Roman turned solemnly toward the other. “‘Tis what ye told me ta do, is it na?”
“Ye rascal!” Roderic said, reaching to cuff the back of the boy’s head.
But apparently Roman had lived a good deal of time among the Forbes brothers, for he saw Roderic’s intent and had already slid from his stool and scampered away with a laugh. “As Fiona says,” quoted Roman blithely, “ye shouldna think so highly of yerself.”
“If I dunna, who will?” asked Roderic, still chuckling. “Now get yerself gone afore I tell yer wee sister that ye wish to play with her dolls.”
Grimacing, Roman rose to his full height then bowed from the waist. “‘Twas a pleasure meeting ye, Lady MacGowan.”
She nodded at his courtly manner. “And ye, Master Roman. Thank ye for coming.”
Mischief twinkled in his eyes. “Thank ye for allowing me ta tek Roderic’s place fer a wee bit of time.”
“Get gone,” Roderic said, and Roman headed for the door.
At the window, Silken rose and disappeared from sight.
The room seemed suddenly very quiet.
Roderic cleared his throat “He is a bright lad but can be a bit loquacious at times. I hope he didna tire ye.”
“Nay.” She could feel his gaze on her face and kept her attention riveted on her hands atop her blankets.
“Fiona said ye are mending well.”
She could think of nothing to say.
He cleared his throat again. His gaze was warm. She knew how he would look. His eyes, blue as Highland Harebell, would be sharp and deeply set beneath his fair brows. His mouth would be cast in a straight line, and his hair, bright as sunlight, would be plaited in two narrow braids beside his ears. “She thinks ye will have full use of yer—”
“I wish to leave!” Flame said the words quickly, for if she delayed all would be lost. Lost in his eyes, in memories, in her own hopeless desires.
Absolute silence greeted her. Seconds ticked past. Flame studied the Forbes plaid that covered her lap.
“Look at me, Flanna.”
“Do not call me Flanna!” she all but yelled, jerking her gaze to his. Breath left her lungs with a rush, for he was just as she had imagined, only larger and more powerful and more tempting to her woman’s soul. “I am Flame,” she said weakly. “And I must return to my people.”
For a moment a sharp edge of unidentifiable emotion showed in his eyes, but he dulled it and said, “I willna let ye go.”
She laughed aloud. “Ye think ye can hold me?”
His face was unusually solemn. “I know I can, lass.”
Breathing was difficult, but it had nothing to do with the arrow that had pierced her lung. “Why?” she whispered. “It would only cause war.”
His lips parted slightly. Their gazes met. He drew a deep breath and carefully let it escape. “Me brothers think an alliance would be advantageous.”
“An alliance?” The words slipped from her lips.
“A marriage,” he said evenly. “Between the MacGowans and the Forbeses.”
Yearning as strong as the tide rose up within her, but she couldn’t afford to let him sense it. Her laugh was short and unnatural. “I have na kinsmen I can spare for such a marriage.”
“Gawd’s wrath, Flanna!” he said, jerking to his feet. “I meant us.”
Though she had known what he had meant, his words made her gasp. But she drew a careful breath now and released it slowly. “And I have told ye afore, I will not wed.”
He was breathing deeply. “I know ye care for me, lass.”
She lifted her chin slightly. “As young Roman says, ye should not think so highly of yourself.”
With long, steady strides, he walked to her bedside. “I have felt yer fire,” he said softly. “And ‘tis na the flame of the MacGowans. ‘Tis me own flame, kindled in me hand and set ablaze in yer body.”
Her lungs hurt and her stomach roiled. “‘Tis but physical lust,” she said. “And easily forgotten.”
“‘Tis more,” he countered.
“Ye imagine,” she murmured, but she became caught in his gaze.
“Aye, lass. And ye imagine, too.” Dropping to his knees, he leaned forward so that she could smell the scent of him, could see each fine line engraved in his face, each long, sparkling lash that highlighted his heavenly eyes. “Ye imagine what it could be like between us.”
“Nay,” she denied, trying to turn away from him but failing.
“Aye, ye do,” he whispered, and suddenly his fingers were on her cheek. The touch was feather soft and trailed gently toward her ear.
She trembled under his hand and closed her eyes, trying to force him from her mind. But he was tracing the curve of her ear with one fingertip. Her breathing sounded gravelly.
“Ye were na meant ta be alone, lass.” He pressed a kiss to her lobe. She tried to pull away, but his words mesmerized her, his touch trapped her. “Ye were meant ta be loved.”
“Loved!” She forced the word out on a harsh whisper. “Men speak well of love, but they know not the meaning.”
“Ye are wrong,” he said, drawing back and finally rising slowly to his feet. “Ye are wrong, lass, and I will prove it.”
Chapter 26
A strangely familiar noise awakened Flame. She moaned and pulled herself from one of a thousand dreams, each filled with images of a fair-haired warrior with a jester’s smile and a minstrel’s voice.
“Great Heart missed ye.”
The voice became reality. She opened her eyes and gasped softly, for a large, whiskered muzzle hovered above her face. The horse nickered low and nuzzled her neck.
“Heart?” she said in bewilderment, trying to place her setting.
“Aye. It seems he could na bear ta be separated from ye and followed us here,” Roderic said.
Flame tried to push herself to a sitting position, but the movement made her entire body throb. She winced.
Roderic was suddenly on the far side of the bed from the horse, easing her upright. “Lean on me.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment she was tempted nearly beyond restraint. Tempted to do as he asked and more. Warm breath against her arm drew her back to reality.
She turned toward the steed that towered above her. “But…” Reality was strangely mixed with foolishness. It almost seemed she was still in the infirmary but … there was this horse… She placed a hand gently on the destrier’s broad brow, blinked in confusion, and turned back toward Roderic.
“‘Twas the verra devil getting him up the stairs,” he said, his face a serious mask.
Her mouth fell open. “Up the …”
“I fear he has been overeating, for I could barely squeeze him round the turns.”
“Ye brought him up the stairs?”
“He was worried,” Roderic said. His smile was like a ray of sunlight in the darkest night. “And I thought ye might enjoy his company.”
Heart lifted his upper lip, kissing her neck. Flame couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. She stroked his head and fondled his long ears. “Ye truly brought him up the stairs?”
Roderic scowled as if confused by her words. “Of course, lass. The window was too high.”
She tried to turn toward him, but the stallion was now breathing down her borrowed nightgown. “Why did ye bring him?” she murmured.
“I told ye.” His voice was suddenly very soft and had lost the edge of humor. “He missed ye, Flanna, and I, better than any, understand the agony of losing ye forever.”
Butterflies filled her stomach. A thousand pretty words filled her head. She tried to remind herself to be stem and cool, but he was so near, so strong, so alluring. And if he thought her lovable, maybe she was. He seemed a good judge of people, and she desperately wanted to believe.
“And to prove—”
“Well, Flanna, how are ye…” Fiona began from the doorway, but suddenly her words stopped and a small gasp of surprise escaped her. “Roderic,” she said evenly, “why is there a horse in my
infirmary?”
“He was lonely.”
“Ahh. And why is Clarinda lying on the floor?”
“She fainted.”
“I see. Mightn’t you prop her up somewhere more comfortable?”
“I fear there is na room in here, me lady.”
“Aha. Leith,” Fiona called, “could ye lend a wee bit of assistance?”
“Flanna! Is she…” Leith’s voice was accented by his quick, sure footfalls.
“She is fine,” Fiona assured. “‘Tis Clarinda who concerns me.”
“Clarinda!” The footsteps halted. The door creaked open a bit further. “Fiona?”
“Yes, my laird?”
“Why is there a horse in yer infirmary?”
“He was lonely,” said Roderic and Fiona in unison.
“Ah. And Clarinda?”
“She fainted.”
“Of course,” said Leith. “And ye want her out of the way?”
“If ye are not too busy. It seems a bit crowded in here.”
Not another question was asked. Leith carried the poor maid away with Fiona trailing him, and the door closed behind them.
Flame blinked. “I believe I begin to understand,” she said weakly.
Roderic smiled that smile that surely made lasses from Inverness to Paris swoon. “Aye,” he said softly, “we are all touched. And ye, me sweet lass, would fit in admirably.”
“But—”
The door swung open again and a tiny voice squealed. “Looky! There’s a horse eating barley in Mama’s infirmary.” Apparently, Roderic had brought a bucket of grain to coax Heart up the stairs. Tiny feet pattered rapidly across the floor. “Can I ride him, Roddy? Please?
“Ohhh!” The pattering feet stopped, then resumed at a more sedate pace. “Ye’re beautiful.”
A wee elf of a lass appeared beside the bed, hugged Roderic’s hand to her chest, and peeked up into Flame’s face. The child had eyes as bright as amethyst stones and so like Fiona’s there could be no doubting her heritage. And though she looked like a miniature of her mother, her father, too, was represented in her angelic features, for her hair was as dark and slick as fine sable. She blinked her wide eyes in childish wonder.
“This is Lady Flanna MacGowan, Peepsweep.”
The tiny lass tightened her grip on her uncle’s hand. “Good day t’ye, me lady,” she said.
“Good day, mistress…”
“Me name is na really Peepsweep,” the child began solemnly. “Roddy just calls me that because I am so small. But Papa says, ‘tis na the size of the bird but the swiftness of its wing stroke that matters.” The wee girl pursed her lips for a moment and blinked. “Me Christian name is Rachel. And ye are just as bonny as Mama said.” The skin above her upper lip was stained red, as if she had been eating strawberries. A smile tilted the corner of her mouth. “She is a bonny one, isn’t she, Roddy?” The lass lisped slightly when she spoke and turned her attention back to Flame. “Mama said ye’re as bonny as a pimpernel on the hillock. Papa laughed and said he hopes ye’ll stay forever, then mayhap the men will na always be staring at Mama. Will ye stay with us forever, lady?”
Flame tried to speak but no words would come.
“Will she stay forever, Roddy? Will ye make babies with her so that I may have a sister?”
Roderic smiled into the dimpled, upturned face. “Ye must na talk off Lady Flanna’s ear. She has been verra ill.”
“I know ‘tis true,” Rachel stated solemnly, turning her wide eyes back to Flame. “I am verra bright. Roddy says I am. Isn’t it so, Roddy?”
“Aye, lass, ye are.” Love as sure as yesterday shone in his face. Something tripped painfully in Flame’s chest. Dear God, what a lass could do when sheltered by such love.
“And ye must be verra bright, too,” Rachel deduced, scowling slightly. “Because Mama said ye’ve captured Roddy’s heart. And I think ye’d have ta be awfully clever ta figure how ta tek a heart without even leaving a scar. Mayhap even cleverer than Mama, though Papa says there is nobody in the world smarter than she, cuz she brought ye back from the brink of death. But Mama said it was Gawd’s will, is all.” She screwed up her face slightly, looking puzzled and rambling on. “There isn’t a scar on yer chest, is there, Roddy?”
Roderic cleared his throat.
“And ye will make me a wee sister, won’t ye? Papa said he’ll try his best, but he’s ever so slow and all they’ve given me thus far is Graham. And he’s all wrinkled and messy. I do so want a sister. Mightn’t ye—”
Roderic raised his free hand and tilted his head. “I think I hear yer mother calling, Peepsweep.”
Not for an instant did the ploy fool her. “Nay. She thinks I be napping with Sarah.”
“And why aren’t ye?”
The tiny elf bit her lip. “Because I wanted ta see yer lady,” she whispered. “They’ve kept me out for ever so long cuz she was ill, ye know. And…” She scowled fretfully. “…I missed ye, Roddy. Seemed forever ye were away. And I worried.”
Tugging his hand from her tight grasp, Roderic pulled the child onto his lap. “‘Tis sorry I am ta worry ye, wee Peep,” he said, snuggling her against his chest.
“Where were ye? Ye didna even say goodbye.”
“Be it the truth ye want, lass?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet as if he alone knew some great secret.
Rachel solemnly nodded, her eyes wide.
“It happened during a wilding sort of night as only the land of the Forbeses knows. Bothering no one was I. Sleeping soundly in me own bed when suddenly…” He jumped, causing his tiny listener to jump with him. “…the door was flung open and Flanna MacGowan rode in.”
“Lady MacGowan?” Rachel lisped. “She rode a horse right into yer room?”
“Aye, for she is the greatest equestrienne in all the world.”
“Truly? Was this the horse that carried her?” asked Rachel, staring at the destrier. Heart raised his head momentarily from the bucket. Barley dribbled from his mouth.
“Nay, ‘twas another horse. A blue horse.”
“Blue?”
“His name is Lochan and I believe…” He leaned closer to the child’s ear. “…he comes from the deep, dark waters of Inverness.”
“Where Nessie lives?” she whispered in awe.
“Aye. That is me own belief.”
“And Lady Flanna rides him?”
“That she does. But when she came to Glen Creag she didna appear as she does now, for she was dressed in outlandish garb. Her legs were bound in leather and she wore a man’s shirt. I awoke with a start and rubbed me eyes. Surely, I thought I was dreaming.”
“But ye weren’t?”
“Nay,” he said solemnly. “There she sat upon her blue steed, real as rock.”
“And what did she say?”
“Well, ‘twas a sad tale she told. She said that the men of the MacGowan clan had weakened so that she herself, great lady of the tribe, had to don men’s clothing and teach them how ta be men. But she wearied of the task and thought, if only there were a man so brave and fair that he might be a symbol to me men and teach them that which is forgot.” He nodded again. In his sky blue eyes humor sparkled unchecked. “And then it was that she heard tales of a warrior so great and courageous that her heart was filled with hope. At first she did not believe such a man could exist But in the end she was convinced. Far she traveled through the night in search of this one great man of men.”
He straightened with a sigh and a shrug. “And so she came in the wee hours to fetch me.”
Rachel’s small mouth had formed a tiny pink circle of awe. “The great man of men, was ye?”
“Aye,” he said, nodding solemnly. “None other.”
From the opposite side of the bed, Heart snorted, spraying barley onto the floor and shaking his head. Rachel exhaled softly and blinked. “Roddy?”
“Aye, lass?”
“Mama says yer tales be as wild as a Highland wind,” she said brusquely. Hopping from his lap, the lass r
aised her hands to cradle Roderic’s lean face between them. “But I love ye the more for them.”
For the slimmest moment, Flame was certain she saw moisture sparkle in the great man of men’s eyes.
“And I love ye, sweet Peep.”
Her tiny, dimpled hands dropped away. “Someday will ye tell me the tale again?”
“Aye, lass, if ye nap now.”
She turned and nodded like a tiny princess. “‘Twas the best of pleasures meeting ye, Lady MacGowan. And if ye wish, ye can listen ta the next telling of the tale. Uncle Colin says Roddy’s stories age like rotting cheese, but I like them better each time.”
Her narrow back was as straight as a sapling’s when she turned away, and her tiny feet, Flame noticed, were bare beneath the long, embroidered hem of her gown. With a grin and an abbreviated wave, she dragged the door closed behind her.
The room was quiet again but for Heart’s munching. Roderic cleared his throat. “She is spoiled beyond hope, of course,” he said brusquely, but when he turned back to Flame, his eyes were still misty. “Were I her sire, I would take her firmly in hand.”
Flame dropped her gaze to the blanket beneath her restless fingers but didn’t resist the smile tugging at her lips. “Aye. I am certain ye would. Great man of men that ye be.”
He laughed softly. “Surely yer own uncle stretched a tale a wee bit now and again.”
“Lawrence, Nevin’s sire, used to come to Dun Ard with his wonderful silks and ribbons. He would sometimes bring gifts for Mother and me, for he had no daughters of his own, and his wife had been long dead.” Once he had brought her a small silver mirror. The handle had been engraved in the shape of a rose. She had been entranced by its beauty, and as shattered as its round, shiny face when her father had smashed it against the wall. “But that was before the MacGowan decided that only whores took gifts from men other than their husbands.” She tugged at a loose thread in the earth-toned plaid of the Forbes’ tartan that covered her legs. “I never saw Lawrence after that.”
“I am truly sorry, lass.”
“He was killed by a thief who broke into his home and set fire to his cottage.”
“And Nevin.”
“He was asleep and barely escaped with his life. He had nothing but the clothes on his back when he came to Dun Ard. So ye see, I am far luckier than some.”
Highland Flame (Highland Brides) Page 29