Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (31 page)

"The girls," she breathed rapidly.

Her ears were very small with no lobe to speak of... or to suckle. He smiled at the thought, and without plan, leaned forward to kiss her just below one delicate ear.

"Roderic!" she gasped, pulling away, but his hand still cupped her neck, allowing her a short tether.

"Me pardon," he said, grinning slightly. "What were ye saying?"

"I said ye were staring at..." Her eyes were as bright as the starlight and focused sharply on his. Her teeth were straight and milky white, her tongue seductive as it swept over them. "The girls," she finished on an exhalation.

"Oh. Aye," he said and leaning forward, he kissed the pulse that raced in the tender hollow of her throat. "I couldna help but watch." Straightening slightly, he looked directly into the fathomless lochans of her eyes. Beneath his hand, he felt her throat convulse as she swallowed. "For surely 'tis the loveliest sight I have ever seen."

"I believe they were enamored with ye as well. The lasses, that is."

"Truly?
All
the lasses?" Ever so gently, he skimmed his thumb down her throat. "'Tis glad I am ta hear that."

She nodded once. The motion was stiff. "But... they are young and impressionable."

"Aye." Humoring a nagging whim, Roderic kissed the corner of her mobile mouth. "Easily wounded, though ye wouldna know it right off," he said.

He felt the rush of her breath against his mouth, but she did not pull away.

"Nay, they hide their sensitivities well."

"Aye, they do, lass."

"Sometimes…" She swallowed again. "Sometimes they seem almost hardened and..."

"Haughty," he murmured, staring into her eyes.

"Aye," she whispered, "but perhaps they have been..."

"Wounded," he finished softly. "Perhaps their sire was a fool and didna care for them as a father should. And yet, if they were but cherished they would blossom like white heather upon the hillocks."

Her lips trembled. "Roderic," she rasped.

"Aye, lass."

"I will lie with you," she whispered.

Chapter 21

The world slowed to a grinding halt. Roderic blinked once, careful not to move lest he shatter the dream he had fallen into. She licked her lips again. He watched the nervous movement.

"Me pardon," he said finally. "But I almost thought ye said—"

"I will lie with ye," she repeated in another breathy whisper.

Heaven's gate! This is what he had dreamed of. What he had striven for. The answer to his tormenting fantasies. The haughty Lady MacGowan asking for his favors.

Breathlessly, Roderic bent to kiss her, to pull her into his arms, to grant her request But errant images nagged at his mind. Images of Lady MacGowan talking with young Haydan, of the fiery Flame astride Lochan with roses in her cheeks and wind in her hair as she shouted orders to her men. Images of a girl called Cara who coaxed wispy hair atop a plain lass's knobby pate. They were all different faces of a woman named Flanna MacGowan. And he wanted them all. Not just the passionate vixen who moaned beneath his hands, not just the kind lass who could see beauty where others could not. But Flanna, the woman.

He straightened slightly. "What do ye mean?"

Her laugh was nervous, her hand slightly shaky as she placed it on his chest. "I think my meaning is clear, Forbes."

His aching groin told him not to question this gift. He should take her in his arms now, woo her with his kisses, unwrap her with his hands, love her with his body. But she was not talking about love. She was talking about copulation.

"Ye make it sound verra simple."

She laughed again, very softly. Her fingers were light and gentle against his chest. "Ye assured me it would be. That I could stroke ye and pet ye without repercussions."

"Well..." He caught her hand in a tight grip. It was decidedly distracting and he needed to think. "That was afore..."

She blinked. "Afore what?"

Before he needed her respect, her love. Before he needed her trust. Before he wanted to marry her.
Oh God!
Panic was an unfamiliar quality, but Roderic recognized it when he felt it. "Afore... I knew ye so well."

"So ye are saying that now that ye know me, ye no longer wish to ... to mate with me?''

"Mate?"
he said, feeling his ire rise with his panicked frustration. He was Roderic the Rogue. Why could he not act roguish. "'Tis a crude term ye use."

She raised her chin slightly. "Are ye saying ye do not wish to?"

"Aye, that is what I am saying." It was a blatant lie.

"But I thought—"

"What? That we could just have at it like swine in the mud? That I was no more than a..." He backed away to wave a hand between them. Damn her for wanting to lie with him now and place the blame on him later. "No more loyal than one of yer stallions, to be bred and turned back into me stall,
is
that what ye—"

She leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips were like fire, searing all thought from his mind, scattering his words to the four winds. For just an instant he remembered that he was supposed to be insulted, that he should tell her he was a man, not a coveted stallion, but...

He groaned as his arms encircled her of their own accord, crushing her to him. She was soft but firm, bold but trembling.

It was the tremble that made him draw back, for though she would not admit her fear, he felt it in the shudder of her fine body. Leaning back slightly, he looked into her eyes, searching for uncertainty. But there was none. She wanted him. And he needed her.

He bent slightly, lifted her into his arms, and kissed her again. When he drew his head back, her eyes remained closed for a moment. When they opened, they looked misty and disoriented. She lifted her hand, gently touching his lips. He kissed her fingertips, and she shivered. Again he closed his mouth over hers. He tasted her hunger, felt her tremble. She slipped her fingers beneath his hair, cupping his neck and pulling him closer, deepening their kiss. Her desire only increased his own, and suddenly he could wait no longer.

He strode toward the pile of hay and let her feet slip to the earthen floor. Flanna turned to face him. He felt the quick rise and fall of her breasts against his chest and knew with aching wonder that her impatience rivaled his own.

With only a few quick movements, he removed his belt and brooch. His borrowed plaid slipped away. Stepping to the side, he unwrapped it from his waist and knelt to sweep it over the fragrant mound of fodder. In a moment, his eyes met hers again.

She stood perfectly still, watching him. And suddenly, he wondered if she had ceased breathing. Ever so slowly, he rose to his feet while keeping his gaze firmly locked on hers.

"'Tis na too late ta change yer mind," he said softly. They were the hardest words he had ever spoken, and for one hopeless moment he stood stiffly waiting for her to retreat.

Instead, she stepped forward and placed one hand against his chest. "I have not changed my mind," she whispered and kissed him with urgent heat.

His heart bumped back to erratic life, his breathing accelerated, and a groan rumbled up his throat as he reached for the ties at the back of her gown. But just as he felt them ease free, she pushed at his chest again.

"Ye said I could pet ye," she murmured.

"What?" he rasped, trying to think.

"Ye said I could pet ye," she repeated and tugged his shirt upward. The fabric slipped over his chest. He raised his arms, allowing her to pull the garment over his head. Finally, it dangled to the floor from one wrist, and there it hung, forgotten, for at that precise instant, her fingertips brushed his nipple.

Roderic sucked a harsh breath between his teeth and let his head fall back. But the sensations had only just begun, for her fingers seemed restless and curious and wandered over his body like trails of fire. They skimmed his chest, caressed his shoulders, followed a taut cord up his neck to trace the line of his jaw.

It was hard to draw breath, and harder yet to wait, to allow her exploration without crushing her to him and easing his ache inside her. But wait he did, letting her touch, letting her feel, letting the anticipation build until he felt as if he would burst into spontaneous flame.

Again her fingers brushed his nipple. He shuddered. Her touch skimmed downward, coursing a trail down the center of his chest and over his taut belly until he felt her brush the turgid heat of his manhood.

He opened his eyes, lowered them to hers, and caught her wrist in a tight clasp.

She gasped, mouth round and soft like a child who had been caught stealing scones.

"My turn," he whispered, pushing her hands aside.

In less than an instant her gown was removed. Flame stood breathlessly before him, naked and trembling. His hands were everywhere, shivering hot sensations down her neck, over her shoulder, down the arching center of her back. She felt the aching tenderness of his kiss against her throat as he took her hand in his and raised it between them. His lips were warm and firm against her palm, against her wrist, against the ultrasensitive bend of her arm. She gasped against the sharp sensations, but when he tugged at her hand she slipped onto the soft wool of his plaid with him.

They lay on their sides, thigh to thigh, belly to belly. She felt the hard thrust of his desire between them. Longing for fulfillment, she thrust her hips against him. But he urged her onto her back and made her wait as he showered her body with hot, slow kisses. They rained over her torso, down the length of her legs, and up again. She writhed frantically and moaned his name, but he had caught her wrists in his hands and kept them pinned to her sides as he kissed her breasts, her belly, the burning triangle of hair between her legs.

She gasped in shock and need as she jerked to a sitting position. Roderic eased back, finding her eyes with his own. Desire and promise smoldered between them. Her lips parted wordlessly, and then she lay back. He covered her body with his own. She opened her legs to him, wanting him, needing him.

He kissed her, slowly, thoroughly, and then, with hot, fluid ease, he slipped inside.

There was no pain, no fear, nothing but desire answered and need fulfilled. They rode together stride for stride, giving and taking, reaching for the skies until finally they burst into the clouds in a blaze of shuddering glory.

Flame gasped. Roderic growled, and finally they fell together, back to their cozy nest in the hay, where he crooned her name and stroked her lanquidly into sleep.

Flanna woke slowly, not knowing why, and for a moment not knowing where. And though the light had been doused, she knew Roderic was there. She sensed his presence as easily as she heard him croon her name.

"Flanna," he breathed, and skimmed a hand gently down her bare arm. "So ye are na a dream."

He kissed her and she felt herself fall under his power again, but suddenly the horse outside the barn whinnied. Another steed answered.

Roderic jerked away.

"Search the cottage," ordered a gruff voice.

"The Wolfhound!" Roderic rasped.

"Troy," Flame breathed. Her gaze met Roderic's with a jolt.

"Please," Roderic whispered, "come with me."

"I cannot," she whispered. "They need me."

Hoofbeats sounded outside.

"Please," he repeated. "I canna let ye go."

She tried to argue, but warm memories assaulted her, and she knew he spoke the truth. He would not let her go without a fight.

He reached for her hand, pulled her to her feet, and tossed her her gown. They were dressed in moments. He pressed her toward the hole in the back of the barn.

Soon they were through, squatting in the dark behind the barn.

They stared at each other, a thousand thoughts pulsing between them. "Wait here," he whispered.

She stared at him, trying to find the courage to argue.

"If ye left me I would follow ye forever. I would fight ta have ye back," he murmured.

She knew it was true, and though she tried to deny it, hope and happiness soared through her. In a moment, Roderic disappeared into the darkness. From the other side of the barn, she heard a timber drop. Hoofbeats thundered across hard-packed earth, ceased for a moment as if the horse had sprouted wings, and began again. "Hang on!" Roderic shouted. ,

"There!" someone yelled. "They're getting away. To yer horses!"

Men shouted. Hooves pounded.

Roderic appeared and reached for her hand.

Without thought, she went with him. They ran side by side. Dark woods loomed overhead. Bonny loped along beside them. Branches grabbed at Flame's skin and gown.

The night swept past. Their breathing became labored. And somehow it seemed that they were running for
her
, running from danger to save her from some unknown evil.

From behind came an uncertain noise. Roderic twisted about, still holding her hand and almost tripping. "They come," he rasped and stumbled ahead.

They splashed into a burn. Cool water washed over Flame's legs and splashed on her face and hands. In the woods behind them, a horse whinnied.

"There!" Flame gasped, pointing to a pile of brush on the far side of the river. They sped through the water and onto the smooth brownstone on the opposite bank. Somewhere in the woods, a branch broke. Flame gasped and pulled Roderic toward the tangled brush.

Brambles tore at her hands as she tugged the vines away, but in a moment Roderic nudged her aside and ripped the debris from its setting against the boulders.

Without a word, they scrambled into the crevice between the two huge rocks and turned about. Roderic dragged the brush in behind them.

From their hiding place, they could see a great, dark horse charge from the woods and into the burn. Water sprayed upward from its plunging hooves. In a moment, another horse thundered into the water. Even in the pale dawning light, they could see a white plume dance above the first man's bonnet.

"The Wolfhound does na give up," Roderic whispered.

"What the devil be ye doing here, Nevin?" Troy asked. "Did I na tell ye ta follow the horse?"