Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (21 page)

Troy turned his great, shaggy head. The feather in his tam danced in the morning breeze. "Ye made a bloody big target against the wall, Forbes. Tis lucky ye are ta still be alive."

Roderic narrowed his eyes. Now was a time for caution if ever there was one. "Is there meaning ta yer words?"

Troy lifted his weight from the oak with a snap. "Though ye are acting the fool, Forbes, I am hoping ye are na."

"I, too, am hoping that, Wolfhound."

"Then use yer head," he said, "or lose it."

Roderic stared at the huge warrior, but Troy had turned his attention to the riders and refused to say more. Had the Wolfhound recognized him on the side of the keep? And if so, why didn't he tell the others?

Nothing was certain except that Roderic must guard Flanna with his life.

The day passed slowly, for though Flame usually enjoyed her training sessions, Roderic's presence disconcerted her. Regardless of where she was or what she did, she felt his gaze on her at all times. And when she could no longer ignore his stare and would turn to him, he would smile that heart-stopping smile and shatter her concentration. Why did he insist on being there? Why didn't he attempt to escape? Had it been he who was found creeping down her wall like an unearthly cat? And if so, how had he gotten there? An eerie feeling crept up her spine. Was the letter from him? But no. It didn't matter, for she had no time for such things.

She turned the black stallion toward her men, trying to concentrate. But still the thought of Roderic disturbed her. She could imagine him in her chambers, watching her, touching her hair, leaning closer to...

For pity's sake, she had to get control of herself before she became just like the hound that followed him everywhere and couldn't bear to be out of his sight. She had to gain control, for her clan's sake, and for her own.

Evening was nearly upon them when they made their way back to Dun Ard. It was time for the second and last meal of the day. The riders were weary as were the horses. Flame led the company into the stable. Lochan greeted her with a reproachful nicker for her inattention. Bruid's trumpeted call was not so musical. Men and horses filed past to their respective stalls. Laughter and easy banter drifted to her ears. If there was any place in the world where she belonged, this was it, for the stable usually allowed her peace of mind. But as she turned to lift the saddle from her mount, her gaze fell on Roderic. He stood in the aisle, his back against a wall, his attention pinned on her.

She scowled at him as her contentment fled. He smiled back.

"Might I care for yer steed, lass?" he asked, still grinning.

She gritted her teeth. Her nerves felt raw from his constant attention. "I always care for my—" she began, but suddenly a door burst open and a giant gray beast thundered into the aisle, trumpeting a challenge.

"Bruid!" Flame shrieked, frozen in place. Her mount knocked her to the earth as he pivoted toward his rival. Ears pinned back and teeth bared, he reared, towering over her, hooves thrashing. She raised her arm with no hope of sheltering herself from the blows. But suddenly she was plucked from the floor and snatched away.

"Flanna!" Roderic gasped, holding her in his arms.

Behind her, two stallions screamed and clashed, but she could see nothing but Roderic's face.

"Are ye hurt?" he breathed.

She couldn't speak, couldn't lift her gaze from his eyes. Worry was etched there. Worry for her. His arms trembled.

She opened her mouth to answer the emotions she saw in his eyes. But Bruid screamed again, snapping her from her trance.

"Nay," she yelled. Breaking free of Roderic's grasp, Flame launched herself toward the thrashing stallions.

"Flanna!" Roderic roared and leaped toward her to grasp her by the shirt and toss her out of harm's way.

"Nay!" she cried again, terrified for the horses' safety, but just then Roderic threw himself into the fray.

Grabbing Bruid's head collar, he tried to drag the horse to a halt. But the stallion was enormous and enraged, and he reared again, whipping Roderic into the air like a stubborn autumn leaf.

Men stood immobile and transfixed as they watched in horror. From Flame's spot on the floor, every incident seemed to be played out like a scene upon a stage. She saw the stallions rear in slow motion. Saw Forbes lifted from the ground. It almost seemed as if she saw herself rise. Saw herself propelled forward to grasp Dubh's headstall and drag him around. From nowhere, Troy appeared, lending his weight as he, too, pulled at the black.

Bruid crashed his forefeet to the earth and finally men swarmed forward with hay forks and loose timbers. With shrieks and threats, they drove the great stallion backward. Leaning into the gray's shoulder, Roderic forced the beast around and back into his stall. Gilbert thudded the door closed behind, opening it only far enough to allow Roderic to slip back out.

But for wild trumpeting and the thudding of hooves, all was silent.

"I've said a thousand times we should be rid of the beast," Troy said. "How did he get loose?"

Roderic turned toward the old warrior, his hand still on the door. "The latch has been tampered with."

The two men's gazes met with a clash and held. Flame watched, barely noticing when someone took Dubh from her.

"Nay!" she said, striding forward. "Ye were both on the green. No blame can be cast."

"'Tis na true," Roderic said. "Someone is ta blame."

Troy said nothing.

All stood immobile, watching, listening.

"'Tis enough," Flame said, turning abruptly on shaky legs. "The entertainment is ended. 'Twas an accident and nothing more.

"Magnus, make certain Bruid's stall is mended. Ye others, see to your mounts then go to the hall." She tried a tentative smile, though she wondered if it looked ghoulish and frightening more than soothing. "Go fetch your meals. We cannot have the great MacGowan warriors so famished they grow weak."

The men seemed to shake themselves from their trances as they watched her.

"My lady!" gasped Nevin, rushing into the stable. "I heard a commotion and feared for your life." Bruid crashed his hind feet against his stall, and Nevin jumped and veered sideways. "The beast got loose!" he gasped, shifting his gaze from the shattered latch to Flame's face. "Sweet Mary, ye could have been killed."

"I am fine," she said.

"But, lady," Nevin said, his voice choked with emotion, "ye are as pale as death. Ye must go rest after such a fright."

She managed to laugh. "I assure ye, I am fine."

"Where have ye been, Nevin?" Roderic asked.

Nevin turned slowly to Forbes. "You!" he said, his voice a growl. "'Twas you that caused this."

"He was on the green all day," Magnus said.

"But what of before?" Nevin asked. "Who watched him while ye were saddling your mounts?"

No one spoke.

"Lady," Bullock said, "I should have watched him myself ta make certain he caused na harm. But ye are unhurt?"

"Aye. I am unhurt. 'Tis time for the incident to be forgotten." Though Nevin and Roderic still eyed each other, it was easier for Flame to smile now, for perhaps Forbes had been right. Perhaps these men were loyal to her. They were certainly concerned. And perhaps they would appreciate her praise. "I am unharmed. 'Tis a fine job ye did with Smitty today, Bullock." His chest seemed to swell. Her knees felt steadier. "And Bryce," she called, "no one has handled Dana better."

By the time the warriors made their way to the hall, they were chatting and laughing again. Even Nevin had lost his pallor.

"Come and eat, lady," said Bullock, filling the doorway with his great bulk. “We canna allow our lady to become famished, for who would tame the beasties for us wee men?"

Flame laughed as an unfamiliar warmth spread through her. Comradery was a strange feeling. Was it caused by her simple compliments to the men? Should the credit go to Roderic's suggestion? "I will be along shortly. I only wish to spend a moment or two with Lochan."

He nodded and turned to follow his friends.

Only a few warriors remained with their mounts now. Troy and Roderic stood in the aisle, watching her.

"Go eat," she said softly.

"Nay," they said in unison.

She scowled first at Roderic then at Troy. "What is the matter with ye two?"

The men remained silent.

"'Tis fine then. Starve if ye like." Turning her back to them, she spoke a few words to Lochan and stroked his face. Behind her, her protectors watched. Flame remained as she was, trying to find the serenity the stable usually granted her, but there was no peace to be found with these two men lurking about in her wake. She moved on, stepping into Dubh's stall.

He was beginning to calm down, but a large patch of hair had been torn from his neck. A swelling as large as her fist protruded from his shoulder. She set a hand gently to it. "Dubh," she said reproachfully, "ye should know better than to scrap with the likes of Bruid. But..." She sighed, not looking behind her at the men who hovered at the stall door. "So is the way of men, I suppose." She moved closer, appreciating the stallion's warmth, his solid presence. Her fingers touched the muscle of his cheek before running down the powerful neck and back to his wounded shoulder.

From the doorway, Roderic held his breath. He couldn't pull his attention from her hands. They seemed so small and delicate against the huge animal's body. They seemed so gentle and tender. And there was nothing he wanted more than to feel that tenderness against his own skin.

"Aye, ye look and ye dream," rumbled Troy in his ear. "But do ye have the stones ta act?"

Roderic turned irritably toward the speaker. "What are ye yippin' about now, Wolfhound?"

Troy shook his head in disgust. "Chance is lek a bird." Lifting one huge hand, Troy gripped it into a fist. "Tek it now or it will fly."

"Gawd's wrath! What is that supposed ta—" Roderic began, but Troy raised his voice and shifted his gaze to Flanna.

"Please come, lass," said he, "while the lad makes up his mind."

Outside the tower, lightning flashed like golden pitchforks across the ebony sky. Thunder cracked. Roderic paced. He should be with her. He should be guarding her. He should surely not be here, confined to this high stone Hades. But he doubted whether the MacGowan warriors would allow him to sit at the end of Flanna's bed as she slept.

Roderic paced again. Storms made him feel edgy. The thought of Flanna in danger made him feel violent.

And there was danger. But from where did it come? Who was the culprit?

Chance was like a bird, Troy had said. What the devil did that mean?

Who had shot the arrows? Who had tampered with Bruid's latch? He had to know. But he did not. And so he must keep her safe. But neither could he do that.

And so ...

He stopped abruptly. Bonny's wet nose bumped his bare leg. He glanced at the shutter. It was boarded up. He looked at the ceiling. Without the furniture, it was far beyond his reach. The door held the only possibility of escape.

But how? Glancing desperately about, his gaze fell on the hound. She smiled adoringly up at him.

It might work. He squatted down and stroked the dog while he studied the dark outline of the door. It
would
work. He would leave—tonight. But he would not leave alone.

Chapter 14

Beneath the plaid, Bonny wagged her tail against the straw tick. Roderic whispered to her, stroking her face and pulling the woolen over her head.

Thunder shattered the stillness but very little light invaded the room.

He stroked the hound's face again, waiting for the quiet to return. In the darkness, he checked the tautness of the plaid he had tied around Bonny's neck and run beneath the mattress. It felt solid enough to hold her for a few moments at least.

Sending a silent prayer to his maker, Roderic reviewed his plans. When all was ready, he rose.

Taking a deep breath, he waited a moment and shrieked, "Nay!" in a terrified tone that fairly shook the roof. In a moment, he was flying silently across the room to press his back against the wall beside the portal's hinges.

There was the sound of someone bumping to wakefulness, and then the door burst open.

“Forbes!" Bullock called. Through the crack between the door and the wall, Roderic could make out the broad warrior's form. Though his features were sleepy, his sword was drawn.

Diffused light fell across his tousled hair and onto the bright MacGowan tartan that covered the lumpy mattress. Beneath the woolen, Bonny wriggled wildly.

"Forbes!" Bullock called again.

"What is it?" Gilbert gasped, pressing in beside his partner.

"'Tis Forbes," Bullock snorted, his tone calmer now as he shook his head. "Another of his damnable dreams I would guess. Ye stay here. I will shake him awake."

Roderic tensed. Bullock strode forward.

Bonny wiggled. The plaid fell aside, exposing her long, furry head. Bullock gasped at the same time Roderic threw his weight against the portal, slamming Gilbert against the wall.

There was a shriek, a gasp, a curse, and a howl. But suddenly, Gilbert's sword was in Roderic's hand, and Gilbert's back was pressed against his captor's chest.

No one breathed.

Bullock raised his arms carefully, sword tilted downward. "The hound took yer blanket?" he guessed cautiously. "And ye want yet another?"

Roderic granted him a grin for his humor. "I fear me complaint is more serious than that tanight, lads," he said.

"Ye want fresh bandages for yer wound?"

"I must leave," Roderic said.

"Good riddance ta ye," gasped Gilbert. "May auld horny himself go with ye."

Roderic's smile increased. "Will ye never believe that I had nothing ta do with Simon's death?"

The room was silent for a moment "'Tis a strange one ye be, Forbes. That I say."

"Well, I didna," said Roderic, and moving quickly, he shoved Gilbert away.

He crashed forward, nearly ramming into Bullock, who steadied him with his hands.

Upon the mattress, Bonny slipped from her woolen tether to bound across the room to the door.