Highland Flame (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  He skimmed his fingers along the edge of her jaw. “But ye could have more, Flanna.”

  It was difficult to breathe when he looked into her eyes. “Why did ye leave the note on my pillow?” she whispered.

  “Is it so difficult ta believe that I meant what it said?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, “it is.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Damn yer sire. And damn the Frenchman,” he said growled, and rising to his feet, pulled her toward the crumbling hut.

  The rabbit was slow to roast, for the wood was damp and the fire fragile. The meal tasted like the very substance of life, but it was too small.

  When darkness closed in around them, Roderic rose to his feet. “Are ye ready?”

  She found his gaze with her own. “Ye are not going to allow me to return home?”

  “Nay.”

  “The MacGowans have no wealth. Ye’ve seen that with your own eyes. You’ll get nothing for me.”

  For a moment, she thought he would comment. Instead, he reached for her hand and pulled her into the darkness.

  They traveled all night. It rained sporadically but hard, wiping out any tracks she might hope to leave behind.

  Morning found them near a small noisy burn. The sun had risen some hours before and after fighting its way through the looming, dark clouds, had forced its bright radiance on a saturated world. It felt lovely against Flame’s face. Seating herself on a rock near the burbling water, she pulled her boots carefully from her feet. They were blistered and raw.

  “Why did ye na tell me of your wounds?” Roderic asked.

  She held her breath and plunged her feet into the stream. The contact burned like the very devil. Gritting her teeth, she waited until the sharpest edge of pain passed. “They’re my feet.”

  “Stubborn,” he said and wading into the water, took her ankles in his hands.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped, trying to pull them free.

  “Stubborn!” he repeated irritably as he squatted to examine her blisters. The rushing water reached his knees, soaking his boots as it washed past. “Ye are surely the most stubborn lass in all the world. Why did ye na tell me ye were hurt?”

  “And what would ye have done if I had, Forbes?” she asked. “Carried me all these miles on your back?”

  He raised his brows and grinning, leaned closer. “Mayhap I could pretend ta be yer beast of burden. Ahh … even better. I will be Lochan, with yer legs wrapped tight about me and yer hands—”

  “You are a beast,” she said, and pushing with all her might, shoved him backward with a foot to his chest.

  He hit the water with a shuddering gasp of surprise. His plaid floated about him in billowing waves of browns and greens.

  For a moment Flame sat perfectly still, watching in stunned silence, and then she laughed. Perhaps it was the sheer, aching fatigue that made her silly or perhaps it was simply him, lying in the stream, immobilized by the shocking cold, that she found amusing.

  Whatever the reason, she laughed until her sides hurt, until she was doubled over on the rock and tears streamed down her face. Dear God, she thought, still hiccupping, he would be angry now, for men did not like to be made to seem like fooks.

  She lifted her gaze and caught his.

  He remained perfectly still, watching her, and for a moment, she wondered if he had died from pure shock right where he sat.

  “I have never seen ye laugh,” he said.

  She giggled and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “I have never seen a Forbes make such a splash.”

  “Indeed.” He lifted a corner of his mouth into that devastating grin that was distinctly his own. “I must make a funny sight. But methinks it would be more amusing yet…” He rose slowly. Water dripped from every inch of him. “If you joined me.”

  He made a grab for her, but she shrieked and fled her perch on the rock.

  Bonny barked. Roderic roared and gave chase. But Flame’s feet were blistered and bare. At the top of a grassy knoll, he caught her easily and swung her into his arms.

  She shrieked again, but his lips were suddenly very near, his smile mesmerizing.

  “’Tis glad I am ta ken I amuse ye, lass,” he murmured.

  Her chest felt tight and her head light, but she concentrated hard and managed a scowl. “Put me down,” she ordered.

  Nodding once, he let her feet slip to the ground. She backed away, and bumped into something hard and solid. Rough bark pressed into her back, and now Roderic’s arms locked her in as he leaned his weight against the tree.

  “I could be even more amusing,” he said, leaning closer.

  She pushed at his chest, trying to free herself before the frantic, exhilarating thrill of his nearness crushed her senses. “I believe ye tried that yestereve.” Her tone was blessedly steady, despite the fact that her skin burned where his arms touched her, and her heart thundered in her chest.

  The grin slipped slowly from his face. Drawing a deep breath, he watched her eyes and said, “About yestereve… ‘Tis sorry I be.”

  She blinked once, certain she had not heard him right, but he braced his feet a bit farther apart and took a deep breath. It made his nostrils flare, and even that slight motion fascinated her somehow.

  “I am na usually known ta be so far from control.”

  “Not known?” she asked. “Does that mean ye are usually fully in control when ye rape women or—”

  “Still afraid ta admit yer desire, lass?” he asked, leaning closer still.

  She pressed into the oak trunk, wondering how long it had been since she had drawn a breath. “Ye flatter yourself, Forbes.”

  “Do I? Then let me flatter ye as well, lass.” His hand ran down her waist to caress her hip. “Ye have the firmest behind and the softest lips I have ever—”

  “Look!“she squeaked, turning her head away. “Is that a cottage?”

  His gaze didn’t move, though his lips lifted into a sardonic grin. “Ye are indeed a slippery one.”

  “It is …” she began, but when she looked at him, her breath stopped in her throat. “A cottage,” she finished, striving to strengthen her tone. “Look for yourself.”

  Hemming her in with his palms against the tree again, he turned his gaze downhill. “Where are we?”

  She followed his line of sight and tried to think of something other than the intensity of his eyes, the tantalizing tilt of his lips. And though it was difficult to estimate how far they had traveled in the dark, she concentrated hard. The wee lochan to the right looked familiar. Mayhap that was still on MacGowan property. The cottage, however, was not, of that she was sure. “Lamont land, I would guess.”

  He sighed. “I, too.”

  “Our rivals,” they said in unison.

  He grinned at her, and though she knew better, she grinned back.

  “Do you suppose they’d feed us before they kill us?”

  Roderic shrugged. “If they’re Lamonts, ‘tis hard to guess. Unless…”

  For a moment, she thought she saw a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, but he pushed away from the tree and turned abruptly away. “What?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I dunna ken for certain where we be. Therefore, I canna guess how we might be greeted in yon cottage.”

  “Surely chancing it would be better than starvation.”

  Roderic shook his head and nodded surreptitiously toward the hound that sat happily at his feet.

  Flame scowled. “Surely even a Forbes must feel the burn of hunger.”

  “Aye, I do,” Roderic all but whispered. “But I dunna wish ta hurt Bonny’s feelings.” At the sound of his voice, the hound gazed longingly into his face and thwapped her tail against the bracken. “Aye, lass, ‘twas a delectable meal ye brought us. Never have I had finer. Is it na true, Flanna?”

  “Ye are a strange man, Forbes,” she said.

  He tsked at her and grinned. “And ye dunna appreciate the hound.”

  “Not true,” she argued, squaring her shoulders to
head back to the stream for her boots. “I would sooner be lost with the hound than with ye.”

  When she turned, boots in hand, he was still standing near the tree. But one fist was planted on his lean hip while his opposite hand rested on Bonny’s sleek, narrow head.

  “I am quite insulted,” he said.

  “‘Twas my intent,” she assured him, picking her way barefoot through the heather.

  “Where are ye going?”

  “To the cottage.”

  “Going ta tell them ye are the Lady MacGowan? Mayhap ye could ask them flat out if they would like ta hold ye for ransom.”

  “‘Tis a fine idea, Forbes. But I did not plan to tell them who I am.”

  “Ahhh…” He turned to follow her course downhill. “And I’m certain they willna guess, for there be any number of women galivanting about in leather hose and men’s shirts.”

  “Do ye have a better idea?” She didn’t turn to look at him, for she knew the effort it would take to think straight if she did.

  “Aye. We shall go to the wee lochan below so that ye may rest and I may decide our next course of action.”

  “I will not walk all that extra way when I could rest and ye, supposedly, could think right here?” she said, continuing on.

  “Aye, ye will, lass.”

  She did turn now and raised a haughty brow at him. “No, I will not”

  “Aye, ye will, lass,” he argued again, hands on hips. “And ‘tis fer yer own good.”

  She blinked her eyes and hoped she looked like the sappy, love-infested lass he was used to dealing with. “And tell me, oh great Forbes, how it is for my own good?”

  His expression was deadly serious, but his eyes…

  “I ken honesty is important ta ye, lass.”

  She could not hold the cheap smile much longer. “And pray tell what that has to do with anything.”

  “I willna make ye break yer vow.”

  “What vow?”

  He shrugged and pacing up to her, prodded her toward the water. “Suffice it to say that I am ready ta let ye fulfill yer vow, and when I bathe I prefer the warmth of the lochan to the chill of the burn.”

  Chapter 18

  Flanna stood frozen like a rock to the earth. A shapely rock, Roderic thought, but a rock, nonetheless. She stared into his face.

  He stared back, granting her a carefully benevolent smile. “Dunna bother to thank me.”

  She said nothing, only continued to watch him with wide eyes.

  “Lass,” he said, lifting a hand to wave it in front of her face, “are ye alive?”

  “I did not agree to your foolish wager. I did not promise to bathe ye,” she breathed.

  He brightened his smile. “Ahh, but ye did, lass. Ye said … and I remember the exact words. ‘What can I do but agree?’”

  “I was being cynical!” she gasped.

  “Ahh. Cynicism doesna become ye, lass. And it was still a wager.”

  “But… but I did bathe ye!”

  “Ye pushed me in the burn, lass. ‘Tis na quite what I had in mind. And ye well know it,” he said and took a step closer.

  “Damnation! There was no way for ye to escape the tower.”

  He chuckled gently, glad to see she was so greatly impressed by his deeds. “On the contrary, lass,” he said modestly, “there were several at least.”

  “But I… I can’t…” All the color had left her face and her voice went soft.

  “Now, lass,” he chided gently. “Ye are too hard on yerself. Ye canna say whether or not ye could scale the tower until ye are driven as I was. Indeed, the trek through the window was na so very difficult and ye have strong legs.” He glanced down at her limbs, admiring their slender shape. “Aye, lass, fine legs they be. And probably able to get ye from—”

  “I cannot bathe ye!” she interrupted hoarsely.

  He frowned at her for a moment. “Oh. And why would that be?”

  She swallowed again. “It would not be … decent.”

  “Again I must beg ta differ, Flanna,” Roderic said in a mildly scolding tone. “’Tis a much honored tradition for the laird’s daughter to assist a guest with his bath.”

  “Ye are not my guest.”

  “But I was.”

  “You’re not now.”

  “That’s because I won the bet,” he said and laughed. “Come now. Ye will feel better once the debt is paid. I can tell ye are feeling poorly for having delayed so long.”

  She was definitely feeling poorly. In fact, panic was swelling up from her stomach in a dark, stifling tide. What a fool she had been to underestimate this man. But it was so easy to do, for he seemed so harmless … most of the time.

  Without trying, she remembered the tale William had related to her regarding Roderic’s first opportunity to escape. He had grabbed Bullock and twisted the spear from his hand. Rather absentmindedly, he had choked the air from his prisoner before tossing the spear to the floor and storming back into his high dungeon. Who could guess at such a man’s moods? Certainly not she. So she turned stiffly away, stumbled toward the lochan, and thought up every possible means she might have to escape.

  But no fantastic ideas came to mind and soon she stood before the small loch, staring at it in horror. It was blue-green, still and quiet and seemed to belie her agitation.

  “Well, lass,” he began, “how shall we—”

  “What will it take,” she interrupted, turning stiffly toward him, “for ye to forget the foolish wager?”

  He blinked. His lashes were incredibly, indecently long, and his expression suspiciously benign. “Forget? I fear I dunna understand, lass. For if the truth be told, I have an outstanding memory. Especially when it concerns matters of such import as—”

  “What’ll it take, Forbes?” she all but shouted.

  The dimmest shadow of a grin flitted across his face. “Methinks ye are becoming overwrought.” He leaned slightly closer. “Could it be ye have been anticipating this event more than I knew?”

  She didn’t slap him, didn’t kick him, didn’t even swear at him, and for this, she was quite proud. Instead, she straightened her back, filled her lungs with air, and watched him with her haughtiest expression. “The MacGowans are not a wealthy tribe,” she said quietly. “But I am willing to pay what I can. What will it take?”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “I will take yer firstborn,” he said evenly.

  Her mouth fell open. Her lips moved. And then she laughed. The sound, however, was a bit high-pitched. “Ye have a whimsical, if rather unorthodox, sense of humor, Forbes.”

  His face was deadly serious. “And ye are stalling.”

  “I asked what it would take to change your mind.”

  “And I answered.”

  She drew a steadying breath and found her dignity. “I tell ye truthfully, Forbes. I will never bear a child. Yours or any other man’s.”

  For a moment he didn’t speak but stood immobile, trying to understand her words. “What foolishness is this now?”

  “I am the Flame of the MacGowans, chosen to lead. But I will not bear an heir. My people will have to choose another when my time is done.”

  “Because ye think yerself such a horrid ruler?” he asked.

  “Because I am my father’s daughter.” Her voice trembled with the words, but she kept her chin high.

  “Aye.” He scowled and drew himself straighter. “Ye are yer father’s daughter. And is that na a terrible thing? For look, ye are so selfish ye would rather give up yer leadership than fight another yer clan has chosen. Ye are so vain that ye dress yerself in simple garb so that yer people can fare better. Ye are so evil that ye strive ta keep peace even though ye think we Forbeses have grievously sinned against ye. Ye are so vindictive that ye saved me life when yer warrior would have taken it.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, and he stepped forward to touch her cheek. “If yer blood is tainted, lass, any child would be honored ta be so poisoned.”

  His words and nearness sent a quivering wa
rmth through her. How long had she longed for tenderness? How long had she craved kindness?

  “There are others more fit to rule than I,” she murmured, trying to keep her head. “Nevin is intelligent and kind.”

  Roderic stroked a finger down her cheek. She tried not to tremble. “Have ye looked into his heart and found purity, then?” he asked. “Or do ye simply judge yerself so harshly that others look better by comparison?”

  “But Nevin—”

  He slid a finger gently over her lips, stopping her words before skimming along her jaw. “Do na tell me of Nevin, lass, for I trust no one where ye are concerned. Especially na one who might rule if ye were dead.”

  “He is loyal to me and the MacGowans.”

  “Mayhap, but yer own children would also be loyal, and they would have yer fire.” His fingertips drifted lower. “And yer heart and yer beauty.” A flame of desire sparked in the trail of his touch.

  Flanna felt the kindling of her long-dry passions. Temptation lured her, numbing her good sense. But she fought her own weakness and pulled back with a jolt.

  “Nevertheless”—her voice cracked on the single word. She clenched her fists at her sides—“I decided long ago that I would bear no man’s child.”

  “Ye only say that because long ago ye had na met the right man.”

  “Could it be that ye are speaking of yourself?” she guessed blithely.

  He grinned. “How is it that ye have guessed?”

  “In my fairly vast experience, ‘tis a man’s favorite topic,” she mused. “But ye must think yourself a particularly miraculous lover if ye think ye can change my mind.”

  “I dunna mean ta seem immodest, lass, but miraculous is na a word unheard by these ears in the dark of night.”

  “And are ye familiar with the word ‘vanity’ as well?”

  “Aye, lass,” he said with a laugh. “I have heard that one, too. And now that ye’ve had some time ta relax, are ye prepared to assist with me bath?”

  “No, I am not.”

  “And what of yer vow?”

  “I did not vow! And, too, we were within the safe confines of Dun Ard where I would have been well protected from—”

  “And what about me own protection?”

  She stared at him.