“Flanna,” he murmured, gripping her hand firmly in his own. “Some men are fools, but some are … odd.”
He said the word as though he could not possibly fathom the idea. “I am sorry you’ve been hurt by both.”
For a moment, she looked into his eyes and found she couldn’t speak, but she had to keep her bearing, remember that he was a man, and not to be trusted. “I was sorry, too, when I told my father I would not marry him.”
“Surely he didna want ye ta, na after he knew of the man’s true desires.”
She could remember the moment as if it were yesterday. “It was late in the evening,” she said softly. “I walked into the garden to get a bit of air, and there was Carvell, kissing …” She shook her head and mentally turned away from the image that had branded itself in her mind. “Shame is a strange thing. It settles into your very bones and will not let go.”
Her words slipped into silence. Beside Roderic, Bonny rose to her feet and pitched her ears forward.
“‘Twas na yer shame but yer betrothed’s,” he murmured. “And yer sire’s. Surely ye know that.”
She lifted her gaze to his face. “Sometimes one does not feel in one’s heart what one knows in one’s head.”
“And sometimes one’s heart insists on doing what one’s head deems foolish,” he murmured, and leaning forward, he kissed her.
There was no thought of resisting him, for he was right. Sometimes, no matter how hard she tried, she could not deny her heart.
His lips were warm and firm, undemanding, yet persuasive. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart hammered in her chest. She had fallen under his spell, was bound by the tenderness of his touch. Bonny growled, but the world had retreated. There was only Roderic with the gentle hands and quiet understanding. Only Roderic with his ready laugh and quick wit. But in an instant he pulled away. He turned his leonine head, making the tendons stand out in hard relief against his broad throat. She sat immobilized, mesmerized by his stark masculinity and failing to notice the sound that issued from the woods behind her. But suddenly, he reached for her and she was tossed like a bit of dry chaff to the far side of the log.
Chapter 12
“What are ye-” Flame gasped. She struggled to rise, but Roderic’s hand was atop her head, pushing her back.
“Stay down!” he commanded, but his words were mixed with an arrow’s whirring approach.
She heard the sickening sound of it striking flesh. For a moment he faltered, but then he vaulted over the log to crouch beside her.
“Dear God,” she breathed, “ye’re hit.”
“Stay down. Where is he?” He continued to peer over the barrier into the woods.
“Roderic,” she breathed, feeling faint. “Ye’re—”
He crouched lower and turned to face her. “‘Tis the first time ye’ve used me Christian name, lass,” he murmured, offering her a wry smile. “‘Tis a bonny thing to hear from yer lips.”
“There’s … there’s an arrow protruding from your arm,” she breathed.
“‘Tis just a wee wound,” he said and reaching across his chest, snapped the arrow in half. “There now. Does it look less gruesome?”
“Dear God!” she moaned.
“Who was it?”
“What?”
“Did ye see anyone in the woods?”
“Nay.”
He scowled. Except for her dirk, they were weaponless. Although her bow rested close at hand, the arrows were behind Lochan’s saddle. “Is there one or more?”
“More,” she said.
He looked at her in surprise. “How do ye know?”
“I heard noises off to the right. The arrow came from the left.”
A smile flirted with his lips again. “‘Tis quick ye are, lass.”
“I’m not completely bereft of sense,” she said, and garnering all her courage, peeked over the top of the log.
“Gawd’s wrath!” he swore, dragging her down to cover her with his own body. “Then prove yer wit and stay put.”
“Ye looked over,” she argued.
“I’m a man.”
“And I’m a woman.”
He gave her a full smile. “Dunna think I havena noticed, lass.” Her breast was crushed against his chest as she lay on her side beneath him.
“Get off me.”
“Ye must flee.”
Courage and pride had flooded back to her with surprising force. “‘Tis MacGowan land,” she hissed. “I will run from no one.”
“And ye willna be wounded,” he argued. “Na while ye are under me own protection.”
“Hardly am I under your protection, Forbes! Do not forget that ye are my captive,” she said from her crushed position beneath him.
“Nay. I willna forget. But me bonny tower room is looking more and more appealing. Might we not return there to discuss me capture?”
She scowled, trying to push him aside and rise. “If I could just reach my bow …”
“Ye willna.”
She deepened her scowl. “I’m an excellent archer.”
“Death would change that,” he murmured, easing off her to glance furtively about. “And I’ll na risk it.”
“They will not chance harming me.”
He turned quickly toward her, his expression sharp. “Ye know who it is then?”
“I have no idea. But they will not harm the leader of the MacGowans.”
He snorted, then turned his gaze to the right. “If ye whistle, will yer gray come or is that a stable trick only?”
“He’ll come.”
Roderic nodded absently, glancing over her head to peer into the woods. “I tied the bay. Ye‘11 have ta ride alone.”
“And leave you?” she gasped. “Ye must be daft.”
“Do ye imagine I want to stay here? Fly ta Dun Ard as fast as ever ye can. Dunna look back.” His expression
was as somber as night. “If ye can, send yer warriors for me.”
“Ye have lost your mind,” she breathed. “I will not leave without ye.”
He stared at her from inches away, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “Dare I hope ye care a wee bit, lass?”
“Of course I care,” she breathed. “I’ve never had a prisoner before.”
“Gawd’s wrath!” he swore, drawing irritably away. “Call the horse and be ready to flee.”
“Nay.”
“Ye will,” he gritted.
“I won’t.”
“Heaven’s gate, ye are stubborn.” Easing upward, he hurried another glance over the log. An arrow whizzed out of the woods almost directly to their left and quivered at a sharp angle into the log. “Jesu! They be circling around. We have na time ta argue. Ye will go.”
“Not without ye.”
“Yer gray canna carry two with any speed.”
Dragging her legs from beneath Roderic’s heavy form, Flame crouched in the shade of the log. “Ye sorely underestimate the quality of my stock. And ye will ride with me.”
“I tell ye we have na time for this,” he complained.
“Then come along!” she ordered, and grabbing his wrist, she whistled.
Lochan appeared in less than a heartbeat, skittering out of the brush near at hand.
“Come!” Flame ordered.
“Jesu!” Rising, Roderic swore and then tossed her into the saddle.
Arrows came from opposite directions now.
“Ride!” Roderic yelled, slapping Lochan’s rump and jumping back.
The gray leaped into a gallop, but in an instant, Flame circled him about.
“Not without ye, Forbes!” she screamed back.
An arrow twanged, quivering into the earth at his feet.
“Come or my death will be on your hands,” Flame challenged.
There seemed to be nothing he could do but obey or risk her life. In an instant, he had swung up behind her. Lochan jumped, nearly tossing him to the ground. Roderic grappled for a grip, finding Flame’s waist and almost pulling her down with him. Bu
t he found his balance. An arrow twanged from its bowstring.
“Go!” Roderic roared. Deadly missiles hissed past his ear, and then they were running.
From behind, they could hear men shouting. A stallion trumpeted. Hoofbeats thundered after them.
Roderic held tightly to the saddle’s high cantle and looked over his shoulder. He could see nothing through the thicket from which they had fled. A mile sped beneath Lochan’s hooves, but suddenly five steeds emerged from the copse ahead.
“Turn. Into the brush!” Roderic ordered, but Flame held her mount on a steady course.
“Praise be!” she breathed. “‘Tis Troy. We are saved.”
The MacGowan warriors thundered up.
“What happened, lass?” Troy rasped.
“We were attacked by the burn.”
“How many?”
“Two or more.”
“Bullock, escort them back to Dun Ard. The rest of ye, with me!” ordered Troy.
“I’ll come, too,” said Roderic.
Troy turned to him. “Be ye daft? Ye have an arrow in yer arm.”
“Aye,” said Roderic, “and it has made me a bit peeved. I will return to the burn.”
But suddenly, Flame’s dirk was placed to his chest as she twisted toward him.
“Ye are wounded,” she said softly. “But ye will not die—unless it be by my own hand.”
Looking down into her eyes, Roderic saw nothing but absolute sincerity.
“Ye’ve a way with words, lass,” he said, and Flame turned Lochan toward home.
“How is your arm?” Flame stood in the doorway of the tower room. Forbes was stretched out on his back with his left hand resting beneath his head and his right lying limply at his side. The arrow had been removed. Marjory had cleaned the wound and bandaged it in white linen, but the cloth was stained red at its center. Bonny’s long nose rested on his bare chest as she mourned her love’s injury.
Propping himself on his elbows, Roderic grinned at her. Bonny sat up with a sigh. “It hurts like the verra devil, lass. But,” he said, lowering his voice, “perhaps if ye kissed it…”
Flame shook her head and advanced, trying to hide her relief. “I see ye have not lost your questionable sense of humor, Forbes.”
He sat up, swung his feet to the floor, and chuckled softly. “Think ye that I jest?”
She felt her cheeks warm with the impact of his gaze and cursed herself.
“How is he?”
“Troy!” Flame said. “Are ye unharmed?”
“Aye, lass.” Troy Hamilton stepped into the room and set a hand to Flame’s arm. “I am fine. Dunna worry for the bear when the hare is being chased.”
Flame smiled. “Even the most powerful bear can be snared,” she said.
“Did ye find them?” Roderic asked abruptly.
“Nay, I didna,” Troy said.
“Mayhap that is because one of them is in this room,” Roderic said.
Silence settled in with sudden stillness.
“Are ye accusing me, lad?” Troy asked, quickly dropping his hand from Flame’s arm to stride toward him.
“How did ye find us so quickly in our time of need, Wolfhound?” Roderic asked.
Troy’s huge hands formed to fists, but in a moment he drew a deep breath and loosened them. “Watch yer mouth, lad,” he said softly, “or the next time yer tongue runs wild …” The shallowest hint of humor lighted his expression. “I’ll let her kill ye.”
“‘Twould be simpler than seeing ta it yerself,” said Roderic.
“Aye,” nodded Troy, “but na so satisfying.”
“Be that a challenge?”
“If ye—”
“For pity’s sake! Stop it! Both of you!” ordered Flame. Striding up, she pushed between them. “I swear, the two of ye are possessed. Why do ye snarl at each other when there are others to blame?”
“And how do ye ken it wasna he that tried ta kill us?” asked Roderic, nodding toward Troy.
“Us?” Troy echoed harshly. “Were ye a target, too, lass?”
“Nay,” Flame denied. “They tried to kill Forbes only.” She turned her gaze on him. “And who would not?”
“We dunna ken if they attempted to injure her,” Roderic said. His tone was unusually sober. And thinking back to their time by the log, Flame realized that even under the most deadly of circumstances, Forbes had seemed all but jovial. It was only one of a hundred irritating qualities about him. “But the fact remains,” he continued, “she could have been wounded as easily as I.”
“Is that true, lass?” Troy asked.
“‘Twas Forbes that was wounded, not I,” she reminded them.
“So ye say ye found nothing?” Roderic asked.
“Nay,” Troy said, drawing himself from Flame’s gaze with a sigh and sweeping off his woolen bonnet. “Nothing but crushed grasses. Na even a spent arrow.”
“Did ye search the woods, the moist earth? What of footprints to give us a clue to their identity?” asked Flame.
“Nothing, lass. Me apologies. ‘Tis as if they vanished. But who else could it be but the brigand band?”
“What brought ye there, Wolfhound?”
Troy turned slowly toward Roderic. “The afternoon was wearing on, and the lass was with ye. I thought mayhap she had come to harm.”
“But ye found her so easily.” Roderic did nothing to hide his suspicious tone. “And it was ye who wished for us to ride together.”
“I be a patient man, Forbes,” said Troy “But ye stretch me limits.” He turned away. “Lass”—he sighed, looking into her face—“ye have aged me greatly this day. ‘Twould ease me mind if ye would walk with me to the hall.”
Flame glanced at Roderic then placed a hand on the huge warrior’s arm. “Sleep, Forbes,” she said, turning away. “I’ll send Marjory in the morning with more herbs for yer wound.”
The door closed behind them.
“Gawd’s wrath!” Roderic swore aloud and ground his teeth in vexation. Why did she trust that hulking warrior and still doubt him? Could Effie have been right? Was she in love with Troy? And was it possible that he was the one who had attacked them by the burn?
Turning on his heel, he paced away to salm his fist against the wall. “Damn it to hell!” he growled. Questions bedeviled him. He paced again. Bonny paced with him, matching him stride for stride, her claws clicking on the wood floor as they circled around and came back to the center of the room.
Finally, exasperated, Roderic seated himself on the lumpy straw tick. “What am I to do?”
Bonny rested her nose on his knee and gazed into his face. Sighing, he stroked her satiny ears. “’Tis nice ta be adored,” he murmured, grinning. “Still, I have always preferred women with less … fur.”
The hound neither blinked nor appeared disappointed by his peculiar taste.
“But for now ‘tis good ta have yer company.” He lay back on the mattress until darkness settled in.
By midnight he was pacing again. Having tired of her beloved’s restlessness, Bonny stretched out in the middle of the tick, apparently undisturbed by the lumps.
As for Roderic, thoughts of Flanna consumed him. He ached to see her again, to make certain she was safe. But he had come close enough to losing his life at the burn, and if the arrow was intended for him, he had best be cautious and stay put. But what if the arrow was meant for Flanna instead? What if her life was in danger?
He had to see her, if just for a moment. Silently, Roderic positioned the furniture upon the mattress and crept up the teetering back of the chair to remove the water-stained ceiling tile he had noticed days before. Finally, he was once again skimming noiselessly down the hall toward Flame’s private chambers.
Beside her bed once again, he watched her sleep. The moon cast its mercurial light through the open window and across her regal features. Time drifted on. He was a fool to be there, of course. And he was a fool to stay. But the day’s events tormented him. Seeing her safely asleep was not enough. He ha
d to solve the mysteries that haunted him, for what if the brigand’s arrow had struck her? And what if it had not been the brigand band at all, but someone else? Someone who wanted to see her dead? One of her own kin, perhaps. He had accused Troy to fluster the massive warrior, but in truth Troy seemed to care for her. Still, it was not unheard of for a clansman to pretend loyalty, then make an attempt on his leader’s life. If not Troy, then who? Easing noiselessly onto the mattress behind Flanna, Roderic allowed himself to touch her hair. Who would gain the most from her death? That was what he needed to learn.
She sighed in her sleep and tossed an arm atop her blanket. The Flame was restless tonight. And why not? Roderic thought. She had a failing abduction, a hot-blooded clan, and an attempted murder to consider. Or was it something more personal that disturbed her? Loneliness, perhaps, the need for a gentle touch in the dark of night? ‘Twas possible, of course, for despite her bold words she did not have a lover. He was certain he was right, for there was not a man alive who could have her once and not give his life to spend eternity by her side. And there was no man here. No man but himself.
With that thought, Roderic leaned slowly forward, drawn against his will. Her hair was as soft as a goose’s down and smelled like sweet lavender. Her skin, too, would be soft, her lips warm and welcoming. He leaned closer.
She moaned. Roderic jerked back.
Employing every ounce of discipline he possessed, Roderic forced himself from the bed and toward the door.
“Haydan, why be ye awake?” Marjory’s words were whispered from the far side of the door
Behind Roderic, Flanna moaned and rolled to her back.
“I could not sleep.”
Flanna bent a knee. Roderic stared at her, frozen in place. She was on the edge of waking. He could sense it, and yet, he could not leave the way he came.
The window glared at him. Flitting soundlessly to it, he peered out. It was a long and precipitous climb to the bailey below.
“The lady is sleeping. We should let her sleep.”
“Marjory?” Flame awoke with a start.
He had been caught! Execution would be lenient compared to what he would endure.
“Marjory?” she said again, and suddenly she was on her feet. But instead of threatening his life, she was moving toward the door. “Is something amiss?” she called and opened the heavy portal.
Highland Flame (Highland Brides) Page 15
