Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (18 page)

"And when ye look at me like that, lass, I would gladly give me life ta call ye mine."

Flame jerked herself back to reality. Words of adoration were cheaply bought, she reminded herself. Jumping from Lochan's back, she strode to the water’s edge and squatted there, letting her fingers dip into the waves. "You speak foolishness, Forbes," she said.

"Why do ye deny yer womanhood?" he asked from behind her.

"Because I must rule," she said. "Because I've no time for-"

"Nay," he said softly. "Because.ye dunna believe in yerself. Because ye've been hurt. Tell me of him."

She hadn't heard his approach. Startled, she let the water slip between her fingers and jumped to her feet.

"Lass." He reached for her arm, but she stepped quickly back, bumping into Lochan's shoulder as she did so. "Ye tremble."

"I do not."

He remained as he was, watching her with narrowed eyes. "Aye. Ye do. But why?"

"Why are ye here?" The words rushed out of their own accord.

The shadow of a grin tilted the right corner of his mouth, teasing a dimple into his cheek. "'Tis a wee thing called abduction, lass. Surely ye dunna forget."

"I mean, why are ye
here?
” Her tone was choked. Panic threatened to drown her senses.

"Here?" He pointed to the earth at their feet and took a step nearer. "Because ye are, lass."

His magnetism was a tangible thing, drawing her in, pulling her under, promising things she did not deserve and would never have. "'Twould be a fine time to escape," she whispered.

"Ye'11 na escape me, lass."

"I meant
ye,"
she breathed.

"And why would I wish ta escape when ye are near? Even yer men know that I have na wish ta do so, for see, we are alone."

Her heart was pounding. 'Twas a foolish thing to be afraid of words, she knew. And yet, his were frightening. Frightening and so exhilarating that it made her chest ache. "Why?" It was the only word she was able to force from her lips.

"Because ye draw me. Against my will, against my better judgment, ye draw me."

Though she searched for words, all she could do was stare at him.

"Come, lass," he breathed. "'Tis a bonny day and yet ye search for rain in the cloudless sky. Why look for trouble when it is na there? Come, let us sit for a spell and talk of life."

He turned his broad back and strode to a rotting log, where he sat with his shoulders to its loose-barked expanse and gestured for her to join him. The hound he called Bonny trotted over to sit adoringly beside him. He placed a gentle hand upon her head but kept his gaze on Flame's. "Have I ever done ye harm?"

She didn't answer, but he shook his head as if she had.

"And never shall I, lass, for 'tis sure ye have been harmed enough."

How did he know how she felt inside? "And what, pray, do ye mean by that?"

He shrugged. "Ye hide behind strange clothing and haughty expressions. Why, but to keep men at bay?"

"An interesting theory," she said.

"Aye. Isn't it? Why na sit here beside me and pierce it full of holes?"

She nodded once. There was no point in denying that he drew at some indefinable thing deep within her. There was also no point in admitting it. Tossing the reins over Lochan's neck, she allowed him to graze unencumbered, then strode across the short distance to the log. Slipping her bow from her shoulder, she placed it in the grass before boldly taking a seat beside Roderic.

Their sheltered spot beside the burn was quiet but for the chatter of rushing water. Despite Flame's attempt to act nonchalant, she felt stiff with tension, but Roderic took a deep breath and propped his elbows upon the log.

"I wait," he said, finally turning to look at her.

"I have a lover." Her words came suddenly and sounded utterly ridiculous, like a ghost story in the bright light of day. To her amazement, he didn't grin. Instead, he remained motionless, holding her with his eyes.

"So ye have told me." He turned his attention back to the burn. "And I ask meself, who might the lucky man be?"

"'Tis none of your affair."

Breaking off a piece of rotting bark, Roderic tossed it easily into the garrulous waters. "But still I wonder." His eyes found hers again. The depth of them was breathtaking. "Does he tell ye yer hair glistens like rubies in the firelight? That he longs for yer slightest touch? Does he say that when ye ride he envies Lochan so that he can hardly speak?" His voice was husky as he leaned slighdy closer.

"I have a lover!" she gasped.

"Aye, lass," he breathed. "But do ye have a friend?"

"A friend?" Her voice wavered.

He lifted his hand. His fingertips touched her cheek, stroking it gently. Against her will, her eyes fell closed. The quiver from his voice seeped through her body. "A friend be the best kind of lover, me thinks," he said softly. "Someone ta confide in. Ta share words and more at the day's end."

She swallowed. An image appeared in her mind. An image of Roderic the Rogue, stretched lean and masculine upon her bed. In her mind, his chest was bare and his touch was feather soft against her arm, but their words were of everyday things, of hopes and labors and needs.

No. She did not have a friend like that.

"Tell me what has made ye the woman ye are," he murmured.

"Bad blood." She said the words quickly and opened her eyes. "My father's blood, though even on his deathbed he doubted that I was his."

"Nay." Surprise showed clearly on Roderic's face. "Surely yer own sire did not deny ye. Surely ye were his pride."

"His pride?" She watched him for a moment, before turning to the burn. "No. He was a.. .jealous man."

His fingers stroked down her throat and stopped there. "If I had a wife with yer beauty and fire, I, too, would cherish her."

"Cherish her!" Emotion exploded in that single word. "He did not cherish her. He accused her of adultery, when he gladly admitted his own dalliances! He struck her!" She was breathing hard and clasped her hands together now to steady them. "He locked her only daughter in a trunk and sent her to France, because he could not bear to look upon her face. Sent her to live with nuns whose love for God far exceeded any love they might spare for a small Scottish girl who could not speak their language."

"Sweet Jesu, Flanna! ‘Tis truly sorry I am."

She had to drop her gaze from his face, for there was caring there. The kind of caring she had longed for until she thought she would die from the need. But she needed it no more, she reminded herself. "I don't mourn his actions," she said. "I only mourn the years I spent hoping to win back his good favor."

"Ye have a wondrous ability ta love, Flanna."

"Love!" She nearly spat the word. "I did not love him. I hated him! I hated him with every drop of my blood for sending me away."

"And ye would have forgiven him all if he had but opened his heart and brought ye home."

Though she dared not admit it, she knew he spoke the truth, for she had imagined that very thing a thousand times. "But he did not," she whispered.

"Because he was a fool, Flanna, and not worthy ta call ye his child."

"Mayhap he saw into my heart," she whispered. "Mayhap he knew of my evil thoughts."

"And what evil thoughts did ye harbor, lass?"

"I was a jealous, spiteful child. I did not like sharing Father's attention with Gregor, who was four years older and could run faster and ride better. I remember wishing he was gone, that he would simply disappear and not come back."

"And ye think that for that evil thought ye deserved ta be sent away, lass?" Roderic's voice was very soft, and his hand, when it gripped hers, was strong and steady.

"Men—people," she corrected, focusing on their hands and refusing to look into his eyes, "seem to see the true of me and back away."

"There is naught but good in ye, lass."

"Nay, there—" she began, but he shushed her with a finger to her lips. "I once told Leith I hoped the wolves would come and devour him. Then I'd find hisremains and take his footwear. Gawd I loved those boots. In fact, I stole them from him three days later."

She raised her gaze breathlessly to his. "Ye must have paid dearly."

"Dearly?” He grinned a little, remembering. “He threw me in the burn, boots and all. But he didna lock me in a trunk and send me away, Flanna. No one in his right mind would do such a thing. 'Twas na ye, lass, that was at fault. 'Twas yer father. Ye were his daughter, the Flame. He should have cherished ye."

It was difficult to swallow. "Hardly was I a flame then. I was naught but a scrawny girl with unruly hair and fidgety fingers."

Roderic gently stroked those fingers now. "Gawd must have seen the foolishness of locking such beauty away in a convent and sent ye back to yer homeland."

She watched his hand caress hers and tried to deny the shudder that shook her. "My mother felt I was not suited for the cloistered life. She must have loved me well enough because she swallowed her fear and humiliation and begged my father to find me a husband."

Roderic gently lifted her hand in his and stroked her palm with the index finger of his opposite hand. How could such a simple touch stir so many feelings?

"And?" he asked softly.

"'Twas said Carvell and I would make a good match. And I was fool enough to think him besotted with me."

"Ye found him with another," Roderic guessed, his voice quiet. "And yer pride wouldna let ye be betrayed as yer mother had been."

"Nay," she said, unable to stop the word. "Not as my mother had. 'Twas not a woman I found Carvell with, 'twas his cousin Jacque."

Flame saw the shock on his face and waited for the rejection. Now he would see what she truly was—a woman so unnatural that she could not even tempt her betrothed away from another man. Not a woman at all, perhaps, but a mistake of nature.

"Flanna," he murmured, gripping her hand firmly in his own. "Some men are fools, but some are ... odd."

He said the word as though he could not possibly fathom the idea. "I am sorry you’ve been hurt by both."

For a moment, she looked into his eyes and found she couldn't speak, but she had to keep her bearing, remember that he was a man, and not to be trusted. "I was sorry, too, when I told my father I would not marry him."

“Surely he didna want ye ta, na after he knew of the man's true desires."

She could remember the moment as if it were yesterday. "It was late in the evening," she said softly. "I walked into the garden to get a bit of air, and there was Carvell, kissing ..." She shook her head and mentally turned away from the image that had branded itself in her mind. "Shame is a strange thing. It settles into your very bones and will not let go."

Her words slipped into silence. Beside Roderic, Bonny rose to her feet and pitched her ears forward.

"'Twas na yer shame but yer betrothed's," he murmured. "And yer sire's. Surely ye know that."

She lifted her gaze to his face. "Sometimes one does not feel in one's heart what one knows in one's head."

"And sometimes one's heart insists on doing what one's head deems foolish," he murmured, and leaning forward, he kissed her.

There was no thought of resisting him, for he was right. Sometimes, no matter how hard she tried, she could not deny her heart.

His lips were warm and firm, undemanding, yet persuasive. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart hammered in her chest. She had fallen under his spell, was bound by the tenderness of his touch. Bonny growled, but the world had retreated. There was only Roderic with the gentle hands and quiet understanding. Only Roderic with his ready laugh and quick wit. But in an instant he pulled away. He turned his leonine head, making the tendons stand out in hard relief against his broad throat. She sat immobilized, mesmerized by his stark masculinity and failing to notice the sound that issued from the woods behind her. But suddenly, he reached for her and she was tossed like a bit of dry chaff to the far side of the log.

Chapter 12

“What are ye-" Flame gasped. She struggled to rise, but Roderic's hand was atop her head, pushing her back.

"Stay down!" he commanded, but his words were mixed with an arrow's whirring approach.

She heard the sickening sound of it striking flesh. For a moment he faltered, but then he vaulted over the log to crouch beside her.

"Dear God," she breathed, "ye're hit."

"Stay down. Where is he?" He continued to peer over the barrier into the woods.

"Roderic," she breathed, feeling faint. "Ye're—"

He crouched lower and turned to face her. "'Tis the first time ye've used me Christian name, lass," he murmured, offering her a wry smile. "'Tis a bonny thing to hear from yer lips."

"There's ... there's an arrow protruding from your arm," she breathed.

"'Tis just a wee wound," he said and reaching across his chest, snapped the arrow in half. "There now. Does it look less gruesome?''

"Dear God!" she moaned.

"Who was it?"

"What?"

"Did ye see anyone in the woods?"

"Nay."

He scowled. Except for her dirk, they were weaponless. Although her bow rested close at hand, the arrows were behind Lochan's saddle. "Is there one or more?"

"More," she said.

He looked at her in surprise. "How do ye know?"

"I heard noises off to the right. The arrow came from the left."

A smile flirted with his lips again. "'Tis quick ye are, lass."

"I'm not completely bereft of sense," she said, and garnering all her courage, peeked over the top of the log.

"Gawd's wrath!" he swore, dragging her down to cover her with his own body. "Then prove yer wit and stay put."

"Ye
looked over," she argued.

"I'm a man."

"And I'm a woman."

He gave her a full smile. "Dunna think I havena noticed, lass." Her breast was crushed against his chest as she lay on her side beneath him.

"Get off me."

"Ye must flee."

Courage and pride had flooded back to her with surprising force. "'Tis MacGowan land," she hissed. "I will run from no one."