Free Highlander of Mine by Red L. Jameson Page B

and say something before Duncan. Even if it was petty, he wanted Lady Fleur to know he had thought about her things more than Duncan had.
    “I should warn ye . . .” Duncan turned back to him, his shoulders flexing as if he were nervous. “My mother asked for the lady to stay with her. After, my ma thought it best for the lady to stay in Tongue, but the request was offered nonetheless.”
    Rory looked to the house too. Muffled sounds of the two women laughing filtered through the manor, and he wished he could feel carefree like that. He wanted the lady close. He wanted her within an arm’s distance, and if she stayed here . . .
    Well, he’d have to find a reason to stay in Durness too, wouldn’t he? His troops needed to rest before the journey back to Tongue anyway. Why not have them holed up in the local inn and taverns? He’d splurge on them. They deserved it. Although, he wished they were more physically fit like Duncan, but they would be in time.
    He decided not to say anything to Duncan just yet. Best to see what the lady wanted to do. However, it would be considered rude for Lady Fleur not to stay with Mrs. Cameron once the invite was issued, although forgivable, he thought.
    He nodded and stared at the front door, hearing the women talking animatedly. Finally, Mrs. Cameron emerged with her guest, both smiling and talking about French wine.
    Mrs. Cameron beckoned with a wave of her hands. “Come in, lads. We’ve decided to sup and have wine.”
    Duncan glanced over at Rory with a wary look. Rory wasn’t too sure if he gave the same stare back. Well, wasn’t this a wonderful turn of events, where he’d be stuck with the taciturn Duncan for much too long.
     

 
     
    Chapter 8
     
    T he supper turned out to be wine at Helen’s house then dinner at a nearby tavern. It was large enough to fit at least a hundred people, most of whom were Duncan’s men. The smells permeating through the tavern were wood, beer, and some kind of meaty stew that had actually tasted wonderful, although Fleur was a little scared of food poisoning, what with being in the seventeenth century and all. There was the scent of the ocean in the tavern too. The misted salt stung Fleur’s nose a tad. The tavern was warm, dark, and loud with a lute and fiddle player who argued as much as they played music.
    Many of Duncan’s troops greeted him with something close to awe and stared at Fleur like the alien she was in this environment. They openly rubbernecked, gawked, and whispered while she ate. Probably because she was still in her black running suit and Adidas and not a long dress as every woman wore. Feeling a bit apprehensive about her garb, she wondered how to talk to Helen about needing a change of clothes, but never got around to it. After the stew was cleared from the table and Duncan somehow vanished too, she decided to chase him down and have a talk with him about his young troops. She found him at a corner table, alone.
    Once sitting next to him, she asked, “Is it possible to tell your men not to . . .?”
    “Stare at ye?” His voice was quiet but rumbled through her chest when he leaned into her ear to talk over the din of the music and hum of the folks’ continual chatter.
    She nodded, looking up into his multicolored hazel eyes. She really liked the orange starbursts around his pupils, which had gotten rather large. Dilated pupils were a sign of sexual attraction—that had been an article Ian had tried to make her read while on the airplane to Scotland. Ian had gushed that it was a wonderful indicator and could reveal more information than invasive genital measurements in sexual studies. God, why had she just thought of that? Suddenly finding the air a bit hard to breathe, she wondered if her pupils were as large as Duncan’s. Well, the tavern was incredibly dark, that’s probably why he looked at her the way he did. She kept repeating that to herself as she couldn’t help but stare into his eyes.
    He cracked a small