Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (23 page)

How many years had she waited to hear such words? As a child in a cold, gray convent, she had wept for strong arms to hold her. As a woman, she had longed for love. But she was the Flame now, and words like that would only destroy her.

"I must go back," she whispered. "I am their leader. They need me."

"Ye are a woman," he murmured. "I need ye."

Warmth suffused her. What would it be like to be loved, cherished, protected? All her life she had wanted those things.

He leaned closer. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her arm, could feel herself falling under his spell.

She had vowed to protect others. She could not go back on her word.

"Flanna," he breathed, leaning closer.

"Nay!" she gasped. "I am not Flanna. I am the Flame."

"Ye are a woman," he breathed, "and ye are mine—"

"Nay!" she shrieked and slammed her elbow into his side. She felt the cartilage between his ribs bow beneath the impact, but there was no time to consider the damage. Taking advantage of his loosened grip, she threw a leg over the stallion's neck and launched herself from his back.

Flame hit the ground on all fours. Behind her, Forbes hissed an expletive of wrath or pain. In an instant she was on her feet and running. Five rods away, the woods towered up to meet her, but already she could hear Cam's snort of surprise as Roderic thumped him into a gallop. His great hooves thundered against the earth, echoing in her ears, and suddenly he was beside her.

"Flanna!" Roderic rasped. "Stop this. Stop!" he insisted, but she was nearly to the woods. Just a little farther and she could slip among the trees where the huge destrier would have to slow. 'Twould be so simple to hide there.

"Flanna!" Roderic yelled again. "Oh hell!" Though she didn't see him, she knew the moment he propelled himself from the horse's back. She twisted away with a cry.

His fingers clawed at her back, throwing her off balance. She shrieked again. He hit the earth with a thud and a groan, but managed to grab her leg.

She fell with a snarl, kicking and fighting until she hit the ground with a lung-crushing jolt. Stunned and speechless, she lay motionless and in that moment he grappled his way up her prostrate form.

"Gawd's wrath, lass," Roderic rasped. "What is the matter with ye? I'm na going ta hurt ye."

Every inch of her squashed body ached. She gasped for breath.

"What were ye thinking? Ye could have gotten yerself kilt."

"Me?" she rasped. The single word sounded as if it had been scraped from the bottom of her boot. "Ye are the one who would kill me!"

"Nay, lass. What be ye talking about? I willna hurt ye."

"Won't hurt me!" His very presence threatened the Flame's existence, and if the Flame was killed, Flanna would be all that was left. And Flanna was painfully vulnerable. "Won't hurt me," she said again, breathing more normally now and trying to calm the frantic beat of her heart. "Ye threatened to kill me!" Inches away, Bonny planted herself beside Roderic and thumped her tail.

“Oh, lass." Absently, he stroked a strand of hair from her face. "That was just fer yer men. Surely ye didna believe such dramatics."

No, she had not believed his threats, and there lay the problem, for her heart could not afford to trust him.

"Let me go," she ordered, but the command was hopelessly breathy. "Let me go before—"

"Why would ye wish ta go after all I've done for ye?" he asked. Even in the darkness, his crooked smile was devastating.

"Done for me?" she asked, trying to be angry.

"Aye. I have saved ye from the villain who would kill ye."

"He was trying to kill ye, ye braying—" she began, but suddenly his hand was clasped over her mouth and his body pressed more tightly to hers.

"Shh," he hissed.

Out of the darkness, a score of horses thundered down upon them.

Flame tried to scream, to call for help, but before she could do so much as manage a squeak, the riders had sped past.

Roderic slipped his hand from her mouth and grinned. "Sorry. But that may well have been the villain himself."

"You're the villain, ye vile—"

But his hand was clasped to her mouth again. More horses galloped up.

"Can ye see any sign of them?" someone yelled.

"Nay! Damn Forbes' black heart to hell!"

She watched that same black-hearted Forbes grin into her face like a smug gargoyle and listened as this new band of horses thundered off.

"Sorry," he said again, easing his hand from her face for a second time. "But we canna risk being found. The villain could be anyone. Even yer most trusted warrior."

"They'll find us," she said stiffly. "And then your heart will be—"

This time it was not his hand that covered her mouth but his lips. They moved upon hers with firm, slow warmth, taking her breath and her senses. His heart thrummed against hers. His fingers slipped along her neck, stroking her gently as they moved into her hair. One of his heavy thighs lay between hers, and the heat of his body seemed to sear her to her very soul.

"Pierced," he murmured, drawing away to gaze into her eyes.

"What?" It was the best she could manage.

“Me heart will be pierced.” he said softly, then kissed the comer of her mouth, her cheek, the point of her chin. "It will be pierced by yer beauty."

She blinked, trying to marshall her senses.

"Pierced by yer beauty, trapped by yer eyes, and healed by yer love," he whispered.

She swallowed hard. This was ridiculous. What kind of fool would believe the words of a man who had abducted her at knifepoint? "Pierced by my arrow more likely," she rasped. Her voice hardly trembled at all. "Let me go."

"I canna, lass," he said, but his words were little more than a breath of air against her cheek.

"Ye don't need me any longer." Panic rose within her. She hoped it was caused by her capture and not by the feelings that flooded through her.

"On the contrary, Flanna." He touched her hair again, sweeping gentle fingertips through it. "I have needed ye from the moment I met ye."

She forced herself to laugh. "As ye have needed every other woman ye have seduced."

His expression was suddenly somber. "Nay, na lek that atall," he said, and leaned forward again.

She scrunched back into the soggy earth beneath her. "They will return."

He looked slightly disoriented. "Who?"

"My men."

"Oh." He sighed and caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. "I dunna think so, for the steed ran on." His lips touched the corner of her mouth, sweeping a wave of heat through her system.

"He'll soon stop!" she gasped, trying to push away. "They'll see he bears no riders and turn back."

"He'll run on till he finds the mares," Roderic corrected softly and gently kissed the edge of her jaw.

She shivered beneath his touch. "Don't do that."

He drew away ever so slightly. "Why?"

"Because I don't like it."

He questioned her with his eyes. "Because ye are scairt," he corrected gently.

Employing every bit of strength she possessed, she drew her pride about her. "Not of ye, Forbes," she said haughtily. "I will never fear ye. Ye cannot make me."

"I am sorry if it seems that I have tried."

"If ye let me go, I will not let them find ye. Ye will have safe passage back to your homeland." Two raindrops hit her face with sharp force. For the first time, she noticed the wail of the howling wind.

"And what of yer safety?" he asked quietly.

"'Tis none of your concern."

Rain spattered against them with a sharp, regular cadence now, pinging off her leather hose and burning her face.

"I have made it me concern, lass," he breathed and kissed her again.

All good sense was lost in the shock of his caress, the feel of his hand in her hair, his thigh beneath hers. The assault numbed her. She was left breathless when finally he drew away.

"Correct me if I am wrong, but I think it is raining," he said.

No, it was pouring, coming down in great gray sheets of liquid ice, but she saw no reason to state the obvious.

He peered over her head, squinting into the rain. "'Twill be a long night, lass," he murmured. Slipping from her body, he set one hip to the ground and grimaced in pain. It seemed she had somehow wounded him. "And ye are such a delicate thing," he said sardonically. "I hope ye be up ta the challenge."

His voice sounded very casual, as if he had not just seared her senses to ash. She struggled to sound the same.

"I am certain I can manage anything ye can, Forbes."

Four hours later, Flame wished she had never spoken. Nay. She wished she had never been born.

"Are ye well, lass?"

Every single fiber of her body ached. "Yes." It seemed they had been walking forever, scrambling through the pelting darkness for a nightmarish eternity. It had given her far too much time to think, to remember that she was no more than his prisoner, and though he could kiss her until her mind turned to sap, she must return to her people.

But just now they stood in a ramshackle crofter's hut. Or rather, she stood, he stooped, for part of the roof had fallen in, allowing them only an abbreviated, sloping space in which to escape the weather that howled outside. "I am fine," she said and shivered.

He scowled at her and arranged a few soggy, scattered boards to cover the doorway. The gloomy light of predawn seeped in between them, allowing her to see his expression. "Nay ye are na," he said.

"Ahh." Rain dripped from her hair to slide chilling fingers down her throat and beneath her shirt. She raised one brow and shivered again, though she forced herself to ignore it. "So ye are an expert on women's well-being as well as women in general."

"Aye." He grinned. Although he couldn't straighten his neck completely in the cramped quarters, he looked disturbingly content. "I am that."

She turned away with a snort, although
away
meant merely turning her face into the dank corner.

"Tek off yer clothes."

She swung about so quickly that the muscles in her neck cramped. "What?"

His grin increased. "Tek yer clothes off?" he said, as if it hadn't been he who had suggested it the first time.

"Ye must surely be feverish!"

"Better that I be feverish than that ye be. Get out of those wet clothes, lass, and let yer skin dry," he said, moving toward her.

"Touch me," she warned, "and ye die."

She hadn't expected him to laugh, but he did. Settling onto his haunches, he threw back his head and laughed till he cried.

She glared at him. It did no good. She gritted her teeth and swore through them. And then, when it seemed the uproar would never end, she thumped him on the chest with her foot. He tumbled onto his buttocks, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him. The laughter finally turned to chortles and the chortles to silly, sporadic hiccups of glee.

"Ahh, lass." He wiped his eyes with the backs of his fingers and shook his head. "Ye are so serious."

She glowered at him.

He chuckled again. "Soaked to the skin. Shivering lek a wet hound." He patted Bonny as if apologizing to the cur for comparing the two. "And still as haughty as a queen." He paused and shook his head as he grinned at her. "But even a queen has to remove her clothes sometime."

She tried to sharpen her glare but it felt as if her muscles were frozen in place.

His expression sobered. "If I said please?"

"Ye are crazed."

"I dunna wish ta tek the clothes from ye by force."

Flame raised one brow and smiled at him. "And I do not wish to kill ye," she said sweetly.

He chuckled again, then sobered. "And what do ye think would happen if ye died of a fever?"

She scowled at him. "I think ye would hustle away to hearth and home and the arms of a woman more foolish than I."

"Well, ye are wrong, lass. I would sit and mourn yer passing until yer warriors came ta slit me throat ta avenge yer death."

His eyes were deep and entrancing. It would be so very nice to believe she saw concern in them. "I am not going to die," she assured him evenly.

"I willna hurt ye," he murmured.

But he would. He would reduce her to the quivering lass called Flanna MacGowan. He would make her trust him, make her love him, and when he saw her true self, Flanna MacGowan would die again, and the Flame would no longer be strong enough to take her place. A spasm of cold shook her from head to foot, causing her goose-bumped skin to ache. Still, she could not admit her weakness. "And what of ye, Forbes? I suppose ye do not feel even the slightest discomfort?"

He shrugged noncommittally.

"Of course not," she said. "And tell me, is that because ye be a Forbes, or simply because ye be a man?"

He studied her carefully. There was not even a hint of laughter in his eyes now. "Is it the truth ye wish for, lass?"

"'Twould be a welcome change."

"I be so cold I canna feel me fingers. I think me left kneecap is frozen and 'tis a grave possibility that I broke me ribs when jumping from the horse."

Surprised by his candidness, Flame opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand and continued.

"The muscles of me legs are knotted up lek the trunk of a wind-blown oak. Me back hurts lek the verra devil. And me wet plaid has worn me skin raw."

"Then mayhap
ye
should take off
yer
clothes."

He paused only a moment, "If ye wish," he said, and put his hand to his belt.

"What are ye doing?"

"Taking a lady's advice," he said.

"No." Her tone sounded panicked to her own ears.

"Think about it, lass. We be miles from any sort of comfort and we be soaked ta the skin. We couid at least share the heat of our bodies."

She drew a sharp breath. "I will not risk that."

His hands stilled. "I wasna speaking of risk, lass," he said, his tone befuddled. "'Twas speaking of sharing our bodies' warmth and nothing more."

She backed away a step. Her shoulders bumped the wall behind her. "I have nothing to share with ye."

"I think ye misjudge yerself, Flanna."