Read Online Highlander of Mine by Red L. Jameson - Free Book Online Page B

Searching his eyes, Helen shook her head. “But I want ye to give me a grandchild, little bairns that look like ye. Ye look so much like yer father.” Her voice and face traveled to the distant shore of past love. Duncan didn’t have a memory of his father, since he died when Duncan wasn’t quite the age of two. What he did know was what Helen had said, but more than that it was the way she looked when talking about him. She had loved the man something fierce. And she never held a look like that for Albert. Helen gazed back up at Duncan, despair apparent through her pleading eyes. “Duncan, I ken I wasn’ a good mother after—”
    “’Tis fine, Ma,” he interrupted, knowing she’d say something about not being the kind of mother she should have been for him. She’d been trying to apologize ever since Albert had died.
    “I should ha—”
    “I said ‘tis fine.” He hadn’t needed to yell, yet turning his voice to ice had made his mother release him from her embrace, frowning. Then he felt like a royal jackass. “Sorry,” he muttered and tried to push past Helen. “I shouldn’ kept the lady waiting. She might be hurt.”
    His mother caught his arm, and even though she looked as frail as a newborn foal, she held him still, scrutinizing him once more. When Duncan finally met his mother’s stare, he saw his own eyes, the same colors reflected back—green, gold, and the odd bursts of orange here and there. He bowed his head.
    “Truly, ma, I’m sorry. I didn’ mean to be short with ye.”
    She smiled and took a small step closer to him. “Ye’re such a good lad, Duncan.”
    He shook his head, still glued to her by her grip on him.
    “Ye are. Always givin’ me yer money. Makin’ my home so grand, it made me think I could invite the bonny lady into my house.”
    “Ye can.”
    “If she stayed with me, would ye sleep in here too?”
    He shook his head again. “I don’ think the people of this town—”
    “Ah, fick ‘em and what they think.”
    That was almost as severe a shock as getting kicked in the bullocks, when his mother had sworn like that. She hadn’t merely said damn or some other oath he’d started using when he was a child. Nay, she’d used the big cannon of an expletive, shocking him down to his toes.
    Helen started to laugh. “Ah, the look on yer face. ‘Tis priceless, my lad. Priceless.”
    “Ma—” He could only mumble.
    She took a quick breath. “Ye’re right. We should attend to our lady. Do ye think she likes wine? I have some, ye ken. All the way from France. My wonderful son bought it for me, probably from one of his mistresses down there. Lord in heavens, I wish the lad would settle down with a nice lady.”
    He rolled his eyes. “Ma,” he huffed. “I didn’ have many mistresses in France.” He waited until she rolled her eyes too, then said, “Now when I was Venice, that was a different situation.”
    She smacked him across one of his arms, while she smiled. Then she held her hands over her ears as she walked back into the house. “I don’ want to hear it. To me, ye’ll always be a virgin until ye’re married. And even after that, if ye give me a grandchild, it’ll be a blessing from the Lord, granting Immaculate Conception once again on earth.”
    Duncan couldn’t help but snicker as he watched his wee ma enter her house, still holding her ears. He realized it hadn’t been the first time he’d laughed today. He’d chuckled earlier with Fleur. However before today, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. Really laughed.
    The clopping of horse hooves nearing interrupted his levity. He sighed when he spotted Rory approaching at a trot, no less. Duncan raked a hand through his messy red hair, seeing the brightness of the color from the periphery of his eyes. He probably looked affright—identical to the savage he’d proclaimed himself to be earlier—and tried to catch his hair back in the leather tie at the nape of his neck. But then