Highland Flame (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  He shook his head. “Fiona canna leave Glen Creag, lass, for she is still abed. I am here to make certain she does na overtax her strength on some errand of mercy as she is wont ta do. Though I was na happy ta be left behind for so light an injury as mine.”

  “She is… abed?”

  “With her second babe,” was the answer. “Just birthed. She canna leave. But ye have me promise to bring yer sister to her with all due speed.”

  “A wee babe?” Flame asked. Her plans were crumbling around her like so many grains of sand, leaving her on precarious footing. “But…”

  “I see yer concern, lass,” said the other, taking her hand gently in his own. “But I tell ye true, Fiona Rose must await our return here, for if harm should befall me brother’s wife, Leith would wear me hide as a mantle and me teeth as an amulet.”

  The world creaked to a grinding halt. Air became trapped in Flame’s lungs. She could feel the blood drain from her face. “Laird Leith is yer… brother?” she whispered.

  “Aye.” The corners of the blue eyes crinkled again. “He is that, lass, and though he acts the wee kitten beneath his Fiona’s hand, we Forbeses are na always so gentle as we appear.”

  Not so gentle! “Then ye are …” she began, but her voice failed her completely now.

  “Roderic Forbes, lass. And ye?”

  Damnation! He was Roderic Forbes, one of the men she had vowed to make pay through their lady’s abduction. She had been so certain he would have left with the other warriors… and that Fiona would accompany her. “I… must return to me sister,” she murmured, trying to pull away.

  He held her still, his expression somber. “Aye. We will ride together. Finlay—”

  Flame reached out without conscious thought, tangling her fingers in his voluminous sleeve again. “Please, sir. I dunna wish to bother ye, and I have heard of yer lady’s kindness. Surely—”

  “The babe needs her, lass.”

  “But surely there be another who nurses the wee one.”

  “Nay. The lady cares for her own and willna leave him.”

  Flame remained silent, watching the man before her. She was not a small woman, but he was much larger. For one shameful moment she felt all courage fail her. Then she remembered his betrayal. The Forbeses had vowed to be their allies, but instead they had chosen to raid her herds and torment her people. The wounds of the herd guards had been grievous enough. But Simon’s death had steeled her will. Only the devil’s own would slay a peaceful messenger. For a moment, Flame remembered Simon’s raucous laughter, laughter that had been replaced by his widow’s mourning keel.

  “Then ye must come,” she whispered.

  “Aye. I will,” Roderic said. He held her gaze for a moment before lifting it abruptly to the man behind her. “Return to yer watch, Finlay. With me brothers gone we canna neglect the gate.”

  “Roddy? Be there trouble?” A sleepy-eyed lad of twelve or so years approached on silent feet. He stopped at Roderic’s side, watching him from beneath a tousled mop of flame-bright hair.

  “Aye, Roman. The lass’s kin needs Fiona’s ministrations. I go to bring …”

  But the boy was already hurrying toward the door with a sheepdog at his heels. “I will fetch Mor.”

  Roderic nodded. “And ready a mount for the lass.”

  The door closed behind Finlay and Roman, but Flame barely noticed their exit, for her attention was caught on Roderic’s words. She would not leave Lochan Gorm, for the stallion was her friend and prized possession. “I have me own horse, me laird.”

  “Have I na told ye I am na laird?” Roderic asked.

  “I…” He stood very close. The seconds ticked away. “I have me own horse,” she repeated uneasily.

  “Aye, lass, but yer beast is bound to be weary. A fresh mount will speed our journey.”

  “Nay! It would not!”

  He cocked his head slightly, studying her. “Mayhap yer animal be made of iron?”

  She had sounded too haughty and too well educated. “Nay,” she said more softly now. Was he laughing at her? Anger welled up, but she tamped it carefully down. “Of course na, me laird. He is but flesh and blood as any other steed.”

  “Then the decision is made. Ye will ride a Forbes mount.”

  “But…”

  “Hush. What be yer name, lass?”

  She watched his eyes, momentarily forgetting to breathe. “Cara,” she said softly, “of the McBains. Me sister waits in a shelter just to the south of Forbeses’land.” She let her eyes fall closed and added in a whisper, “If she yet lives.”

  Flame could feel his warm gaze on her face. “Come,” he said abruptly, and leading her toward the table where he had sat, lifted a pewter chalice and pressed it into her hands. “Drink. Nay,” he said, preventing her unspoken refusal. “Dunna argue, for yer sister waits and ye’ll need the strength ta ride a Forbes steed.” His eyes seemed to smile, and though she took no time to try to decipher his mood, she heard the boast in his voice. “We grow our horses large indeed at Glen Creag. And ye must ride like a seasoned warrior this night.”

  Holding his eyes with hers, Flame took the warm cup. She lifted it quickly, draining the potent liquid in one unending quaff.

  “Be ye ready to ride now?’ she asked, handing back the goblet.

  Roderic glanced from the chalice to her face. “Already ye drink like a seasoned warrior.” He raised his fair brows in amazement.

  “Be ye ready?” she repeated.

  “Aye. If ye can walk, lass, I be ready.”

  Turning, she strode quickly for the door. Thumping the empty chalice to the table, Roderic hurried after her.

  The air outside felt heavy with humidity and anticipation. Lochan nickered and appeared from the darkness, a pale shadow in the night.

  Behind her, Roderic cleared his throat. “So this be yer… steed?”

  Flame placed a hand to the mane she had intentionally muddied, letting her emotions flow easily through that simple touch. Lochan tossed his head. “Yes. He is mine.”

  “Well…” Roderic said hesitantly. “I am sure he’s a fine ride, lass, but Roman comes even now with our mounts. Yer animal will be well tended until our return.”

  “No.” She spoke softly without turning toward him. “I will ride me own. I thank ye for yer generosity, but I am but a simple maid, me laird, and…” The lad stopped a pair of gigantic mounts nearby. They shuffled their heavily feathered feet restlessly, laying back their ears and turning white-rimmed eyes toward Lochan. The smaller stallion rumbled a low challenge and danced sideways at the length of his reins.

  Flame pulled him nearer. “I am but a simple maid,” she repeated, “and surely couldna control such a powerful beast as ye offer.”

  “Fear na, lass. I will see that na harm befalls…” Roderic began, but before he could finish his promise, Flame had vaulted onto Lochan’s bare back.

  “Me sister,” she reminded him breathlessly. “She canna wait. And Lochan knows the way even in the dead of night.”

  “Verra well then, lass. Ye say yer sister waits at our southern border?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then we should reach her just afore dawn,” he said, speaking to the lad now. “Though the return trip will be slower, look for us three hours or so past first light.”

  “Could I na go with ye, Roddy?”

  “I wish that ye could, lad. For I would feel safer with ye at me back. But we canna spare a single man this night.” Roderic’s teeth shone in the darkness as he spoke, and the boy’s back seemed to straighten with pride at his words. “I am placing the safety of all here in yer hands until me return, for I know ye can do a man’s job.”

  Roman nodded solemnly, then unbuckled a scabbard from his hips and handed it quickly over. “I have brought Neart, for ye canna go unarmed with brigands about.”

  Roderic reached for the long blade, then fastened it to his own lean waist. Flame’s heart seemed to stop in her chest. She had hoped to bring the Forbeses’ lady, not
an armed warrior, but she could not turn back now.

  ” ‘Tis a blessing ye are, lad,” he was saying. “Put Skene back and make certain Fiona be prepared for our return.”

  The boy nodded as Roderic mounted his waiting stallion.

  It was only a short distance to the castle’s front entrance. With a word from Roderic, the portcullis was raised and the horses trotted over the wooden bridge. The big stallion’s footfalls were cadenced and ponderous, Lochan’s were quick and light.

  With a single word of farewell, the iron grill was lowered. Night stretched out before them, welcoming Flame with dark, reaching arms. Lochan pressed into a gallop of his own accord, swallowing the leagues with his long, sweeping strides. Above, the beleaguered moon found an opening in the tattered clouds and shed its mercurial light across their winding trail.

  Gnarled, mist-heavy bracken grabbed at Lochan’s hooves, but he flew through it. He knew the destination and would not fail her. Flame laid a hand to his neck, feeling his strength. Cresting a hill, she gazed downward. The glen below was wreathed in shadow and cloud. Flame loosened the reins, letting Lochan choose the course into the sea of fog where the tumbled remains of a stable would lie shrouded and silent.

  Mist lapped at their legs like a swelling tide.

  All would be well now. Flame consciously slowed her breathing and tried to ease the tension from her muscles, but worry and fear held her in a tight grip. All would be well, she assured herself again. There was no one to stop her. It was only a little farther. A hundred rods or so and …

  From nowhere, a dark arm reached from the shadows. Flame screamed and jerked sideways. Lochan spun wildly away, nearly losing her. But the arm drew back of its own accord, sweeping upward on outstretched wings and materializing into a hunting owl. It was a bad omen. Flame straightened on Lochan’s back, but failed to breathe. Someone would die this night.

  “Lass!” Roderic was beside her in an instant, grabbing Lochan’s reins and pulling him to a halt. Flame remained unmoving, staring into the mist toward their destination.

  ” ‘Twas but a owl,” he assured her. “Are ye unhurt?”

  She swallowed convulsively. “Aye. I am fine.”

  “Ye’re shaking.” His hand moved from the reins to her arm. Even through the damp woolen sleeve, his fingers felt warm and strong. For a moment her will weakened. “Come. Ye can ride with me.”

  “Nay,” she breathed.

  “I willna hurt ye.”

  “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, ano
ther 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.”