“The wee lad wishes ta win yer adoration.”
“What?” She stiffened.
Roderic grinned. Damn Troy and all the MacGowan warriors. “I fear yer Wolfhound’s imagination runs riot. I but wished ta see ye work the steed.” He watched her eyes. They were cool as glass and unnerving, for if the truth were known, he did want her adoration. “‘Tis difficult ta believe ye trained him yerself.”
“Because I am a woman?”
Without looking, Roderic could feel Troy’s smile. He damned that man again, then reprimanded himself for his tactless words. He was supposed to be charming, he reminded himself. Roderic the Rogue. “Nay lass, because ye are bonny beyond words. I canna understand how ye have escaped wedlock for so long.”
“Flattery is a weak man’s cheap weapon, Forbes.”
“And yers is yer tongue.”
They stared at each other in silence. Roderic grasped the plaid where it crossed his shoulder. He was being very charming, he thought sarcastically. “I didna come to exchange insults with ye, lass,” he said softly. “But rather, ta share yer knowledge of the horse.”
The joyous, carefree expression was gone from her face, and Roderic found that he wished more than anything to call it back. “And pray, why would I share anything with the likes of ye, Forbes?”
Because he was charming and manly and handsome, he reminded himself. “Because …” Roderic, tried not to stare at her leg. But no matter where he looked, her sensuality shook his repose. “Because the Forbeses are oft in need of good horses of war. And because we have ties to powerful families who share our need.” She stared at him intently. He warmed to the subject, seeing her interest. “With Leith’s marriage to Fiona, some ties have been formed in England. And the French are na unknown to us.”
Her hands tightened on the reins. Lochan irritably flipped his tail at the increased tension. “The French are not unknown to me, either.” There was anger in her eyes. Was it her hatred for him that caused it, or was this emotion for a different reason? “In truth, many of our steeds were brought from that country. So ye see, if we should wish to sell our mounts, we, too, have contacts.”
“But how would ye get them there, lass? Have ye the manpower to see their safe delivery to a port? A knight is na a knight without a fine steed. They cost dear and many would kill for them, as ye well ken.”
She laughed, but the sound was harsh. “Ye think I do not realize this? Ye think I turn my steeds out to run wild on the heath. Nay! I have them well guarded. But ‘tis said the Forbeses like a challenge. ‘Twas dusk when ye attacked my men and stole my beasts.”
“It was na the Forbeses.” He had not meant to argue, for he knew he could not convince her otherwise. Not yet. But the words slipped from him, low and earnest. “It was na me clan’s doings.”
Their gazes clashed.
“Ye lie,” she said finally and urged the stallion away.
Without a second thought, Roderic reached out to grasp her thigh. She halted the gray and stared at his hand. “Were ye planning to keep those fingers, Forbes?”
“Do ye care so little for yer people, then?” he asked, ignoring her threat. “They be all but starving, lass. Yet, I begin to think yer horses could save them, if ye could but combine yer Lochan’s agility and training with the great destrier’s size and might. Tell me of yer horses, Flanna. Show me yer steeds. Convince me of the superiority of yer breeding stock, and I will do what I can to assure the return of yer animals.”
“And why would I trust the word of a Forbes?”
Her tone was breathless, as if she barely dared to hope. He was trapped in her eyes, but suddenly a mischievous gust of wind tossed a long lock of her hair over her shoulder and onto his hand. It was as bright as the sunrise and as soft as a smile. For an instant, Roderic’s breath halted in his throat, for they seemed suddenly to be connected somehow, bound together by those few fiery strands of hair.
Flame, too, held her breath. Their gazes met with a jolt. Roderic’s fingers burned between the heat of her thigh and the softness of her hair. But in a moment, she exhaled sharply and pushed his hand away before straightening. Still, she did not manage to draw herself from his eyes. Neither did she move.
“I swear it on me father’s grave,” Roderic said solemnly. “Convince me of the superiority of yer steeds, and I will do me best to see that they are returned to ye.”
“Then ye no longer deny raiding our herds?”
“To the contrary,” Roderic said. “I am but promising ta see justice done.”
“The word of a Forbes is of little use to me,” she said, quickly turning her face away. “For ‘twas they who promised to be our allies. And ‘twas they that took our stock and killed our kin.”
“I swear it on me father’s grave,” he repeated.
She turned her gaze slowly back to his. “So be it.” Her tone was utterly sober and her expression the same. “I will accept yer word as a sacred vow.
“Troy.” She turned to the huge warrior behind him. “Ye are a witness. I will show Forbes our steeds. Ye must make certain he does not escape while I do so.”
“Aye, lass,” rumbled Troy. Placing a hand on Roderic’s arm, he turned him around. “Do ye promise na ta run off, Forbes?”
Roderic raised his brows. There had been no room for trust between them thus far. Why did the Wolfhound ask for promises now? “I willna escape this day.”
Troy nodded once and looked to Flame. “Do I have yer leave to return to the keep, lass?”
“Ye call that making certain he does not escape?”
The warrior shrugged. “Ye have already accepted his sacred vow, lass. And perhaps it is time.”
She scowled down at him. “For what?”
“For ye ta trust another. The falcon and the snake both kill, but the falcon does na pretend to be a stick.” For one long moment, he watched her, and then he turned away, showing them the immense width of his back as he headed for the drawbridge.
“What the devil did that mean?” Roderic mused.
“It means he’s trying to make me crazed.”
“Be I the snake or be I the falcon?”
“Ye be the snake,” Flame said, shaking herself from her reverie.
Roderic grinned and she caught his gaze. His hair glistened in burnished waves of gold just as it did in the dreams that had begun to haunt her. A small braid lay on each side of his powerful jaw and his eyes were as blue as the heavens.
“Why do ye hate me, lass?” he asked.
It took her a moment to find her voice, for his tone felt as warm and soft as sunlight on bare skin. “Because ye are a devil,” she murmured. She could almost believe it was true, for surely no one but Satan himself could be so entrancing, so alluring, and tempting.
He grinned a little, and in that moment she wondered if she might not be entirely wrong. If he might not be an angel that had fallen. But no, if the devil meant to tempt her, he would send a man just like this one. One with a voice like warned ale. A man with the wit of a scholar and the brawn of a field laborer. But neither men’s intellect nor brawn had aided her in the past, for men always found her wanting and turned away.
“Mayhap I be a handsome devil, Flanna. But I assure ye, I am na auld horny himself.”
How was it that even his tremendous vanity appealed to her? Was it because he seemed to laugh at himself at the same time he issued self-praise? Or was it simply that she agreed with his assessment? Dear Lord, either way she was a fool. But surely he could not see into her mind. He could not know how he drew her. “Then I cannot trust ye because ye are a Forbes,” she said, using the words to remind herself to keep her distance.
“Because I am a Forbes or because I am a man?” he asked.
She did not gasp, though it was a close thing. Had someone told him about Carvell de Laplant, her fiance? But no. No one knew. No one except Troy. And he would never tell. He had sworn he wouldn’t. But… Flame stared at the huge warrior’s retreating back. He, too, was a man and alre
ady he seemed to foolishly trust their enemy. ‘Twould be like a man to betray her friendship for the comradery of another of his own sex.
She straightened slowly. “I am an excellent archer, Forbes,” she said, changing the subject and finding a threat appropriate for the moment. “Should ye try to escape, ye would not make it to the trees before my barb pierced your back.”
“Would ye truly take me life, lass?”
“In an instant.”
He raised his brows and kept his gaze on hers. “Have ye na woman’s softness?”
“None.” It was true, for she had given up her femininity when she had taken the name of Flame and become the MacGowans’ leader. Only now did the sacrifice rankle. But she refused to acknowledge the cause.
“Did I na have eyes, I could almost believe ye, lass.”
“Don’t call me that!”
It was clear that her harsh tone startled him. “What? Lass?”
“Ye may call me Flame or ye may call me MacGowan. Naught else.”
“Yer Wolfhound calls ye lass. Why—”
“Ye are hardly like a father to me.” Damnation! Why had she said that?
“So the great hound be as a father ta ye?” asked Roderic.
She stared at him, wishing she had never spoken, that his eyes were not so blue, that she had been born a man. “Get back to the stable. I said I would show ye the horses, and I will stand by my word.”
“So ‘tis Troy that knows ye like none other?” mused Roderic.
“Go!” she ordered. Her tone was sufficiently harsh, but her body felt taut with anxiety. She knew better than to let a man near her heart.
For a moment longer Roderic watched her. Then he shrugged and glanced toward the castle. “Surely ye dunna expect me ta walk all that far way.” He smiled.
It was little more man a hundred rods to the drawbridge. Flame scowled, flicking her gaze down his lengthy, well-muscled form. “Ye have little chance of making me believe ye are too frail to make it that far.”
His smiled deepened. “Shall I be flattered?”
“Don’t bother.”
His blue eyes twinkled in the bright morning. “I would be willing to ride pillion.”
“Do ye go?” she asked. “Or do I set my arrow to my bow?”
His smile didn’t falter a whit, she noticed, disgruntled. It was little wonder her men had already begun to trust the lout. After all, it was difficult to distrust anyone who smiled as much as Forbes did. Surely it showed he lacked enough intelligence to mastermind an escape. Still… She watched his face closely. He did not look slow-witted. Indeed, the opposite was true. He looked as sound as any man she had ever seen. In fact, his body looked as hard and lean as …
Flame mentally shook her head. She was no silly maid to be seduced by his fine looks. She had learned better long ago. And now she was the leader of the clan MacGowan. The Flame, as they called her, with no time for girlish sentiment or dangerous dalliances. She reached for her bow.
Roderic laughed, lifting a hand and watching her face. “Though I be flattered by yer offer ta show me yer brood stock, I would sooner see more of this steed’s maneuvers first. Or canna he do more than hop about like a bunny?”
Flame watched Forbes’ expression for just a moment and then touched a heel to Lochan’s side. The stallion spun away at the slightest pressure. And then, like a pouncing cat, he leaped into the air, kicking out behind him at the same time. She knew his heels missed Roderic’s face by mere inches, and yet she didn’t take time to appreciate her enemy’s expression. In a moment Lochan was pivoting on his hind legs so swiftly that the world around her was a blur. Coming out of the spin, he leaped forward again and rose on his hind legs to pummel the air with his forefeet. There was a momentary pause … and then, with an ear-splitting trumpet, he crumpled to the ground, carrying Flame with him.
Chapter 8
“Flanna!” Roderic gasped and rushed forward to free her from the animal’s weight. He reached for her, but suddenly she was on her feet. One hand gripped his shirt while her other was wrapped hard and fast about the dirk that poked firmly between his ribs.
“I could kill ye, Forbes,” she murmured. “Before ye’d ever know ‘twas a ruse.”
Roderic stared into her eyes. They were alight with passion and exhilaration. He drew a steadying breath, trying to remember that it was not passion for him. “Ye cued the steed to fall?” he asked.
She tilted her head and nodded curtly. “The enemy assumes the horse is wounded and the rider pinned.” She pressed slightly harder with the dirk. “Giving me the advantage.”
Roderic raised his brows, admiring the ploy, but admiring the woman more. The fire, the wit, the nerve. “But what if the enemy did this?” he asked, and without allowing himself a moment’s thought, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.
Her breasts were firm against his chest, her lips soft against his—and her dirk sharp against his side. He felt all three sensations, and though his mind demanded that he draw back and spare his life’s blood, his arms refused to let her loose. Her heart beat frantically against his. Her body trembled, and he wondered if it was fear or excitement?
He slid his hand up her back, pressing her closer still, allowing his thigh to slip between hers, feeling the heat of her body as she kissed him in return.
Sweet Mary, she was kissing him! But just as his loins clambered at that realization, she jerked her head back and pressed away from his embrace. Still, he could not let her go, for he wanted her with an all-consuming ache, and he had felt her answering flame. Her eyes were round with shock, her lips kiss-softened and bright as Yuletide berries. But the dirk had not moved. Roderic lowered his gaze.
A droplet of blood had seeped through his shirt, but it failed to hold his interest.
“Do that again,” she warned in a quivering voice, “and I’ll carve my name in your gizzard.”
But he had felt her tremble in his arms, had felt her need as surely as he felt his own. “Lass, I only wish …” he began, but the dirk pressed harder.
“Don’t do it, Forbes.”
It took every bit of control he possessed to release her. He did so slowly and backed away, trying to remember to breathe as he pushed his fingers through his hair. “When does he get up?”
She blinked at him, looking lost.
“Yer steed,” he explained, relaxing his muscles one by one. She was not his for the taking. She was not his. But perhaps she wanted to be. Perhaps she lay awake nights thinking of him just as he thought of her. Thinking of… God’s wrath, his hands were shaking. Roderic the Rogue with shaky hands. He drew a careful breath, reminding himself to be civil lest he fall upon her with all the finesse of an excited hound. “How do ye get him up?”
Her kiss-swollen lips moved soundlessly. Roderic watched them and somehow, foolishly, they drew him. He moved a step nearer.
“Get back,“r she warned, but her dirk shook as she raised it.
“What are ye afraid of, Flanna MacGowan?” he whispered.
“I am afraid of naught,” she said, but her words were quick and her eyes as wide as those of a frightened doe.
He took a solitary step closer, though he knew he was a fool. “If I were na such a gentleman I would insist on proving ye wrong with another kiss.”
She raised her chin and her dirk simultaneously. “And if I were not such a gentle woman—” she began, but suddenly, Roderic covered her hand with his own, easily holding the dirk steady between them as he leaned close.
“If ye were na such a gentle woman ye would have kilt me when ye had the blade pressed ta me ribs,” he murmured. “But ye did na.”
The air between them crackled with tension. Roderic held his breath, for she was very near, her body tense and her lips slightly parted. His pulse leaped and his manhood did the same.
“Surely it would be a sin to slay ye.” Her voice was no more than a husky whisper.
He was trapped in her eyes, in her tone.
“For I have vowe
d to show ye my horses before I kill ye,” she said suddenly, and drew away with a jerk. “Now get back to the tower, Forbes, before I change my mind.”
God, she was infuriating! Roderic padded silently about his dark tower room. One minute she trembled, the next she teased, and the next she threatened. It was making him angry. It was making him crazy. It was making him… randy. Heaven’s gate, she aroused him.
Finding his pallet with a sigh, Roderic stared at the ceiling. Even after everything she had put him through, the mere thought of her heated his blood. Without trying, he could remember how her soft, leather hose hugged her thighs, how the simple saffron shirt caressed her breasts and her buttocks. But more than that, he could remember the light in her eyes as she rode, the turn of her wrist as she gestured, the sound of her voice when she…
God’s wrath! He was on his feet in a moment and pacing again. He had acted the fool since the first moment he had laid eyes on her. He shouldn’t have trusted her ruse that night at Glen Creag. In retrospect, he couldn’t imagine how he could have believed her to be a simple Highland maid, for she had the bearing of a laird and the beauty of a goddess. He should have immediately realized she was not what she seemed. He shouldn’t have been duped. He shouldn’t have been taken. He shouldn’t have kissed her. And he shouldn’t have allowed himself to be locked away in this tower again.
He stopped by the open shutters to look down into the darkness below. It was time to go home, but…
She had trembled when he kissed her. Was that fear or budding passion? The question still haunted him. Still begged to be answered.
Gripping the plaid near his chest, Roderic stared into the night. He would be a fool to stay much longer. He tapped his forefinger against his brooch. He would be an even bigger fool to go to her bedchamber again. A really big fool. A huge fool. But…
He grinned. Leith had often called him a fool.
Suddenly he knew he would go to her chamber. But this time he would not go empty-handed. Hurrying to his simple table, he picked up the quill they had brought him earlier. With that quill he had carefully penned a message to his brothers. In the missive he had begged them not to be hasty. He had assured them of his safety and asked them not to retaliate. In short, Roderic had done everything he had promised Flanna he would do.
Highland Flame (Highland Brides) Page 9
