Roderic remained still and silent. He had finally found his soul’s mate, only to have her pierced by an errant arrow. None knew who had fired the missile that had plunged Flanna into a fever. But to his brothers he supposed guilt looked better on a MacGowan than on a Forbes. Himself, he had no time to think of blame and hatred. He only thought of her, the paleness of her face, the stillness of her body.
“They are spineless cowards,” said Colin.
A muscle jumped in Leith’s lean cheek. “As many of our own men were wounded as MacGowans.” The Forbes emblem of wildcat and mountain was chiseled into the high back of the rowan-wood chair in which Leith sat. His black hair showed little gray and the leg he had sprawled across the chair’s arm was heavy with muscle.
“They have na the strength nor the courage of the Forbeses!” argued Colin. “If they come for her, we will be ready.”
“We will be ready,” Leith agreed. “But both sides will suffer nonetheless. If she dies we must—”
“She willna die!” Roderic rose abruptly to his feet, strode once about the solar then circled back to stand before them. The days had drained his strength and had stolen his hope. She was dying and he knew it, had known it ever since he had felt the limpness of her body. Every league he had traveled with her in his arms had been like an eternity in hell. He had placed her in Fiona’s care, but still she remained in an ungodly sleep. “Damn ye, brothers. Ye sit and discuss her life as if she were na but a pawn in a fine game of chess.”
“Roderic,” said Colin, rising, but his twin turned sharply away, showing them his back.
“She will na die!” Roderic repeated hoarsely. He had spent every moment with her, slept beside her bed, prayed to be taken in her stead, but while his own wounds healed, hers stole her life.
For a moment the room was silent with regret and unspoken worry.
“The fever rages unchecked.” Leith’s voice was as quiet as though he had reluctantly pulled the words from his soul. “Fiona has done all she can to bring her back. I fear ye must accept—”
“Nay! I have been bred to fight, and fight I will!” Roderic roared. Turning, he slammed his fist against a timber. “I willna accept otherwise,” he said, and turning stiffly away, he strode from the room.
The infirmary was a small chamber at the top of the stairs. Roderic pushed the door open with shaking hands.
“Fiona?” he said, and paused in the doorway.
“She yet lives.” His sister by law’s voice was soft as she looked up from her place beside the bed.
“Please.” He managed a step into the room. “Please, Fiona, I have asked naught of ye in the past. Please, I—”
She rose abruptly from her place beside her patient. “Roderic! I cannot promise you her life. Tis not mine to give.”
“Ye saved the miller’s son.” His voice cracked.
“Roderic.” She lifted a hand, her tone pleading.
“Ye saved Harlow. Auld Torquil. And …”
“Roderic please!”
“Malcolm!” Roderic said abruptly. “Do ye na remember when he was choking?” He knew he was babbling, but panic threatened to drown him if he did not fight. “Ye saved him. And wee Somerled, no bigger than me bonnet.”
“I cannot do more!” she said in anguish.
“Gawd’s wrath, woman!” he stormed, striding suddenly forward to grip her arms and shake her. “Ye saved Dora. Even that damn, stinking cur.” He tightened his fingers on her arms. “Ye will save me Flanna!”
“Roderic!” Leith snapped, rushing through the door, but his brother was far past hearing.
“Please,” he begged. Falling to his knees, he let his hands slide down Fiona’s arms to grip her fingers. “All me life I have waited for her, though I didna know I waited. Please dunna let her leave me now.”
“‘Tis na me lady’s fault,” Leith said, stepping forward, but Fiona shook her head and dropped to her knees in front of Roderic.
“I have done all I can,” she said, squeezing his hand. “We staunched the bleeding, fought the swelling and the festering. I hoped we had won the battle. But the fever burns her without mercy.” Tears of agony shone in her eyes to match his own. “She is in God’s hands,” Fiona whispered.
“As were ye,” Roderic said. Although his voice was raspy, his fingers were gentle against hers now. “Ye were struck. ‘Twas me own fault,” he whispered. “But the Lord let ye live. Gave ye children. Gave ye love.”
Fiona raised her gaze to her husband.
“Please,” Roderic murmured. “God Almighty surely sits on yer shoulder and lights yer way, Fiona Rose. There must be somemat we can do.”
Fiona drew a careful breath. “Come.” Slowly, she stood, pulling him to his feet. “We will beg for God’s tender mercy …” She bit her lip and glanced fretfully at the sickbed. “And take her to the burn.”
Roderic sat chest deep in the Creag River, holding Flanna’s flaccid body against him and praying. This was her last chance, he knew, for though Fiona hadn’t said the words, he realized the frigid, rushing waters could just as likely kill his love as cure her.
For an eternity Flanna’s body flamed with fever. His own was numb from cold. But still he remained, eyes squeezed tight against his pain, lost in prayer, aching with hopelessness.
“Roderic,” a creaky voice called. He opened his eyes slowly, terrified he had imagined the sound. “I’m c-cold,” stuttered Flanna.
“Gawd!” he murmured, staring into her eyes, certain he was dreaming again.
Flanna scowled and shivered. “So … cold,” she repeated.
“Gawd!” he yelled. “Fiona! Leith! She awakes!”
People splashed into the water.
“Hurry! There is na time ta lose,” urged Fiona, but Roderic’s muscles refused to lift him from the river, so cramped was he.
“Here. Give her to me! To me!” Leith ordered. Roderic stared transfixed into her face. His fingers remained crooked against her side. “Sweet Jesu!”
“Colin! Pull his arms free.”
Agony ripped through Roderic’s frigid muscles as Flanna was wrenched from his arms. He raised his face to watch her turn toward him as Leith carried her away. Fiona hurried along beside her, wrapping her in blankets and calling orders.
“To the infirmary. Clarinda,” she called to a servant, “More blankets. Bring hot water and broth. Colin, get Roderic out of the burn. Take him up to his room and out of those clothes.”
“She’s awake,” Roderic murmured, ignoring the burning cold. “And she will heal.”
“Brother,” Colin said gently.
“She will heal,” he repeated, lifting his gaze to his twin’s.
Colin nodded. “Let us go.”
“She’s awake.”
“Up now,” Colin said and pulled on his arm.
Roderic grimaced but remained as he was. Reality slipped a notch. “She will heal. Ye will see.” The cold ordered him to sleep. “Ye will see. She will heal.”
“Roderic.”
“She will mend.”
“Roderic!” yelled Colin. “Do ye want another man ta have her?”
Roderic painfully turned his head to stare into his twin’s azure eyes. “Na,” he said reasonably.
“Then get yer ass out of the water before ye catch yer death, ye dolt!”
“Flanna,” Roderic rasped. He stood in the doorway of the infirmary, his chest heaving. He had battled his way there, for every man he had once called friend had tried to stand in his way. Water dripped from his clothing, and his fingers would not obey his commands, though they had managed to form fists. Vaguely, he remembered hitting someone and yelling Flanna’s name. “Ye live,” he breathed.
“Aye.” She was wrapped in a multitude of blankets. Her skin was as pale as death, and her eyes looked huge and haunted in her gaunt face. “And ye.” Her voice was weak. The arm she lifted toward him was bare and thin, seeming almost translucent.
He stumbled into the room, wanting nothing more than to hold he
r, to pull her into his arms. But his muscles were unpredictable and Fiona barred his way.
“Ye are freezing,” she said, arms akimbo and a scowl on her lovely face. Shifting her gaze from him to his brothers, who stood behind him, she asked, “Did I na tell ye to get him warmed afore he, too, sickens?”
“Aye, ye did. But he took exception ta being separated from her,” Leith said, fingering his jaw. “Damn, hotheaded whelp.”
“Ye came back ta me,” murmured Roderic, managing another step forward.
“Ye are na…” Words came hard to Flanna’s pale lips. “Ye are na dying?”
“Me?” Roderic almost laughed, but the sound was no louder than the scrape of a rusty knife against old leather. “Nay, lass. ‘Tis ye who has been ill.”
“Oh.” Her eyes fell closed. “Thank the Almighty. I thought… I dreamt…” She shuddered. “Dreamt that ye were gone.” Her voice fell into a creaky whisper. “Taken from me. Just when I knew …”
Roderic came chest to chest with Fiona’s small but impenetrable form. Instead of trying to get by her, he dropped to his knees to gaze around his sister-in-law.
“Knew what, lass?” he whispered.
Flanna’s emerald eyes opened. Her frail fingers lifted to graze his cheek. “Just when I knew the truth.”
The sound that escaped him was neither a laugh nor an exclamation of joy. It more closely resembled a moan of agony. “I am here.” He lifted his hand toward her.
“Touch her with those freezing fingers and I’ll toss ye from here meself,” Fiona warned.
“She has returned to me,” Roderic whispered. “‘Twould tek a strong army of men with horses ta be rid of me.”
“Dunna challenge her,” Leith advised. “Na when she’s in a temper.”
Roderic watched Flanna’s eyes drift closed, watched as peaceful sleep descended on her. “I willna challenge,” he murmured “I but plead. Let me stay and I’ll make na trouble.”
Fiona scowled, then turned and touched a hand to Flanna’s brow. “Ye are trouble,” she said and smiled. “But the fever is broken. You may stay.”
“How are ye faring?” Fiona asked, stepping into the infirmary.
Clarinda, the young maidservant who had spent the days beside Flame’s bed, had been sent away. Flame raised her eyes from Roderic’s face to the woman who had saved her life. “I am healed, my lady,” she said. “Thanks to your ministrations.”
She had slept throughout most of the days and nights. But each time she awoke, Roderic had been there. For a while, it had surprised her, but finally she had come to expect to see him, hear his voice, feel the touch of his hand. This morning he had been absent. Panic had seized her in a choking hold, and in that moment she had realized how needy she had become. Fear filled her, for she knew she had done the unthinkable. She had fallen under the allure of a man she was not worthy to love.
Roderic rose to his feet, still holding the horn of medicine he had pressed to her lips only moments before. “She is na healed, Fiona. Gawd’s wrath, she has only been awake these past six days. She is but being stubborn and does na wish to drink yer brew.”
“Nay.” Blood rushed to Flame’s face. Before her stood a lady. A true lady, like none she had ever met, like none she could ever hope to be. Flame had no wish to wound her feelings or act ungrateful for all she had done. But Roderic’s nearness and her own needs terrified her. She could not risk the touch of his hand, lest she lose the Flame forever and become the trembling girl she knew herself to be. “‘Tis that I simply am healed. Completely.”
Roderic scowled down at her. “Heaven’s gate, woman, ye are na afraid ta challenge the wrath of the MacGowans and the Forbeses combined, yet ye quiver at the thought of drinking a wee bit of bitter medicine.”
“’Tis not true,” Flame argued, her face still burning. “I am not ungrateful for all Lady Fiona has done/’
“I didna call ye ungrateful,” Roderic said. “I called ye a coward.” Pressing the horn toward her, he deepened his scowl. “Now drink.”
Nervousness fled before his majestic command. “Is that an order, Forbes?” she asked, raising her brows at him.
“Aye.” He spread his legs slightly and flexed the muscles in his back. “‘Tis.”
Flame took a deep breath and opened her mouth to argue, but Fiona’s laughter interrupted the impending barrage.
“I do believe ye are feeling better,” she said. “And therefore you can forgo the herb.”
Flame breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank ye, Lady Forbes.”
“Call me Fiona. Or Rose if ye like,” said the lady of the hall. She was, Flame thought, the most beautiful woman God had ever created. She was small and refined and possessed of a quiet dignity Flame could never hope to achieve. “But please do not call me Lady Forbes. It makes me feel five hundred years old with a prune-pinched mouth and drooping jowls.”
“Nay,” Flame breathed, “hardly that.”
Fiona laughed again. The sound was as lovely and light as a touch of spring in the winter. Any man would love her, Flame thought. Roderic included, and he deserved someone like her. Someone who was all woman, who had been taught love at a young age and did not fight the demons she battled. She herself was not like the lady of the Forbes, small and quiet and tender.
“Ye are as bonny as the day I first spied ye in the hall,” Roderic said to his sister-by-law. “And ye well know it, Fiona.”
She laughed again. “I hope ye’ve had warning against his glib tongue. Tis said that Roderic the Rogue can charm the berries from the vines.”
“And Fiona Rose can touch the snow and make it bloom.”
They laughed in unison. Something in Flame’s gut twisted in agony. She had to leave, before it was too late. Before she begged for his love, promised anything just to stay at his side.
“Believe only half of what he tells ye, Flanna, and ye will do well,” Fiona said. She took a step nearer and settled her gaze on Flame’s face. “Your presence here is a boundless blessing to us, Flanna. I rejoice at your newfound health.”
Flame lowered her eyes. She was the quaking, hard-shelled daughter of a man who had despised her very existence. And she must not forget it. “About my health, lady. When might I be allowed to return home?”
“Home?” Fiona sounded shocked. “But I thought you and Roderic …” She lifted a scowl fretfully to her brother-by-law, who quickly lowered her gaze to Flame again. “I…”
Flame’s mind whirled. What about her and Roderic? Tearing her gaze from Fiona, she looked at him, but his expression was implacable and cool.
“That is to say,” Fiona continued more smoothly now. “We cannot even consider moving ye yet.”
“But, my lady,” Flame began. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded pleading, for she could not remain much longer at Glen Creag. “I must go back to my people.”
For a moment, Flame feared the lady would ask why. But she didn’t. Instead, she settled her hands into the full sleeves of her opposite arms.
“I fear it is far too early for such talk,” Fiona said firmly. “God has graciously allowed ye to return to us.
“I would be remiss in my duties if I let ye endanger your life now.”
Beside her, Roderic shifted his weight. Flame could feel the allure of his presence and knew she had to leave before she lost herself completely to it. “But I cannot stay abed any longer,” she said, grasping at straws. “I’ve been here nearly a full week.”
“Ahhh.” Fiona breathed a sigh as if relieved by Flame’s explanation. “So ye are bored is all. Roderic, I am surprised at you.”
“Me apologies,” he said, but his tone was tight. Flame could feel his emotions, though she could not quite identify them. Anger? Resentment? “I will try harder to entertain her.”
Fiona laughed but the sound was not so silvery light as before. “Make sure ye do, brother. Or I will find a young man who can.”
“The cat’s name is Silken,” Roman said quietly.
True to her w
ord, Fiona had sent a young man to entertain Flame. He was a handsome lad with a dark red mop of unruly hair that defied mastery and set off the rich color of his green eyes. He couldn’t have seen more man thirteen summers, and yet his manner spoke of wisdom learned through pain. Still, despite Roman’s charm, Flame could think of nothing but Roderic. Where was he? Did he hate her now, after her plea to return home?
Flame pulled her thoughts back to the lad and gazed at the wildcat that lay on the stone sill of the window. He was, without a doubt the largest feline Flame had ever seen. “Silken?” she asked softly.
“Aye.”
“Does he belong to ye, Roman?”
“Nay. He belongs ta no one. But I think, mayhap, Lady Fiona belongs to him.”
The lad reminded her of Haydan, not in looks or build, certainly, for Roman outweighed the other boy by at least two stone. But they both had a quiet intelligence that touched her soul.
“I have never known a wildcat to be tamed,” Flame said.
“He is na tamed,” whispered Clarinda. She was a young maid of less than five-and-ten years and eyed the feline with awe and uncertainty. “He is as wild as the night.”
“’Tis true,” Roman agreed. “He is na tamed, but he is my lady’s protector.”
“Nay.”
“Aye.” He nodded solemnly. “He will let none come near her unless he knows them well.”
Again, Flame’s stomach churned. Even the wild beasts loved Glen Creag’s lady.
“She must be well protected indeed, then,” said Flame. She tried to keep her tone light.
“Aye, she is that, for there is na a man amongst the Forbeses that would na give his life for her.”
She could not stop the question. “Does that include Roderic?”
For the first time Roman laughed. “Laird Leith says that if a man be a true man he will love Lady Fiona. And amongst the Forbeses, we say that Roderic is more a man than most.”
“Aye,” said Roderic from the doorway. “I am indeed a specimen ta behold.” Flame nearly closed her eyes against the power of his presence. When had she become so hopelessly enamored?
“Have ye been regaling Flanna with tales of me manliness?” Roderic asked, taking a seat on a nearby bench.
Highland Flame (Highland Brides) Page 28