“I…” Rarely had she seen him at a loss for words. He took her hand and lifted it in both his own. Did they shake? But no, she was imagining. It was her own tremors that she felt. But when he brought her hand to his bare chest, she could not mistake the heat there. She felt his heartbeat strong and sure against her fingers. “Flanna, I…” His words stumbled to a halt again, and he drew her hand higher to press a kiss to her knuckles. Longing flooded her. She closed her eyes to it and to him but still felt his gaze on her face.
“Ye willna be sorry, Flanna.” His voice was steadier now, but again she thought she felt him tremble. How silly of her. “‘Tis good,” he said brusquely and released her. But suddenly, he grabbed her by the arms and kissed her with hard, aching passion. Her breath stopped. Her heart soared and she longed to wrap her arms about him and hold him forever. But in a moment he released her and backed abruptly away. “‘Tis good,” he repeated. “‘Tis a wise decision,” he said and bumped clumsily against the door behind him. “Ye willna regret it. It is good,” he murmured again. His expression was sober, but in his eyes, emotion flared. She refused to acknowledge it. “I will…” He cleared his throat and nodded once. “I will let ye sleep now while I send the news to yer kinsmen.”
Flame slept well into the morning and awoke with a lurch. He had asked her to marry him! Wild hope surged within her, but she calmed it with a desperate effort. Perhaps it had been a dream. Perhaps she had misunderstood. But of course, she had not. They would be wed. But their marriage would be an alliance and little else, she assured herself. Still, her heart hammered in her chest, and when a rap sounded on her door, she jumped.
But it was only Clarinda, come to inform her that the seamstresses had arrived to fit her for the new gowns that had been ordered for her wedding.
Halfway through the afternoon, Flame still stood on a narrow stool in the solar where she now resided. There, she was measured and turned and poked and pricked until she felt she could not bear another moment.
It was then that Roderic stepped into the room.
She felt her heart stop as her eyes met his.
“My lady.” His voice was as smooth as river water. Upon his head was the bonnet he had taken from her kinsman.
“Sir.” She hoped she matched his tone, but knew she failed miserably, for just the sight of him made her want to melt like warm wax onto the bed nearby. The Flame of the MacGowans indeed! she thought numbly. More like a helpless lump of pudding.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“Aye,” she said, but his eyes seemed to strip her of any subterfuge.
“My lady tires,” Roderic said to the room at large. “Come back tomorrow.”
“But we’ve only a wee bit left ta—” began the eldest seamstress.
Roderic interrupted without glancing her way. “Tomorrow,” he said.
The room was cleared in moments, leaving Flame alone with him.
“Ye hurt?” he asked softly.
“Nay.” But she could not breathe properly when he was near.
“Then what? There is something in yer eyes. Is it only weariness?”
Every nerve in her body jangled. What could he see in her eyes? Could he read her longing? “Aye,” she said, trying to concentrate. “I am weary of inactivity.”
He studied her closer. “Would ye care for a ride then, lass?”
“On horse?” she breathed hopefully.
“Well!” He laughed. The sound shivered down to her toes. “I could think of other options, but, aye, horseback would seem the most… boring. Boring but practical,” he hurried to add.
She could feel herself blush but tried to hide her embarrassment. “Fiona gave me orders to rest.”
“Methinks ye are na in a mood ta rest,” he said, watching her eyes closely.
“Did ye not say she had a temper, Forbes?”
“Are ye suggesting that I am scairt of her?” Roderic asked, lifting a brow as if insulted.
“I am.”
He laughed, and her heart sang with the sound. “And ye are right. But she canna stop us if she doesna see us leave.”
“And ye think yourself capable of such a deception?”
“Where deception is concerned, I am a master,” he declared, and moving to the bed, whipped a tartan blanket from the mattress. “Sir,” he said, offering it to her with a flourish, “yer plaid.”
“Surely ye do not expect me to wear that.”
“Surely ye dunna expect me to challenge Fiona’s authority outright,” Roderic said, looking horrified. “Gawd’s wrath, lass, where her patients are concerned she is below God and none other. She’d have me hide. Now hurry, into the plaid.”
“Ye’re jesting.”
“Do ye wish ta ride?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“Do ye wish ta see Fiona skin me alive?”
“Nay.”
Roderic breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s the sweetest thing ye’ve ever said ta me, lass. Now hurry out of that gown before someone comes.”
The thought of disrobing in front of him made her skin warm and her breath halt.
“I…” She was trying to remember to breathe. “Someone took my clothes. I have no shirt.”
“Oh.” He scowled, but in a moment, his brooch was loosened and his shirt removed. “Here.” He held the garment out to her. “Put this on.”
He stood before her, his chest bare and thick with mounded muscle.
“Do ye need help, lass?” he asked, stepping forward.
“Nay.” She lifted a hand to ward him off. Her fingers pressed against the smooth firmness of his chest, just above his left nipple. The flash of physical longing nearly knocked her off her feet, though he didn’t move so much as a hair.
“Flanna …” His voice was suddenly husky, the humor gone, the tone strained.
She backed away a quick step. “I’ll… I’ll wear the shirt.”
He exhaled shakily, and when he turned his back, his fists were clenched.
It seemed to take forever for Flame’s shaking fingers to remove her nightshirt and don the shirt. It was large. The sleeves fell past her fingers, the hem to her knees, and every inch of it was warm from its time against his skin.
“Are ye ready, lass?”
“I… um … need the plaid.”
He turned with the tartan in his hand and caught his breath. “Gawd, ye are bonny.”
She swallowed. “I am supposed to be a man.”
“Oh. Aye. Well then ye are…” He walked toward her, then stopped and scowled. “Gawd, ye are bonny.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, for he made her feel hopelessly giddy.
“Lass, I…” he began, but he stopped, loosened his fists, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Ye need a belt.”
“A—”
“There,” he said and hurrying to the bed, untied a braided cord that held back a velvet drape. In a moment he was kneeling before her.
“What are ye doing?” Her voice sounded breathy.
“Dressing ye, though ‘tis the reverse of me desires,” he said, then shushed her objections as he wrapped the plaid about her waist. His fingers felt warm and firm and when he had wound the entire length of the tartan about her, he tied the draping cord about her and folded the top edge of the blanket down to cover the impromptu belt.
“There, I am done,” he said, but his hands did not leave her waist and he remained as he was, kneeling before her. His voice was deep and his eyes, when she dared look into them, were dark with unspoken emotion.
“Shouldn’t I…” Touch you, stroke you, make love to you? “…hide my hair?” she asked.
“Ahh.” Roderic seemed to draw himself from a trance and rose finally. “Yer hair.” He gathered it in his hands. She felt his fingertips graze her neck and closed her eyes to the errant sensations that seared her senses. “’Tis so bonny.” He breathed the words against her throat. She shivered, and in a moment she felt his kiss where his breath had touched her. “Flanna.” He said he
r name like a caress.
She tried not to tremble. “I am… supposed to be a man.”
“Right,” he said, but his voice was shaky. Taking off his purloined bonnet, he tucked her hair into it and placed it on her head. But her tresses were not so easily mastered. They peeked out at odd angles. He tucked them in, smoothing his palms up her scalp. “Perfect.” He stood back finally. “Now anyone would think…” He paused, tilting his head and grimacing. “Now any idiot would know ye’re a woman.”
She smiled. God, she could not love him.
“Stand like this.” Bracing his legs wide, he placed his fists on his hips and scowled.
She tried to imitate him.
“Nay. Ye must…” He stepped forward to plant her fists more firmly on her hips. “Ye must not… look beautiful.” He scowled, then bent to place one hand on each of her bare knees. “Here now, spread yer legs. There, that’s …” He stood up, still staring at her legs.
“Is that better?” she asked, her face hot.
“Nay.” He shook his head. A fine sheen of sweat had appeared on his forehead. “Nay, na better, lass, just… inspiring.”
They got past the guard at the gate with no trouble, but they didn’t ride far. Roderic called a halt not a full league from Glen Creag, and Flame was grateful, for the jostling caused more pain than she had expected.
He helped her dismount, watching her face as he did so. “Are ye well, lass?”
“Aye.” She could not quite meet his eyes, for the feel of his hands on her waist made her head spin and her throat close up. So she lifted her gaze to the countryside. “‘Tis a bonny spot.”
They stood at the crest of a knoll that rolled away into green crevices. Yellow irises nodded at the sun and prickly gorse grew in abundance.
“Aye, ‘tis bonny,” Roderic agreed. But he didn’t turn away and when he lifted her hand to his lips, desire sparked at each light point of contact.
“Roderic.” She said his name but didn’t pull away. Indeed, she was not certain she could, for it seemed her bones had melted. Yet she tried to marshall her senses.
“Aye, lass?”
“What will ye ask for a toucher?”
“Ahh.” He watched her eyes for a moment, before turning. Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, they walked downhill and sat on a slanted carpet of green lichen that seemed to overlook the entirety of Scotland. “So ye’ve decided I want ye for yer dowry, lass?”
Her stomach cramped. Was it the way he looked at her, or worry about how he would answer her question that made her nervous? Indeed, she had spent her nights thinking, wondering. Why did he wish to marry her?
There must be a reason other than those he had confessed. “My kinsmen will arrive in a few days to discuss our union. I would know what to expect.”
He turned away finally, looking over the vast glen below them. “There are two things I want,” he admitted, “and I willna settle for less.”
She felt the tension like a tangible thing. Now she would hear his motives. She would learn who this man truly was. “The first?” she asked.
“The wedding must take place at Glen Creag, for I willna compromise yer safety.”
“I cannot hide here forever,” she said, and indeed, she felt as if she were hiding, from reality, from life, from responsibility. And yet, to return to Dun Ard with Roderic at her side, somehow that, too, felt like an escape.
“Na forever, lass, but there will be a great crush of people for the festivities, and I will feel safer with ye here.”
She nodded, waiting breathlessly. “And the second?”
“The second,” he said, sitting very still beside her, “is yer love. But I can be patient if I must be.”
Chapter 31
Sitting about a table in the great hall, the MacGowans and the Forbeses had discussed the coming union. Troy was there, flanked by elders from the villages and a few of Flame’s warriors. Nevin had not come, for he had been called to Inverness regarding his father’s property.
Leith had made a solemn oath to all present that his clan had had nothing to do with Simon’s death and the raids on MacGowan stock. He also promised to find out who had, and that had eased the way for further negotiations.
True to Roderic’s word, the Forbeses had asked for no dowry from the MacGowans. In fact, Colin had said that if they would but take his twin, the Forbeses would be willing to pay. There had been laughter then, echoing about the great hall like music. There had been laughter every day since, for Roderic was always near at hand, telling her tales, holding her hand, watching over her, or simply watching with those eyes that promised heaven. And when no one was looking he would kiss her until the world melted away and all that remained was desire.
She would have made love to him if he had but asked. Flame knew it and wondered if she should be ashamed. But he had not asked. Instead, he said that he would wait until she was his completely, with no one to dispute his claim.
Laughter welled up from the hall below. Flame could hear it as she stood in the sanctuary of the solar whereshe had slept for the past few weeks. Wedding guests were arriving, she thought. Panic gripped her.
Marriage! She had vowed against it, but that had been selfish. She was doing this for her people, binding them with the great clan Forbes. Flame watched her reflection in a gilded mirror beside her bed. Who was she fooling? She was doing this for herself, because she wanted him, because she could no longer resist Roderic’s caring, could not disbelieve his vows of love.
Sweet Jesu! He loved her! Didn’t he? But why? Her palms were sweaty. She wanted to dry them on her gown, but it was too lovely.
She slowed her breathing and concentrated on her attire. The gown was white brocade, slashed in front to reveal a silver underskirt The neckline was cut low and softly rounded. The diamonds at her throat were a wedding gift from Roderic. The pearls in her upswept hair were from Leith and Fiona.
“My lady,” Marjory breathed. She had arrived some days before to help with the preparations, but she had been jittery the whole time and now her voice shook.
“Is something amiss, Marjory?” Flame asked, turning away from the mirror.
“Nay, lady, nay. I just…” She stopped and glanced toward the door. “‘Tis just that ye are so bonny and Roderic, he loves ye so.” Tears sprang suddenly to her eyes.
“What is it?” Flame asked, gripping the other’s hands.
“‘Tis naught. Truly, I but worry …”
“Worry?”
Someone knocked at the door. Marjory jumped, and Clarinda’s voice called out. “My lady, if it be na too much trouble, they are asking for yer maid’s help in the hall for just a moment.”
“Marjory, are ye all right?” Flame asked, noticing the girl’s wide eyes.
“Aye. I am fine, my lady. ‘Tis nothing. I will help in the hall?”
Flame nodded.
“I will return shortly,” Marjory promised and closed the door, but in a moment it opened again.
“Did ye forget something?” Flame asked, not looking about
“Aye.” Roderic’s voice quivered in her ear. “I forgot this,” he said, and turning her, kissed her on the mouth. His lips were firm and warm and magic, searing everything from her mind but his presence, his kiss, the feel of his fingers, strong and sure as they cradled her against him. She opened her mouth to his and felt his tongue glide across her lips. A shiver escaped her. She gripped his arms for support and he held her as he kissed her into oblivion.
“My lady, they didna need me help in the …” Marjory stopped in the doorway and gaped.
Roderic drew the kiss to an end. “Ye must quit trying ta seduce me, lass.”
Something in Flame’s mind told her she should be offended. “I will try,” was all she could manage.
He smiled, but his eyes spoke of flaming passions. Her knees went limp, “‘Tis only till tanight,” he murmured and forced himself from the room like a wooden puppet.
They were married in the hall, for the
bumpy clouds threatened rain. Hundreds of guests spilled out the doors and into the bailey. MacGowans mingled with Forbeses and Lamonts and MacAulays. Laughter was everywhere. Drinking abounded. The feast rivaled that of a royal wedding, and yet Flame could think of nothing but the night to come, for Roderic was forever at her side, touching her hand, whispering in her ear, watching her every movement, as if he feared she would be whisked away if he so much as blinked.
Finally night arrived. Sconces were lit. Their heat brought out the fragrances of the dried heather that hung upon the walls. The music of pipers and fiddlers filled the air. But it all seemed distant and unreal. Flame’s hands trembled slightly as she lifted her gaze to her bridegroom’s.
“It has been a long day,” she said softly. The great double doors of the hall had been left open. Lightning cracked outside, and she jumped, feeling foolish.
Roderic tightened his grip on her hand. “And ‘twill be too short a night,” he said. “Perhaps we should leave the merrymakers and find our own amusement.”
Heat seared her senses as his lips grazed hers. “I…” Words failed her. “I will go prepare for…”
“Nay,” Roderic murmured, “let me prepare ye.”
Her face felt hot There was an ache that spread from her breasts to her loins. “I but meant Marjory could take down my hair and—”
“Let me take down your hair,” he murmured. His breath was warm against her ear.
They were in the midst of a roiling sea of revelers, and yet it seemed there was not another soul left in the universe.
“She could remove my gown,” Flame breathed.
Roderic touched the bare skin of her shoulder and slipped his hand to her back. “I can remove it.”
His nearness filled her senses, and yet she was scared and not too proud to admit it, at least to herself. “But…” Her words stopped as he lowered his lips to her neck.
“Shh, lass,” he whispered. “I dunna fancy meself as a lady’s maid, but there are certain things I am quite adept at. Let me show ye.”
All she could do was nod. The journey up the stairs didn’t seem real, but finally the door of her bedchamber closed behind them. Thunder rumbled outside. Flame gripped her hands together and paced across the room. It was dark, with not a single candle lit. “I… I should have asked Marjory to keep a light burning.”
Highland Flame (Highland Brides) Page 34