Highland Flame (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  “I do love it when ye speak like that, Flanna MacGowan,” he said. “All regal disdain and cool superiority.” Skimming his fingers about her ankle, he slipped them lower, over her instep and onto her toes.

  Her mouth fell open slightly. She tried to catch her breath and remember what she had said, what she should say next, who she was. But reality seemed so vague, and her fantasies so real. God, he was beautiful, and he would pass those fine looks on to his children. They would be fair-haired, with eyes as bright as the morning sky and laughter to make the woodlands sing.

  “But mayhap ye like me just a wee bit, lass. Or at the least, mayhap ye like what I can do for ye.”

  Reality returned with a jolt. Flame yanked her foot from his hand. “Ye are a conceited…”

  “Man?” he supplied helpfully. “Most are. Fortunately, I have more ta be conceited about than the others, lass.”

  She rose abruptly then winced as her tender feet touched the ground.

  “Sit down. I’ll bandage them,” he said softly.

  “Nay.” She stepped away, but he had already caught her ankle.

  “Sit down, lass, or I’ll have ta wrestle ye ta the ground and though I used ta think meself well disciplined, being near ye has changed me mind. I’d hate ta do something we might later regret.”

  Her gaze caught his. The desire in them was as clear as morning dew. She sat with a plop.

  He grinned. “Now sit still,” he said, and hoisting up his plaid, set her foot upon his bare thigh. Muscle rippled beneath the pad of her foot.

  “What are ye doing?”

  Tugging the end of his shirt from beneath his tartan, he glanced up with a grin. “Make me a suggestion, lass, and I’ll surely consider it.”

  Her foot was very near his private parts. She couldn’t breathe.

  He watched her face then chuckled deep in his throat. “I am but ripping off a bit of me shirt ta act as yer shoes.”

  Flame licked her lips. “Oh.” It was all she could think to say and she felt rather silly for her lack of incriminating words. “I knew that.”

  His plaid dipped between his legs, showing more sculpted thigh and …

  She snapped her gaze back to his.

  His grin brightened as her face did the same. “Me apologies,” he said and tugged the recalcitrant plaid a scant inch to the right. “It seems I underestimated yer effect on me yet again.”

  Her face felt hot and her hands clammy. “Let me go,” she whispered.

  “Surely ye must be accustomed ta having that effect on men,” he said, still holding her foot.

  She pursed her lips. “I am accustomed to choosing the time and place.”

  “Last night ‘twas a fine time,” he murmured, “but here in the lea would be perfection.” Near his crotch, his plaid moved of its own accord.

  She tried to keep her gaze sternly on his face, but her fingers itched to touch him and her heart galloped in her chest. “Perfection is naught but a deluded dream,” she murmured.

  “’Tis na true. Ye and I together. That be perfection,” he whispered.

  Her heart stopped completely. With every fiber of her being she hoped he would reach for her, but instead he jerked his attention back to her feet and snugly bound them.

  Toward nightfall, Bonny caught a squirrel. They roasted it over a well-hidden fire and shared it three ways. Roderic thought it tasted as if it had been marinated in horse sweat and left to dry in the sun.

  “‘Twas a fine meal,” Flame said. She sat with her back to a rough log. A bare bone dangled from her fingers.

  “Now I am worried,” Roderic said and touched the back of his hand to her forehand.

  She laughed. The sound was silvery in the cool darkness. “I have always liked the taste of squirrel.” She watched him draw his hand away and grimace. “I am a simple girl with simple tastes.”

  Nay, she was not. She was royalty—in reality and in spirit. He shifted his attention from her face to his portion of the stringy meal. “Dun Ard’s greasy mutton is beginning to seem more appealing by the day.”

  “My people have fallen on bad luck, Forbes. Though we were never wealthy, we are harder pressed now and have learned to make do.”

  “Bad luck,” he mused quietly. “Such as the death of yer kindred, the loss of yer stock, the poisoned well?”

  “Aye. And I admit I thought it was caused by your people, Forbes,” she said, but her voice was soft.

  “And now?”

  She shifted her gaze to the ground. “Now I don’t know.”

  “It wasna the Forbeses, lass,” he said quietly. “Therefore there is someone else who wishes ta harm yer people. But who?”

  For a moment, he thought she would argue, but she sighed and looked into the night. “I can think of no one I have angered.”

  He watched her profile. It shone in the golden light of their campfire like a copper cameo. “Mayhap there are those who hated the MacGowans long before ye became their lady.”

  “Mayhap. My father was not… always charming.”

  He thought of what she had endured, alone and afraid, far from home.

  “I have heard he accused many of lying with his wife. It is rumored some of those same men died suspiciously.”

  And Flanna had been the one to bear the brunt of the rumors and try to mold her tribe back into a family unit.

  “What of Troy?” he asked.

  “Why do ye ask?”

  “There are those who think him an attractive man, even in his waning years. It seems likely that the MacGowan might have accused him of a dalliance.”

  She bit her lip. “I think he may have. Troy, too, spent many years in France. I do not think it was necessarily because he was fond of that country.”

  “Yer father threatened his life?”

  She shrugged. “I was far removed from Scottish politics for many years. ‘Tis hard to say what he might have done.”

  Roderic scowled into the fire. “But if he did, ‘twould seem possible that Troy could hold a grudge, would it na?”

  “He is my friend, my confidant,” she whispered. “All the years in Bastia, he was the only one who eased my lonli … who came to visit me.”

  Self-pity was not in her nature, he thought. But there was pain in her tone, in her eyes. Still, he could not ignore the possibility that Troy Hamilton wished her ill, for her life was at stake.

  “Mayhap he had a reason to visit ye, lass. Mayhap he hoped ta win yer confidence, and ta someday become laird himself when—”

  “Nay. Ye are wrong. I—”

  “Flanna,” he interrupted sharply and raised his head. Something was wrong. It was too quiet. Too … “Run!” He yelled the word before he knew his own reasons. In the woods, a twig cracked. He wasted no time looking that way. Instead, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet.

  “What?” she gasped.

  An axe flew through the air and bit into the log where she had rested her back. But its thud was drowned by the terrifying shriek of a battle cry.

  Chapter 23

  Men crashed from the woods toward them. Flame knew she should run. She heard Roderic’s command to do so, felt him push her toward the shelter of the trees. But her legs wouldn’t move.

  She stood, immobilized by fear as the outlaws rushed toward them. They were armed, Roderic was not, and yet he braced his legs, swept a glowing log from the fire, and stood his ground.

  “Flee!” he yelled as steel crashed against wood. Sparks flew. Flame screamed. Jolted from her trance, she spun away. Then she saw the others.

  They swarmed at her from all directions. Her next scream died in her throat. Desperation made her whirl toward the fire. Somehow, Roderic was holding the villains at bay with his flaming brand.

  She reached toward the blaze. A branch came away in her hand. There was no time to think, only to swing. Fire burst in a bright arc of sparks.

  A man screamed and clutched his burning scalp. But there were many more. She swung again.

  It w
as a blazing, clashing nightmare. She felt her back bump Roderic’s, and suddenly she remembered his words. He would give his life to save hers.

  Something swelled in her chest. With a war cry of her own, she swung again. A sword slashed at her brand, knocking her aside.

  She fell with a shriek, trying to bring her weapon to bear, to shield her face from the snarling devil who lunged at her, but her arms were weakening, her reactions slowing, and she knew she would die.

  From beside her came a roar of savage outrage. Like a beast protecting his mate, Roderic pivoted about and swung for the villain’s head. Blood sprayed. The man fell, dropping his claymore, and suddenly it was in Roderic’s hand.

  With one thrust the villain was dead. Roderic wheeled about, both hands on the hilt of his captured sword as he slashed and cut.

  But there were too many.

  From his left a dark man lunged at him.

  Flame screamed and Bonny leaped! The villain shrieked as the hound pierced his sword arm.

  The weapon fell and Flame snatched it up.

  From nowhere, another sword swung at her. She blocked the blow with a weak parry and shrieked with fear.

  The sword swung again. She watched it arc and prayed for her own immortal soul.

  But suddenly Roderic was there, standing over her. His claymore sang of death. Another villain fell, gurgling on his own blood.

  “To their horses!” Roderic gasped. “Get a horse and ride!”

  “But…” She could not leave him.

  He gasped in pain. Blood spurted from his arm. He swung wildly about, clanging his claymore against his opponent’s sword with a roar.

  She couldn’t stop them. There were too many. Flame stumbled to her feet. He had cleaved a path through the midst of the outlaws.

  Terror drove her down that path and into the woods.

  She heard her pursuers follow. Branches snatched at her face. Bracken bound her feet. From up ahead, she heard the fearful snort of a horse and then its dark form loomed suddenly before her.

  Her fingers felt numb against the tied reins. The animal snorted again and tried to pull away, but she held on and soon it was free.

  Behind her, a man swore and sprang through the darkness. She grabbed the steed’s mane and swung upward. Hands grappled for her leg. She screamed and kicked with all her might.

  Something crunched beneath Flame’s heel. Her mount lunged frantically away.

  But Roderic was behind her and she could not leave him. She spun the destrier about and forced him back through the woods.

  From her right, men yelled and charged toward her. But she was astride now and knew what she must do.

  Roderic looked up just in time to see a monstrous beast explode from the woods and fly toward him. It burst from the darkness like the devil incarnate and bore down upon him, plowing over everything in its path.

  “Gawd’s wrath!” he gasped and jumped aside just in time to save himself from being knocked to the ground.

  “Forbes!” someone yelled.

  He gathered his wits and brought his sword to bear.

  “Come!” she screamed and suddenly he realized the rider was Flanna.

  “Go!” he ordered.

  “Come!”

  Already, men were racing toward them, swords uplifted, teeth bared.

  Roderic swung his claymore as warning and yelled again for her to leave, but in that moment, he knew that if he died she would die with him. Damn her stubborn hide. There was nothing he could do but reach for the animal’s mane and swing his leg toward the steed’s back.

  Something sliced the back of his thigh. He gasped in pain and nearly fell, but Flanna’s fingers twisted in his shirt. The stallion lunged toward him, aiding his assent, and suddenly he was aboard and they were flying across the clearing.

  They hit one man square on. He shrieked and fell beneath the stallion’s hooves, and then darkness wrapped about them as the firelight disappeared.

  Behind them, men screamed and cursed and ran for their horses.

  “Roderic!” Flanna’s voice was raspy with fear. “Are ye well?”

  “Are ye?”

  “Aye.” Her voice quivered but she sat upright and guided the stallion with finesse.

  “Then I am too, lass,” he breathed. “And I owe ye me thanks again for saving me life.” He glanced back, searching the darkness for signs of pursuit. He could see nothing, yet he knew their attackers would follow.

  Beneath them, the stallion stumbled, nearly falling to his knees. “Don’t thank me yet,” she gasped.

  From close behind, a villain’s battle cry shattered the night.

  “I fear it might be now or never, lass.”

  He saw her twist about to peer into the darkness. Her face was pale with fear and yet she didn’t falter but drove the stallion onward, through the trees and out into the open.

  Overhead, the moon shone upon a wide stretch of rising meadow. Again, Flame turned to look back. Judging the distance between them and their enemies, she spurred the stallion ahead.

  The destrier’s hooves thundered across the grass, but his breath came in great gasps and his gait was rough and labored.

  “They’re nearly upon us!” Roderic warned.

  Flanna bent low over the stallion’s neck. Though Roderic could not make out the words she spoke, he could feel the animal’s desperate burst of speed.

  They hit a narrow valley. Momentarily hidden from their pursuers, Flanna pulled their mount to the right. He stumbled again.

  “A little further, great one,” she breathed, lying flat against his neck. “Just a wee bit.”

  Trees loomed up and swallowed them with their darkness. Thirty strides into the woods, Flanna straightened.

  “He’s spent!” —

  Roderic leaped from the stallion’s back. Dragging Flanna with him, he raised his sword to send the stallion away.

  “Nay! We can not leave him to them,” Flame cried, jerking her head to indicate the villains and reaching for the reins.

  “What the devil—” Roderic began, but a sudden noise made him push her behind him and jerk about.

  From the darkness, Bonny bounded into his arms.

  “Sweet Jesu!” Roderic gasped and, hugging the dog to him, turned to Flanna again.

  “We cannot leave him any more than we can leave the hound,” she said softly.

  “Gawd’s wrath!” swore Roderic. “Get the nag under cover then if ye’re set on forfeiting yer life for him.”

  She grabbed the animal’s reins and dragged him away.

  The ravine in which they hid was nothing more than a green slice cut from the leaf-covered ground of the woods.

  In the distance, Roderic thought he heard hoofbeats thunder past, but it was difficult to be sure. They waited in silence. Flanna held the stallion’s nose lest he decide to call to his companions.

  But the stallion remained silent, his head drooping, his nostrils flared as he pulled great drafts of air into his laboring lungs.

  By morning Roderic realized the truth. The animal was dying on his feet. Although he had managed to carry them several miles since dawn, he stumbled now, his strength spent.

  Seated behind her, Roderic touched Flanna’s arm. “The beast can go no further, lass.”

  “Then we’ll walk and lead him.”

  “Flanna…” Roderic sighed. His breath fanned against her flame-bright hair. Fatigue weighed like a sack of meal across his back and his thigh burned like hell’s fire. “He’s been starved and can barely walk. ‘Twould be a kindness to cut his throat and leave him in peace.”

  Flanna dropped her hand protectively to the stallion’s neck. “I hope ye will agree to spare me from your brand of compassion should I ever dawdle.”

  Though Roderic tried to look stern, he couldn’t quite contain his weary chuckle. “Must I remind ye that ye are na a horse but a person? We Forbeses dunna usually kill our women should they lose a bit of weight. But I have seen this kind of abuse afore, lass.” Sliding f
rom the steed’s back, Roderic grasped his purloined claymore in one hand. “He is used up,” he said, but in that instant he noticed the tears that shone in her eyes as she looked down at him. They sparked defiance and gainsaid fear.

  “Then ye’ll go on without us, Forbes. For he saved our lives and I will not leave him.”

  “He will only slow us down.”

  “Me,” she argued. “He will only slow me down. Ye can go on.”

  Roderic gritted his teeth. “Damn it all to hell!” he swore. “Why must I love a woman whose verra bones are stubborn?”

  He watched her mouth fall open in surprise. “Roderic…” she murmured, but he scowled her to silence and raised one hand to fend off her words.

  “Not now, Flanna. Ye didna hear what ye think ye heard,” he warned. “Just keep silent and handfeed the crow-bait before he drops like a rock into death.”

  Damned if she didn’t.

  Roderic lay upon the grass and watched her. The back of his thigh still burned but he had felt along the gash with his fingers and decided the wound wasn’t life-threatening.

  Bonny lay flat out beside him, exhausted. But Flanna remained on her feet, picking choice shoots of grass to feed to the steed.

  The horse was tall and still young. At one time he might have been a handsome beast. Now, his ribs showed like the bones of a long-dead carcass, his dark coat had faded to a frizzled brown, and his eyes were sunken within their sockets.

  Despite his listlessness, he managed to lap the grasses from Flanna’s palm. She stroked his stringy neck and whispered soft words into his drooping ear.

  Roderic stubbornly assured himself that he did not envy the wasted beast for the tender attention he was receiving. He could not feel her hands feather-soft upon his skin or imagine her breath against the lobe of his ear. “Here.” He rose abruptly with a scowl, feeling restless despite his fatigue. “Ye sit, Flanna.”

  She refused to turn toward him. “I know this horse,” she said quietly. “He was one of our own.”

  “MacGowan stock?” Roderic asked, eyeing the miserable beast in disbelief.

  “Aye.” Flanna’s hand slipped to a deep hollow above the stallion’s eye. “’Tis Bruid’s get.”