Duchess of Mine Read Online Free PDF Page B

Duncan grinning yet again after
her theatrical eye roll. But he attempted to stop. Fleur thought he
was trying to look nonchalant, distant.
    “I—I,” he paused and pursed his lips as if
frustrated, but then continued, “I asked that Rory guy ,”
he’d said those words with particular sarcastic joy, “to spread the
men out and find what was taken from ye. Ye did lose something, eh?
At least, that’s what ye said at the cave.” He spoke carefully,
enunciating every consonant. That had not been the case for most of
the Scottish people she’d met so far. Although she liked the
accent, it was hard to understand without some serious
concentration. However, she thought Duncan was purposely trying to
help her understand. It was sweet, and she was grateful.
    She straightened then, thinking back to the
dream or hallucination or whatever. Coyote, the trickster, had paid
her a visit. Fleur could almost hear Na tsk with apprehension at
that, although her grandmother had been dead for a couple years
now. Yes, seeing Coyote was never good.
    She’d thought it had merely been a delusion
from over exercising. However, as soon as she had realized her
CamelBak was gone and her wristwatch that also registered her
heartbeat, she knew she was screwed. Seriously, screwed over. She
remembered Coyote saying something about this glimpse being
good for her. But if that were the truth, why wouldn’t she be here
at 947 ADE, when the Viking, whose remains she was drilling DNA
for, would have died? Then she wouldn’t need to do so much work,
but merely come back to her own time, and say...Just tell everyone
she’d gone back in time and saw his dead body for herself.
    Right. That would have worked out
brilliantly. And probably have granted her a visit to a psychiatric
hospital.
    Man, she was screwed.
    Surprising her even further, she wasn’t as
panicked as she thought she should be. That had to be shock, right? Hypovolemic shock. But she wasn’t
bleeding. She checked her body, reassessing that, yes, she wasn’t
bleeding. However, she was suffering from similar symptoms. She was
anxious, agitated, and extraordinarily confused. She was in a
different time. Was there a swear word strong enough to mimic her
feelings? Back to the assessment: she had cool, clammy skin, but
was sweating. Her breath was a bit too quick, especially when she
looked at Duncan. So check on the altered breathing. And, again,
when she glanced at Duncan she generally felt weak, as if she would
melt into him. What the hell was that?
    Shock, just shock. That had to be what was
going on.
    Once more, she peeked at Duncan who kept
walking forward, but now glanced up at her, concern written through
his furrowed red brows, his multicolored eyes fascinating her, like
looking through a kaleidoscope. Instantly, she felt both panicked
and calm, somehow wanting to get closer to him and maybe take the
horse and gallop as far from these feelings as possible.
    “Yer things, Lady Anpao, ye lost yer things,
eh?”
    She nodded, trying to shake herself into the
current conversation. Again. But he was such an odd mix—impeccably
symmetrical squared jaw with chiseled cheekbones, making him almost
a pretty man. But his nose had been broken and set slightly off. A
scar ran through one eyebrow and over one of those high cheekbones.
Plus he was huge, at least six and a half feet of him, and all
muscle across his powerful chest and arms, especially through his
wide back that narrowed to a slim waist and hips and yummy bum.
Even through the kilt, she knew she could bounce quarters off his
backside. Jeez, she was objectifying him. She had to stop.
    “Do ye remember anything before losin’ yer
things?” he asked.
    Okay, conversation was difficult to hold when
she looked at him. Her stomach and heart fluttered, and she tried
her best to tell herself that she was merely in shock.
    She nodded again, but didn’t know whether she
could utter anything about Coyote or the weird twin-like red