Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (27 page)

"But I... I can't..." All the color had left her face and her voice went soft.

"Now, lass," he chided gently. "Ye are too hard on yerself. Ye canna say whether or not ye could scale the tower until ye are driven as I was. Indeed, the trek through the window was na so very difficult and ye have strong legs." He glanced down at her limbs, admiring their slender shape. "Aye, lass, fine legs they be. And probably able to get ye from—"

"I cannot bathe ye!" she interrupted hoarsely.

He frowned at her for a moment. "Oh. And why would that be?"

She swallowed again. "It would not be ... decent."

"Again I must beg ta differ, Flanna," Roderic said in a mildly scolding tone. "’Tis a much honored tradition for the laird's daughter to assist a guest with his bath."

"Ye are not my guest."

"But I was."

"You're not now."

"That's because I won the bet," he said and laughed. "Come now. Ye will feel better once the debt is paid. I can tell ye are feeling poorly for having delayed so long."

She was definitely feeling poorly. In fact, panic was swelling up from her stomach in a dark, stifling tide. What a fool she had been to underestimate this man. But it was so easy to do, for he seemed so harmless ... most of the time.

Without trying, she remembered the tale William had related to her regarding Roderic's first opportunity to escape. He had grabbed Bullock and twisted the spear from his hand. Rather absentmindedly, he had choked the air from his prisoner before tossing the spear to the floor and storming back into his high dungeon. Who could guess at such a man's moods? Certainly not she. So she turned stiffly away, stumbled toward the lochan, and thought up every possible means she might have to escape.

But no fantastic ideas came to mind and soon she stood before the small loch, staring at it in horror. It was blue-green, still and quiet and seemed to belie her agitation.

"Well, lass," he began, "how shall we—"

"What will it take," she interrupted, turning stiffly toward him, "for ye to forget the foolish wager?"

He blinked. His lashes were incredibly, indecently long, and his expression suspiciously benign. "Forget? I fear I dunna understand, lass. For if the truth be told, I have an outstanding memory. Especially when it concerns matters of such import as—"

"What'll it take, Forbes?" she all but shouted.

The dimmest shadow of a grin flitted across his face. "Methinks ye are becoming overwrought." He leaned slightly closer. "Could it be ye have been anticipating this event more than I knew?"

She didn't slap him, didn't kick him, didn't even swear at him, and for this, she was quite proud. Instead, she straightened her back, filled her lungs with air, and watched him with her haughtiest expression. "The MacGowans are not a wealthy tribe," she said quietly. "But I am willing to pay what I can. What will it take?"

He looked her straight in the eye. "I will take yer firstborn," he said evenly.

Her mouth fell open. Her lips moved. And then she laughed. The sound, however, was a bit high-pitched. "Ye have a whimsical, if rather unorthodox, sense of humor, Forbes."

His face was deadly serious. "And ye are stalling."

"I asked what it would take to change your mind."

"And I answered."

She drew a steadying breath and found her dignity. "I tell ye truthfully, Forbes. I will never bear a child. Yours or any other man's."

For a moment he didn't speak but stood immobile, trying to understand her words. "What foolishness is this now?"

"I am the Flame of the MacGowans, chosen to lead. But I will not bear an heir. My people will have to choose another when my time is done."

"Because ye think yerself such a horrid ruler?" he asked.

"Because I am my father's daughter." Her voice trembled with the words, but she kept her chin high.

"Aye." He scowled and drew himself straighter. "Ye are yer father's daughter. And is that na a terrible thing? For look, ye are so selfish ye would rather give up yer leadership than fight another yer clan has chosen. Ye are so vain that ye dress yerself in simple garb so that yer people can fare better. Ye are so evil that ye strive ta keep peace even though ye think we Forbeses have grievously sinned against ye. Ye are so vindictive that ye saved me life when yer warrior would have taken it.'' His voice had dropped to a whisper, and he stepped forward to touch her cheek. "If yer blood is tainted, lass, any child would be honored ta be so poisoned."

His words and nearness sent a quivering warmth through her. How long had she longed for tenderness? How long had she craved kindness?

"There are others more fit to rule than I," she murmured, trying to keep her head. "Nevin is intelligent and kind."

Roderic stroked a finger down her cheek. She tried not to tremble. "Have ye looked into his heart and found purity, then?" he asked. "Or do ye simply judge yerself so harshly that others look better by comparison?"

"But Nevin—"

He slid a finger gently over her lips, stopping her words before skimming along her jaw. "Do na tell me of Nevin, lass, for I trust no one where ye are concerned. Especially na one who might rule if ye were dead."

"He is loyal to me and the MacGowans."

"Mayhap, but yer own children would also be loyal, and they would have yer fire." His fingertips drifted lower. "And yer heart and yer beauty." A flame of desire sparked in the trail of his touch.

Flanna felt the kindling of her long-dry passions. Temptation lured her, numbing her good sense. But she fought her own weakness and pulled back with a jolt.

"Nevertheless"—her voice cracked on the single word. She clenched her fists at her sides—"I decided long ago that I would bear no man's child."

"Ye only say that because long ago ye had na met the right man."

"Could it be that ye are speaking of yourself?" she guessed blithely.

He grinned. "How is it that ye have guessed?"

"In my fairly vast experience, 'tis a man's favorite topic," she mused. "But ye must think yourself a particularly miraculous lover if ye think ye can change my mind."

"I dunna mean ta seem immodest, lass, but miraculous is na a word unheard by these ears in the dark of night."

"And are ye familiar with the word 'vanity' as well?"

"Aye, lass," he said with a laugh. "I have heard that one, too. And now that ye've had some time ta relax, are ye prepared to assist with me bath?"

"No, I am not."

"And what of yer vow?"

"I did
not
vow! And, too, we were within the safe confines of Dun Ard where I would have been well protected from—"

"And what about me own protection?"

She stared at him.

"Do ye na think I worried that ye might attack me own person? Especially once ye have seen me…" Lowering his head, he stared at the ground and made a crescent shape in the sand with the toe of his boot. "…unclothed?" Peeking up through his lashes, he looked for all the world as if he were trying to blush.

She thumped him on the chest with a good deal of force. "Ye are a braying ass!"

His mouth fell open in apparent surprise, but he failed to stop his chuckle. "I was but trying ta act humble, for I thought ta please ye."

"Well, ye failed miserably."

"Humility is a new endeavor for me, Flanna. Surely I will improve in time."

"Were I ye, I wouldn't plan to live that long."

He chuckled again. "I see ye are truly relaxed now. Shall we begin?"

For a moment she wasn't quite sure whether he was speaking of making babies or bathing. "When the clouds rain gold coin," she said to both ideas.

"Now, lass, I am merely trying to help ye fulfill yer vow. Tis true," he assured her, apparently noticing her dubious expression. Or perhaps it was her gritted teeth that made her appear skeptical. "I wouldna wish ye ta continue yer life knowing ye have failed to keep a promise to yer fellow Scot," he said, undoing the wildcat brooch from his tartan and shirt. It dropped to the ground. Flame's gaze followed it, then hurried back to his face. But his hands were already on his belt. It loosened with one simple movement. His plaid dipped and followed the brooch.

She took a deep breath and prepared to flee. His gaze settled on her. "Did I tell ye, lass, that I be the fleetest runner of all the Forbeses?"

She swallowed. "I believe ye forgot to spew that bit. of braggery."

" 'Tis true," he said. "I can best a steed for twenty rods."

"Luckily, I am not a horse."

He grinned. "Ye wouldna escape."

She licked her lips. "If I... help ye bathe ... will ye let me go?"

"Nay."

"Then why should I do it?"

"Because ye are honest," he said, and grasping the bottom of his voluminous, saffron shirt, pulled it over his head.

Flame gaped in shocked immobility. He stood before her in the broad light of day, every muscle taut and lean, every line sculpted and powerful. Turning smoothly, he marched into the water, leaving her alone on the sand.

Dear God! Flame stared after Roderic, ready to lambast him. How dare he make her feel guilty for not bathing with him? How dare he disrobe before her very eyes? But he had already dived beneath the water. If she hoped to scold him, she would need to follow him, she thought, gazing at the spot where he had disappeared.

But that was ridiculous. Now was her time to escape. And yet... all she could think about was that he was naked. Every muscle in his long, tight form would be as sleek as seal skin. And she would have an excuse to touch those muscles, to run her fingers down his hard form and ...

She shook her head and paced, trying to forget her mental images of him. But when next she turned to the pool, he had surfaced. The water lapped lovingly at his shoulders. His hair gleamed like molten gold in the summer's sun, and every muscle stood out taut and hard, just as she had imaged. In a moment he disappeared again.

Her leather hose seemed to drop from her of their own accord, but when her fingers moved to her shirt, she pulled them away with an effort and waded into the water. It was surprisingly warm. She hurried toward deeper water, for despite her shirt, she felt exposed and jittery. But the pool was much shallower than she had expected. It had not yet reached her waist when Roderic surfaced not half a rod from her.

His eyes matched the color of the water. His wet, slicked-back hair exposed every lean line of his face in sharp detail. A fat droplet slipped lovingly along his jaw to follow a taut cord down his throat and onto his chest. Flame watched its progress.

"Ye came." His voice was husky.

Flame swallowed and tried to think. "Did ye doubt?"

"Aye." He must have been kneeling, for he rose slowly to face her, baring unspeakable parts of his glistening, rock-hard anatomy. "And I was fast running short of ways ta look appealing."

"Mayhap ye should have stood up sooner."

His grin only lifted the right corner of his mouth. She could feel the blood drain from her face.

"I did not mean that the way it sounded."

His brows rose the slightest fraction of an inch. "Of course na, lass."

"I merely meant..."

"Aye?"

She stared into his eyes and tried to think of some clever explanation, but she could barely recall her own name. "I have not the faintest idea why I said that."

He tilted his head back slightly when he laughed. Even his neck was muscular and alluring. But he was also dangerous. Flame knew that, and yet...

The blush burned her face, but in a moment he reached out to touch her cheek. "I am flattered. Dunna be embarrassed. For I am na."

"Well…" She drew a deep, shaky breath. "…ye should be."

He chuckled again. "Do ye always bathe in yer clothes?"

His fingers had slipped to her neck. She stood perfectly still. Water plastered the long shirt to her hips, pressing intimately to places better left unnamed. "Yes. All the time. It saves work for the washing women."

His teeth were incredibly white and straight, the right side of his full lips tilted slightly upward. "How thoughtful of ye, Flanna MacGowan, to worry about the fate of the washerwomen. Did ye ken ye have dried mud on yer nose?"

"Umm ..." She swallowed, searching for an answer, but his gaze was too intent on hers. She couldn't face him, but neither could she turn away. So she stared at his collarbone and wished she could act like who she was, the lady of her clan. The proud blood of royalty charged her veins. But even his collarbones were beautiful and jangled her senses.

"It makes me wonder where else ye might be dirty." He leaned closer.

"Roderic!" She tried to move away from him, but either the bottom of the lochan was very muddy or her feet simply refused to leave him, for they were stuck fast in the mire.

He caught her about the waist before she flopped gracelessly into the water.

Their faces were inches apart. All hope of dignity fled.

"Aye, lass?" he said softly.

"Roderic," she said again, but his name was no more than a murmur now.

"Aye, lass," he repeated.

"This was a... bad idea."

“I must agree. But it can be easily remedied. The shirt can be removed."

Flame took a slow breath. She wanted to speak, but no sound would come. She tried to step away. His arms loosened slightly, still balancing her but allowing her escape.

"But I can wait."

She wanted to tell him that his hair would turn gray and fall from his head in clumps before she would remove her shirt but again her lips betrayed her. "Very well," they said instead. It occurred to her that the demon Forbes was bent on causing trouble. She should march right out of there, but apparently her knees were also possessed, for she did not even try to back away.

"There's a bit of mud right there," he said, touching her nose. Water dripped from his finger down to her lips. She shivered at the feeling. He grinned, rubbed gently, and dropped his hand to the water before raising it and rubbing again. She could do nothing but stare into his face. "And there." His fingers skimmed to her eyebrow and smoothed with luscious slowness along the ridge. "And there." Her cheekbone felt his touch.