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.”
She swung wildly back, fists clenched at her sides. “Well, I cannot burn forever!” Fear swelled up inside her—fear of being discovered for who she really was— a lass who trembled at the thought of danger and retched at the sight of blood. “I cannot guide them!” she said softly. “My father knew I—”
“Yer father knew nothing of ye,” Troy interrupted.
A thousand sharp-edged emotions flared inside Flanna. “Am I not his?” she whispered. “Is that why his love for me turned to hate?”
“Ye are his, lass. Yer only sin was to remind him of yer mother.”
She tightened her fists and took a step forward. “Are ye lying to me, Troy? Are ye lying to us all? Ye were her friend even at the end. She would have told ye the truth.”
For a moment he was silent. “Ye are his daughter, Flanna MacGowan, though he didna deserve ye.”
“And the babe that died with her?” Flame asked. “What of him?”
Troy turned away. “There is na reason ta discuss that, for they are dead now. Surely it can na longer matter.”
Flame closed her eyes. “If Gregor had but lived…”
Troy snorted and fac
ed her again. “Gregor was never meant ta rule. Gregor was a bonny, broad lochan with the sunlight of his father’s adoration glistening upon him. But the lochan goes nowhere, lass. It becomes stagnant while the Flame swells and grows when the storm winds blow.”
“I don’t know what ye are saying,” Flame countered. “I don’t know what you—”
“Aye, ye do, lass. Ye ken exactly what I say, for ye have yer father’s intellect. Ye have yer mother’s caring, and ye have yer own gift with the horse. Gregor had none of these things.” Troy sighed again. ” ‘Twas nearly ten years ago that Gregor was spilled into the water during a raid. Aye, he would have died if Leith Forbes had not pulled him out. It was then that peace was made between them and us. But it has always been an uneasy peace, and sometimes I think ‘twould have been better had the Forbeses na fished yer brother from those roiling waters.
“Dunna reprimand me, lass,” he said, holding up a hand. “Mayhap if Gregor had died earlier, yer father would have seen what he should have known all along. Mayhap he would have brought ye home the sooner.”
Flame stared at him in silence. “I canna lead my people,” she said softly.
“Aye, lass, ye can.”
“I’m afraid.”
Troy nodded once. ” Tis a brave warrior who admits his fear.”
‘iAnd I’m tired till death of yer meandering wisdom,” she said.
Troy laughed, throwing back his great head for a moment. “Then I will remain silent and let ye think.”
Flame smiled sheepishly into the darkness. “Forgive me, Troy. Ye know I did not mean that. My worry makes me spiteful, for I fear it will take more than the little wisdom I possess to guide the MacGowans.”
“Aye, lass,” Troy said. ” ‘Twill take the strength of yer will, too. But hear me words. Sometimes it takes a woman ta ken how ta handle a man.” He turned slightly, nodding behind him. “And Forbes, he is just a man, lest ye forget.”
Flame drew a deep breath, fortifying her strength and staring at the shell of the old stable. “Ye know that ye are throwing me to the wolves?”
“Aye, lass,” Troy said, setting a broad hand to her back to propel her toward the door. “But ye must remember …” he added, walking beside her. “Even the greatest wolf be afraid of the flame.”
“Troy …” She stopped abruptly, uncertainty flooding back.
” ‘Twas fine work ye did in there, lass,” he said gently. “I particularly favored the part with the sword.” He smiled into her upturned face while poking his neck with the tips of two blunt fingers. ” ‘Twould have been a wee bit more believable had yer hand not been shaking like—”
“Forbes!” someone screamed.
Panic flashed through Flame. For a moment, she stood paralyzed then she jerked about and raced through the stone doorway. Troy drew his sword and thundered after her.
“Back away!” Roderic snapped. One of his forearms was poised tight and hard against Shaw’s throat as he controlled him from behind. Near his feet, the tiny faggot of wood that had burned his bonds, still smoked “You! Bullock! Put down yer claymore and slide it toward me. Gilbert, isn’t it?” he asked, jerking his head toward the other. Roderic’s movement set his singed bonds trembling under Shaw’s chin. “Don’t be clever, for I have na wish ta kill yer friend.”
“If we rush him…” Bullock began, but Roderic shook his head.
“Tell them na ta move, lass, or Shaw here willna draw another breath.”
Flame took one abbreviated step forward, all attention focused on the pair by the fire. “If we leave now, will ye let him go?”
“Aye, ye have me—”
The whine of a loosed arrow sung of death. Flame screamed and threw herself sideways, trying to block the missile’s path, but in an instant Nevin’s barb sank deep in Shaw’s chest.
Flame froze in stunned horror, watching the feathered shaft quiver in its victim. Shaw’s lips moved, but no sound issued forth as he slid stiffly from Roderic’s grip.
Behind Flame, Nevin rushed into the doorway. “Dear Gawd!” he shrieked, falling to his knees as he saw what he had done. “Shaw! No!” His voice was a desperate wail. He dropped his bow and cupped his face with shaking hands, but in a moment he lunged to his feet. Yanking out his sword, he charged forward.
“Nay!” Flame screamed. Instantly she grabbed Troy’s blade from his hand, and flung herself in front of Roderic. “Nay!” She spun about. Her back was to her prisoner, her legs widespread as she held the heavy claymore in both hands. But Nevin rushed toward her.
There was a moment of breathless silence, then a growl of animal-like rage as Troy swept forward. Grabbing Nevin by the shirt, he snatched him from his feet and tossed him through the air like a hound might fling a rat.
The young man hit the wall with a resounding thud. His sword dropped harmlessly to the grass.
“The lass says nay!” rumbled Troy, turning his huge body to protect the woman protecting Roderic. “Be there others who might dispute her decision?”
“He’s dead.” William’s voice was quiet as he knelt beside Shaw’s’ flaccid body.
“Gawd’s truth!” said Bullock through gritted teeth. “There will be an eye for an eye!”
Troy moved with slow deliberation to face this new antagonist “Are ye willing ta spare an eye, lad?” he rumbled softly.
“Will we let this deed go unavenged?” shrieked Bullock. His sword was drawn, his face contorted with rage. Beside him, Gilbert, too, fumed. “Forbes has kilt one of our own.”
“Nay!” said Flame, and though she wanted to sob with grief, she held the sword steady in aching hands and refused to look at the downed warrior’s staring eyes. “He has not. ‘Twas our own carelessness that caused Shaw’s death.” She settled her gaze on Bullock, who dropped his gaze in unison with his sword.
“I didna ken Forbes had burned his bonds through,” he croaked. ” ‘Tis me fault. ‘Tis I who should have died, na Shaw.”
A silence as heavy as the surrounding mists held them before Flame was able to speak again.
“Nay, Bullock,” she whispered. “None should die.”
Stepping forward, she pressed the tip of Troy’s sword
into the earth and put a trembling hand on Bullock’s
arm. “We all take the blame. We all bear the sadness.
But we have no time to grieve now. I know Shaw was
your friend. It will be yer right to see that his body gets
safely home.” ,
Drawing a deep breath, she turned. The sorrow that wrung her heart shone in the eyes of her men, but that emotion was a luxury she could not afford. “Bring up the horses,” she ordered, “and prepare to ride.”
Nevin pushed himself from the floor. “Forgive me, my lady. I did not think…” His voice broke and his shaking hands clasped at nothing. “I did not think whatI was doing. Tis my fault. I saw Forbes holding Shaw and I only thought to stop … Dear God!” he wailed. “I only thought to stop him from harming Shaw, but my aim was faulty.” He dropped to his knees again. “And we lose another man to the Forbeses. How many more must die because of them?”
Flame tightened her hands on Troy’s sword. “There will be no more deaths this day, Nevin. Rise. We must put our sorrow behind ye. Go see to the horses.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath and rose slowly, head still bowed. “Aye, lady,” he said, and followed Shaw’s gently borne body.
Flame turned slowly. “Do ye hear that, Forbes?” she asked.
Roderic watched her. So she truly was the leader of the MacGowans. He had heard as much but had found it difficult to believe. The MacGowans and the Forbeses had shared a cautious alliance in the years since Leith and Fiona had saved the old laird’s heir from drowning. But since then, young, hotheaded Gregor had accidentally lost his life during a raid. The old laird had died shortly after. There were those who said the weight of his grief caused his passing.
“Do ye hear?” asked Flanna MacGowan again, taking a short stride toward
him so that she stood even with Troy. By any standards, that warrior was a gargantuan man, with both the solid build and the stoic attitude of a wolfhound.
“There will be no more deaths this day,” she repeated more loudly. The hilt of her borrowed sword nearly reached her bosom which was hidden beneath a high-necked gown of filthy, somber plaid. Whose blood was it that smeared her face and garments? he wondered. Surely not her sister’s, for the laird of the MacGowans had left no other children or close relatives.
The MacGowans had lost many in the past years. Sickness and disease had taken their toll. Their enemies had surely not aided their cause. And now the clan was depleted and weakened. And yet, led by this female warrior, who could guess what they might achieve? Roderic studied her in silence. She was not a small woman. Indeed, she stood well above many of her own men. Her back was as straight as a newly forged lance and her face was as strong and noble as a conquering king’s.
“No more deaths!” she hissed, stabbing Troy’s sword into the earth again to gain his attention.
Roderic lifted his gaze to hers and insolently raised his brows. “Be ye offering ta set me free?”
“Nay!” She stabbed the floor again. “I am offering ye your life.”
“But I already have me life, lass.”
“And I will not take it,” she vowed, “if ye agree to go with us peacefully.”
“And forfeit the pleasure and glory of trying ta escape? Wouldna that be neglecting me duty as a Scot?”
“Ye will not try to escape!” insisted Flame, stabbing again.
Troy winced. “Please, lass,” he said, stepping nearer to pry her fingers from the beautifully engraved hilt of his sword. “Gloir was me father’s claymore. And his father’s afore him.” Lifting the blade, he examined it by the poor light. “It has done naught to deserve yer wrath. If ye need ta vent yer fury, ye have a perfectly good victim before yer verra eyes. Or”—he tested the edge of the blade with his broad thumb, eyeing Roderic as he did so. “Shall I vent it for ye?”
Roderic kept his gaze carefully level, watching the huge warrior with a steady glare. “Come on then, Wolfhound. There has yet ta be a time when a bare-handed Forbes canna best an armed MacGowan.”
Highland Flame (Highland Brides) Page 3
