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Authors: Red L. Jameson
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from a different time, except she’d asked him not to tell. And he kept his word. Always. No matter what.
“I’ll brew some willow’s tea, see if that helps her head.” Helen snorted a laugh, and held her fingers over her mouth. “I’m so taken with her, ye ken, that I asked her to stay with me, in the house. I suppose she’s really to go to Tongue and stay with Laird Reay. She is nobility, eh?”
Duncan almost grinned, thinking his mother was helping with his wishes. He wanted Fleur close. Although he didn’t sleep in his mother’s house, still preferring the barn, he wanted to keep an eye on the lady . Nay, he wanted...he wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and he knew it, but he wanted to listen to Fleur for days on end. He loved her pretty voice. It was breathy yet simultaneously had a bite of feminine huskiness to it. He’d love to hear her tell him of her adventures of how she landed here. Even if it was insane, he still wanted to hear it.
Lord, what was wrong with him? Having Fleur here was the last thing he needed. Helen had to give him her blessing to go to America and then get his brothers back. Jesus, the thought nearly had him crumble to his knees. He missed his brothers, Jacob, Michael, Thomas, and—oh God—Douglas. He could hardly believe Dougie was truly gone. After all, he’d been too late to attend the funeral or the wake. Lord, all his brothers were gone.
On the day trips Helen had let him go on, he’d discovered the ship his brothers had sailed to Virginia in, the John and Sue. He’d also found when they’d arrived in the colony, and to whom they were sold. If he ever found a Preston Fairchild from America, he’d kill him with his bare hands.
He’d never thought much of slavery or indenturedness until his brothers had been taken as prisoners of war then sold. Now, Duncan couldn’t stop thinking about the African folks who must feel like him, ready to tear out the eyes of the people who thought they could own his kin. His brothers, if they had served out their time, would be free within twelve years. A wholly unchristian sentence, many said, since the Bible wrote only of seven years a slave. However, Duncan had heard how the American plantation owners were beginning to treat their slaves with lifetime commitments. Always treatment of slaves was harsh, but he’d heard rumors that in some places it was inhumane and evil, especially toward the African slaves. They were becoming...chattel. Duncan couldn’t help but shudder at some of the reports he’d been told.
Then he’d received the first letter from Jacob, mentioning that a tribe—how did Fleur pronounce it?—Yamasee, helped them escape and took them in. Within the tribe, there already were some German, Irish, and African men and women. The letter had given Helen hope, and she’d smiled as Duncan had read it. However, he wouldn’t take such comforts until his brothers were back in Scotland, where they belonged.
After that, mayhap he’d go down to the tropical Africa and find a way to stop slavery. He might be in a losing battle, but it would be one hell of a way to die, fighting for something virtuous, rather than all the money he’d accumulated throughout the years, even if he’d given most of it to his mother.
“I—I can hardly believe I have a lady in the house,” Helen said, reminding Duncan of where he was. She giggled, then swooped in and hugged him around his waist. “Thank ye, son. This is the best gift, save when ye give me a grandchild.”
Helen felt so small against him, the bones of her shoulder blades and spine rubbed against his arms and hands. Lord, why couldn’t she put on more weight? He still had money to spare and considered going to Tongue to buy more pastries she might like and fatten up on.
“I’m sure the lads,” that’s what his younger brothers had been called, “will give ye plenty of grandchildren.”
She pulled away and looked up at him, her small hands still on his belly.
“I’ll brew some willow’s tea, see if that helps her head.” Helen snorted a laugh, and held her fingers over her mouth. “I’m so taken with her, ye ken, that I asked her to stay with me, in the house. I suppose she’s really to go to Tongue and stay with Laird Reay. She is nobility, eh?”
Duncan almost grinned, thinking his mother was helping with his wishes. He wanted Fleur close. Although he didn’t sleep in his mother’s house, still preferring the barn, he wanted to keep an eye on the lady . Nay, he wanted...he wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and he knew it, but he wanted to listen to Fleur for days on end. He loved her pretty voice. It was breathy yet simultaneously had a bite of feminine huskiness to it. He’d love to hear her tell him of her adventures of how she landed here. Even if it was insane, he still wanted to hear it.
Lord, what was wrong with him? Having Fleur here was the last thing he needed. Helen had to give him her blessing to go to America and then get his brothers back. Jesus, the thought nearly had him crumble to his knees. He missed his brothers, Jacob, Michael, Thomas, and—oh God—Douglas. He could hardly believe Dougie was truly gone. After all, he’d been too late to attend the funeral or the wake. Lord, all his brothers were gone.
On the day trips Helen had let him go on, he’d discovered the ship his brothers had sailed to Virginia in, the John and Sue. He’d also found when they’d arrived in the colony, and to whom they were sold. If he ever found a Preston Fairchild from America, he’d kill him with his bare hands.
He’d never thought much of slavery or indenturedness until his brothers had been taken as prisoners of war then sold. Now, Duncan couldn’t stop thinking about the African folks who must feel like him, ready to tear out the eyes of the people who thought they could own his kin. His brothers, if they had served out their time, would be free within twelve years. A wholly unchristian sentence, many said, since the Bible wrote only of seven years a slave. However, Duncan had heard how the American plantation owners were beginning to treat their slaves with lifetime commitments. Always treatment of slaves was harsh, but he’d heard rumors that in some places it was inhumane and evil, especially toward the African slaves. They were becoming...chattel. Duncan couldn’t help but shudder at some of the reports he’d been told.
Then he’d received the first letter from Jacob, mentioning that a tribe—how did Fleur pronounce it?—Yamasee, helped them escape and took them in. Within the tribe, there already were some German, Irish, and African men and women. The letter had given Helen hope, and she’d smiled as Duncan had read it. However, he wouldn’t take such comforts until his brothers were back in Scotland, where they belonged.
After that, mayhap he’d go down to the tropical Africa and find a way to stop slavery. He might be in a losing battle, but it would be one hell of a way to die, fighting for something virtuous, rather than all the money he’d accumulated throughout the years, even if he’d given most of it to his mother.
“I—I can hardly believe I have a lady in the house,” Helen said, reminding Duncan of where he was. She giggled, then swooped in and hugged him around his waist. “Thank ye, son. This is the best gift, save when ye give me a grandchild.”
Helen felt so small against him, the bones of her shoulder blades and spine rubbed against his arms and hands. Lord, why couldn’t she put on more weight? He still had money to spare and considered going to Tongue to buy more pastries she might like and fatten up on.
“I’m sure the lads,” that’s what his younger brothers had been called, “will give ye plenty of grandchildren.”
She pulled away and looked up at him, her small hands still on his belly.
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