Roderic shifted to the opposite wall, studying the scene before him again. Not far from where he hid, two men lay side by side. A squashed, deep green bonnet had fallen from one balding fellow’s head. A crumpled blanket covered his knees and his partner’s torso. An empty tankard rested on its side between them. So these two had shared a draft of spirits and slept soundly because of it, Roderic reasoned, leaning back again. From the wall near the large, front door, a hound rose and growled softly, watching him, her tawny ears pricked forward. A man stirred, mumbled an oath to quiet the dog, and lay silent again.
Taking a deep breath, Roderic considered the dangers. First, he would concern himself with the men then with the dogs. What if a MacGowan should awaken while Roderic was padding across the floor toward the stairway? Would he immediately be recognized as an outsider, he wondered, glancing down at his scanty attire. Many men went barefooted, and during the night just as many loosened their plaids to use them as blankets. Still, he was taller than most, and the entire tribe was bound to be edgy after abducting a Forbes. Roderic glanced about to be certain all was still quiet and stepped into the hall. Squatting by the pair of men closest to him, he lifted the green bonnet from the floor and set it upon his own head.
The nearest man snorted and turned, abandoning his shared blanket altogether and flopping a flaccid hand onto Roderic’s bare foot.
Roderic held his breath and remained absolutely sail. The hall was silent as a tomb and the tawny hound watched him, but not a man stirred.
Seconds ticked by. Perhaps men were awake after all. Perhaps they lay wide-eyed, watching him. Their swords were drawn under their plaids and they were laughing at his predicament. Sweat beaded on Roderic’s brow.
Near the fire, someone began to snore, breaking the silence. Roderic forced himself to relax. Assuring himself that all were asleep, he reached out, pushed the hand from his foot, and claimed the blanket for his own.
He rose smoothly, already wrapping the purloined woolen about his hips as he stepped toward the distant stairs. The watchful hound growled again. Roderic spared her a glance, and then, feeling no particular need to hurry, pulled the mutton from his sporran.
Approaching the dogs at a moderate pace, he stopped not far away, extending a bit of his meal to the tawny bitch that watched him. She stared into his face, unblinking, solemn and large—a careful lass. Roderic grinned and squatted before her. He had met shy maids before and had overcome their uncertainty, but there was very little time now. Behind him, someone grumbled an expletive in his sleep.
Roderic set the meat by the hound’s paws and rose. She tilted her long, elegant head and watched him but made no protest as he moved away.
The stairs up which Roderic finally traveled were narrow. He made his way quickly, his bare feet silent against the cool stone. It was very dark in the hallway that he entered. Barely a glimmer of light penetrated the dimness, but he skimmed his fingers along the walls until he felt the rough timber of a door. Putting his ear to the wood, he listened for just a moment before pushing it quietly open. The tenacious light of the moon through a window showed him rows of barrels and little else.
He moved onward again, his hand grazing the plastered wall until his toes bumped something soft. A feminine voice mumbled a complaint, and near his feet the woman shifted upon her pallet. Roderic held his breath. Of course. Flanna would have a maidservant outside her door. And thus, he knew he had finally arrived at his destination.
Ever so carefully, he leaned over the maid and set his hand to the door latch. It creaked softly beneath his fingers. The woman on the pallet sighed and turned. Roderic froze, not breathing.
An eternity followed, but finally the servant’s exhalations could be heard again, soft and cadenced. Stepping over her, Roderic balanced himself between the mattress and the door to ply the hinges and handle with his impromptu lubricant once again.
Only when the flap of his sporran closed over the mutton for the third time that evening did Roderic set his hand to the handle once more. It turned soft as thistledown beneath his fingers. The door eased inward on silent hinges.
He was through in an instant. He pushed the weighty portal closed behind him, stepped smoothly inside, glancing this way and that. ‘Twas possible Flanna would retain another servant on this side of the door. But if such was the case, he saw no one on the floor near the huge bed that occupied the room.
It was draped with curtains that were drawn back at the corners, letting in the night air. So Flanna MacGowan was not a lass to become easily chilled, Roderic thought. Indeed, she must be quite a hot-blooded maid. Walking stealthily toward her bed, he kept his attention focused on the form in its center.
The narrow window opened on the night sky not far away, gracing the room with errant moonbeams. They flooded through the window like liquid silver, falling across the mattress and onto the smooth, regal face that rested on a fat, goose-down pillow.
Her hair was loose. Roderic eased a bit closer, drinking in the image. Her lips were parted, her left hand rested beneath her soft cheek, and amidst the tangled blankets, one pale leg was visible from her thigh down.
God’s truth, she was a bonny lass. If only he had met her under different circumstances. If only she had not lied to him, kidnapped him, and hated him. But such was not the case, and thus his life now hung in the balance, for surely if he were found in the sanctity of her bedchamber, his life would be forfeit.
He must be mad to be here. He must truly be out of his mind, he thought, and turned to leave.
But just then she sighed in her sleep, shifting restlessly and drawing her bare leg closer to her chest.
Roderic turned back, noticing how her narrow ankle was turned just so, how the slim muscles of her calf curved gracefully, how the smooth, pale flesh of her thigh…
Drawing a deep, careful breath, Roderic rethought the situation. Perhaps he didn’t have to leave immediately.
It would be several hours yet until dawn’s first light.
From the far side of the door, Flanna’s maidservant snored, startling Roderic from his reverie.
What the devil was he thinking? Of course he had to leave, and he had to leave now, before it was too late. But… his gaze skimmed to Flanna’s face again. She was very lovely. It seemed a shame not to say goodbye. In fact, it seemed a shame not to smooth his palm down the length of her fine, bared leg, to feel her stir beneath him, to kiss her gently awake.
Good God! What was he thinking? Yes, she was lovely, but she was not some humble milkmaid who might awaken and swoon at his nearness. Nay, she was the kind who mesmerized him with a glance and a touch, teased him with a few breathy words, then pushed him into the burn. It was humiliating, and yet…
She had such fire. She was the Flame. And the Flame drew and entranced him, for he had never met a woman who matched him wit for wit and parry for parry, who could ignite his senses so that he forgot the danger. But flames burned, he remembered suddenly and turned away, forcing himself toward the far side of the room. He should never have come here, but her cool assurance that he could not escape had provoked him into proving how wrong she was. So, as long as he was here, he would leave his mark somehow, let her know he had watched her sleep.
Silently, he moved toward the far wall. There was a small writing desk there. Upon its surface, he could see a scroll of parchment and a quill. Perfect. He would leave her a note. With one quick glance toward the bed, he uncurled the parchment, letting his gaze fall to the bottom of the sheet.
Leith Forbes! The name was written in dark, sprawled letters and seemed to jump from the page at him. Roderic sucked in his breath and skimmed to the top of the text. But the darkness masked the rest of the missive.
God’s wrath! So this was the note that had returned with Simon’s head. But it couldn’t have been penned by his brother. And yet, the signature resembled Leith’s sprawling script. Rage filled Roderic like high tide at dusk. He turned rapidly toward the bed, wanting to shake the lady awake and demand
an explanation. But in that moment, she gave a small cry.
He stopped in his tracks, reason flooding back. From the bed, Flame whimpered and rolled to her side, pulling her knees to her chest and clutching the blankets to her. She looked very small suddenly, like a frightened child.
A nightmare? he wondered. Was the Flame of the MacGowans frightened despite her usual haughty demeanor? But why wouldn’t she be? She had lost all of her immediate family at far too young an age. She had inherited the leadership of an unruly, hot-blooded clan. She had sent a man to make peace with those who were supposed to be her allies and had received her kinsman’s severed head for her efforts.
She whimpered again.
Roderic scowled, clutching the note in his hand. Damn it to hell. He could not leave!
Chapter 6
Despite his late-night excursion, Roderic rose with the dawn.
Flame arrived shortly after. Her legs were encased in brown, supple leather. Her saffron shirt was belted at the waist and fell in soft folds halfway to her knees, and at her side was her ruby-studded dirk.
Roderic glanced at her, tried to adjust his breathing and said, “You’ve doubled the guard.” Flame watched him as if waiting for his comment on her attire. But he refused to act shocked. Intrigued was the word to fit his mood more closely. “‘Tis na fair.”
“Step back!” Bullock ordered gruffly. Behind him, William, Gilbert, and Nevin looked on. “Step away from the lady.”
Roderic shrugged and did as told. Nevertheless, he grinned at her from against the wall. Why did she wear such an outlandish costume? Mannish, some might call it. But the simple saffron shirt caressed her bosom and the leather hose hugged her lower regions. Manly was not the term he would use for it. “How am I ta escape when there are two men at me door and no other way out?”
She watched him closely. Her expression was regal and self-assured, and yet past the polished veneer he sensed fatigue, as if she hadn’t slept well. That fact reminded Roderic of his nocturnal visit. He remembered how she had looked in the pale light of the moon, how she had whimpered in her sleep.
It had been difficult to leave her, but he had, taking the parchment with him. In the first rays of morning light, he had read the ghoulish letter over and over. It was short, concise: / am sending this—a-head, so that ye may know that the Forbeses do not parley with MacGowan filth. Leith Forbes.
He could imagine Flanna’s expression when she had seen her kinsman’s severed head and read the missive. But it was not just the murder that would have worried her. It was the fact that the note was written in blood and contained a sick play on words. / am sending this— a-head…
What kind of man would kill an innocent herald, then compose a sinister joke and blame the deed on another. And why? But the most haunting part of the entire message was the seal that had once held it closed. Stamped into the hardened wax was the image of a wildcat that looked very much like Leith’s own seal!
Roderic curled his hands into fists and reminded himself to remain calm. Had someone stolen his brother’s seal? Or made a copy of it? Whatever the case, he would find the true villain. And the villain would die.
“I told you at the outset that you would not escape Dun Ard,” Flame said.
He watched her eyes. They were entrancing, wide, vividly green and filled with a thousand emotions he could not quite fathom. “So ye did, lass,” he murmured, then pulled himself from her eyes to notice the breakfast that had just been delivered. “Am I ta eat alone?”
“Did ye mayhap think that the MacGowans would be falling over each other for a chance to eat with a Forbes?”
It fascinated him that she could banish her doubts and fatigue behind her emerald eyes and meet his gaze full force.
“I had considered it,” he said.
She turned away, but he softened his tone and added,
“I am accustomed to the company of me family and friends. In short, I am lonely.”
She looked back over her shoulder at him. A queen should look so proud, he thought, and pressed on.
“Might ye na share me trencher?”
“Nay,” she said simply and turned away.
“Please” he said softly. “I would speak with ye for a spell. Mightn’t ye have a seat?”
“Nay,” Nevin warned. “Do not risk it, lady. I know these Forbeses, for my father, bless his soul, used to sell them his wares. They are a crafty lot.”
Roderic almost laughed. Four well-armed warriors guarded her. Each man looked hearty, able, and more than willing to cut him into bite-sized morsels should he raise a suspicious finger to her. Still, he was flattered by their worry and glad he had made an impression. “I willna harm her,” he vowed. “Ye have me word of honor.”
No one moved. Roderic could not quite resist a grin. “What could I do against four guards?”
Bullock shuffled his feet and reddened, probably remembering his disgraceful failure to guard Roderic on the previous day, but Roderic had no need to salt old wounds.
“Yesterday ye werena prepared for me foolhardy attempt at escape, for ye knew I wouldna leave alive,” he said. “Be assured that I know ye willna be caught unawares again. Dunna worry. Surely she is safe with me.”
Flame nodded once at her men, then turned toward Roderic. All four guards stepped inside, spread their legs, and gripped their weapons.
The room was painfully silent. “Must ye glare at me?” Roderic asked, addressing the guards. “I am na about to devour yer Lady.”
“Touch her and ye’ll na live long enough ta regret it,” Bullock warned.
“Bullock does not oft suffer being made a fool of,” Nevin added. “He has some pride.”
Roderic watched Nevin before shifting his gaze to Bullock. The stocky warrior’s face reddened, the flames of his anger fanned by his companion’s reminder of his shame. But Nevin’s emotions were not so easily read, though he seemed intelligent and spoke as if he had been well educated.
Drawing his attention from the warriors, Roderic sighed and motioned Flame toward the only chair. “Be seated, lady.”
She remained standing where she was. “What is it you wish to speak to me about?”
Roderic moved to the wall nearest her and let his gaze draw in fresh perceptions. Her shirt was laced at the throat with a single narrow strip of leather that was knotted at the bottom, weaved through the holes and tipped with a small cone of pewter that rested against her left breast.
He sighed mentally. ‘Twould truly be pathetic to be jealous of a bit of metal.
“What did you want to—”
“’Tis about Leith,” Roderic interrupted, wrenching himself from his reverie and snapping his gaze back to her face. “Have ye sent a herald to him yet?”
It was a poor choice of words, for Simon had been a herald and Simon had been decapitated. Roderic had no wish to remind her of that just now, especially since he had recently stolen the note from her room and she was bound to eventually wonder what had happened to it.
“No.” Her answer was cool and reserved and did nothing to shed light on her true thoughts. “I have not.”
“Then I would like to send a message of me own.”
“And why would I allow you to do that, Forbes?”
“Leith is a stubborn man.” Roderic let that statement lay in the silence for a moment. “But he is still me brother. And while ‘tis true that for a time I thought I might escape this fortress, I see now that I was wrong. I wish to send him a message saying that I am well and that I wish for na blood to be shed. In essence, I wish to recommend that he comply with yer demands.”
“But ye do not know what our demands will be.”
“Would I appear petty if I admitted that I think me own life ta be worth whatever price ye ask?”
She pursed her lips. They were full and berry-bright. “I will bring ye a quill,” she said and turned to go, but he stopped her again.
“Please stay. There is na rush. I would ken, what are yer demands?”
&nb
sp; “Ye cannot repay all ye have taken from us, for Simon was a good man and well loved,” she said, staring at him from her regal height. “So we but ask for enough goods to ease his widow’s burdens and help restore Dun Ard. And, of course, for the return of our stock.”
It was no use denying that the Forbeses were at fault until he could prove the truth. And yet he longed to proclaim their innocence, and could not stop himself from asking, “What stock might that be?”
Anger sparked immediately in her eyes. Roderic cleared his throat and tried to look disarming. He took some pride in his innocuous expression. “I mean, what stock, exactly. Ye’ll want to be precise.”
She drew a deep breath and slipped into the chair. Grace robed her like a velvet cloak. “Ye have taken at least a score of our cattle that were fattening in the glen.”
He waited in silence for her to continue.
“More than a dozen sheep were lost or killed.”
Beef and mutton were mainstays in the Highlands, but Roderic was beginning to know her mind. “And the horses?”
He saw the anger in the tightening of her lips. “Fourteen steeds are missing, five fine mares, and nine young stallions.”
No way in hell would the Forbeses give up fourteen of their valuable mounts to atone for a sin they did not commit, thought Roderic. But he nodded, as if agreeing with her right to have them. “Then ye want them all replaced.”
“Nay!” She stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the chair in her haste. “I want those same animals back.”
“The sheep?” he asked, knowing he was being contrary.
“Not the sheep! The horses!”
“But perhaps they have been sold. Or perhaps …” Roderic took a step toward her, though he knew he should not. He knew he should play along, draw out the facts.
Near the door, the guards tensed and raised their weapons.
“Or perhaps the Forbeses didna take them,” he suggested quietly.
“Your plaids were clearly identified during the raids!” she countered and leveled her gaze on his. “Ye took them and ye shall return them. Those exact animals.”
Highland Flame (Highland Brides) Page 7