Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (11 page)

"Mayhap."

Troy laughed again. "Well, then, wee one, I'll let
her
prove ye wrong."

Chapter 7

Roderic followed Troy out of the stable and across the drawbridge. In a matter of minutes, they stood upon a verdant, level sward of land just beyond the roiling Gael Burn. The sun was flirting with the clouds, and the air was potent with the essence of spring. Freedom lay just within the curtain of trees not a hundred rods away.

But Roderic failed to be distracted by any of these things, for Flanna MacGowan was within sight, stealing his breath and igniting his soul with her beauty.

Her steel gray stallion was cantering in place, a difficult maneuver even for the most powerful beast. It was a marvel to see, like sweet music come alive. Then the canter was halted, and with the suddenness of a cat, the stallion leaped into the air, tucking his forelegs beneath his soaring body. And yet Flame remained steady, and on her face was an expression of sheer joy.

Roderic remained transfixed.

"Na man wins the adoration of such a woman." Troy's words were soft. "'Tis a freely given thing. A gift."

Roderic turned toward the warrior, disturbed by the man's breathy tone. "And do ye own that gift, Wolfhound?"

Troy didn't answer. Indeed, it seemed as if he were far away and unable to hear Roderic's question, but in a moment he shook himself.

"She comes," he said in a louder tone. "This be yer chance to enchant her, Forbes."

Roderic turned to watch her approach. She rode like a windswept fire on a cloud of gray. Her hair was unbound and floated behind in wild disarray. The simple lad's shirt embraced her bosom. A taut bowstring lay snugly between her breasts to meet the oaken bow that she carried at her back. A quiver of arrows hung beside the high pommel of her saddle but did nothing to impede her steed's fluid movements.

"What is he doing here?" Flame pulled Lochan to a halt and shifted slightly in the saddle as she looked past him to Troy.

"The wee lad wishes ta win yer adoration."

"What?" She stiffened.

Roderic grinned. Damn Troy and all the MacGowan warriors. "I fear yer Wolfhound's imagination runs riot. I but wished ta see ye work the steed." He watched her eyes. They were cool as glass and unnerving, for if the truth were known, he did want her adoration. "'Tis difficult ta believe ye trained him yerself."

"Because I am a woman?"

Without looking, Roderic could feel Troy's smile. He damned that man again, then reprimanded himself for his tactless words. He was supposed to be charming, he reminded himself. Roderic the Rogue. "Nay lass, because ye are bonny beyond words. I canna understand how ye have escaped wedlock for so long."

"Flattery is a weak man's cheap weapon, Forbes."

"And yers is yer tongue."

They stared at each other in silence. Roderic grasped the plaid where it crossed his shoulder. He was being very charming, he thought sarcastically. "I didna come to exchange insults with ye, lass," he said softly. "But rather, ta share yer knowledge of the horse."

The joyous, carefree expression was gone from her face, and Roderic found that he wished more than anything to call it back. "And pray, why would I share anything with the likes of ye, Forbes?"

Because he was charming and manly and handsome, he reminded himself. "Because ..." Roderic, tried not to stare at her leg. But no matter where he looked, her sensuality shook his repose. "Because the Forbeses are oft in need of good horses of war. And because we have ties to powerful families who share our need." She stared at him intently. He warmed to the subject, seeing her interest. "With Leith's marriage to Fiona, some ties have been formed in England. And the French are na unknown to us."

Her hands tightened on the reins. Lochan irritably flipped his tail at the increased tension. "The French are not unknown to me, either." There was anger in her eyes. Was it her hatred for him that caused it, or was this emotion for a different reason? "In truth, many of our steeds were brought from that country. So ye see, if we should wish to sell our mounts, we, too, have contacts."

"But how would ye get them there, lass? Have ye the manpower to see their safe delivery to a port? A knight is na a knight without a fine steed. They cost dear and many would kill for them, as ye well ken."

She laughed, but the sound was harsh. "Ye think I do not realize this? Ye think I turn my steeds out to run wild on the heath. Nay! I have them well guarded. But 'tis said the Forbeses like a challenge. 'Twas dusk when ye attacked my men and stole my beasts."

"It was na the Forbeses." He had not meant to argue, for he knew he could not convince her otherwise. Not yet. But the words slipped from him, low and earnest. "It was na me clan's doings."

Their gazes clashed.

"Ye lie," she said finally and urged the stallion away.

Without a second thought, Roderic reached out to grasp her thigh. She halted the gray and stared at his hand. "Were ye planning to keep those fingers, Forbes?"

"Do ye care so little for yer people, then?" he asked, ignoring her threat. "They be all but starving, lass. Yet, I begin to think yer horses could save them, if ye could but combine yer Lochan's agility and training with the great destrier's size and might. Tell me of yer horses, Flanna. Show me yer steeds. Convince me of the superiority of yer breeding stock, and I will do what I can to assure the return of yer animals."

"And why would I trust the word of a Forbes?"

Her tone was breathless, as if she barely dared to hope. He was trapped in her eyes, but suddenly a mischievous gust of wind tossed a long lock of her hair over her shoulder and onto his hand. It was as bright as the sunrise and as soft as a smile. For an instant, Roderic's breath halted in his throat, for they seemed suddenly to be connected somehow, bound together by those few fiery strands of hair.

Flame, too, held her breath. Their gazes met with a jolt. Roderic's fingers burned between the heat of her thigh and the softness of her hair. But in a moment, she exhaled sharply and pushed his hand away before straightening. Still, she did not manage to draw herself from his eyes. Neither did she move.

"I swear it on me father's grave," Roderic said solemnly. "Convince me of the superiority of yer steeds, and I will do me best to see that they are returned to ye."

"Then ye no longer deny raiding our herds?"

"To the contrary," Roderic said. "I am but promising ta see justice done."

"The word of a Forbes is of little use to me," she said, quickly turning her face away. "For 'twas they who promised to be our allies. And 'twas they that took our stock and killed our kin."

"I swear it on me father's grave," he repeated.

She turned her gaze slowly back to his. "So be it." Her tone was utterly sober and her expression the same. "I will accept yer word as a sacred vow.

"Troy." She turned to the huge warrior behind him. "Ye are a witness. I will show Forbes our steeds. Ye must make certain he does not escape while I do so."

"Aye, lass," rumbled Troy. Placing a hand on Roderic's arm, he turned him around. "Do ye promise na ta run off, Forbes?"

Roderic raised his brows. There had been no room for trust between them thus far. Why did the Wolfhound ask for promises now? "I willna escape this day."

Troy nodded once and looked to Flame. "Do I have yer leave to return to the keep, lass?"

"Ye call that making certain he does not escape?"

The warrior shrugged. "Ye have already accepted his sacred vow, lass. And perhaps it is time."

She scowled down at him. "For what?"

"For ye ta trust another. The falcon and the snake both kill, but the falcon does na pretend to be a stick." For one long moment, he watched her, and then he turned away, showing them the immense width of his back as he headed for the drawbridge.

"What the devil did that mean?" Roderic mused.

"It means he's trying to make me crazed."

"Be I the snake or be I the falcon?"

"Ye be the snake," Flame said, shaking herself from her reverie.

Roderic grinned and she caught his gaze. His hair glistened in burnished waves of gold just as it did in the dreams that had begun to haunt her. A small braid lay on each side of his powerful jaw and his eyes were as blue as the heavens.

"Why do ye hate me, lass?" he asked.

It took her a moment to find her voice, for his tone felt as warm and soft as sunlight on bare skin. "Because ye are a devil," she murmured. She could almost believe it was true, for surely no one but Satan himself could be so entrancing, so alluring, and tempting.

He grinned a little, and in that moment she wondered if she might not be entirely wrong. If he might not be an angel that had fallen. But no, if the devil meant to tempt her, he would send a man just like this one. One with a voice like warned ale. A man with the wit of a scholar and the brawn of a field laborer. But neither men's intellect nor brawn had aided her in the past, for men always found her wanting and turned away.

"Mayhap I be a handsome devil, Flanna. But I assure ye, I am na auld horny himself."

How was it that even his tremendous vanity appealed to her? Was it because he seemed to laugh at himself at the same time he issued self-praise? Or was it simply that she agreed with his assessment? Dear Lord, either way she was a fool. But surely he could not see into her mind. He could not know how he drew her. "Then I cannot trust ye because ye are a Forbes," she said, using the words to remind herself to keep her distance.

"Because I am a Forbes or because I am a man?" he asked.

She did not gasp, though it was a close thing. Had someone told him about Carvell de Laplant, her fiance? But no. No one knew. No one except Troy. And he would never tell. He had sworn he wouldn't. But... Flame stared at the huge warrior's retreating back. He, too, was a man and already he seemed to foolishly trust their enemy. 'Twould be like a man to betray her friendship for the comradery of another of his own sex.

She straightened slowly. "I am an excellent archer, Forbes," she said, changing the subject and finding a threat appropriate for the moment. "Should ye try to escape, ye would not make it to the trees before my barb pierced your back."

"Would ye truly take me life, lass?"

"In an instant."

He raised his brows and kept his gaze on hers. "Have ye na woman's softness?"

"None." It was true, for she had given up her femininity when she had taken the name of Flame and become the MacGowans' leader. Only now did the sacrifice rankle. But she refused to acknowledge the cause.

"Did I na have eyes, I could almost believe ye, lass."

"Don't call me that!"

It was clear that her harsh tone startled him. "What? Lass?"

"Ye may call me Flame or ye may call me MacGowan. Naught else."

"Yer Wolfhound calls ye lass. Why—"

"Ye are hardly like a father to me." Damnation! Why had she said that?

"So the great hound be as a father ta ye?" asked Roderic.

She stared at him, wishing she had never spoken, that his eyes were not so blue, that she had been born a man. "Get back to the stable. I said I would show ye the horses, and I will stand by my word."

"So 'tis Troy that knows ye like none other?" mused Roderic.

"Go!" she ordered. Her tone was sufficiently harsh, but her body felt taut with anxiety. She knew better than to let a man near her heart.

For a moment longer Roderic watched her. Then he shrugged and glanced toward the castle. "Surely ye dunna expect me ta walk all that far way." He smiled.

It was little more man a hundred rods to the drawbridge. Flame scowled, flicking her gaze down his lengthy, well-muscled form. "Ye have little chance of making me believe ye are too frail to make it that far."

His smiled deepened. "Shall I be flattered?"

"Don't bother."

His blue eyes twinkled in the bright morning. "I would be willing to ride pillion."

"Do ye go?" she asked. "Or do I set my arrow to my bow?"

His smile didn't falter a whit, she noticed, disgruntled. It was little wonder her men had already begun to trust the lout. After all, it was difficult to distrust anyone who smiled as much as Forbes did. Surely it showed he lacked enough intelligence to mastermind an escape. Still... She watched his face closely. He did not look slow-witted. Indeed, the opposite was true. He looked as sound as any man she had ever seen. In fact, his body looked as hard and lean as ...

Flame mentally shook her head. She was no silly maid to be seduced by his fine looks. She had learned better long ago. And now she was the leader of the clan MacGowan. The Flame, as they called her, with no time for girlish sentiment or dangerous dalliances. She reached for her bow.

Roderic laughed, lifting a hand and watching her face. "Though I be flattered by yer offer ta show me yer brood stock, I would sooner see more of this steed's maneuvers first. Or canna he do more than hop about like a bunny?"

Flame watched Forbes' expression for just a moment and then touched a heel to Lochan's side. The stallion spun away at the slightest pressure. And then, like a pouncing cat, he leaped into the air, kicking out behind him at the same time. She knew his heels missed Roderic's face by mere inches, and yet she didn't take time to appreciate her enemy's expression. In a moment Lochan was pivoting on his hind legs so swiftly that the world around her was a blur. Coming out of the spin, he leaped forward again and rose on his hind legs to pummel the air with his forefeet. There was a momentary pause ... and then, with an ear-splitting trumpet, he crumpled to the ground, carrying Flame with him.

Chapter 8

“Flanna!” Roderic gasped and rushed forward to free her from the animal's weight. He reached for her, but suddenly she was on her feet. One hand gripped his shirt while her other was wrapped hard and fast about the dirk that poked firmly between his ribs.

"I could kill ye, Forbes," she murmured. "Before ye'd ever know 'twas a ruse."

Roderic stared into her eyes. They were alight with passion and exhilaration. He drew a steadying breath, trying to remember that it was not passion for
him.
"Ye cued the steed to fall?" he asked.