Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (3 page)

"Nay," she repeated, lowering her eyes. " Tis just a wee bit further till we see me sister and..." She turned her gaze to Lochan's mane and trembled.

"There now, lass." Roderic straightened but let his hand remain on her arm a moment longer as if to support her. "Dunna fear. I think I see a bit of light through the mist. Yer sister, she is there?" he asked, squinting through the fog. "Just ahead?"

Flame nodded, unable to find her voice, but forcing herself to remember her reasons for revenge.

"Ye must na punish yerself further, lass. I will go in alone and bring her out. Ye need na look upon her wounds until Lady Fiona has mended them."

Against her will, Flame found his eyes in the darkness. They were shadowed and deep. She caught her breath. Her lips parted. She had not thought to find kindness in this man. She had not wished to. The truth trembled to spill forth from her lips, but the anguish of her people stopped her words. She nodded slowly.

The warmth of his hand dropped away. In a moment he was gone, swallowed by the darkness and rolling mists.

Flame sat immobile, every muscle taut. Beneath her, Lochan half reared, pulling at the reins.

"Roderic," she whispered, but loyalty to her clan held her steady. Whether she wished it or not, her people depended on her, needed her strength. Lochan pulled again and Flame loosened the reins, letting him trot forward.

The broken structure of wood and stone appeared out of the earthbound clouds. Roderic's horse stood alone, his saddle empty.

Slipping from Lochan's back, Flame hurried toward the abandoned stable. The doorway was a golden square of light in the darkness. She rushed through and halted, heart hammering against her ribs.

A fire burned low. Seven of her men occupied the stone enclosure. One leaned against the far wall, holding his arm.

"Praise the saints!" Troy rumbled. "We heard yer scream and feared fer yer safety."

Flame tried to speak, but her throat was too tight, her attention too riveted on Roderic Forbes.

He stood very still. His arms were pressed against his back. Troy loomed over him, his hawk-sharp eyes visible above his captive's head as he bound their prisoner’s wrists.

Flame watched, finding no words. A narrow rivulet of blood trickled down Forbes' forehead. His sword was held by Gilbert, one of the warriors who surrounded him in a grim half circle.

"I be wondering..." began Roderic. His tone was smooth, but his gaze was hard and cold in the flickering light thrown from the fire behind him. "…which of these bonny maids be yer sister, lass?"

Chapter 2

“I’ll show ye a bonny maid, ye blackhearted devil!" snarled Bullock, stepping forward. His face was red and his body, as stout and squat as the animal for which he was named, was stiff with rage. He held his sword in a deadly grip. "Me claymore will give ye a kiss ye'll na soon forget."

"Cease!" Flame ordered. Although her knees felt weak, her tone was sharp and steady as she stepped forward. "There'll be no bloodshed here tonight."

"Na bloodshed?" Bullock scoffed. "Ye should have told the Forbes that afore he cut Shaw."

"Shaw!" Flame breathed. Realizing finally why that stalwart warrior had been so silent and still near the wall, she turned rapidly. "Are ye bad hurt?"

"Nay. Nay, me lady." Shaw was a young man, quiet and brave. Clutching a bloody arm and looking pale, he straightened. " 'Tis fine I am."

"He's sorely wounded!" said Nevin. His back was rigid, but his face looked pale as he turned from the sight of the other's wound.

"What were ye thinking?" Bullock asked Flame, still holding his claymore at the ready. "Ye were ta take the Lady Forbes. 'Tis what we agreed."

Control lay in the balance. Flame stood very still, assessing her men's moods, debating her next move. Doubt assailed her, but for eighteen months she had been their leader, winning their trust and loyalty by painful increments. She could not back down now, for the MacGowans had no love for cowards or fools.

"We
agreed!" Flame lifted her chin. If she faltered now, all would be lost. Her clan would be in dissension and the Forbeses would sweep down upon them and wipe her people from the craggy face of Scotland. "Could it be that ye forget who ye be talking to, Burke MacGowan?" she asked, using Bullock's Christian name as a reprimand. "Do ye forget whose father was laird for more years than ye have lived? Do ye forget who ye chose as yer leader?"

No man spoke.

"Do any of ye forget?" she asked, raising her voice and looking at each warrior in turn. "Do ye forget that ye swore vengeance against the Forbeses? Do ye forget who risked her skin to deliver one of their own into your hands?"

Bullock dropped his gaze and let the point of his claymore dip to the grass at his feet. The fire crackled, spewing living embers toward them and their prisoner. "Me apologies, me lady."

Flame drew another deep breath, feeling her hands tremble and crossing her arms quickly against her chest, lest her weakness be noticed. "Are there others here who question my judgment?"

"Nay," said several voices.

"Nay, lady," said Nevin. "One Forbes be as good as the next. Though Fiona is said to be a healer and could have done much to aid our kinsmen instead of slicing the arms of the few warriors remaining to us."

Flame's resolve faltered as her gaze hurried back to Shaw's injured arm. Blood seeped between his pale fingers, soaking his sleeve. The sight of it made her stomach turn, another weakness to be dealt with—and hidden.

“William.'' It took all her self-control to keep her tone steady as she addressed the quiet warrior who stood nearby. "See to Shaw's wound. As for our prisoner—"

"Prisoner?" Roderic's tone was laced with caustic humor. Not for a moment had his gaze left her face. "Surely such a motley lot as ye dunna plan ta keep a Forbes captive among ye."

"Aye!" Bullock stepped forward aggressively, though the top of his head barely reached Roderic's shoulder. "That we do. Until yer laird pays in full for the damage he has done the MacGowans."

Roderic turned his arrogant gaze to Bullock's face, though his hands were bound and the rivulet of blood still coursed along his eyebrow and down his left cheek. "So ye be the MacGowans." Slowly he turned his attention to Flame. "And ye be their... lying witch?"

"Damn ye!" Shaw swore, lurching from the wall.

"For that ye'11 forfeit yer tongue!" vowed Bullock, whipping his claymore upright as the others crowded around him.

But Flame grabbed the double-edged sword from Bullock's hand and swept forward. Tilting the tip up to meet Roderic's throat, she pressed it just beneath his jaw.

"Shall I kill him, lads?" she asked softly.

Roderic's head was tilted away from the blade, but his eyes showed nothing but disdain.

"Shall I kill him? Or shall I let him live?" Keeping the sword poised, she turned her gaze toward the men behind her. "Shall he live so that we might gain even greater revenge?" she asked, raising her voice. "Shall he live so that we might recoup our losses and show the Forbeses that the MacGowans are not to be toyed with?"

For a moment Flame thought her ploy would fail, but finally Shaw murmured, "Let him live, for surely he will wish himself dead when his brother pays the ransom and vents his fury over the losses."

"Aye," muttered Bullock reluctantly.

"Aye," agreed Nevin in his soft voice. " 'Tis best ta let their sins go unavenged, though Tate will never use his right arm again, and Simon's widow and wee ones will miss him dearly."

Flame gritted her teeth. Nevin's words, as usual, served to salt open wounds more than soothe them. She felt her own temper rise with her men's at the reminder of their great loss. Simon had been the MacGowan's spokesman, a loyal man who had died too young at the hand of the Forbeses. With an effort, she controlled her anger, for she could not afford the luxury of raw emotion now. "Will one dead Forbes bring Simon back?" she asked softly, as though she truly pondered the question in her own soul. "Will it return our horses and our stock?"

"Nay." Though angry color still stained Bullock's cheeks, he saw the wisdom of patience. " 'Twill be a slower vengeance, but 'twill be sweeter."

Thank God for Bullock. The sword was beginning to tremble in Flame's hand but not because her arm was frail. "Are we all agreed then?" she asked quietly, eyeing each man in turn.

There were nods of concurrence and a few mumbled words.

"Good. Then we have no more time to waste. Bullock ..." She handed back his sword, tip first. "I trust ye to guard the prisoner. William, ye will see to Shaw's arm. Nevin and Gilbert, ye will keep lookout." For the first time, she let her gaze slip weakly to the huge warrior who stood behind Roderic. "Troy, I will see you outside," she commanded, then turned rapidly away.

"Ye dunna mind if I sit down, do ye?" asked Forbes from behind her.

Flame turned back, barely able to make that simple effort for the fatigue that threatened to overcome her. "Be ye so weak ye canna even stay on yer feet, Forbes?"

He slowly canted his head at her. "Mayhap yer beauty makes me feeble," he suggested quietly, his eyes deadly cold. "Or could it be yer senseless prattle?"

She wanted nothing more than to give in to her anger. Instead, she ordered, "Let him sit. And keep him quiet."

Turning stiffly, she hurried through the door. Outside, the air was still and heavy. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply to steady her nerves.

"Lass?" Troy's voice was little more than an earthy rumble in the darkness as he exited the ceilingless walls of the broken stable.

"Here," Flame answered. In a moment she could see the shadow of the old warrior's towering form.

"So..." He stopped before her, gargantuan arms akimbo. "Ye have taken a Forbes."

Her uncertainty and worry had turned to bone-numbing weariness. “I do not wish to discuss that now."

"Lass—"

"Nay!" Her tone was sharper than she had meant to make it. "How long do ye think the MacGowans will accept a leader who does not seek revenge? We have stood the losses for as long as I will allow. I said I would take a Forbes, and take one I have."

Troy shook his head. " 'Tis na just
any
Forbes ye have taken, lass, 'tis Roderic the Rogue."

"I do not care if he be a rogue or a lap pet or the devil himself!" she spat.

The old warrior was silent for a moment, then, "Ye will care, lass, for he is na only Leith's brother, he is one of the fighting trio. 'Tis said none can best him in a scrap."

Flame drew herself up. "I did not think ye scared so easy," she said, but Troy only snorted.

"Save yer clever words for the lads, Flanna MacGowan, and remember this, 'twas I who knew ye when ye were still in swaddling and na bigger than me arm. 'Twas I who saw yer tears in the French convent and brought Lochan to ease yer loneliness."

The air left Flame's lungs, and she dropped her gaze. "What have I done?" she whispered.

" 'Tis a fine time ta ask that now, lass," rumbled Troy, but his anger was already dissipating.

"Lady Fiona had a wee babe," she murmured, finally raising her gaze to Troy's stoic face. "I could not take her from him."

He shook his head. "I shouldna forget that ye be a woman first," he murmured.

"What?"

" Tis nothing, lass."

"What shall I do now?" Flame whispered, feeling herself shake again. "I did not plan to take him."

"But ye felt a need to prove yerself the better man?"

"Kindness has gained me little," she said softly. "Boldness serves me better."

Troy removed his bonnet and ran splayed fingers through thick, gray hair. " 'Tis true that a Highlander has little respect for weakness, lass."

"Or kindness." She turned her face away.

Troy shrugged, still watching her. "Some think weakness and kindness be the same thing."

Flame tightened her jaw and shifted her gaze back to meet his. "As do I," she said.

Troy's expression was inscrutable, though he watched her for a long while. "Then why did ye na let them kill the Forbes?"

"It would have gained us nothing but a dead body."

"Then mayhap there is some purpose for kindness after all."

Flame tried to think of some rebuttal, but she had found long ago that parrying words with Troy Hamilton was a fool's endeavor. She exhaled softly. "What shall I do, now?"

"The tide has gone out and taken us with it. There is little we can do but hold on to the flotsam and try to keep our heads above the waves."

Flame gritted her teeth. Weariness threatened her balance. "For pity's sake, Troy, speak plain this once."

"Ye were set on taking a prisoner and take one ye have, lass. 'Tis nothing ta be done now but ta hold the rogue ransom and pray there be a MacGowan or two unmaimed when the storm passes."

Flame stood immobile, trying to calm her trembling, but already one of her own men had been wounded. The thought of others being maimed nearly overwhelmed her. Was this boost to her pride and reputation worth the price they may have to pay? But how many more MacGowans would die if they did not trust her leadership and went their own ways?

"Ye will do well, lass," Troy said.

She tried to nod but failed. " 'Tis a strange thing," she murmured, "but I almost wish my father was here."

"He is na."

"Or my brother," she whispered.

"Gregor be gone, too, lass. And ye be all that's left of that house."

She raised her gaze to his. "There are those who think ye should rule."

"I have me own reasons for refusing, and ye have been chosen, lass, for better or worse."

"And what of Nevin?" she whispered. "My uncle's son. Why could Nevin not rule?”

Troy turned his sharp gaze down at her. "Not until the sun fell into the sea would yer father accept his brother's son as his successor."

"My father is dead. And I must choose what's best for the MacGowans."

Troy held her gaze with his own. "And ye would choose Nevin?"

She turned away. "He is intelligent. And he is loyal to this tribe."

"But ye are their Flame."