She blinked. “Afore what?”
Before he needed her respect, her love. Before he needed her trust. Before he wanted to marry her. Oh God! Panic was an unfamiliar quality, but Roderic recognized it when he felt it. “Afore… I knew ye so well.”
“So ye are saying that now that ye know me, ye no longer wish to … to mate with me?”
“Mate?” he said, feeling his ire rise with his panicked frustration. He was Roderic the Rogue. Why could he not act roguish. “‘Tis a crude term ye use.”
She raised her chin slightly. “Are ye saying ye do not wish to?”
“Aye, that is what I am saying.” It was a blatant lie.
“But I thought—”
“What? That we could just have at it like swine in the mud? That I was no more than a…” He backed away to wave a hand between them. Damn her for wanting to lie with him now and place the blame on him later. “No more loyal than one of yer stallions, to be bred and turned back into me stall, is that what ye—”
She leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips were like fire, searing all thought from his mind, scattering his words to the four winds. For just an instant he remembered that he was supposed to be insulted, that he should tell her he was a man, not a coveted stallion, but…
He groaned as his arms encircled her of their own accord, crushing her to him. She was soft but firm, bold but trembling.
It was the tremble that made him draw back, for though she would not admit her fear, he felt it in the shudder of her fine body. Leaning back slightly, he looked into her eyes, searching for uncertainty. But there was none. She wanted him. And he needed her.
He bent slightly, lifted her into his arms, and kissed her again. When he drew his head back, her eyes remained closed for a moment. When they opened, they looked misty and disoriented. She lifted her hand, gently touching his lips. He kissed her fingertips, and she shivered. Again he closed his mouth over hers. He tasted her hunger, felt her tremble. She slipped her fingers beneath his hair, cupping his neck and pulling him closer, deepening their kiss. Her desire only increased his own, and suddenly he could wait no longer.
He strode toward the pile of hay and let her feet slip to the earthen floor. Flanna turned to face him. He felt the quick rise and fall of her breasts against his chest and knew with aching wonder that her impatience rivaled his own.
With only a few quick movements, he removed his belt and brooch. His borrowed plaid slipped away. Stepping to the side, he unwrapped it from his waist and knelt to sweep it over the fragrant mound of fodder. In a moment, his eyes met hers again.
She stood perfectly still, watching him. And suddenly, he wondered if she had ceased breathing. Ever so slowly, he rose to his feet while keeping his gaze firmly locked on hers.
“‘Tis na too late ta change yer mind,” he said softly. They were the hardest words he had ever spoken, and for one hopeless moment he stood stiffly waiting for her to retreat.
Instead, she stepped forward and placed one hand against his chest. “I have not changed my mind,” she whispered and kissed him with urgent heat.
His heart bumped back to erratic life, his breathing accelerated, and a groan rumbled up his throat as he reached for the ties at the back of her gown. But just as he felt them ease free, she pushed at his chest again.
“Ye said I could pet ye,” she murmured.
“What?” he rasped, trying to think.
“Ye said I could pet ye,” she repeated and tugged his shirt upward. The fabric slipped over his chest. He raised his arms, allowing her to pull the garment over his head. Finally, it dangled to the floor from one wrist, and there it hung, forgotten, for at that precise instant, her fingertips brushed his nipple.
Roderic sucked a harsh breath between his teeth and let his head fall back. But the sensations had only just begun, for her fingers seemed restless and curious and wandered over his body like trails of fire. They skimmed his chest, caressed his shoulders, followed a taut cord up his neck to trace the line of his jaw.
It was hard to draw breath, and harder yet to wait, to allow her exploration without crushing her to him and easing his ache inside her. But wait he did, letting her touch, letting her feel, letting the anticipation build until he felt as if he would burst into spontaneous flame.
Again her fingers brushed his nipple. He shuddered. Her touch skimmed downward, coursing a trail down the center of his chest and over his taut belly until he felt her brush the turgid heat of his manhood.
He opened his eyes, lowered them to hers, and caught her wrist in a tight clasp.
She gasped, mouth round and soft like a child who had been caught stealing scones.
“My turn,” he whispered, pushing her hands aside.
In less than an instant her gown was removed. Flame stood breathlessly before him, naked and trembling. His hands were everywhere, shivering hot sensations down her neck, over her shoulder, down the arching center of her back. She felt the aching tenderness of his kiss against her throat as he took her hand in his and raised it between them. His lips were warm and firm against her palm, against her wrist, against the ultrasensitive bend of her arm. She gasped against the sharp sensations, but when he tugged at her hand she slipped onto the soft wool of his plaid with him.
They lay on their sides, thigh to thigh, belly to belly. She felt the hard thrust of his desire between them. Longing for fulfillment, she thrust her hips against him. But he urged her onto her back and made her wait as he showered her body with hot, slow kisses. They rained over her torso, down the length of her legs, and up again. She writhed frantically and moaned his name, but he had caught her wrists in his hands and kept them pinned to her sides as he kissed her breasts, her belly, the burning triangle of hair between her legs.
She gasped in shock and need as she jerked to a sitting position. Roderic eased back, finding her eyes with his own. Desire and promise smoldered between them. Her lips parted wordlessly, and then she lay back. He covered her body with his own. She opened her legs to him, wanting him, needing him.
He kissed her, slowly, thoroughly, and then, with hot, fluid ease, he slipped inside.
There was no pain, no fear, nothing but desire answered and need fulfilled. They rode together stride for stride, giving and taking, reaching for the skies until finally they burst into the clouds in a blaze of shuddering glory.
Flame gasped. Roderic growled, and finally they fell together, back to their cozy nest in the hay, where he crooned her name and stroked her lanquidly into sleep.
Flanna woke slowly, not knowing why, and for a moment not knowing where. And though the light had been doused, she knew Roderic was there. She sensed his presence as easily as she heard him croon her name.
“Flanna,” he breathed, and skimmed a hand gently down her bare arm. “So ye are na a dream.”
He kissed her and she felt herself fall under his power again, but suddenly the horse outside the barn whinnied. Another steed answered.
Roderic jerked away.
“Search the cottage,” ordered a gruff voice.
“The Wolfhound!” Roderic rasped.
“Troy,” Flame breathed. Her gaze met Roderic’s with a jolt.
“Please,” Roderic whispered, “come with me.”
“I cannot,” she whispered. “They need me.”
Hoofbeats sounded outside.
“Please,” he repeated. “I canna let ye go.”
She tried to argue, but warm memories assaulted her, and she knew he spoke the truth. He would not let her go without a fight.
He reached for her hand, pulled her to her feet, and tossed her her gown. They were dressed in moments. He pressed her toward the hole in the back of the barn.
Soon they were through, squatting in the dark behind the barn.
They stared at each other, a thousand thoughts pulsing between them. “Wait here,” he whispered.
She stared at him, trying to find the courage to argue.
“If ye left me I would follow ye forever. I would
fight ta have ye back,” he murmured.
She knew it was true, and though she tried to deny it, hope and happiness soared through her. In a moment, Roderic disappeared into the darkness. From the other side of the barn, she heard a timber drop. Hoofbeats thundered across hard-packed earth, ceased for a moment as if the horse had sprouted wings, and began again. “Hang on!” Roderic shouted. ,
“There!” someone yelled. “They’re getting away. To yer horses!”
Men shouted. Hooves pounded.
Roderic appeared and reached for her hand.
Without thought, she went with him. They ran side by side. Dark woods loomed overhead. Bonny loped along beside them. Branches grabbed at Flame’s skin and gown.
The night swept past. Their breathing became labored. And somehow it seemed that they were running for her, running from danger to save her from some unknown evil.
From behind came an uncertain noise. Roderic twisted about, still holding her hand and almost tripping. “They come,” he rasped and stumbled ahead.
They splashed into a burn. Cool water washed over Flame’s legs and splashed on her face and hands. In the woods behind them, a horse whinnied.
“There!” Flame gasped, pointing to a pile of brush on the far side of the river. They sped through the water and onto the smooth brownstone on the opposite bank. Somewhere in the woods, a branch broke. Flame gasped and pulled Roderic toward the tangled brush.
Brambles tore at her hands as she tugged the vines away, but in a moment Roderic nudged her aside and ripped the debris from its setting against the boulders.
Without a word, they scrambled into the crevice between the two huge rocks and turned about. Roderic dragged the brush in behind them.
From their hiding place, they could see a great, dark horse charge from the woods and into the burn. Water sprayed upward from its plunging hooves. In a moment, another horse thundered into the water. Even in the pale dawning light, they could see a white plume dance above the first man’s bonnet.
“The Wolfhound does na give up,” Roderic whispered.
“What the devil be ye doing here, Nevin?” Troy asked. “Did I na tell ye ta follow the horse?”
“The horse was a ploy!” snapped the younger man. “Forbes is here. And very close.”
“Aye? And how do ye know that?”
“Because I am na so foolish as ye, old man,” Nevin exclaimed. “How many times will ye fall for his tricks?”
For a moment, Troy was silent, then, “Go back to the others, lad, before I make ye regret yer words.”
They were close enough to hear the horses’ labored breathing. She should call for help, Flame knew, but what would they do if they found Roderic? Troy would fight to take her. Roderic would fight to keep her. She could do nothing but try to prevent bloodshed.
“Do ye wish to be laird so badly that ye would let her die at the hands of a Forbes, old man?” Nevin growled.
The tension was nearly palpable, but suddenly a movement caught Flame’s eye, distracting her. Bonny had been left outside, and lay now, stretching her head onto her paws to wait for her master’s return.
Flame held her breath. Roderic caught her line of vision and swore quietly.
“I should kill ye for that, lad,” said Troy flatly. “But for yer father’s sake, I willna.”
Nevin’s steed fidgeted. His rider chuckled, but the sound was dark. “Ye had best not try, old man, or ye may find me not so soft as ye think me to be.”
“Get back to the others.”
The two remained in the river, their horses fretted at their bits.
“Do not forget that I know your secrets. Ye will not be laird and neither will your heir,” Nevin warned, and turning his steed, headed back toward the cottage.
Troy’s stallion tossed his heavy neck and pawed the water. Seconds ticked away until finally Troy urged his mount across the river and up onto the rock.
Flame held her breath, praying Bonny would remain immobile.
The dark destrier turned once, then stood still, his ears pricked forward as his rider scanned the darkness.
“Ye’d best watch yer step and na dally where ye are na wanted, Forbes, or you shall surely rue the day,” Troy murmured, staring into the distance. Then, turning his bay, the huge warrior splashed back into the river.
Chapter 22
They were gone. Out of his reach. Or so Forbes thought. But Forbes knew so little. There was nowhere safe for them. Not in all of Scotland, for he paid his brigands well.
The lea where they rested was quiet. Surrounded by a thousand gnarled oaks, it lay like a smooth, green gem in the forest’s center. The sun again bathed the earth.
Flame sat on a rock, nursing feet that burned from her journey through the bracken.
“Why did ye do it, lass?” Roderic asked softly. He was holding her foot in his hands and shifted his gaze from her instep to her eyes.
“Let go,” she said and tried to pull away, but he held tight.
“Ye’ve picked up a thorn.”
She jerked her foot again, employing her very best scowl. “I know I’ve got a thorn. Do ye think me so dense that I do not feel pain?”
Ever so gently, he smoothed his fingers up her ankle and grinned into her face. “In truth, lass, I was wondering that verra thing.”
She tried to stop the shiver that followed his fingers’ slow course.
“With the way ye rush through the brambles in bare feet, I thought surely ye were beyond physical pain.”
Flame did her best to increase the intensity of her scowl but his fingers were excruciatingly soothing against her bare calf. “Mayhap I be but trying to avoid ye.”
He chuckled softly. “A lesser man might deduce ye dunna appreciate me presence,” he said.
“A smarter man would surely do so,” she countered, yanking at her foot again.
He held it still, bowed his attention to the ball of her foot and plucked out the irritating thistle.
She jerked again, but Roderic refused to give up his hold.
“Why?” he asked for the second time.
She glanced away. “I have not an inkling what ye are referring to.”
“I might say, a smarter lass would. But I think ye are a smarter lass, Flanna.”
She held his gaze with some difficulty, making certain her expression was haughty, though her heart hammered an erratic beat in her chest. “Do ye wish to be caught by my kinsmen, or shall we go on?”
Roderic shrugged. “Methinks I should dally here and allow ye to fend them off… again. For I wonder, where would ye hide me now, Flanna MacGowan? And why would ye bother?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I was yer hostage, was I na?”
Flame pursed her lips and tried to pretend he was not stroking her ankle and causing a thousand errant thoughts to clatter into her brain. “If ye were killed there would be no end to the bloodshed.” And no healing the hole in her heart.
“So ye say ye have na personal feelings for me?” Roderic asked softly.
Tingling emotions scurried from his fingertips and up her leg. Memories of the night before stole her breath, but she tried to pretend otherwise. “Aye.” The single word came out on a squeak. Flame cleared her throat, pursed her lips and tried again. “Aye, Forbes, that is exactly what I am saving.”
He canted his head slightly, causing the sunlight to glitter off his shoulder-length hair at a different angle and shift the shadows across his strong features. “Nevertheless, I thank ye.”
His eyes were so blue. ‘Twas surely a sin to have eyes like that, eyes that looked into her soul but hid his own.
“And I apologize,” he added.
She knew she should try again to yank her foot from his grasp. She should rise haughtily to her feet, lift her chin in the air, and walk away.
Instead, she watched his long fingers trickle up her shin. “For what?” Her question was pathetically weak.
“It be difficult to ken where ta start, for my behavior has been less than exemplary sinc
e our first meeting.”
But she had abducted him. Or at least, she had abducted him first.
“I…” He drew a deep breath and watched as his touch drifted nearly to her knee. “I admit that yer nearness puts me off me stride. Before going to Dun Ard, some people found me quite tolerable.”
She held her breath for a moment then found her voice. “Indeed?” Dear God, she wanted to kiss him, wanted to slip into his arms and beg him to stay with her forever.
“Indeed,” he said. “There were even those who called me charming on occasion.”
“Nay.” She tried to make the word sound sarcastic but feared she achieved nothing more than a tone of breathlessness.
“‘Tis true,” he murmured, skimming his hand higher still. “But with ye I find I am barely … coherent, for all I want to do is …”
Mate! Flame thought and shoved her gown back over her tingling knee. “Weren’t ye about to mate—apologize!” she corrected frantically. Dear God, let the earth swallow her now.
The corner of Roderic’s mouth lifted the slightest degree, almost as if he hadn’t noticed her horrid slip of tongue. “That I was, lass.”
“Then … please do,” she whispered.
His smirk brightened a whit. “Do what?” he murmured.
Her lips moved. Her breathing accelerated. Her pulse sped along. “Whatever it is ye feel ye must do.”
“Heaven’s gate, lass, that is just the problem. I am torn between what I should do and what I must do.”
God forgive her for being a weak-willed ninny. “Then do what ye wish to do.”
He leaned closer. All she could see was his face, the squareness of his stubbly jaw, the vibrant blue of his eyes. All was silent. She waited breathlessly.
“I want to apologize, Flanna. I should na have said the things I’ve said. Should na have done much of what I have done. And I should na have allowed ye ta expose yerself ta danger at the burn.”
“Allowed?” she echoed. “I am the Flame of the MacGowans, who are ye to allow or disallow?”
He smiled that captivating smile that haunted her dreams and muddled her thoughts. It seemed she could feel her very hair wilt from the intoxicating power of it, but she forced her back to remain stiff.
Highland Flame (Highland Brides) Page 25
