story though. He’d been a mercenary far longer than
he’d been anything else. All he knew was war, battle, and the
consequences of such. He knew his sword, and he was learning how to
aim better with the musket. He knew tactics and fighting. He knew
blood and gristle.
However, lately fighting as a mercenary felt
like a lifetime ago. Actually, several lifetimes ago.
When he’d gotten news his brothers had been
taken to America after the horrible defeat to Cromwell, he’d sailed
to Scotland faster than he’d ever traveled before. He’d expected to
find his mother, then travel to London to get under deck of an even
faster boat to find his brothers and bring them back. However,
Helen had begged him to stay with her, even saying the lads were
better off in America. Duncan hadn’t been the most obedient lad,
though he’d always tried to listen to his mother, and when she had
tears in her eyes, asking him to stay, he’d relented.
God, how he wanted to run though, to get
away, do anything other than stay put. Durness hadn’t grown much
since his youth, and he’d hated it then as much as he did now.
Perhaps he would feel differently if the people around him didn’t
know him so well. But they knew everything. They remembered how he
and his mother only had each other for many years, until he was
nine. Laughing, they’d recall his stepfather, Albert, and how
Duncan hadn’t taken to the man. His mother was wed and pregnant
before he could sneeze, it seemed. Then Duncan had started to sleep
outside, because he couldn’t stand the sight of his stepfather. The
townspeople would chuckle at Duncan who would sleep in the barn,
thinking him odd, comparing him to a dog. Nonetheless it was better
than being close to Albert who treated him no better than a
dog.
Truthfully though, it was more difficult
being around his mother, who he felt had picked Albert over him,
although Albert was long dead by now. He knew that before Albert
they had struggled for food and shelter, yet when it had been just
the two of them, they’d always been happy. Then Albert came along
and pushed him out, even when his younger brothers were born,
Albert had pushed him out of his own family.
Duncan cleared his throat, trying to rid his
mind of such memories. It never did any good to think about
them.
“She’s had her things taken,” Duncan finally
uttered.
Helen tsked. “Poor lady.”
“I fear she has a bump on the head. She
doesn’t remember anything.”
“Does she complain of being in pain?”
Duncan shook his head, remembering how Fleur
had challenged him to touch her. Released from its holder, her long
black hair had curled around him, ensuring how much he wanted to
bury his face in her floral-scented tresses. Ach, to pull her off
the horse and hold her in his arms, smelling her, would have been
like heaven come to earth. Lightning-like impetus stirred in his
solar plexus at the memory, the want, but, damn, he was in front of
his mother.
Helen inhaled. “Doesn’t remember anything,
hmm?”
For a
doesn’t she?” Clio asked Erato.
Erato lifted her hand and smiled at Fleur.
With a wink and a snap of the fingers, the muses were gone. Fleur
stepped back until she fell on her ass close to some posy flowers.
Blooms that supposedly warded off death, but had done nothing to
stop the black plague. Fleur worried her bottom lip while she
scanned the pretty blossoms.
Chapter 6
“ W hat do you mean there’s something
wrong with the lady?” Helen asked as she stood on a step leading to
the colorful gardens at the hindmost of her home.
Duncan hadn’t meant to say it exactly like
that. Yet it had come out anyway. How could he tell his ma that
Fleur had said she’d come from another time? How could he tell her
that Fleur might be crazy? Or worse, he might, because something in
him believed her.
Lord, that scared him too. A woman flung back
in time to Scotland, that was the making of a good tale. His life
was far from a story though. He’d been a mercenary far longer than
he’d been anything else. All he knew was war, battle, and the
consequences of such. He knew his sword, and he was learning how to
aim better with the musket. He knew tactics and fighting. He knew
blood and gristle.
However, lately fighting as a mercenary felt
like a lifetime ago. Actually, several lifetimes ago.
When he’d gotten news his brothers had been
taken to America after the horrible defeat to Cromwell, he’d sailed
to Scotland faster than he’d ever traveled before. He’d expected to
find his mother, then travel to London to get under deck of an even
faster boat to find his brothers and bring them back. However,
Helen had begged him to stay with her, even saying the lads were
better off in America. Duncan hadn’t been the most obedient lad,
though he’d always tried to listen to his mother, and when she had
tears in her eyes, asking him to stay, he’d relented.
God, how he wanted to run though, to get
away, do anything other than stay put. Durness hadn’t grown much
since his youth, and he’d hated it then as much as he did now.
Perhaps he would feel differently if the people around him didn’t
know him so well. But they knew everything. They remembered how he
and his mother only had each other for many years, until he was
nine. Laughing, they’d recall his stepfather, Albert, and how
Duncan hadn’t taken to the man. His mother was wed and pregnant
before he could sneeze, it seemed. Then Duncan had started to sleep
outside, because he couldn’t stand the sight of his stepfather. The
townspeople would chuckle at Duncan who would sleep in the barn,
thinking him odd, comparing him to a dog. Nonetheless it was better
than being close to Albert who treated him no better than a
dog.
Truthfully though, it was more difficult
being around his mother, who he felt had picked Albert over him,
although Albert was long dead by now. He knew that before Albert
they had struggled for food and shelter, yet when it had been just
the two of them, they’d always been happy. Then Albert came along
and pushed him out, even when his younger brothers were born,
Albert had pushed him out of his own family.
Duncan cleared his throat, trying to rid his
mind of such memories. It never did any good to think about
them.
“She’s had her things taken,” Duncan finally
uttered.
Helen tsked. “Poor lady.”
“I fear she has a bump on the head. She
doesn’t remember anything.”
“Does she complain of being in pain?”
Duncan shook his head, remembering how Fleur
had challenged him to touch her. Released from its holder, her long
black hair had curled around him, ensuring how much he wanted to
bury his face in her floral-scented tresses. Ach, to pull her off
the horse and hold her in his arms, smelling her, would have been
like heaven come to earth. Lightning-like impetus stirred in his
solar plexus at the memory, the want, but, damn, he was in front of
his mother.
Helen inhaled. “Doesn’t remember anything,
hmm?”
For a
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