Highland Flame (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  “Lass, I—”

  She lifted her eyes to his, and for a moment she forgot to hide her feelings. “Rachel is blessed beyond measure.”

  Their gazes met and melded. Roderic’s face was solemn. In her mind’s eye, Flame saw a lad with golden hair and laughing blue eyes.

  A thousand thoughts flowed between them but none were spoken.

  Heart nudged Flame’s arm, snapping her from her reverie.

  She drew a deep breath. Roderic cleared his throat and seemed to find their former topic with difficulty.

  “Her father dotes on her shamelessly.”

  “She is blessed,” Flame said again, but the words were only a whisper.

  For a moment she thought Roderic would say more, instead he stood and took the horse away.

  Chapter 27

  Flame awoke with a start. The room was dark as pitch. Beside her bed, Clarinda snored on her cot.

  What had she heard? She lay perfectly still, listening, and then heard the quiet creak of door hinges again. Who was there? No one had to tell her she was in enemy territory and that she was without weapons. What had they done with the dirk she always wore at her side?

  “Flanna,” Roderic whispered.

  “Forbes!” she gasped, twisting about and finding his face in the darkness.

  “Gawd’s wrath, lass, ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost. Did I scare ye?”

  “No,” she managed on a sharp exhalation.

  He chuckled. “Aye. I did.”

  “No. Ye—”

  “Shh,” he said, placing a finger to his lips. “Dunna wake Clarinda. Ye’ve given her enough trouble, what with the horse and all.”

  “I did not—”

  “Shh,” he said again and chuckled. “’Tis a bonny night.”

  She scowled through the darkness at him. Weren’t wounded people supposed to be allowed to sleep? “Ye came to tell me about the weather?”

  “Nay, I didna,” he said, and bending over the bed, flipped the blankets aside.

  “What are ye doing?”

  “Showing ye a bonny night,” he whispered and lifted her into his arms.

  “But…”

  “Shh,” he said and tiptoed to the door as if she were no more trouble than a just-birthed kitten.

  His feet were silent against the stone stairs.

  “Roderic…”

  He hushed her again. “If Fiona finds ye missing, she’ll have me hide.”

  Flame opened her mouth to object, but they were just entering the great hall and he scowled her to silence lest she wake those who slept in the rushes. From the pile of curs near the wall, a hound rose and trotted toward them, her paws rustling through the scattered heather and herbs.

  “Bonny missed ye,” he whispered.

  The huge hall door creaked open. He stepped through, managing not to hit either her head or her feet in the process.

  “Aye,” Flame said as the hound danced beside them, rapturously trying to lick the hand of the man she adored. “Bonny missed me, just like Lady Fiona would have yer hide if she found me missing.”

  Roderic raised his brows at her. The magical light of the full moon showed the surprise on his face. “Ye dunna believe me?”

  Flame scowled. Fiona adored him as all women surely did. And she was a lady to her very soul. She would never raise a hand to him or any man. “Nay,” she said, “I do not. The Lady Fiona would hurt no one. Least of all ye.”

  He stared at her for an instant then laughed and continued on, saying nothing.

  “Why do ye laugh?”

  He chuckled softly. His hair was brushed back, showing the width of his broad throat. “‘Tis a marvel how ye can at times seem so wise only ta seem so foolish a moment later.”

  “I am not foolish.”

  He chuckled again and eased her a bit closer to his heart. “Ask ta see Leith’s scars sometime,” he said then frowned. “On second thought, dunna.”

  “Scars? Where? Why?”

  “Dunna sound so intrigued,” he said, frowning into her upturned face. “‘Twas a poor idea.”

  “What are ye talking about?”

  “Me brother has been heard to say he would rather startle a wild boar than raise his lady’s ire.”

  Flame stared into his face. “Not sweet Fiona,” she scoffed. “Ye jest.”

  “Sweet Fiona.” He chuckled again. “Aye, lass, if ye say so. Bonny night isn’t it, Gregory?”

  “Aye, Roddy, ‘tis indeed. Out for a stroll?”

  Embarrassment scalded her so that Flame refused to look at the man to whom Roderic spoke. Surely she had sunk to the depths of humiliation to be carried about by this jesting warrior who thought himself the man of men. But his arms were strong and he smelled of fine leather. His nearness made her head light and her heart hammer.

  They ascended a tower and hurried up a score of narrow stairs. He squeezed her closer to his chest and grinned. “I love tight spaces.”

  “Where are ye taking me?” she asked, refusing to honor his foolishness.

  “’Tis a surprise.”

  “I hate surprises.”

  “Ye’ll like mine.”

  “How do ye know?” she asked, needing to keep him talking to quiet her jangling nerves. She had always loved the scent of leather, but he added a new quality to it. An allure. A masculinity. And he was very close, with her hale arm draped about his neck. Never in her life had she thought a man could be called beautiful yet manly.

  The stairs ended. Roderic’s footfalls sounded across a flat stone expanse and then halted.

  “Look.” His voice was little more than a whisper in her ear. They stood atop the battlements. Below them stretched a scene she had witnessed only once before— the magical Burn Glen, wreathed in mist and mystery. But now she was not racing toward the castle with hatred in her soul and vengeance within her grasp. Now she was clasped in the arms of a man who was supposed to be her enemy. A man who owned her heart.

  A stallion trumpeted, drawing Flame’s gaze across the burn. On a dark hillock a white horse reared, tossing his head and calling a challenge to an unseen rival. Another horse answered and suddenly, he was there. The two beasts rose on hind legs, sparring playfully. The mists swirled, sweeping up the hillside and making the scene surreal and unearthly.

  “Beautiful,” she breathed.

  “Beyond words,” he agreed.

  Their gazes met and held. Their thoughts entwined. The image of the golden-haired boy returned to Flame’s mind.

  Roderic drew a deep breath. Against her heart Flame could feel his chest expand.

  “I…” She should run away now. Before it was too late. “I lied about not wanting children,” she whispered.

  “Fear makes us hide, lass. But ‘tis hard to hide from the truth. Yer daughter will have yer eyes.”

  “What?”

  “I see her in me mind. She is as bonny as springtime.”

  It almost seemed as if Flame were floating in a dream where people laughed and loved, where peace reigned and she was called Mama by a golden boy with a winsome smile.

  “‘Tis a lad,” she said. “Just like ye.”

  “Gawd help us,” Roderic whispered.

  “Who goes …” someone called, then, “Ho, Roderic. I didn na hear ye come up.”

  The spell was broken.

  Flame pulled her gaze from Roderic’s. He turned slowly away.

  “There be a reason for that, Cleat.”

  “Oh.” Apparently, Cleat was not overly bright, but Roderic’s gruff tone managed to alert him to the situation. “I’ll be leaving the two of ye alone then.”

  Flame felt Roderic’s gaze return to her face but refused to lift her eyes.

  “Dunna draw away, lass,” he said softly.

  But the choices were so clear. She must draw away or lose her heart. “Let me go home.”

  She felt the muscles of his arms and chest tense where they touched her.

  “Please,” she murmured.

  He said nothing, o
nly turned and carried her back to her room.

  “Ye canna keep her locked away here forever,” Roderic said, leveling his best glare on Fiona.

  She stood in the doorway of the infirmary with fists planted on her narrow hips and the light of battle in her eyes. “In case you have na noticed, the Lord has worked a miracle here, Roderic Forbes. And He has put me in charge of making certain you don’t botch it up.”

  Intimidation worked about as well on Fiona as it did on Flanna. Roderic tried a smile instead. “When have I ever botched things up, lass?”

  Her snort was, by any standards, unladylike. “I dunna have all morning as you well know.”

  “‘Twas me verra point,” Roderic said. “I felt ye were too busy. Ye dunna have time ta help herd the beasts.”

  “What the devil be ye speaking of?”

  “Flanna is particularly fond of livestock.”

  Fiona’s left brow lifted over her entrancing eyes.

  Roderic cleared his throat. “Isn’t it true, Lady MacGowan,” he asked, turning to the lady under discussion, who lay in the bed across the room. But the lady was, apparently, far too wise, or perhaps too amused to join in this particular fray.

  “Are ye threatening to squeeze that lop-eared horse into my infirmary again?” Fiona asked.

  “Nay,” denied Roderic, trying to appear offended. “But William MacMurt’s sow just birthed piglets. And of course they be too young to leave their mother. So mayhap I could simply carry the wee ones whilst ye and Roman shoo the sow up the stairs to—”

  Fiona’s laughter interrupted his gesticulations and commentary. “How is it that your brothers have put up with your foolishness all these years?”

  Roderic shrugged and grinned. ‘Twas a heady feeling being near the two women most dear to his heart. “’Tis a wonder, me lady.”

  “‘Tis indeed.” She laughed, then said, “Go on then. Take her down to the bailey, but no further. And I warn ye,” she added, shaking a finger at him, “if she becomes chilled or fatigued, ‘twill be on your head.”

  “Aye, me lady,” agreed Roderic, employing his most boyish charm. Tucking a pair of blankets firmly to Flanna’s sides, he scooped her into his arms.

  Their gazes met and for a moment he thought she held her breath.

  “Did I hurt ye?” he murmured.

  Rosy color dappled her fair cheeks. “Nay.”

  “Ye are bonny indeed this morning, Lady Flanna.”

  Flanna blushed a bit brighter and hurried her gaze to the doorway, but Fiona was already gone. “And ye are a flirt.”

  Roderic laughed. “Aye,” he agreed. Her hair was loose and had been brushed to a fiery glow. It flowed against his arm like a river of flame and crackled between their bodies. “Be ye ready to meet the day?”

  “Nay.” She blinked and found his gaze again. “I am not even dressed.”

  He eyed her demure night rail with a scowl. “If only ‘twere true.”

  Flame laughed again. Roderic had long since taken her from the bailey. They sat on the sun-dappled slope of a verdant hillock. Magpies called from the woods behind them and wild irises raised their delicate heads to smile at the sunlight.

  “‘Tis true,” Roderic promised. Stretching his powerful legs out before him, he settled back upon his elbows. “Ta this day auld Alpin still thinks that gray mare can talk.”

  His sapphire eyes looked into hers. Flame caught her breath and pulled her attention from his face with an effort. But it did no good, for she could still feel the warmth of his gaze as he studied her.

  “‘Tis …” she began, but it was difficult to think when he was so close and nearly impossible to speak. “‘Tis a bonny spot.”

  He had wanted to carry her through the village to entertain her with the wares sold there, but the thought of others seeing her so scandalously clothed appalled her. They had settled on this small piece of paradise.

  “Aye,” he said, “‘tis bonny. When I was a lad I used ta scout the woods behind us with me brothers. We imagined ourselves great, fearsome warriors with muscle of iron and wills of steel.”

  She didn’t allow herself to look and confirm the fact that his muscles were indeed as hard and smooth as cooled molten iron. Nor did she let herself remember how he looked with his back to her and his arms outstretched as he battled a score of villains with nothing more than a flaming brand of wood. He had fought for her, risked his life to save hers. But she would not think of that, for it weakened her will and softened her heart. And a soft heart could so easily be crushed.

  “Ye must have had an idyllic childhood.”

  “Idyllic?” He gazed down the hill. At the bottom, the burn sparkled and chuckled. “I had a fine father, though he was a wee bit hot-tempered. I had Leith ta look up ta, Colin ta jostle, and me aunt ta soothe me hurts.”

  Flame knew she shouldn’t ask. “And what of your mother?”

  “The birth of twins is rarely done without great loss, Fiona tells me.”

  Against her better judgment, Flame turned toward him. His expression was somber as he watched the sweeping flight of a hunting kite.

  “I am sorry.” The words came without bidding.

  “As am I.”

  “Ye never knew her?”

  “Nay.”

  How, then, had this man learned such gentleness without a mother’s loving hand? “And your father?”

  “Died during battle when I was a lad.”

  So hardships had not avoided him. And yet he viewed the world with a wondrous optimism that brightened the very day around her. Never had she been happier than during the moments she had spent with him. Never before had her heart sung.

  “Ahh.” His leonine head turned. “I fear me goose is fat for the fire.”

  “What?”

  He nodded toward the castle. “Lady Fiona has sent her wee warriors ta gather ye home and pluck me feathers for taking ye so far afield.”

  Flame looked in the indicated direction but saw nothing more frightening than a lean lad and a tiny wren of a girl running across the hillock toward them.

  “Roman and Rachel?” she guessed.

  “Aye.”

  “’Tis not too fearsome a foe for a man of men such as yourself,” she chided gently.

  He turned slowly toward her. The cords in his neck stood out taut and hard beneath the golden skin of his throat.

  “Be ye flirting with me, lass?”

  Flame’s jaw dropped slightly. “Nay. I…”

  “Dunna get me wrong, Flanna, I have na objections. In fact—”

  A blast of childish woe erupted from the hillside, drawing the two from their talk. Turning in unison, they saw that Rachel had fallen and was tearfully relating her problems to her brother.

  But Roman was all of twelve years old. A young man, Flame thought, a warrior in the making, and surely not willing to ease a wee lassie’s hurts. Old wounds of her own suddenly nagged, but in that moment she saw Roman squat and pull the tiny girl into his arms.

  Unabashed and seemingly unsurprised, Rachel leaned her face against her brother’s tunic and encircled his neck. Even from a distance, Flame could see the caring in his eyes. And though his movements were a bit awkward, he stroked her sable hair and lifted the tiny body carefully into his arms.

  Tears flooded Flame’s eyes. She could neither explain them nor stop them, but suddenly her throat was choked with tension and her heart stung for a love she had missed.

  “Are ye hurting, Flanna?” Roderic’s voice was low.

  Flame swept her gaze quickly from the approaching pair to the distant burn. “Nay,” she said, though she knew it was a lie, for her soul ached.

  “Dunna draw away,” he said softly.

  She had heard those words from him before but they were even more powerful now, for she had glimpsed a different world—a world where girls were coddled and cherished, where women were loved and respected. She raised her gaze, catching his.

  “Do ye hurt, lass?” he whispered.

  She swa
llowed hard, unable to turn away. “Only in my heart.”

  “Is it that ye miss yer own people?” he guessed.

  “Nay.” She barely breathed the word past her lips. “It is that I do not.”

  His brow wrinkled. Every living fiber in her wanted nothing more than to open her arms, to draw him against her breast, to feel his vibrant strength and know she was loved by him.

  “What say ye?” he asked.

  She was the Flame of the MacGowans. And she had to be strong. “Ye are lucky to have the Lady Fiona.” Her voice was admirably firm. “To tend the wounds of your people,”

  Roderic watched her, not speaking, not moving.

  Flame tightened her jaw and turned away. “I wish Haydan were here. Under your lady’s gentle hand he might yet grow strong. I would give half my tomorrows to see him healed.”

  Roderic’s gaze was like a sunbeam on her face. She need not look directly at it to feel its heat.

  A pair of sturdy boy’s legs entered Flame’s vision.

  “I wounded my knee,” Rachel said from the safety of her brother’s arms.

  Flame felt Roderic’s attention being drawn slowly from her face. “Are ye badly hurt, Peepsweep?”

  “Aye.” Her small chin lifted slightly. “Roman had ta carry me just like ye carry Lady MacGowan.”

  Above Rachel’s dark head, Roman’s face flushed slightly, and though Flame felt some compassion for his embarrassment, she felt admiration with more potency. It took a strong man to be gentle, she realized suddenly. Perhaps the same could be said of women, and yet she knew she lacked the strength to show her weakness to this man beside her.

  Roman cleared his throat. “Methinks ye’d best hasten ta the keep.”

  “Yer mother’s in a fury?” Roderic guessed.

  “She sent us from the room before she would speak to Da,” Roman answered.

  Roderic scowled. “It bodes ill.”

  “There was talk of a scourging.”

  Against her will, Flame gasped. She had known men to die beneath the lash. All eyes turned to her.

  “‘Twas a jest,” Roman said quickly.

  “Aye, lass,” said Roderic. “‘Twas a jest… I hope.”

  “What the devil were ye thinking?” Leith fumed, skirting his brothers’ stools as he paced the solar for the third time.