Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (37 page)

Flame tried to speak but no words would come.

"Will she stay forever, Roddy? Will ye make babies with her so that I may have a sister?"

Roderic smiled into the dimpled, upturned face. "Ye must na talk off Lady Flanna's ear. She has been verra ill."

"I know 'tis true," Rachel stated solemnly, turning her wide eyes back to Flame. "I am verra bright. Roddy says I am. Isn't it so, Roddy?"

"Aye, lass, ye are." Love as sure as yesterday shone in his face. Something tripped painfully in Flame's chest. Dear God, what a lass could do when sheltered by such love.

"And ye must be verra bright, too," Rachel deduced, scowling slightly. "Because Mama said ye've captured Roddy's heart. And I think ye'd have ta be awfully clever ta figure how ta tek a heart without even leaving a scar. Mayhap even cleverer than Mama, though Papa says there is nobody in the world smarter than she, cuz she brought ye back from the brink of death. But Mama said it was Gawd's will, is all." She screwed up her face slightly, looking puzzled and rambling on. "There isn't a scar on yer chest, is there, Roddy?"

Roderic cleared his throat.

"And ye will make me a wee sister, won't ye? Papa said he'll try his best, but he's ever so slow and all they've given me thus far is Graham. And he's all wrinkled and messy. I do so want a sister. Mightn't ye—"

Roderic raised his free hand and tilted his head. "I think I hear yer mother calling, Peepsweep."

Not for an instant did the ploy fool her. "Nay. She thinks I be napping with Sarah."

"And why aren't ye?"

The tiny elf bit her lip. "Because I wanted ta see yer lady," she whispered. "They've kept me out for ever so long cuz she was ill, ye know. And…” She scowled fretfully. "…I missed ye, Roddy. Seemed forever ye were away. And I worried."

Tugging his hand from her tight grasp, Roderic pulled the child onto his lap. "'Tis sorry I am ta worry ye, wee Peep," he said, snuggling her against his chest.

"Where were ye? Ye didna even say good-bye."

"Be it the truth ye want, lass?" he asked, his voice suddenly quiet as if he alone knew some great secret.

Rachel solemnly nodded, her eyes wide.

"It happened during a wilding sort of night as only the land of the Forbeses knows. Bothering no one was I. Sleeping soundly in me own bed when suddenly…" He jumped, causing his tiny listener to jump with him. "…the door was flung open and Flanna MacGowan rode in."

"Lady MacGowan?" Rachel lisped. "She rode a horse right into yer room?"

"Aye, for she is the greatest equestrienne in all the world."

"Truly? Was this the horse that carried her?" asked Rachel, staring at the destrier. Heart raised his head momentarily from the bucket. Barley dribbled from his mouth.

"Nay, 'twas another horse. A blue horse."

"Blue?"

"His name is Lochan and I believe…" He leaned closer to the child's ear. "…he comes from the deep, dark waters of Inverness."

"Where Nessie lives?" she whispered in awe.

"Aye. That is me own belief."

"And Lady Flanna rides him?"

"That she does. But when she came to Glen Creag she didna appear as she does now, for she was dressed in outlandish garb. Her legs were bound in leather and she wore a man's shirt. I awoke with a start and rubbed me eyes. Surely, I thought I was dreaming."

"But ye weren't?"

"Nay," he said solemnly. "There she sat upon her blue steed, real as rock."

"And what did she say?"

"Well, 'twas a sad tale she told. She said that the men of the MacGowan clan had weakened so that she herself, great lady of the tribe, had to don men's clothing and teach them how ta be men. But she wearied of the task and thought, if only there were a man so brave and fair that he might be a symbol to me men and teach them that which is forgot." He nodded again. In his sky blue eyes humor sparkled unchecked. "And then it was that she heard tales of a warrior so great and courageous that her heart was filled with hope. At first she did not believe such a man could exist But in the end she was convinced. Far she traveled through the night in search of this one great man of men."

He straightened with a sigh and a shrug. "And so she came in the wee hours to fetch me."

Rachel's small mouth had formed a tiny pink circle of awe. "The great man of men, was ye?"

"Aye," he said, nodding solemnly. "None other."

From the opposite side of the bed, Heart snorted, spraying barley onto the floor and shaking his head. Rachel exhaled softly and blinked. "Roddy?"

"Aye, lass?"

"Mama says yer tales be as wild as a Highland wind," she said brusquely. Hopping from his lap, the lass raised her hands to cradle Roderic's lean face between them. "But I love ye the more for them."

For the slimmest moment, Flame was certain she saw moisture sparkle in the great man of men's eyes.

"And I love ye, sweet Peep."

Her tiny, dimpled hands dropped away. "Someday will ye tell me the tale again?"

"Aye, lass, if ye nap now."

She turned and nodded like a tiny princess. "'Twas the best of pleasures meeting ye, Lady MacGowan. And if ye wish, ye can listen ta the next telling of the tale. Uncle Colin says Roddy's stories age like rotting cheese, but I like them better each time."

Her narrow back was as straight as a sapling's when she turned away, and her tiny feet, Flame noticed, were bare beneath the long, embroidered hem of her gown. With a grin and an abbreviated wave, she dragged the door closed behind her.

The room was quiet again but for Heart's munching. Roderic cleared his throat. "She is spoiled beyond hope, of course," he said brusquely, but when he turned back to Flame, his eyes were still misty. "Were I her sire, I would take her firmly in hand."

Flame dropped her gaze to the blanket beneath her restless fingers but didn't resist the smile tugging at her lips. "Aye. I am certain ye would. Great man of men that ye be."

He laughed softly. "Surely yer own uncle stretched a tale a wee bit now and again."

"Lawrence, Nevin's sire, used to come to Dun Ard with his wonderful silks and ribbons. He would sometimes bring gifts for Mother and me, for he had no daughters of his own, and his wife had been long dead.'' Once he had brought her a small silver mirror. The handle had been engraved in the shape of a rose. She had been entranced by its beauty, and as shattered as its round, shiny face when her father had smashed it against the wall. "But that was before the MacGowan decided that only whores took gifts from men other than their husbands." She tugged at a loose thread in the earth-toned plaid of the Forbes' tartan that covered her legs. "I never saw Lawrence after that."

"I am truly sorry, lass."

"He was killed by a thief who broke into his home and set fire to his cottage."

"And Nevin."

"He was asleep and barely escaped with his life. He had nothing but the clothes on his back when he came to Dun Ard. So ye see, I am far luckier than some."

"Lass, I—"

She lifted her eyes to his, and for a moment she forgot to hide her feelings. "Rachel is blessed beyond measure."

Their gazes met and melded. Roderic's face was solemn. In her mind's eye, Flame saw a lad with golden hair and laughing blue eyes.

A thousand thoughts flowed between them but none were spoken.

Heart nudged Flame's arm, snapping her from her reverie.

She drew a deep breath. Roderic cleared his throat and seemed to find their former topic with difficulty.

"Her father dotes on her shamelessly."

"She is blessed," Flame said again, but the words were only a whisper.

For a moment she thought Roderic would say more, instead he stood and took the horse away.

Chapter 27

Flame awoke with a start. The room was dark as pitch. Beside her bed, Clarinda snored on her cot.

What had she heard? She lay perfectly still, listening, and then heard the quiet creak of door hinges again. Who was there? No one had to tell her she was in enemy territory and that she was without weapons. What had they done with the dirk she always wore at her side?

"Flanna," Roderic whispered.

"Forbes!" she gasped, twisting about and finding his face in the darkness.

"Gawd's wrath, lass, ye look as if ye've seen a ghost. Did I scare ye?"

"No," she managed on a sharp exhalation.

He chuckled. "Aye. I did."

"No. Ye—"

"Shh," he said, placing a finger to his lips. "Dunna wake Clarinda. Ye've given her enough trouble, what with the horse and all."

"I did not—"

"Shh," he said again and chuckled. "’Tis a bonny night."

She scowled through the darkness at him. Weren't wounded people supposed to be allowed to sleep? "Ye came to tell me about the weather?"

"Nay, I didna," he said, and bending over the bed, flipped the blankets aside.

"What are ye doing?"

"Showing ye a bonny night," he whispered and lifted her into his arms.

"But..."

"Shh," he said and tiptoed to the door as if she were no more trouble than a just-birthed kitten.

His feet were silent against the stone stairs.

"Roderic..."

He hushed her again. "If Fiona finds ye missing, she'll have me hide."

Flame opened her mouth to object, but they were just entering the great hall and he scowled her to silence lest she wake those who slept in the rushes. From the pile of curs near the wall, a hound rose and trotted toward them, her paws rustling through the scattered heather and herbs.

"Bonny missed ye," he whispered.

The huge hall door creaked open. He stepped through, managing not to hit either her head or her feet in the process.

"Aye," Flame said as the hound danced beside them, rapturously trying to lick the hand of the man she adored. "Bonny missed me, just like Lady Fiona would have yer hide if she found me missing."

Roderic raised his brows at her. The magical light of the full moon showed the surprise on his face. "Ye dunna believe me?"

Flame scowled. Fiona adored him as all women surely did. And she was a lady to her very soul. She would never raise a hand to him or any man. "Nay," she said, "I do not. The Lady Fiona would hurt no one. Least of all ye."

He stared at her for an instant then laughed and continued on, saying nothing.

"Why do ye laugh?"

He chuckled softly. His hair was brushed back, showing the width of his broad throat. "'Tis a marvel how ye can at times seem so wise only ta seem so foolish a moment later."

"I am not foolish."

He chuckled again and eased her a bit closer to his heart. "Ask ta see Leith's scars sometime," he said then frowned. "On second thought, dunna."

"Scars? Where? Why?"

"Dunna sound so intrigued," he said, frowning into her upturned face. "'Twas a poor idea."

"What are ye talking about?"

"Me brother has been heard to say he would rather startle a wild boar than raise his lady's ire."

Flame stared into his face. "Not sweet Fiona," she scoffed. "Ye jest."

"Sweet Fiona." He chuckled again. "Aye, lass, if ye say so. Bonny night isn't it, Gregory?''

"Aye, Roddy, 'tis indeed. Out for a stroll?"

Embarrassment scalded her so that Flame refused to look at the man to whom Roderic spoke. Surely she had sunk to the depths of humiliation to be carried about by this jesting warrior who thought himself the man of men. But his arms were strong and he smelled of fine leather. His nearness made her head light and her heart hammer.

They ascended a tower and hurried up a score of narrow stairs. He squeezed her closer to his chest and grinned. "I love tight spaces."

"Where are ye taking me?" she asked, refusing to honor his foolishness.

"’Tis a surprise."

"I hate surprises."

"Ye’ll like mine."

"How do ye know?" she asked, needing to keep him talking to quiet her jangling nerves. She had always loved the scent of leather, but he added a new quality to it. An allure. A masculinity. And he was very close, with her hale arm draped about his neck. Never in her life had she thought a man could be called beautiful yet manly.

The stairs ended. Roderic's footfalls sounded across a flat stone expanse and then halted.

"Look." His voice was little more than a whisper in her ear. They stood atop the battlements. Below them stretched a scene she had witnessed only once before— the magical Burn Glen, wreathed in mist and mystery. But now she was not racing toward the castle with hatred in her soul and vengeance within her grasp. Now she was clasped in the arms of a man who was supposed to be her enemy. A man who owned her heart.

A stallion trumpeted, drawing Flame's gaze across the burn. On a dark hillock a white horse reared, tossing his head and calling a challenge to an unseen rival. Another horse answered and suddenly, he was there. The two beasts rose on hind legs, sparring playfully. The mists swirled, sweeping up the hillside and making the scene surreal and unearthly.

"Beautiful," she breathed.

"Beyond words," he agreed.

Their gazes met and held. Their thoughts entwined. The image of the golden-haired boy returned to Flame's mind.

Roderic drew a deep breath. Against her heart Flame could feel his chest expand.

"I..." She should run away now. Before it was too late. "I lied about not wanting children," she whispered.

"Fear makes us hide, lass. But 'tis hard to hide from the truth. Yer daughter will have yer eyes."

"What?"

"I see her in me mind. She is as bonny as springtime."

It almost seemed as if Flame were floating in a dream where people laughed and loved, where peace reigned and she was called Mama by a golden boy with a winsome smile.

"'Tis a lad," she said. "Just like ye."

"Gawd help us," Roderic whispered.

"Who goes ..." someone called, then, "Ho, Roderic. I didn na hear ye come up."

The spell was broken.

Flame pulled her gaze from Roderic's. He turned slowly away.

"There be a reason for that, Cleat."

"Oh." Apparently, Cleat was not overly bright, but Roderic's gruff tone managed to alert him to the situation. "I'll be leaving the two of ye alone then."