Highland Flame (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  They rode side by side, past the green sward where she usually worked her mounts. For today she needed to breathe, needed to feel sheer speed beneath her.

  The rugged country of the Highlands swept past them in varying shades of greens and tans. The earth was awakening to the call of spring, bursting forth in buds and blossoms. Heather dotted the hillsides, ever green and pungent. The air was warm against her face, easing her worry and softening her mood.

  Miles sped by beneath their mounts’ flying hooves. They spotted MacGowan stock, sheep, goats, cattle. In a quiet lea, sheltered by a grove of slow-budding oaks, they found a herd of horses.

  Flame halted Lochan on a hill’s crest to stare down at the scene. Powerful mares lowered their heavily maned necks to graze upon the sweet spring grasses. Newborn foals lay flat out upon their sides or pranced about their dams and reared on sturdy hind legs.

  Flame remained silent, absorbing the scene into her soul and trying to forget her trouble, but he would not be silenced.

  “I have been wondering,” Forbes began. “Were ye trying to prove yer steed’s stamina just now, or were ye trying ta escape from me?”

  Three men guarded the horse herd. She could see their bright tartans from over five hundred rods away. Though the MacGowans had no particular pattern they called their own, the clan was partial to a deep green weave. “‘Tis the sea kelp that makes Lochan swift and hardy. That and the barb breeding,” she said, stroking the steed’s silken neck absently. He shook his wavy mane and tossed his head to trumpet at the mares in the valley. “Cam, yer mount, has only seen four summers. But he is Lochan’s lad and has inherited some of his sire’s ability. I would match his endurance against the best of the Forbeses’ aged stallions.”

  “I would know, lass, has there ever been a question ye have actually answered?” Roderic asked.

  She turned to look at him. It was a foolish act, for his eyes were just as blue and his features just as perfectly chiseled as when she had first met him on that dark, frantic night at Glen Creag. But now he was even more frightening, for in his eyes she not only saw strength and daring, but kindness and concern. She could not let those qualities draw her, for she knew the pain that would follow. Even her father’s eyes had once shown concern. “Why would I wish to escape from you?” she asked, careful to keep her tone stiffly controlled. “I think ye forget which of us is the prisoner.”

  “Do I?” Roderic watched her closely. Too closely. Though she tried, she couldn’t hold his gaze. With a nudge of her heel she turned Lochan away, but in a moment he was beside her again.

  “Tell me of young Haydan, Flanna. What is he to ye?”

  “Haydan?” she asked and nervously turned toward him, only to find that he still stole her breath. She faced forward again, trying to steel her resolve. She was the Flame and had vowed to remain so as long as her clan needed her. There was no room in her life for softness. “Troy has elderly relatives in France. Some years ago they took in a sickly bairn whose mother had died of the pox. When I was in Bastia, he brought the lad to meet me.”

  “So ye have spent some time in France,” he said. “And a good deal of time, judging by yer accent. Why?”

  She had the good sense to keep her gaze straight ahead now. But she knew he was watching her intently. He would be sitting very straight upon Cam’s back, and his unusual height would exceed hers by several inches. “’Tis good to see foreign lands.”

  “Was it for yer own protection? Yer father, was he worried for yer safety?”

  Nay, she thought, her father was the greatest threat to her safety. But she would not let the memories disturb her. She wouldn’t think of the stifling darkness of the trunk, the frantic pitching of the ship that carried her from her homeland.

  “I could not blame him for coddling ye,” he said. “If I had a daughter I might do the same.”

  She drew a deep breath and told herself to simply agree with his guesses. He didn’t need to know the truth. But hard memories beg to be shared with someone who might care. And though she tried to deny it, Roderic Forbes seemed to be that sort. She couldn’t dismiss the kind words he had spoken to Haydan. Neither could she forget the tears of hope in the boy’s eyes. Yet, she’d be a fool to trust this man, for he was charming just as her father had once been, just as her fiance had seemed to be, and she was too weak.

  Flame held her silence with an effort. Up ahead, a winding ribbon of trees sheltered a craggy valley. Through the lacy new leaves she saw the frequent wink of sun on the brook there.

  “I only wish to know the circumstances,” Roderic said softly. “For I admit, I dunna understand it.”

  “I am sure there is much ye do not understand, Forbes.”

  “Although ‘tis true that ye test a man’s patience, it still baffles me.”

  She turned toward him. Their gazes struck like flint against steel, sparking on impact.

  “How could he let ye go?” Forbes breathed.

  “I assure ye, it was no great hardship.” She tried to keep her tone utterly casual, as if the topic was of the least importance to her.

  “I canna believe that,” Roderic said, his voice very soft.

  “Well ‘tis true!” Emotion made her hands shake, her voice tremble. Lochan stopped as she faced Roderic breathlessly. “He sent me to a convent and finally negotiated a marriage for me to a handsome and charming man named Carvell. We were betrothed for many years. But in the end …” She faltered. In the end, he, too, had turned from her in disgust. “No vows were spoken.”

  “Ye were betrothed?”

  Damnation! She had said far too much. She should never have mentioned Carvell. Feeling like a babbling fool, she urged Lochan into the trees that lined the sparkling burn.

  “Surely na man would let ye go after ye vowed ta wed him,” Roderic said, pressing up beside her.

  “I assure ye,” she said, finding her tone was blessedly steady, though she fought a terrible battle to keep it so, “he was glad to see me gone.”

  “Nay.” She could feel Roderic’s gaze on her face. “Couldna be true.”

  “And why, pray tell, would ye believe such foolishness?” she murmured.

  Again their gazes caught. But there was no clash now, only a soft melding of thoughts.

  “Because ye are what ye are, lass.”

  “And what am I?”

  “Ye are all that is good.”

  She shook her head and turned away, but he caught her hand, pulling Lochan to a halt.

  “Ye are kind and good. But ye are more, Flanna. Ye are strength and wit and fire, able to hold control and loyalty in the verra same hand.”

  “Loyalty?” She shouldn’t share such a discussion with him, she thought. She should be nothing but self-assured and haughty, but she found she couldn’t hold that demeanor with him, especially now, when doubts assailed her from all sides.

  He watched her closely. “Ye inspire loyalty, lass,” he breathed.

  She was being pulled in by the sweeping undertow of his gaze. Everything in her longed to ask if he could be loyal, if he could love her and cherish her. But she wouldn’t allow such weakness. “My men—” she began, turning her face away.

  “Yer men,” he interrupted, drawing her gaze back to him with his husky tone. “Aye, they, too, are loyal. But they wait ta see if ye will stay and stand the test of fire. And they await yer praise.”

  “What do ye mean?”

  “Yer warriors would jump from the battlements if ye but gave them a kind word.”

  “Since when were the Scots softened by gentleness?”

  “Since the beginning of time, lass,” he said, holding her gaze. “Ye are a fine leader, but it wouldna hurt ye to offer a bit of encouragement.”

  “To them or to ye?” she asked breathlessly.

  His hand felt strong and warm upon hers. “I need na encouragement, Flanna, and I warn ye now, if ye were mine I wouldna let ye go till the heavens ceased ta be.”

  The air left her lungs in a painful rush,
and though she tried with all her might, she found she lacked the strength to pull her gaze from his.

  “And when ye look at me like that, lass, I would gladly give me life ta call ye mine.”

  Flame jerked herself back to reality. Words of adoration were cheaply bought, she reminded herself. Jumping from Lochan’s back, she strode to the water’s edge and squatted there, letting her fingers dip into the waves. “You speak foolishness, Forbes,” she said.

  “Why do ye deny yer womanhood?” he asked from behind her.

  “Because I must rule,” she said. “Because I’ve no time for-”

  “Nay,” he said softly. “Because.ye dunna believe in yerself. Because ye’ve been hurt. Tell me of him.”

  She hadn’t heard his approach. Startled, she let the water slip between her fingers and jumped to her feet.

  “Lass.” He reached for her arm, but she stepped quickly back, bumping into Lochan’s shoulder as she did so. “Ye tremble.”

  “I do not.”

  He remained as he was, watching her with narrowed eyes. “Aye. Ye do. But why?”

  “Why are ye here?” The words rushed out of their own accord.

  The shadow of a grin tilted the right corner of his mouth, teasing a dimple into his cheek. “‘Tis a wee thing called abduction, lass. Surely ye dunna forget.”

  “I mean, why are ye here?” Her tone was choked. Panic threatened to drown her senses.

  “Here?” He pointed to the earth at their feet and took a step nearer. “Because ye are, lass.”

  His magnetism was a tangible thing, drawing her in, pulling her under, promising things she did not deserve and would never have. “‘Twould be a fine time to escape,” she whispered.

  “Ye‘11 na escape me, lass.”

  “I meant ye,” she breathed.

  “And why would I wish ta escape when ye are near? Even yer men know that I have na wish ta do so, for see, we are alone.”

  Her heart was pounding. ‘Twas a foolish thing to be afraid of words, she knew. And yet, his were frightening. Frightening and so exhilarating that it made her chest ache. “Why?” It was the only word she was able to force from her lips.

  “Because ye draw me. Against my will, against my better judgment, ye draw me.”

  Though she searched for words, all she could do was stare at him.

  “Come, lass,” he breathed. “‘Tis a bonny day and yet ye search for rain in the cloudless sky. Why look for trouble when it is na there? Come, let us sit for a spell and talk of life.”

  He turned his broad back and strode to a rotting log, where he sat with his shoulders to its loose-barked expanse and gestured for her to join him. The hound he called Bonny trotted over to sit adoringly beside him. He placed a gentle hand upon her head but kept his gaze on Flame’s. “Have I ever done ye harm?”

  She didn’t answer, but he shook his head as if she had.

  “And never shall I, lass, for ‘tis sure ye have been harmed enough.”

  How did he know how she felt inside? “And what, pray, do ye mean by that?”

  He shrugged. “Ye hide behind strange clothing and haughty expressions. Why, but to keep men at bay?”

  “An interesting theory,” she said.

  “Aye. Isn’t it? Why na sit here beside me and pierce it full of holes?”

  She nodded once. There was no point in denying that he drew at some indefinable thing deep within her. There was also no point in admitting it. Tossing the reins over Lochan’s neck, she allowed him to graze unencumbered, then strode across the short distance to the log. Slipping her bow from her shoulder, she placed it in the grass before boldly taking a seat beside Roderic.

  Their sheltered spot beside the burn was quiet but for the chatter of rushing water. Despite Flame’s attempt to act nonchalant, she felt stiff with tension, but Roderic took a deep breath and propped his elbows upon the log.

  “I wait,” he said, finally turning to look at her.

  “I have a lover.” Her words came suddenly and sounded utterly ridiculous, like a ghost story in the bright light of day. To her amazement, he didn’t grin. Instead, he remained motionless, holding her with his eyes.

  “So ye have told me.” He turned his attention back to the burn. “And I ask meself, who might the lucky man be?”

  “‘Tis none of your affair.”

  Breaking off a piece of rotting bark, Roderic tossed it easily into the garrulous waters. “But still I wonder.” His eyes found hers again. The depth of them was breathtaking. “Does he tell ye yer hair glistens like rubies in the firelight? That he longs for yer slightest touch? Does he say that when ye ride he envies Lochan so that he can hardly speak?” His voice was husky as he leaned slighdy closer.

  “I have a lover!” she gasped.

  “Aye, lass,” he breathed. “But do ye have a friend?”

  “A friend?” Her voice wavered.

  He lifted his hand. His fingertips touched her cheek, stroking it gently. Against her will, her eyes fell closed. The quiver from his voice seeped through her body. “A friend be the best kind of lover, me thinks,” he said softly. “Someone ta confide in. Ta share words and more at the day’s end.”

  She swallowed. An image appeared in her mind. An image of Roderic the Rogue, stretched lean and masculine upon her bed. In her mind, his chest was bare and his touch was feather soft against her arm, but their words were of everyday things, of hopes and labors and needs.

  No. She did not have a friend like that.

  “Tell me what has made ye the woman ye are,” he murmured.

  “Bad blood.” She said the words quickly and opened her eyes. “My father’s blood, though even on his deathbed he doubted that I was his.”

  “Nay.” Surprise showed clearly on Roderic’s face. “Surely yer own sire did not deny ye. Surely ye were his pride.”

  “His pride?” She watched him for a moment, before turning to the burn. “No. He was a.. .jealous man.”

  His fingers stroked down her throat and stopped there. “If I had a wife with yer beauty and fire, I, too, would cherish her.”

  “Cherish her!” Emotion exploded in that single word. “He did not cherish her. He accused her of adultery, when he gladly admitted his own dalliances! He struck her!” She was breathing hard and clasped her hands together now to steady them. “He locked her only daughter in a trunk and sent her to France, because he could not bear to look upon her face. Sent her to live with nuns whose love for God far exceeded any love they might spare for a small Scottish girl who could not speak their language.”

  “Sweet Jesu, Flanna! ‘Tis truly sorry I am.”

  She had to drop her gaze from his face, for there was caring there. The kind of caring she had longed for until she thought she would die from the need. But she needed it no more, she reminded herself. “I don’t mourn his actions,” she said. “I only mourn the years I spent hoping to win back his good favor.”

  “Ye have a wondrous ability ta love, Flanna.”

  “Love!” She nearly spat the word. “I did not love him. I hated him! I hated him with every drop of my blood for sending me away.”

  “And ye would have forgiven him all if he had but opened his heart and brought ye home.”

  Though she dared not admit it, she knew he spoke the truth, for she had imagined that very thing a thousand times. “But he did not,” she whispered.

  “Because he was a fool, Flanna, and not worthy ta call ye his child.”

  “Mayhap he saw into my heart,” she whispered. “Mayhap he knew of my evil thoughts.”

  “And what evil thoughts did ye harbor, lass?”

  “I was a jealous, spiteful child. I did not like sharing Father’s attention with Gregor, who was four years older and could run faster and ride better. I remember wishing he was gone, that he would simply disappear and not come back.”

  “And ye think that for that evil thought ye deserved ta be sent away, lass?” Roderic’s voice was very soft, and his hand, when it gripped hers, was strong an
d steady.

  “Men—people,” she corrected, focusing on their hands and refusing to look into his eyes, “seem to see the true of me and back away.”

  “There is naught but good in ye, lass.”

  “Nay, there—” she began, but he shushed her with a finger to her lips. “I once told Leith I hoped the wolves would come and devour him. Then I’d find hisremains and take his footwear. Gawd I loved those boots. In fact, I stole them from him three days later.”

  She raised her gaze breathlessly to his. “Ye must have paid dearly.”

  “Dearly?” He grinned a little, remembering. “He threw me in the burn, boots and all. But he didna lock me in a trunk and send me away, Flanna. No one in his right mind would do such a thing. ‘Twas na ye, lass, that was at fault. ‘Twas yer father. Ye were his daughter, the Flame. He should have cherished ye.”

  It was difficult to swallow. “Hardly was I a flame then. I was naught but a scrawny girl with unruly hair and fidgety fingers.”

  Roderic gently stroked those fingers now. “Gawd must have seen the foolishness of locking such beauty away in a convent and sent ye back to yer homeland.”

  She watched his hand caress hers and tried to deny the shudder that shook her. “My mother felt I was not suited for the cloistered life. She must have loved me well enough because she swallowed her fear and humiliation and begged my father to find me a husband.”

  Roderic gently lifted her hand in his and stroked her palm with the index finger of his opposite hand. How could such a simple touch stir so many feelings?

  “And?” he asked softly.

  “‘Twas said Carvell and I would make a good match. And I was fool enough to think him besotted with me.”

  “Ye found him with another,” Roderic guessed, his voice quiet. “And yer pride wouldna let ye be betrayed as yer mother had been.”

  “Nay,” she said, unable to stop the word. “Not as my mother had. ‘Twas not a woman I found Carvell with, ‘twas his cousin Jacque.”

  Flame saw the shock on his face and waited for the rejection. Now he would see what she truly was—a woman so unnatural that she could not even tempt her betrothed away from another man. Not a woman at all, perhaps, but a mistake of nature.