Duchess of Mine by Red L. Jameson Read Free Book Online Page A

off.
    Helen removed a long, half-finished knitted
blanket, still with long wooden needles on one end, from the couch
and waved toward the seat. “Can I offer ye a beverage, my
lady?”
    Fleur was about to sit, but said, “Water? May
I have water? But I don’t want to be a burden. I can get it
myself.”
    “I’ll get the water,” Duncan said. He turned
to his mother. “Would ye care for tea instead?”
    “Nay, I’ll have water too, like the
lady.”
    Duncan nodded and strode away, then Fleur and
Helen sat on opposite sides of the couch, staring at each other.
However, Fleur noticed that Helen seemed exhausted as she sat.
    “I really don’t want to be a burden. Perhaps
we should visit at a time of your choosing?”
    Helen shook her head vehemently. “Nay, this
is a perfect time. I was just knitting. I don’t ken why. Mayhap
this will keep Duncan warm.” She looked at the knitting in a vacant
rocking chair.
    Fleur couldn’t help but appreciate the design
and thickness of the soon-to-be blanket, then nodded with an
enthusiastic smile.
    “Is the lady from the Virginian colony?”
    “Fleur, please call me Fleur, if that’s all
right?”
    Helen’s blanched face bloomed with a slight
pink hue as she smiled. “Fleur? Are ye French as well?”
    Fleur thought about telling the story of how
her father, a French Canadian man, had fallen in love with her
beautiful mother, but their love was not meant to be. However, that
was a lot of information, so she just smiled for an answer.
    “I would be honored to call ye Fleur, ifnye
call me Helen?”
    Fleur nodded again with a wide grin. Then she
recalled the question. “And, no, I’m sorry. I’m not from Virginia,
but I’ve been there. It is a beautiful colony—lush with green,
green trees. And the flowers that grow there are phenomenal.
They’re so big and beautiful.”
    Helen sighed and nodded. “I’m so glad to hear
it. Did—did Duncan tell ye how my boys were taken from me?”
    Fleur shook her head. “No, ma’am.”
    Then Helen looked down, her shoulders caving
in, making her thin frame seem so much smaller. That was when Fleur
smelled Helen. At first, all she could scent was herbs, but it was
when Helen shrunk from the pain of losing her boys that Fleur got a
whiff of something that smelled slightly sour. Something amiss. And
instantly Fleur thought she recognized the odor but couldn’t place
it.
    “They—they—being from the American colonies,
did ye hear much about our revolution? Do ye ken of Cromwell?”
    Fleur’s mind raced back to her undergraduate
classes and the few history courses she had taken. Odd tidbits that
shaped Western culture during the seventeenth century flew through
her mind. The Thirty Years’ War, Cromwell and a parliamentary
revolution that hadn’t lasted—Oh! Shit, Fleur thought. She was in
the middle of Scotland during the British revolution. Cromwell was
still in power. The king had been executed or would be. Oh my God,
what a crazy time to be in Britain. And, Jesus, she was smack dab
in the middle of the rebels. The Scots—well, not all of them, but
many—did not take kindly to Parliamentary rule.
    “You know, I’ve heard a little of what’s
going on, but I’m not exactly current.”
    Helen nodded and kept looking down at the
pastel couch. “My sons fought against Cromwell. Well, Duncan
didn’t. He was still in Sweden, weren’t ye, lad?”
    Fleur hadn’t realized that Duncan had
returned, but he held two thick pottery-style cups and gradually
walked closer. His pace was sluggish, yet simultaneously jerky, as
if he wanted to be anywhere but here.
    “Aye,” he said eventually, then softly, “I’m
sorry, Ma.”
    Helen shook her head, never looking up.
“’Tisn’t yer fault. Cromwell,” she said the name as if it were a
curse, “took ‘em, took my sons. Cromwell’s New Model Army killed my
Douglas, the second to the youngest. He was just nine and ten.”
    Fleur scooted across the couch and held onto
Helen’s