she pleased.
Hell, he didn’t even know the woman, and he
surely didn’t understand why he’d taken to her so quickly. Mayhap
he should get to know her. Perhaps she was snobbish, too silly, or
superficial. Further, she believed she’d come from another time,
which might mean she was insane, at the least. But he kept hoping
she’d merely gotten hit on the head and couldn’t remember why she
was truly here. Such a God-awful thing to hope for.
He rolled out of his bed, shaking himself
free from the straw, although none was on him. His mother had given
him many a quilt and plaid to lie with, to keep him warm and free
from the straw poking at him. He’d kept a bucket full of water to
wash in, and did so letting the too cold water both soothe and
invigorate his tense body. Yesterday’s run should have worn any
stress out, but he woke feeling restless and...well, randy. Jesus,
Mary, and Joseph, this was a fine mess, and making it worse he
suddenly realized that when Fleur had been close to Rory, Duncan
couldn’t recall her once looking at the laird’s younger brother
with anything much other than polite curiosity. Duncan couldn’t
help but wonder if she might...
Just as he was finishing brushing his teeth,
he heard a quiet slap of a door being shut. Glancing through one of
the windows in the barn, he saw Fleur, dressed in, what he could
only guess was, one of his mother’s old black kirtles, and flying
away at a quick gait. The sight of her in a dress...Lord, the image
went straight to his cock. Yesterday, he’d enjoyed the view of her
legs, something he’d rarely seen amongst women. However, he could
only imagine her upper torso under that too-large black coat of
hers. Until now, that was. She wore a white shift tucked into that
boned kirtle, enhancing her breasts, forcing her décolleté to be
seen. Suddenly, she stopped, twirled around, and ran back into the
house. In a second she returned with one of his black coats wrapped
around her thin shoulders, making her look so tiny with it reaching
almost down to her knees. He liked her wearing his coat. He liked
it a lot.
Then she took off, jogging, toward the east
and back to Cave Smoo, he guessed. Without thinking, Duncan rushed
out of the barn and after her, thanking God he’d had the foresight
to put on his boots and even to have them laced. He decided
reconnaissance would be for the best—to follow her, mayhap not
approach, but to merely see what she was about.
And that wasn’t perverted at all.
Lord.
As he reconsidered his plan, to let her know
he was following her, she hiked her skirts a little and began to
run faster. A lot faster. It was hard to keep up with her actually.
He admired her for running as fast as she could in thick skirts she
held with firm fists at her sides. Before long he was puffing and
beginning to sweat, then she sprinted toward the Geodha Smoo, and
he realized they’d gone farther faster than he would have
thought.
He slowed and tried to catch his breath as he
saw her dip to the shore and trudge her way to the cave. Wanting to
catch his breath before he approached her, he took his time,
walking slowly and lifting his arms to try to get the air to stop
spastically going in and out of his lungs.
That was when he saw a small figure jump down
to the beach and begin to follow Fleur. Several scrawny shadows
scurried down to the cave.
Shite, it was a band of orphan lads who had
been thieving around the area. With so many men dead from Cromwell,
and many a woman as well, the orphans had risen to levels no one
knew what to do with. Gangs had escalated in the last year at an
alarming rate, but what’s more they were getting better and better
at organization and burglary.
Duncan didn’t waste any more time, but loped
toward the cave the fastest his legs would move. At the yawning
mouth of the hollow he saw about a dozen young men, couldn’t be
more than ten and three years of age, all clad in worn,
dirtier-than-hell plaids and all
Hell, he didn’t even know the woman, and he
surely didn’t understand why he’d taken to her so quickly. Mayhap
he should get to know her. Perhaps she was snobbish, too silly, or
superficial. Further, she believed she’d come from another time,
which might mean she was insane, at the least. But he kept hoping
she’d merely gotten hit on the head and couldn’t remember why she
was truly here. Such a God-awful thing to hope for.
He rolled out of his bed, shaking himself
free from the straw, although none was on him. His mother had given
him many a quilt and plaid to lie with, to keep him warm and free
from the straw poking at him. He’d kept a bucket full of water to
wash in, and did so letting the too cold water both soothe and
invigorate his tense body. Yesterday’s run should have worn any
stress out, but he woke feeling restless and...well, randy. Jesus,
Mary, and Joseph, this was a fine mess, and making it worse he
suddenly realized that when Fleur had been close to Rory, Duncan
couldn’t recall her once looking at the laird’s younger brother
with anything much other than polite curiosity. Duncan couldn’t
help but wonder if she might...
Just as he was finishing brushing his teeth,
he heard a quiet slap of a door being shut. Glancing through one of
the windows in the barn, he saw Fleur, dressed in, what he could
only guess was, one of his mother’s old black kirtles, and flying
away at a quick gait. The sight of her in a dress...Lord, the image
went straight to his cock. Yesterday, he’d enjoyed the view of her
legs, something he’d rarely seen amongst women. However, he could
only imagine her upper torso under that too-large black coat of
hers. Until now, that was. She wore a white shift tucked into that
boned kirtle, enhancing her breasts, forcing her décolleté to be
seen. Suddenly, she stopped, twirled around, and ran back into the
house. In a second she returned with one of his black coats wrapped
around her thin shoulders, making her look so tiny with it reaching
almost down to her knees. He liked her wearing his coat. He liked
it a lot.
Then she took off, jogging, toward the east
and back to Cave Smoo, he guessed. Without thinking, Duncan rushed
out of the barn and after her, thanking God he’d had the foresight
to put on his boots and even to have them laced. He decided
reconnaissance would be for the best—to follow her, mayhap not
approach, but to merely see what she was about.
And that wasn’t perverted at all.
Lord.
As he reconsidered his plan, to let her know
he was following her, she hiked her skirts a little and began to
run faster. A lot faster. It was hard to keep up with her actually.
He admired her for running as fast as she could in thick skirts she
held with firm fists at her sides. Before long he was puffing and
beginning to sweat, then she sprinted toward the Geodha Smoo, and
he realized they’d gone farther faster than he would have
thought.
He slowed and tried to catch his breath as he
saw her dip to the shore and trudge her way to the cave. Wanting to
catch his breath before he approached her, he took his time,
walking slowly and lifting his arms to try to get the air to stop
spastically going in and out of his lungs.
That was when he saw a small figure jump down
to the beach and begin to follow Fleur. Several scrawny shadows
scurried down to the cave.
Shite, it was a band of orphan lads who had
been thieving around the area. With so many men dead from Cromwell,
and many a woman as well, the orphans had risen to levels no one
knew what to do with. Gangs had escalated in the last year at an
alarming rate, but what’s more they were getting better and better
at organization and burglary.
Duncan didn’t waste any more time, but loped
toward the cave the fastest his legs would move. At the yawning
mouth of the hollow he saw about a dozen young men, couldn’t be
more than ten and three years of age, all clad in worn,
dirtier-than-hell plaids and all
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