Page 12 of Duncan

If I can do that, then I’m probably still alive.

The scent of sunshine-soaked linens and a fainter smell of birds enveloped her. They had stuffed the mattress with feathers of some type; fortunately she didn’t mind the odor. In an odd way it comforted her. Nicole lay staring at the wooden beams and stones that formed the ceiling over her head, closing her eyes when they started to burn. She began sorting through every possible explanation, and a few that were probably impossible, but none of them fit.

Everything suggested she had been kidnapped by people who wanted her to believe all the nonsense they told her. But why lie to her about the abduction? Did they think she wouldn’t try to escape?

Maybe it’s all a bad dream, and when I wake up I’ll be back in my cabin on Dad’s yacht.

As much as she wanted to, Nicole couldn’t doze off even for a few minutes. The smell of woodsmoke from the hearth kept suggesting that she actually had come to a place without power or conveniences. If it wasn’t an elaborate con job, then she really had been sent back in time to the twelfth century to meet Duncan MacMar.

All right, then. Let’s say I might be in the Middle Ages.

She could see the primitive conditions of the era all around her. No electricity, running water or indoor plumbing. Food had to be grown, raised, caught or hunted here, and cooked over fires. Even the borrowed clothes she wore had been hand-stitched. What her tutors had taught her about the medieval era now seemed useless; she could know the names of kings and the dates of wars and who fought them, but nothing about the demands of daily life, or how ordinary people survived.

They’re not ordinary. Duncan said they were half-Fae.

That thought made Nicole give up on sleep. She made herself think about the darkly handsome healer, and how he had looked at and spoken to her. He wasn’t faking that Scottish accent, or the archaic way he spoke. Whenever she had touched him she’d experienced that uncharacteristic and completely disturbing arousal. How could she react to him that way when she’d always been so careful to avoid all men? Now she was lusting after a guy who could be involved in kidnapping her.

It's the shock. Or you have a brain injury.

As Nicole sat up, grimacing in anticipation of pain from her ribs, she went still. Nothing hurt; it seemed as if she’d never been injured. When she pressed her hand to her side, she found the swelling had gone along with the discomfort.

“What did he do to me?” She climbed off the bed and pulled up the long shirt, craning her head to inspect her abdomen. No bruising marred her fair skin. The open cut across the top of her right foot had vanished, and even her split lip had healed as if it had never happened—just like the injuries she’d had when Hudson had thrown her into the ocean.

Did I hallucinate being hurt, too?

At that moment, Duncan came in carrying a tray with a crude-looking pottery mug and a wooden plate of toast lightly covered with golden jam. He had cleaned up, changed his clothes and tied back his hair, and smelled of soap; he looked nothing like some uncaring brute of a kidnapper.

Two more votes for the Fae prince’s sons and the twelfth century.

Duncan stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw her, and stared at her for a long moment before he averted his gaze. Nicole became distracted by the sudden heat streaking through her. Why did she want to run over to him and kiss that cleft in his chin? When she took in a quick breath her lips throbbed as if she’d done exactly that.

If he didn’t lie to me, then he’s only half-human, she reminded herself. That might explain why I’m reacting to him like this.

“Forgive me, my lady. The guards reported you grew sick, and I made some calming brew to help,” he told her as he deliberately stared at the wall. “’Tis best with bread and preserves. They’ll settle your belly.”

Belatedly pulling the shirt down over her bare body, Nicole went over to inspect the tray’s contents, but the healer turned out to be much more interesting. Beneath the scent of soap he smelled of whatever he’d infused in the brew, something almost like lemon blended with a darkly sweet substance. They wouldn’t have any sweetener but honey in this time. Imagining where he might have dripped that on himself made her mouth go dry. Given a chance, she’d be happy to check him for it—every inch of him, with her mouth.

Why am I thinking about sex with a kidnapper, or a half-human medieval doctor? Whatever he is, he’s not for me. I need to go home.

“Thank you.” He was watching her face so closely she wondered if she was even fooling him. “Are the guards going to report everything I do to you?” Somehow that came out sounding dirty, and embarrassment made her flush.

“I confess, I inquired first while passing your chamber.” He pressed a hand to her brow, and frowned as she stepped back to break the contact. “I only wished to check for fever, lass.”

Nicole hated that she loved his touch. They weren’t lovers, and they never would be. She needed to keep some distance between them.

“I don’t have a fever, and please don’t touch me without my permission.” She glanced at the door. When he didn’t take the hint, she asked, “Is there anything else?”

“I wish ken what made you boak—become sick. If I may check your heartbeat?” When she reluctantly nodded he pressed two fingers against her wrist bone. “Your heart, ’tis pumping steady, and no’ too fast. Did you swallow any sea water?”

His breath as he spoke warmed her cheek, and Nicole was tempted to tell him it was sensory overload plus some rather justifiable hysteria. She genuinely wished she could trust him, even with her wild physical reaction to him. No man this gentle and concerned could want to hurt her. Yet she had assumed her adopted brother would never harm her, either. She knew nothing about Duncan MacMar or his clan, how they had brought her here or what they intended to do to her. She couldn’t tell them anything about herself, either. If they knew how terrified she was, they could certainly use that to manipulate her.

“I don’t remember.” She glanced at the tray. “I’m sure your brew and toast will help.”

Duncan appeared unconvinced, but after a brief silence he said, “One of the kitchen maids, she’s near ready give birth, so I must attend her next. I shall look in on you in the morning. If before then you need my aid, ask one of the guards fetch me.”

Nicole agreed, and walked him to the door. As soon as he left she closed it and leaned against the heavy wood as tears welled and spilled down her face. She couldn’t start sobbing, either; the guards might hear her. No, even when she was by herself, she would have to keep up her pretense of accepting it all.

If this is the past, why didn’t the voices tell me that’s where I’d end up? Why bring me all the way back here just to meet Duncan? Why would that matter to them? I can’t do anything to help these people. What is my brother telling my father? That I got so drunk I jumped off the yacht? What if Hudson tries to kill Dad?