His grin increased. “Tek yer clothes off?” he said, as if it hadn’t been he who had suggested it the first time.
“Ye must surely be feverish!”
“Better that I be feverish than that ye be. Get out of those wet clothes, lass, and let yer skin dry,” he said, moving toward her.
“Touch me,” she warned, “and ye die.”
She hadn’t expected him to laugh, but he did. Settling onto his haunches, he threw back his head and laughed till he cried.
She glared at him. It did no good. She gritted her teeth and swore through them. And then, when it seemed the uproar would never end, she thumped him on the chest with her foot. He tumbled onto his buttocks, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him. The laughter finally turned to chortles and the chortles to silly, sporadic hiccups of glee.
“Ahh, lass.” He wiped his eyes with the backs of his fingers and shook his head. “Ye are so serious.”
She glowered at him.
He chuckled again. “Soaked to the skin. Shivering lek a wet hound.” He patted Bonny as if apologizing to the cur for comparing the two. “And still as haughty as a queen.” He paused and shook his head as he grinned at her. “But even a queen has to remove her clothes sometime.”
She tried to sharpen her glare but it felt as if her muscles were frozen in place.
His expression sobered. “If I said please?”
“Ye are crazed.”
“I dunna wish ta tek the clothes from ye by force.”
Flame raised one brow and smiled at him. “And I do not wish to kill ye,” she said sweetly.
He chuckled again, then sobered. “And what do ye think would happen if ye died of a fever?”
She scowled at him. “I think ye would hustle away to hearth and home and the arms of a woman more foolish than I.”
“Well, ye are wrong, lass. I would sit and mourn yer passing until yer warriors came ta slit me throat ta avenge yer death.”
His eyes were deep and entrancing. It would be so very nice to believe she saw concern in them. “I am not going to die,” she assured him evenly.
“I willna hurt ye,” he murmured.
But he would. He would reduce her to the quivering lass called Flanna MacGowan. He would make her trust him, make her love him, and when he saw her true self, Flanna MacGowan would die again, and the Flame would no longer be strong enough to take her place. A spasm of cold shook her from head to foot, causing her goose-bumped skin to ache. Still, she could not admit her weakness. “And what of ye, Forbes? I suppose ye do not feel even the slightest discomfort?”
He shrugged noncommittally.
“Of course not,” she said. “And tell me, is that because ye be a Forbes, or simply because ye be a man?”
He studied her carefully. There was not even a hint of laughter in his eyes now. “Is it the truth ye wish for, lass?”
“‘Twould be a welcome change.”
“I be so cold I canna feel me fingers. I think me left kneecap is frozen and ‘tis a grave possibility that I broke me ribs when jumping from the horse.”
Surprised by his candidness, Flame opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand and continued.
“The muscles of me legs are knotted up lek the trunk of a wind-blown oak. Me back hurts lek the verra devil. And me wet plaid has worn me skin raw.”
“Then mayhap ye should take off yer clothes.”
He paused only a moment, “If ye wish,” he said, and put his hand to his belt.
“What are ye doing?”
“Taking a lady’s advice,” he said.
“No.” Her tone sounded panicked to her own ears.
“Think about it, lass. We be miles from any sort of comfort and we be soaked ta the skin. We couid at least share the heat of our bodies.”
She drew a sharp breath. “I will not risk that.”
His hands stilled. “I wasna speaking of risk, lass,” he said, his tone befuddled. “‘Twas speaking of sharing our bodies’ warmth and nothing more.”
She backed away a step. Her shoulders bumped the wall behind her. “I have nothing to share with ye.”
“I think ye misjudge yerself, Flanna.”
“Nay, tis ye that misjudges. I know men, Forbes.”
“Do ye? And who have ye known that makes ye such an expert?”
“Do ye forget that I lead the MacGowans? That the warriors listen to my—”
“Nay, I dunna forget, lass. But I speak of a more personal nature. As a lass, as a woman, who have ye known?”
She knew exactly what he meant. “My father,” she said.
“Ah yes, yer father,” Roderic said softly. “Yer father who couldna bear the sight of ye for ye reminded him of the woman he loved but did not trust.”
She could not speak, but with all her heart she wanted to believe that was the only reason for her father’s abandonment. With every fiber in her, she wished to believe she was worthy of love.
“And Carvell. That charming gallant who chose a man over a woman’s tender charms.”
Flame turned away, unable to meet his eyes. “Why did they hate me so?” she whispered. “Am I so detestable?”
“Nay, lass,” he said softly. “Ye are all that is good and fine.”
She shook her head. “I am my father’s daughter, Forbes, make no mistake. And he … He…” She swallowed, knowing she should say no more, but finding she couldn’t stop the words as dark memories echoed in her skull. “He was incensed that I refused to marry. I think for a time he went mad, for as he beat me, he called me by my mother’s name, Cecelia.”
“Gawd’s wrath!” Roderic swore, rising abruptly to his feet, his fists clenched.
She shrugged, drawing a deep breath and steadying her voice. “I think he wished to kill me. But as ye see, I did not die, for I am a fighter.”
“Like yer sire.”
She nodded once.
“And for that ye despise yerself.”
“He chose me to be the leader, Forbes. He could have chosen his nephew. But he did not, for Nevin is but the son of a kind, lowly cloth merchant. He is intelligent and sensitive. Surely, in my father’s eyes, he was not fit to rule.”
“So ye think ye were chosen because ye are like yer sire? Because ye are cruel and merciless.”
“Mayhap my father knew me better than I knew myself.”
“Yer father knew ye na at all,” Roderic rasped, and taking a step forward, touched her cheek with his fingertips. She was caught in his eyes, lost in that blue, steady gaze. “But I see ye for what ye are.”
“And what is that?” she whispered.
“Soft and strong, naive and wise, caring and fierce. ‘Tis a woman ye are, lass.”
“Nay.” She forced the word between stiff lips. “I am the Flame of…”
He lifted his hand from her cheek to stroke a finger against her lips. Lightning flashed through her being.
“There is na reason ye canna be both the woman and the Flame, lass,” he murmured.
Heat diffused every fiber of her body. Desire sparked in her breast and blazed outward, setting her afire. But she had heard a man’s pretty words before, only to find that that man was no better than her father. When she had found Carvell with his lover, he had threatened her life if she told his secret. But it was not his threat that had kept her quiet. It was her shame. Drawing her shoulders up, she pulled herself from his embrace with an effort. “I will not be a pawn, Forbes. Not yours or any man’s,” she whispered. “I will not be stroked and petted and tossed aside at your whim.”
“Ye devalue yer own worth, and my intelligence, lass. I am na the kind ta toss treasures away.”
His eyes offered caring and honor and all the things she longed for, but she could not accept, could not trust.
“Ye lie,” she whispered.
“Do I? Then touch me, lass; Stroke me and pet me. And when ye are through ‘twill be yer decision if I am ta be tossed aside.”
Chapter 16
“Ye say I can pet ye
and leave ye,” Flanna said. “But the world does not work that way, Forbes. Do ye not know that women are the weaker vessels? Scripture says it is so. And therefore—”
“’Tis na the strength of the chalice that determines its worth,” Roderic interrupted softly. “Indeed, ‘tis the delicately crafted vessel that is most cherished.”
“But we are the ones that must bear the burden of childbirth.”
“Some consider it a great blessing, lass.”
“My mother died in her travail,” she said. “Shamed, despised, and exiled from her homeland.”
“Is it childbirth ye fear then, lass? Or is it something else?”
He was so very near. So large and powerful and alluring. So frightening.
“I fear nothing,” she lied. “But I am—”
“Then ye are na afraid ta kiss me?”
A thousand feelings exploded within her. Her chest felt suddenly tight. “Nay,” she breathed. “I am na afraid. I am merely uninterested.”
His smile tilted only one corner of his mouth, and when he touched her face, his fingers were as light as falling snow. She shivered. “Now it is ye who lies, lass.”
His hand slipped slowly along her jaw and down her throat. Against her better judgment, Flanna closed her eyes.
“Ye are scairt.” His fingers flowed around her neck and into her hair. His words were no more than a breath in her ear. “Ye are afraid of what ye feel for me.”
“Nay,” she denied, but again she shivered.
“Then kiss me, lass, and prove it.”
She opened her eyes, breathing hard. His face was tilted down toward hers, his high, broad cheekbones sharply chiseled, his eyes intense. She was a fool. She was weak. She kissed him.
Lightning struck her lips and sparked through her at the gentle caress. But in a moment, he moaned and pulled her closer, pressing her hard against him as he ravaged her lips. A thousand suppressed emotions jangled in her head, confusing her, titillating her, frightening her.
She shivered violendy, quaking with cold and heat and denied longing. Roderic’s hand slipped downward, over her jaw, her throat, the thundering pulse that raced between her collarbones.
“Heaven’s gate, lass!” he rasped. “I need ye.”
“Nay!” She broke frantically away from his embrace. He took a step nearer, but she flattened herself against the wall with her heart beating like galloping hooves.
He stopped only inches from her. “Please, lass,” he pleaded. “I need…” he began, but he watched her carefully and finally drew a shaky breath. “I didna mean ta frighten ye.”
“Ye did not.” The words sounded pathetically untrue to her own ears.
Roderic smiled and ran splayed fingers through his wet hair. “Truly?” His hand trembled and he laughed. “Well, ye scared the hell outta me, lass.”
She said nothing. Never had she felt such rampaging emotions. Carvell had charmed her, had flattered her, and she had imagined herself as his bride, as the mother of his children. But this was entirely different. This was a desire so primitive that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth.
“Ye may na believe this, lass, but I’m usually quite…“He chuckled, seeming to be laughing at himself. “…sane.”
God forgive her. She wanted him right here, right now, and damn the consequences. “Truly?” Her breathing was still harsh and she shivered.
“Me apologies, lass. I am usually a patient man. I dunna often lose control.”
“Should I be flattered?”
He raised one brow, and in that moment he looked very noble and aloof. “Aye, lass. Ye should. Now take off yer clothes.”
Her mouth fell open, and he laughed out loud.
“So ye think ye’ve but to kiss me once and I’d beg for your favors?” she asked, aghast.
“‘Tis usually how it works.”
“Ye are a conceited, braying—”
“And ye are freezing,” he interrupted. “Take off yer clothes, lass, and I’ll…” He skimmed his hot gaze down her saturated form where her clothing clung like a second skin. “I’ll…” She braced herself against the onslaught of his eyes. “I’ll start a fire,” he said, before turning stiffly away to rummage about for dry kindling. After a few moments, he took a flint from his sporran and sparked a tiny flame into the scraps of wood he had found. Adding a small bit of a stool leg, he fanned the flame.
Flanna moved closer. Her eyes were huge in her pale face and her hands trembled as she stretched them toward the fire. He turned away, still lacking control and forcing himself to think of something other than how she felt in his arms.
Outside, thunder rumbled again and though the wind had decreased, the day grew no brighter. There would be little hope of finding dry timber beneath the flint-gray sky.
Roderic searched the interior by the light of the feeble fire. He found bits of twigs, fragments of broken crockery, and then, buried beneath the rumbled stone of what had once been a fireplace, he uncovered a blanket. Dust wafted from the small, tattered plaid in billowing clouds as he pulled it from the debris. Its color was indistinguishable, but it was mostly dry.
He rose to a stooped position and raised his gaze. Flanna caught it. Emotions sizzled.
Roderic drew a deep breath and reminded himself that despite the heat that seared his nether parts, she was cold and scared. “If I vow na ta look, will ye take off yer clothes and wrap up in it?”
She shivered.
“I willna compromise ye, lass.”
She blinked at him, and for one wild moment he hoped she would beg him to do just that.
She didn’t.
“Despite what ye think of men, me word is good.”
An eternity passed before she nodded. “Turn around.”
He did so. In a moment, he could hear her soggy boots drop to the earth. Her shirt followed. His manhood throbbed. Imagination, he mused, was a wonderful, if excruciating, thing.
“Ye may turn back, now.” Her voice was small.
She was wrapped from head to foot in the ratty woolen. It was just wide enough to circle her body one and a half times, he noticed, and he saw how she held it together at her bosom with a white-knuckled grip. He steadied his breathing and managed a grin. “Ye look bonny.”
“And ye lie,” she said, louder now.
“Nay.” He retrieved her soggy garments and laid them by the fire. The leather hose felt soft and slick. “I dunna.”
“Then ye are blind.”
“Na that either,” he assured. He straightened as best he could, and then began loosening his belt buckle.
“What are ye doing?”
“I am cold and wet and weary, lass. And I am removing me plaid.”
“Nay!”
He chuckled. It was good to know his impending nudity disturbed her, for indeed ‘twould be a sad thing to think she simply didn’t care.
“Ye mustn’t take off your clothes,” she breathed.
“Ahh, but I must, lass,” he disagreed. “For I, too, am cold.”
“But…” She glanced frantically about as if looking for a rock to hide under. “There are no more blankets. Ye’ll only get colder.”
God she was beautiful. Every fiber in him was singing with the thought of being near her. He loosened his sporran and belt with a couple quick jerks and in a moment, his heavy, soaked plaid was in a pile on the floor. Her gaze flitted to it before snapping abruptly back to his face.
Roderic unlaced his shirt with numb fingers, then he dragged its wet length along his shivering skin. In a moment he was stark naked and colder than ever.
Her eyes were huge and vibrant green. All traces of the haughty lady fled as he stepped toward her.
“What are ye doing?” Her words were no more than a whisper. “Ye promised.”
“I promised na ta look. I didna promise na ta touch,” he said, and snatching the blanket from her hand unwrapped her far enough to press himself up against her. She could feel every inch of his naked, rock-hard form, the he
avy strength of his thigh as it brushed hers, the bulging curve of his arm against her breast. Desire unfurled within her like a blossoming rose.
“I do not want ye,” she lied, shaking violendy.
“Na even a little?” he murmured, looking into her eyes.
“Nay. Never!”
“Ye dunna long for me touch?”
Dear God, she would sell her soul for his touch. “Nay.”
He turned and leaned closer so that his chest brushed against the aching nub of her rigid nipple. “Ye dunna dream of me kiss?”
Every night. “Nay,” she breathed.
His eyes smote her with blue flame for a moment, and then he shrugged. “As ye wish,” he said, and turning away, dragged her along in the cocoon of their shared plaid and sat down in front of the fire.
There was nothing she could do but plop down beside him. Thus, they sat side by side before the weak blaze, staring into its crackling center. Her left side was pressed against his from thigh to shoulder. Roderic repressed a grin. She felt as stiff and cold as a slab of ice.
“Flanna?”
She jumped at the sound of her name, and he turned an innocuous gaze to her.
“I must add a bit a kindling to the flame. Ye willna faint if a bit of me bare arm is exposed, will ye?”
A flash of color returned to her cheeks. “I assure ye,” she said through clenched teeth, “I could not care less if ye pranced naked as an owlet from here to Edinburgh.”
His laughter was gently mocking. “Ah, ‘tis a poor liar ye are, lass,” he said, and reached for the kindling.
“I assure ye, I do n …” she began, but his movement had forced the blanket to fall from his chest and her attention caught there.
Roderic froze. Their gazes melded as he drew a sharp breath. “I willna hurt ye, Flanna. Ye could surely chance a touch.”
“I—I told ye, I haye no desire to … touch ye.”
He smiled, not taking his gaze from her lips and losing himself for a moment in his own thoughts. “Would that I felt the same, lass,” he said with a sigh and stretched out on the ground beside the fire.
He heard her gasp of dismay as the blanket was stretched tight between them. Probably, the filthy woolen was tugged from her grasp and threatened to expose any manner of interesting body parts, Roderic deduced. It took a good deal of self-control to keep from looking, but Roderic managed to remain facing the fire, and finally closed his eyes. ‘Twas going to be a long, cold, wearisome day.
Highland Flame (Highland Brides) Page 19
