Read Online Highlander of Mine by Red L. Jameson - Free Book Online
Authors: Red L. Jameson
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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 moment Duncan considered telling his ma about Fleur’s confession that she was
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 moment Duncan considered telling his ma about Fleur’s confession that she was
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