Highland Flame (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  But he had also told them he had no way to escape.

  Roderic could imagine his brothers reading such a missive. Leith would snort at the ridiculousness of the words. Colin would laugh out loud, for never had there been a room from which Roderic the Rogue could not escape.

  No. The brothers Forbes would not come to his rescue. They would read his message. They would understand his meaning, and they would stay put and bide their time, risking no lives and allowing Roderic an opportunity to take care of important business. Such as watering that tiny bud of passion he had felt blooming within Flanna.

  Roderic grinned at the parchment, dipped the quill into the ink, and began to write.

  Flanna lay on her side with her back toward him. The descent from the tower prison had gone smoothly despite the rain that wet the stone walls.

  Roderic pulled the note from his sporran, and set it on her pillow. She had been so sure he could not escape. What would she think when she awoke to find the letter? He could imagine her reading it. His tender words would stoke her woman’s soul. But he must not forget the warrior in her, for that facet was likely to skewer him to the wall should she find him in her chambers. Roderic turned, preparing to leave when he noticed her shoulder was bare. It gleamed with the luster of a pearl and was framed by the flaming mass of her unruly hair.

  He held his breath, knowing he should leave. But the castle slept and the sight of the warrior woman drew him. Ever so carefully, he perched on her mattress and reached cautiously forward. The tress of hair he touched was as soft as he had expected. It curled about his index finger with careless abandon. If only the lass herself would relax in his presence. But no. She was cool and aloof, only letting down her guard during sleep, when she looked like an angel.

  Roderic spared a grin for his romantic notions. Yet it was true. She did look angelic and innocent in her guileless sleep. But if she were innocent where men were concerned, why did she fear his nearness so?

  Had some man hurt her? The thought made Roderic’s stomach twist. He knew there would be men who would resent her. They would be the same men who were intimidated by her position and her power. A noise from the far side of the door cut his musings short.

  Without a moment’s delay, Roderic dropped to the floor and rolled beneath the bed. However, the door didn’t open and no other sounds could be heard. Had someone discovered his escape and followed him here? He lay very still, waiting.

  “Nevin.”

  Though it was nearly inaudible he recognized Marjory’s voice. There was a whispered protest, but in a moment he heard the soft rustle of fabric and knew the couple was well occupied. Strange, for Nevin did not seem like a lady’s man, and Marjory seemed a shy lass. Perhaps he was taking advantage of her. Perhaps Roderic should put a stop to it, he thought, and then nearly laughed aloud at his foolishness. These were not his people, nor was a midnight tryst any of his business. Still, lasses were under the protection of their laird, or in this case, under Flanna’s protection. Perhaps he should tell her of the affair. Instead, he lay perfectly still, waiting. Minutes slipped by in utter silence but he could well imagine the couple’s activities. Roderic scowled. He had a pain in his back and his imaginings were not making him any more comfortable. The wooden floor beneath him was hard and cold and he was separated from his would-be partner by nothing more substantial than a sagging mattress … and the threat of death. An oaken knot pressed into his spine. Roderic shifted, trying to ease the ache, but it only moved the pain to his shoulder. He shifted again and knocked his head on the bed’s frame.

  He knew the moment Flanna awoke. The soft sighs of her breathing ceased. The mattress rustled quietly. He heard her roll over and held his breath.

  A half hour elapsed, creaking along by rusty minutes. Was she asleep? He couldn’t be sure, but it was unlikely that dawn would delay its advent on his account. He would have to risk an escape before someone discovered him missing. Suffice it to say the MacGowans would be rather put out to find him creeping about their lady’s bedchamber in the wee hours of the morning.

  Ever so quietly, Roderic eased to his left. His shoulder slipped past the edge of the mattress. He allowed himself one shallow waft of air and then…

  “Pity’s sake,” Flame sighed.

  Roderic froze. The mattress dipped. The ropes moaned and suddenly the girl’s bare feet brushed his sleeve. He held his breath and squeezed in his arms but dared not move farther, lest she hear him.

  On slim, silent feet, she padded across the floor. Roderic allowed himself another shallow breath, scooted a scant inch to his right and stilled, watching her with unblinking eyes.

  She paced to the window and opened the shutters. A spattering of rain flitted in. Flanna lifted her hand, letting a few drops strike her palm before hooking the blinds back in place and striding to the fireplace. Only a few embers glowed there. Dear God, please don’t let her see the note he had left on her pillow. Not until he was safely back in the tower.

  Lifting a poker from its place by the stone hearth, she hefted it thoughtfully in her hand. The thing would make an effective weapon, Roderic reasoned, if she knew he was there. But of course she did not. And so long as she remained standing, he was well hidden.

  In perfect unison with his thoughts, she seated herself on the hearth.

  Roderic dared not do so much as blink. ‘Twas just like her to spite him.

  “What am I to do?” she murmured.

  It seemed she looked straight at him. But if she did, having men squashed under her bed must be a nightly occurrence, for she showed not the least bit of surprise. Roderic drew a cautious breath. There was a cramp in his lower back, but he dared not move. Finally she turned away to jab at the embers. After adding kindling, she set the poker aside and tucked her bare feet beneath the hem of her voluminous gown.

  Light from the rekindled flame danced on the unruly mass of her hair, setting each individual strand to glistening brilliance. Her profile was flawless, sun-touched ivory rimmed by the bright orange of the blaze behind her. Through the sheer fabric of her gown, he could see the curves of the fine form God had given her.

  Roderic found he no longer desired to breathe, for even had he allowed it, he wouldn’t have been able to draw a normal breath. What leather hose and manly attire had not shown him, the firelight did, and he was entranced. Every movement she made seemed poetic— the way she brushed her hair aside, how her slim fingers lay softly curled upon her knees. Her pale gown was stretched taut over her buttocks. He could imagine his hand settling there, smoothing along that gentle, rounded curve.

  Roderic exhaled softly. Heaven’s gate, she was a bonny thing, and though she was always comely, seeing her thus cast a different light on his thoughts of her. She was not the steel-hard warrior woman he had thought her to be.

  She was a woman with a woman’s strengths and weaknesses. And yet she was more. She was a leader with a weighty burden to shoulder. A gifted trainer of steeds. A temptress with a fiery temper.

  But now she seemed like nothing more than a lonely lass.

  The sight of her thus pulled at him, for surely he could help shoulder her burdens. Surely he could help find solutions to the problems that troubled her. And surely he could give her comfort and companionship.

  Why not take her in his arms and offer those things?

  But suddenly a slight noise startled her. She rose with the grace of a wildcat. Poker in hand, she stalked toward the door.

  He wouldn’t reveal himself because she would kill him, Roderic remembered. And if she didn’t manage the job, her men would gladly pitch in. Gawd’s wrath, he must be insane.

  Out of his sight now, he heard her open the door with a noiseless jerk. There was a gasp and then a moment of silence before he heard her sigh. “Marjory.”

  “Aye, lady,” came the servant’s breathy voice. “I am here.”

  “Ye look flushed. Was it ye that made a noise?”

  There was a moment’s delay, then, “Aye, lady. There was …
somemat in me pallet. Lice,” she hurried to add. “There was lice in me pallet And they were bedeviling me.”

  Roderic almost chuckled. Lice was not the only devil in her pallet.

  “’Tis sorry I be if I awakened ye, lady.”

  “No need for apologies. I am but fretful, I suppose.”

  “Ye canna sleep again?” clucked the maidservant. “Poor thing. So many worries. Can I get ye somemat? A cup of ale, mayhap?”

  “Don’t bother yourself, Marjory. Sorry to have frightened ye.” She paused for a moment, then, “Go back to sleep,” she said, but her words were issued from the hall, and already he could hear her feet padding softly away “Don’t concern yourself if I am gone for some time.”

  “Good morningtide, Flanna,” Roderic said, not bothering to rise from his pallet. He was tired and irritated. Where the hell had she gone in her flimsy nightgown in the middle of the night? To her lover’s room?

  For a moment she stared at his legs. They were bent at the knee and bare to midthigh but she couldn’t see more. In an instant, her gaze snapped to his face. Her cheeks were pink. Perhaps he had been wrong about the view, he deduced, feeling somewhat better.

  “‘Tis early ye come this morning,” he said, sitting up and swinging his bare feet to the floor. “I hope ye slept well.” God’s wrath! Where had she gone? He had stayed beneath her bed until just before dawn, but she had not returned. Frustration made him rise abruptly to his feet and mentally grind his teeth. He had been patient Hell, he had known her for nearly half a week. Why wasn’t she infatuated with him when he couldn’t seem to spend a single minute without thinking of her? “What brings ye to me lofty tower? I hope there is na cause for alarm.”

  “Nay.” Her tone was taut. Last night she had looked young and unprotected. But there was little of the innocent child in the woman who stood before him. “Why should there be?”

  “Indeed, there should na,” he said with a shrug. “All is right with the world. Or at least… all is right within the confines of this tower.” He lifted his hand to indicate the small space which was allowed him. Who the hell had she been with? “Why na allow me the freedom of Dun Ard?” The words escaped him before he had time to make them sound charming.

  She narrowed her catlike eyes at him. Good God, she was stunning.

  “I am becoming restive in this place.” Indeed, the thought of her with another man made him want to pace. At first he had thought her cold and unfeeling. Later he was certain she had been hurt and would not allow herself to be wounded again. The knowledge that she was simply not interested in him made him insane. “I’m not used ta such confinement. Even the English are na so cruel as to give their prisoners na leeway. King James was educated and allowed to live at court during his captivity. Surely I could, at the least, be given permission ta take me meals in the hall.” And learn where she spent her nights. “After all, where could I go? I could never escape with so many eyes watching me,” he continued, glancing past her to the men in the hallway. “I am getting cramped from lack of exercise.” He flexed an arm.

  She didn’t seem to notice.

  He frowned. “I would be willing ta work for the privilege of some freedom. I could dig ye a new well,” he said. God’s wrath, he would dig from here to London if it would afford him a chance to learn more about her.

  “And soil your hands?” For a moment he thought she would laugh at him.

  He grasped his plaid near his brooch and pushed back his anger. “They’ve been soiled afore.”

  “Truly? When?”

  She was mocking him. “Ye ken little of me and mine, wee Flanna. I would that ye’d learn the truth.”

  She watched him with solemn eyes and for a moment he thought she was questioning her own misconceptions, but instead of voicing inquiries, she turned away. “I have not the manpower to worry over the well at this time. We can continue to draw water from the burn for a while longer.”

  “But what if ye are besieged. Ye must have fresh water inside the walls.”

  “Besieged?” She turned smoothly back and laughed. “As ye said, Forbes, my people are all but starving. What do we have that others might covet?”

  “Horses,” he said easily.

  He knew in an instant that he had struck a sensitive chord, for her expression went cold. Did she regret telling him of her breeding program?

  He was tempted to soothe her worries, to tell her that he would hurt neither her dreams nor her people, but she wasn’t ready to believe him. “I will dig the well,” he said. “I need na help. But I do require some activity other than staring at the ceiling of this tower.”

  “Then ye have not…” she began and stopped abruptly. He waited. “Ye have not…” Lowering her voice, she took three steps forward—“left this place?”

  So she had gotten his note and she had thought of him. Did she have a lover she had told? Had he been jealous? Roderic almost smiled. Instead, he forced his brows upward in an expression of innocence. “Mayhap ye think I sprouted wings and went flying about Dun Ard by night. Only”—he laughed, feeling a bit more atease—“I missed this tower so I came back here to perch?”

  For several moments she held him with her eyes, but finally her gaze drifted to the window. “A rider leaves even now with your message for Laird Leith,” she said, keeping her tone perfectly steady. “I thought ye might wish to know.”

  “Aye.” Roderic nodded, watching her. He wished she would not look out that window, for he thought he might have bent one of the hinges on his hurried flight up the plaids. He had lain for a long while under her bed, and though he had told himself he merely waited to make certain Marjory slept, he knew he awaited Flanna’s return. “Me thanks. But ye have na answered me regarding dining in the hall.”

  She flickered her gaze briefly to him before turning her attention away and striding to the window. “And why would a Forbes wish to be pressed in among the MacGowans?” she asked, gazing out toward the distant kitchens.

  Roderic shrugged, trying to rid himself of his tension. From where he stood he could see now that the hinge was indeed bent. “’Tis a fault of mine,” he admitted blithely. “I like people.”

  Flame scowled, not turning from the window. “Even MacGowans?” she asked, placing a hand on the shutter.

  Roderic pinned his gaze on her fingers. They were inches from the crooked hinge, and now he thought he could see a frayed thread of brown woolen caught upon a splinter nearby. “It be difficult ta say whether I like MacGowans or na, lass, since I’ve been granted so little opportunity to mingle with them.”

  She remained silent, still studying the world outside before absently closing one shutter.

  “And, too,” Roderic added, hoping to distract her, “our meeting was hardly of the most pleasant nature. After all, ye did lie ta me from the verra start. Ye did …” Her hand had moved on the listing shutter. “Ye did take advantage of me trusting spirit. ‘Tis true, lass,” he rambled on. “It didna enter me head that such a lovely maid as yerself might seek to play me for a fool. Might even…” He waved wildly and shook his head, trying to draw her attention—“even seek to hold me hostage.”

  She turned to watch him, and for a moment he lost his breath, so grand and proud did she look against the dark backdrop of the stormy sky.

  “I fear ‘tis another fault of mine,” he murmured, finding his train of thought. “I be forever misjudging women.” Never had he misjudged a woman. Not until he had met Flanna. But now he was making a habit of it. “Must be me lack of experience.”

  Hand still on the shutter, she turned a bit more toward him. “I think ye be the one playing me for a fool, Forbes.”

  “Me?” He tapped his brooch, feeling honestly offended. “How so?”

  “Forgive me if I do not think ye gained the name Rogue because of the time ye’ve spent playing flute for the sheep.”

  “In all honesty, lass,” he said, feeling a bit better for the reminder of the name his kinsmen had given him, “I have a gift for quie
ting sheep.”

  “And for quieting women?”

  He raised his brows at her. Thinking her jealous would definitely improve his frame of mind.

  “I would guess ye have tossed more innocent lasses than I could count,” she said.

  He dropped his hand to his side and canted his head. “Tossed?” he asked, his tone sober as he straightened. “Nay.”

  For a moment there was a flash of something in her eyes. “Nay?” she asked. “Ye are saying ye would not…”

  He watched her closely. The young lass was back, uncertain, innocent, and more beautiful than the heather on the hills. He took a step nearer. “What?”

  “Are ye saying ye would not”—she faltered, groping for the correct words—“dishonor…” Her gaze turned nervously to her hand, and suddenly her body became stiff.

  In profile, he could see her scowl as she plucked the snagged thread from the shutter. It was brown—as was the plaid of the clan Forbes. She turned abruptly, holding the yarn between her fingers. Her expression had gone hard, he noticed, but he kept his own blithe as he watched her.

  “Yours?” she asked softly.

  He shrugged, trying to disavow his tension. “Mayhap.”

  “How did it get there?”

  He shrugged again. He was ready to offer an innocent explanation, but looking into the deep intelligence of her eyes he knew such would never work.

  So instead he made his expression very sober and stepped nearer. “‘Tis like this; I wished ta escape. Indeed, I jumped ta the window. ‘Twas a tight fit but I squeezed through. Then I…” He scowled, thinking. “I knew I couldna jump so far below,” he said, hurrying to the window to stand beside her and gaze down at the wall beneath them. “So I… removed me plaid.” He nodded, as though thinking his story quite clever. “I took off me plaid and tied it to…” He glanced quickly about. “…to that hinge. See there. ‘Tis bent from me weight.” He was very close to her now.