Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (17 page)

Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Nor will he," Roderic said, his voice softer now. "Leith will na pay for me return, lass."

"Then mayhap we will be forced to kill ye."

"'Twould be the act of a fool, Flanna MacGowan," Roderic said. "And though ye have yer faults, ye are na a fool."

She turned away after a moment. "I'll be on the green," she repeated to Troy, but Roderic stopped her again.

"I swore I would see yer horses returned if ye convinced me of their worth," he said. "I canna be assured of their value until I ride them."

"'Twould be good ta get him from the castle."

Flame scowled and turned at Troy's words. The Wolfhound stood close beside them and shrugged apologetically.

"'Tis the men, lass, they get nothing accomplished while Forbes is spinning yarns. Na ta mention the women." He scowled. "'Twould be good ta have him gone for a wee bit."

Roderic scowled. Since when did the Wolfhound take his side? he wondered, but now was not the time to spit on a helping hand. "I wish only ta see what ye do with yer stallions." Damn! Bad wording, he thought, remembering the horrid things he had accused her of earlier. "That is ta say, I but wish ta watch..." He stumbled, seeing her expression grow frostier by the moment. "I mean, they seem ta love ye so..." He winced outwardly now, seeing no hope of hiding his unusual clumsiness. "Well, Wolfhound, how are ye ta save me from her this time?" he asked in exasperation.

If Roderic wasn't mistaken, there was a light of laughter in the huge warrior's eyes.

"Methinks I will let ye blather on, lad, and see how she decides ta kill ye in the end."

Roderic sighed and found her gaze again. "'Twould be a kindness to make it quick," he murmured tonelessly. If ever he had bumbled a plea, this was the time. 'Twould serve him right if she did kill him. No one who acted as idiotically as he did of late deserved to live. And there wasn't a chance in hell she would ride with him.

"Come along."

Roderic raised his brows, certain he had misheard. "What?"

"Come along," she repeated and turned away.

He followed in her wake but not so close that he could not admire her movements. She walked like no other woman in the world. But hardly did she walk like a man. Nay. There was a sweet smoothness to her movements, an easy, catlike grace that spoke of strength and control.

"Why do ye truly wish to ride?"

She had stopped and turned. Roderic halted and felt a hound's wet nose bump the back of his bare knee. Raising his gaze abruptly to Flame's eyes, he damned himself for not concentrating. She distrusted him already. There was no need to compound the problem by ogling her at every turn.

But he couldn't help it.

“What?'' he asked, feeling more foolish by the moment.

“I said, why do ye truly wish—''

"Ahh," he interrupted, remembering her question. "I wish ta see for meself how yer steeds move.''

"Ye wish to escape," she countered dryly.

Roderic took a deep breath. He was past the age of being smitten like a lovesick calf. Gawd's wrath, he was six and twenty years of age. "Nay," he denied softly. "I wish ta apologize."

The morning was very still. Not a breath of air stirred. They stared at each other.

"For what?" she murmured.

"For the things I have said."

"Ye called him Hawk, and ye made him smile," she said softly and disappeared inside the stable.

Roderic hurried after her. Close at hand, a giant hoof thudded against a wall. Bruid's deep-throated trumpet echoed in the dim building, but all Roderic's attention was on Flanna.

"And so ye would forgive the unforgivable for one brief glimpse of Haydan's smile."

"He is but a child," she whispered, "who has done nothing to deserve his plight." There were tears in her eyes again.

"Flanna," Roderic whispered, stepping forward, but she held up a hand.

"Ye have my thanks, Forbes. Don't ask for more."

"Flanna," he repeated, but she had already turned away.

"Ye will ride the bay in the next stall," she said. Her tone was hard and cool again. "Know ye how to saddle yer own beast? Or do the mighty Forbeses have squires to do such lowly tasks?"

Silence settled over the stable.

"Well?" she asked, finally emerging with Lochan. But Roderic already had Cam saddled and was watching her.

"Why do ye hide yer kindness behind chilly words and hard expressions?” he asked.

She strode quickly past him, refusing to answer. Refusing to be impressed by the speed with which he could ready a steed. "Mount up if ye're coming along."

Roderic caught her arm. "I promise na ta escape this day. In case ye be worrying."

Flame stared at him. He was less than two feet away. His eyes were as blue as a Highland Harebell and his mouth tilted like that of an enchanting boy's—or like a scheming demon's. Nay, she was not worried he would escape. She was worried he might not.

The truth hit her like a blow. Even in her own mind, she hadn't admitted it. But now she saw it as fact. She had been a fool to bring him here. She had been a fool to think the MacGowans might extract vengeance upon the powerful Forbeses. And she was a fool to believe she might attract him as he attracted her.

"Do ye think ye could escape my arrows even if ye tried?" she asked, hoping nothing was revealed in her expression, hoping her tone was sufficiently haughty. But in her mind's eye she saw every dream that had haunted her nights of late, every shameful, lusty image that seared away her facade and revealed her true self. A girl in a woman's body, crying for love.

He stared into her eyes, and though she was certain he could see into her quivering heart, she could not draw away.

"Nay. I dunna think I can escape ye," he murmured.

His mien was absolutely sober. His gaze held her in a steely clasp. She dared not breathe, lest she reveal all. It took every bit of strength she had to force herself to move past him and through the door.

The drawbridge wasn't far away. It lowered with no more than a nod to the guard there. Lochan's footfalls sounded hollow against the massive planks. Cam's thudded after, but in a moment the bay destrier thundered up beside her. Forbes' adopted hound romped ahead, tawny hide gleaming in the sun.

They rode side by side, past the green sward where she usually worked her mounts. For today she needed to breathe, needed to feel sheer speed beneath her.

The rugged country of the Highlands swept past them in varying shades of greens and tans. The earth was awakening to the call of spring, bursting forth in buds and blossoms. Heather dotted the hillsides, ever green and pungent. The air was warm against her face, easing her worry and softening her mood.

Miles sped by beneath their mounts' flying hooves. They spotted MacGowan stock, sheep, goats, cattle. In a quiet lea, sheltered by a grove of slow-budding oaks, they found a herd of horses.

Flame halted Lochan on a hill's crest to stare down at the scene. Powerful mares lowered their heavily maned necks to graze upon the sweet spring grasses. Newborn foals lay flat out upon their sides or pranced about their dams and reared on sturdy hind legs.

Flame remained silent, absorbing the scene into her soul and trying to forget her trouble, but he would not be silenced.

"I have been wondering," Forbes began. "Were ye trying to prove yer steed's stamina just now, or were ye trying ta escape from me?"

Three men guarded the horse herd. She could see their bright tartans from over five hundred rods away. Though the MacGowans had no particular pattern they called their own, the clan was partial to a deep green weave. "'Tis the sea kelp that makes Lochan swift and hardy. That and the barb breeding," she said, stroking the steed's silken neck absently. He shook his wavy mane and tossed his head to trumpet at the mares in the valley. "Cam, yer mount, has only seen four summers. But he is Lochan's lad and has inherited some of his sire's ability. I would match his endurance against the best of the Forbeses' aged stallions."

"I would know, lass, has there ever been a question ye have actually answered?" Roderic asked.

She turned to look at him. It was a foolish act, for his eyes were just as blue and his features just as perfectly chiseled as when she had first met him on that dark, frantic night at Glen Creag. But now he was even more frightening, for in his eyes she not only saw strength and daring, but kindness and concern. She could not let those qualities draw her, for she knew the pain that would follow. Even her father's eyes had once shown concern. "Why would I wish to escape from
you?”
she asked, careful to keep her tone stiffly controlled. "I think ye forget which of us is the prisoner."

"Do I?" Roderic watched her closely. Too closely. Though she tried, she couldn't hold his gaze. With a nudge of her heel she turned Lochan away, but in a moment he was beside her again.

"Tell me of young Haydan, Flanna. What is he to ye?"

"Haydan?" she asked and nervously turned toward him, only to find that he still stole her breath. She faced forward again, trying to steel her resolve. She was the Flame and had vowed to remain so as long as her clan needed her. There was no room in her life for softness. "Troy has elderly relatives in France. Some years ago they took in a sickly bairn whose mother had died of the pox. When I was in Bastia, he brought the lad to meet me."

"So ye have spent some time in France," he said. "And a good deal of time, judging by yer accent. Why?"

She had the good sense to keep her gaze straight ahead now. But she knew he was watching her intently. He would be sitting very straight upon Cam's back, and his unusual height would exceed hers by several inches. "’Tis good to see foreign lands."

"Was it for yer own protection? Yer father, was he worried for yer safety?"

Nay, she thought, her father was the greatest threat to her safety. But she would not let the memories disturb her. She wouldn't think of the stifling darkness of the trunk, the frantic pitching of the ship that carried her from her homeland.

"I could not blame him for coddling ye," he said. "If I had a daughter I might do the same."

She drew a deep breath and told herself to simply agree with his guesses. He didn't need to know the truth. But hard memories beg to be shared with someone who might care. And though she tried to deny it, Roderic Forbes seemed to be that sort. She couldn't dismiss the kind words he had spoken to Haydan. Neither could she forget the tears of hope in the boy's eyes. Yet, she'd be a fool to trust this man, for he was charming just as her father had once been, just as her fiance had seemed to be, and she was too weak.

Flame held her silence with an effort. Up ahead, a winding ribbon of trees sheltered a craggy valley. Through the lacy new leaves she saw the frequent wink of sun on the brook there.

"I only wish to know the circumstances," Roderic said softly. "For I admit, I dunna understand it."

"I am sure there is much ye do not understand, Forbes."

"Although 'tis true that ye test a man's patience, it still baffles me."

She turned toward him. Their gazes struck like flint against steel, sparking on impact.

"How could he let ye go?" Forbes breathed.

"I assure ye, it was no great hardship." She tried to keep her tone utterly casual, as if the topic was of the least importance to her.

"I canna believe that," Roderic said, his voice very soft.

"Well 'tis true!" Emotion made her hands shake, her voice tremble. Lochan stopped as she faced Roderic breathlessly. "He sent me to a convent and finally negotiated a marriage for me to a handsome and charming man named Carvell. We were betrothed for many years. But in the end ..." She faltered. In the end, he, too, had turned from her in disgust. "No vows were spoken."

"Ye were betrothed?"

Damnation! She had said far too much. She should never have mentioned Carvell. Feeling like a babbling fool, she urged Lochan into the trees that lined the sparkling burn.

"Surely na man would let ye go after ye vowed ta wed him," Roderic said, pressing up beside her.

"I assure ye," she said, finding her tone was blessedly steady, though she fought a terrible battle to keep it so, "he was glad to see me gone."

"Nay." She could feel Roderic's gaze on her face. "Couldna be true."

"And why, pray tell, would ye believe such foolishness?" she murmured.

Again their gazes caught. But there was no clash now, only a soft melding of thoughts.

"Because ye are what ye are, lass."

"And what am I?"

"Ye are all that is good."

She shook her head and turned away, but he caught her hand, pulling Lochan to a halt.

"Ye are kind and good. But ye are more, Flanna. Ye are strength and wit and fire, able to hold control and loyalty in the verra same hand."

"Loyalty?" She shouldn't share such a discussion with him, she thought. She should be nothing but self-assured and haughty, but she found she couldn't hold that demeanor with him, especially now, when doubts assailed her from all sides.

He watched her closely. "Ye inspire loyalty, lass," he breathed.

She was being pulled in by the sweeping undertow of his gaze. Everything in her longed to ask if
he
could be loyal, if he could love her and cherish her. But she wouldn't allow such weakness. "My men—" she began, turning her face away.

"Yer men," he interrupted, drawing her gaze back to him with his husky tone. "Aye, they, too, are loyal. But they wait ta see if ye will stay and stand the test of fire. And they await yer praise."

"What do ye mean?"

"Yer warriors would jump from the battlements if ye but gave them a kind word."

"Since when were the Scots softened by gentleness?"

"Since the beginning of time, lass," he said, holding her gaze. "Ye are a fine leader, but it wouldna hurt ye to offer a bit of encouragement."

"To them or to ye?" she asked breathlessly.

His hand felt strong and warm upon hers. "I need na encouragement, Flanna, and I warn ye now, if ye were mine I wouldna let ye go till the heavens ceased ta be."

The air left her lungs in a painful rush, and though she tried with all her might, she found she lacked the strength to pull her gaze from his.