Free Duchess of Mine by Red L. Jameson Page B

Rory.
    “We’ll ask about her things when she returns,
hmm?”
    Rory nodded and reminded himself to make sure
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 multi-colored
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