Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (32 page)

"The horse was a ploy!" snapped the younger man. "Forbes is here. And very close."

"Aye? And how do ye know that?"

"Because I am na so foolish as ye, old man," Nevin exclaimed. "How many times will ye fall for his tricks?"

For a moment, Troy was silent, then, "Go back to the others, lad, before I make ye regret yer words."

They were close enough to hear the horses' labored breathing. She should call for help, Flame knew, but what would they do if they found Roderic? Troy would fight to take her. Roderic would fight to keep her. She could do nothing but try to prevent bloodshed.

"Do ye wish to be laird so badly that ye would let her die at the hands of a Forbes, old man?" Nevin growled.

The tension was nearly palpable, but suddenly a movement caught Flame's eye, distracting her. Bonny had been left outside, and lay now, stretching her head onto her paws to wait for her master's return.

Flame held her breath. Roderic caught her line of vision and swore quietly.

"I should kill ye for that, lad," said Troy flatly. "But for yer father's sake, I willna."

Nevin's steed fidgeted. His rider chuckled, but the sound was dark. "Ye had best not try, old man, or ye may find me not so soft as ye think me to be."

"Get back to the others."

The two remained in the river, their horses fretted at their bits.

"Do not forget that I know your secrets. Ye will not be laird and neither will your heir," Nevin warned, and turning his steed, headed back toward the cottage.

Troy's stallion tossed his heavy neck and pawed the water. Seconds ticked away until finally Troy urged his mount across the river and up onto the rock.

Flame held her breath, praying Bonny would remain immobile.

The dark destrier turned once, then stood still, his ears pricked forward as his rider scanned the darkness.

"Ye'd best watch yer step and na dally where ye are na wanted, Forbes, or you shall surely rue the day," Troy murmured, staring into the distance. Then, turning his bay, the huge warrior splashed back into the river.

Chapter 22

They were gone. Out of his reach. Or so Forbes thought. But Forbes knew so little. There was nowhere safe for them. Not in all of Scotland, for he paid his brigands well.

The lea where they rested was quiet. Surrounded by a thousand gnarled oaks, it lay like a smooth, green gem in the forest's center. The sun again bathed the earth.

Flame sat on a rock, nursing feet that burned from her journey through the bracken.

"Why did ye do it, lass?" Roderic asked softly. He was holding her foot in his hands and shifted his gaze from her instep to her eyes.

"Let go,” she said and tried to pull away, but he held tight.

"Ye've picked up a thorn."

She jerked her foot again, employing her very best scowl. "I know I've got a thorn. Do ye think me so dense that I do not feel pain?"

Ever so gently, he smoothed his fingers up her ankle and grinned into her face. "In truth, lass, I was wondering that verra thing."

She tried to stop the shiver that followed his fingers' slow course.

"With the way ye rush through the brambles in bare feet, I thought surely ye were beyond physical pain."

Flame did her best to increase the intensity of her scowl but his fingers were excruciatingly soothing against her bare calf. "Mayhap I be but trying to avoid ye."

He chuckled softly. "A lesser man might deduce ye dunna appreciate me presence," he said.

"A smarter man would surely do so," she countered, yanking at her foot again.

He held it still, bowed his attention to the ball of her foot and plucked out the irritating thistle.

She jerked again, but Roderic refused to give up his hold.

"Why?" he asked for the second time.

She glanced away. "I have not an inkling what ye are referring to."

"I might say, a smarter lass would. But I think ye are a smarter lass, Flanna."

She held his gaze with some difficulty, making certain her expression was haughty, though her heart hammered an erratic beat in her chest. "Do ye wish to be caught by my kinsmen, or shall we go on?"

Roderic shrugged. "Methinks I should dally here and allow ye to fend them off... again. For I wonder, where would ye hide me now, Flanna MacGowan? And why would ye bother?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "I was yer hostage, was I na?"

Flame pursed her lips and tried to pretend he was not stroking her ankle and causing a thousand errant thoughts to clatter into her brain. “If ye were killed there would be no end to the bloodshed." And no healing the hole in her heart.

"So ye say ye have na personal feelings for me?" Roderic asked softly.

Tingling emotions scurried from his fingertips and up her leg. Memories of the night before stole her breath, but she tried to pretend otherwise. "Aye." The single word came out on a squeak. Flame cleared her throat, pursed her lips and tried again. "Aye, Forbes, that is exactly what I am saving."

He canted his head slightly, causing the sunlight to glitter off his shoulder-length hair at a different angle and shift the shadows across his strong features. "Nevertheless, I thank ye."

His eyes were so blue. 'Twas surely a sin to have eyes like that, eyes that looked into her soul but hid his own.

"And I apologize," he added.

She knew she should try again to yank her foot from his grasp. She should rise haughtily to her feet, lift her chin in the air, and walk away.

Instead, she watched his long fingers trickle up her shin. "For what?” Her question was pathetically weak.

"It be difficult to ken where ta start, for my behavior has been less than exemplary since our first meeting."

But she had abducted
him.
Or at least, she had abducted him first.

"I..." He drew a deep breath and watched as his touch drifted nearly to her knee. "I admit that yer nearness puts me off me stride. Before going to Dun Ard, some people found me quite tolerable."

She held her breath for a moment then found her voice. "Indeed?" Dear God, she wanted to kiss him, wanted to slip into his arms and beg him to stay with her forever.

"Indeed," he said. "There were even those who called me charming on occasion."

"Nay." She tried to make the word sound sarcastic but feared she achieved nothing more than a tone of breathlessness.

"'Tis true," he murmured, skimming his hand higher still. "But with ye I find I am barely ... coherent, for all I want to do is ..."

Mate! Flame thought and shoved her gown back over her tingling knee. "Weren't ye about to mate—apologize!" she corrected frantically. Dear God, let the earth swallow her now.

The corner of Roderic's mouth lifted the slightest degree, almost as if he hadn't noticed her horrid slip of tongue. "That I was, lass."

"Then ... please do," she whispered.

His smirk brightened a whit. "Do what?" he murmured.

Her lips moved. Her breathing accelerated. Her pulse sped along. "Whatever it is ye feel ye must do."

"Heaven's gate, lass, that is just the problem. I am torn between what I should do and what I must do."

God forgive her for being a weak-willed ninny. "Then do what ye wish to do."

He leaned closer. All she could see was his face, the squareness of his stubbly jaw, the vibrant blue of his eyes. All was silent. She waited breathlessly.

"I want to apologize, Flanna. I should na have said the things I've said. Should na have done much of what I have done. And I should na have allowed ye ta expose yerself ta danger at the burn."

"Allowed?" she echoed. "I am the Flame of the MacGowans, who are ye to allow or disallow?"

He smiled that captivating smile that haunted her dreams and muddled her thoughts. It seemed she could feel her very hair wilt from the intoxicating power of it, but she forced her back to remain stiff.

"I do love it when ye speak like that, Flanna MacGowan," he said. "All regal disdain and cool superiority." Skimming his fingers about her ankle, he slipped them lower, over her instep and onto her toes.

Her mouth fell open slightly. She tried to catch her breath and remember what she had said, what she should say next, who she was. But reality seemed so vague, and her fantasies so real. God, he was beautiful, and he would pass those fine looks on to his children. They would be fair-haired, with eyes as bright as the morning sky and laughter to make the woodlands sing.

"But mayhap ye like me just a wee bit, lass. Or at the least, mayhap ye like what I can do for ye."

Reality returned with a jolt. Flame yanked her foot from his hand. "Ye are a conceited..."

"Man?" he supplied helpfully. "Most are. Fortunately, I have more ta be conceited about than the others, lass."

She rose abruptly then winced as her tender feet touched the ground.

"Sit down. I'll bandage them," he said softly.

"Nay." She stepped away, but he had already caught her ankle.

"Sit down, lass, or I'll have ta wrestle ye ta the ground and though I used ta think meself well disciplined, being near ye has changed me mind. I'd hate ta do something we might later regret."

Her gaze caught his. The desire in them was as clear as morning dew. She sat with a plop.

He grinned. "Now sit still," he said, and hoisting up his plaid, set her foot upon his bare thigh. Muscle rippled beneath the pad of her foot.

"What are ye doing?"

Tugging the end of his shirt from beneath his tartan, he glanced up with a grin. "Make me a suggestion, lass, and I'll surely consider it."

Her foot was very near his private parts. She couldn't breathe.

He watched her face then chuckled deep in his throat. "I am but ripping off a bit of me shirt ta act as yer shoes."

Flame licked her lips. "Oh." It was all she could think to say and she felt rather silly for her lack of incriminating words. "I knew that."

His plaid dipped between his legs, showing more sculpted thigh and ...

She snapped her gaze back to his.

His grin brightened as her face did the same. "Me apologies," he said and tugged the recalcitrant plaid a scant inch to the right. "It seems I underestimated yer effect on me yet again."

Her face felt hot and her hands clammy. "Let me go," she whispered.

"Surely ye must be accustomed ta having that effect on men," he said, still holding her foot.

She pursed her lips. "I am accustomed to choosing the time and place."

"Last night 'twas a fine time," he murmured, "but here in the lea would be perfection." Near his crotch, his plaid moved of its own accord.

She tried to keep her gaze sternly on his face, but her fingers itched to touch him and her heart galloped in her chest. "Perfection is naught but a deluded dream," she murmured.

"’Tis na true. Ye and I together. That be perfection," he whispered.

Her heart stopped completely. With every fiber of her being she hoped he would reach for her, but instead he jerked his attention back to her feet and snugly bound them.

Toward nightfall, Bonny caught a squirrel. They roasted it over a well-hidden fire and shared it three ways. Roderic thought it tasted as if it had been marinated in horse sweat and left to dry in the sun.

"'Twas a fine meal," Flame said. She sat with her back to a rough log. A bare bone dangled from her fingers.

"Now I
am
worried," Roderic said and touched the back of his hand to her forehand.

She laughed. The sound was silvery in the cool darkness. "I have always liked the taste of squirrel." She watched him draw his hand away and grimace. "I am a simple girl with simple tastes."

Nay, she was not. She was royalty—in reality and in spirit. He shifted his attention from her face to his portion of the stringy meal. "Dun Ard's greasy mutton is beginning to seem more appealing by the day."

"My people have fallen on bad luck, Forbes. Though we were never wealthy, we are harder pressed now and have learned to make do."

"Bad luck," he mused quietly. "Such as the death of yer kindred, the loss of yer stock, the poisoned well?"

"Aye. And I admit I thought it was caused by your people, Forbes," she said, but her voice was soft.

"And now?"

She shifted her gaze to the ground. "Now I don't know."

"It wasna the Forbeses, lass," he said quietly. "Therefore there is someone else who wishes ta harm yer people. But who?"

For a moment, he thought she would argue, but she sighed and looked into the night. "I can think of no one I have angered."

He watched her profile. It shone in the golden light of their campfire like a copper cameo. "Mayhap there are those who hated the MacGowans long before ye became their lady."

"Mayhap. My father was not... always charming."

He thought of what she had endured, alone and afraid, far from home.

“I have heard he accused many of lying with his wife. It is rumored some of those same men died suspiciously."

And Flanna had been the one to bear the brunt of the rumors and try to mold her tribe back into a family unit.

“What of Troy?" he asked.

"Why do ye ask?"

"There are those who think him an attractive man, even in his waning years. It seems likely that the MacGowan might have accused him of a dalliance."

She bit her lip. "I think he may have. Troy, too, spent many years in France. I do not think it was necessarily because he was fond of that country."

"Yer father threatened his life?"

She shrugged. "I was far removed from Scottish politics for many years. 'Tis hard to say what he might have done."

Roderic scowled into the fire. "But if he did, 'twould seem possible that Troy could hold a grudge, would it na?"

"He is my friend, my confidant," she whispered. "All the years in Bastia, he was the only one who eased my lonli ... who came to visit me."

Self-pity was not in her nature, he thought. But there was pain in her tone, in her eyes. Still, he could not ignore the possibility that Troy Hamilton wished her ill, for her life was at stake.

"Mayhap he had a reason to visit ye, lass. Mayhap he hoped ta win yer confidence, and ta someday become laird himself when—"