Highland Flame (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  “What has happened!”

  “She is flown!” he howled.

  “Gone?”

  “Where?”

  “Merciful saints!”

  “Hannah!” Leith yelled. “Find yer husband. Tell him the Lady MacGowan is missing. Search every nook until she be found. Julia, check Haydan’s room! Roderic, for Gawd’s sake, quit shaking Clarinda.”

  “Where did she go?” Roderic yelled into the terrified woman’s face.

  “I… I… I…”

  “Where?”

  “Was sl-sleeping,” Clarinda stuttered.

  “Gawd’s wrath!” swore Roderic again and jumping to his feet, raced from the room.

  The stable. She would not leave afoot, for mounted was her only hope of escape. Roderic thundered toward the horse sheds, but suddenly he remembered their night atop the battlements. She had seen the horses on the hillock beyond the burn. Would it not be like her to climb the wall and fetch one of those untamed mounts? Indecision made him halt.

  No. She would not leave Great Heart behind. He knew it suddenly and raced for the stables. But just then a huge shadow caught his eye. It was near the gate and upon its back sat a rider.

  Flame’s hands shook. She had to escape before she lost everything, including herself. Roderic was coming to claim her for his own, like a bull might claim his mate. She had heard him plotting with his brothers, and she had neither the pride nor the will to stop him, not if she looked into his eyes, not if she felt his touch. Dear God, she must escape. She pulled the shawl more closely to her face. She was taller than Lady Fiona, but surely the guard could not tell that in the darkness.

  “But m’lady,” said the gate man, glancing fretfully about, “surely there be another that could check on Agnus’s bairn.”

  Flame remembered to breathe and covered her mouth with the woolen to muffle her voice. “Please do not concern yourself on my account, William.” His name was William, wasn’t it? Or did they call him Willy or Walt or—“There is not a Forbes who would harm your Fiona Rose.”

  “Nay, there is na,” agreed the guard. “But the accursed MacGowans most probably be chafing at their bits, and na woman is safe from those curs. ‘Tis na right that ye travel alone at night. Might I na go with ye?”

  “No. Please!” Flame stifled the urge to rail and look frantically behind her. Heart tossed his head. “I must hurry before—”

  “Before what?”

  The voice was Roderic’s. Breath trapped in Flame’s throat like water in a dam.

  Great Heart turned to nicker a greeting.

  “Were ye na even ta say goodbye, Flanna?” he asked.

  “Flanna?” the gate man gasped.

  “Stand back!” she warned.

  “Flanna… MacGowan?” whispered the gate man weakly.

  “Nay, I willna,” said Roderic. “I have been standing back long enough. Now ‘tis time I brought ye ta heel for yer own good!”

  “To heel! My own good!” Flame laughed, but the sound was tight as she fought to remember her pride. “As though ye could judge what is good for me, Forbes.”

  “I can judge,” he said, his voice deep in the darkness. “And I am good for ye. Ye will be me wife.”

  Happiness burgeoned within her breast. But in a moment, she snuffed it out. Pride! She must have pride. He could not demand her hand in marriage. Such arrogance! She could not allow such arrogance, for if he showed it now, it would only grow. He would set her aside as easily as he had demanded her. “I will not marry ye,” she said, but her voice shook.

  “Aye, ye will. And soon.”

  “Ye think ye can decide for me.” Anger was finally building within her, brewing slowly but surely. “Ye think ye can closet yerself away with yer kinsmen and discuss my future as if I am of no more import than a … than a fallow sow?”

  “Ye were spying on me,” he said incredulously. “Sneaking about Glen Creag like an irksome thief in the night and listening to my conversations.”

  “I am not my mother!” she cried. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and each shuddering breath hurt her throat. “Ye will not decide my life. Not ye or any man.” Spinning Heart away, Flame raised her chin and threw back the shawl to glare at the gate man.

  “Lower the bridge, William!” she ordered. “Or ye will feel the wrath of the MacGowans and all our allies.”

  Behind her, Roderic chuckled. “Dunna let her cow ye, Willy. Ye were right, the MacGowans be na more than spineless cur.”

  “Spineless cur?” she hissed, twisting back to glare at him.

  “Aye,” Roderic said. “All but one. And that one I will marry.”

  “Not for so long as I can draw breath!” she vowed.

  “Wrong yet again,” he countered. His teeth gleamed in the light of the single torch when he smiled. “We’ll wed in a fortnight. Ye’ve precious little time, Flanna. Mayhap ye should—” he began, but he never finished, for in Flame’s mind she saw a young girl crying within the stone walls of a silent abbey. She would not risk love only to be abandoned again.

  Spinning the steed about, she spurred him straight for Roderic. The destrier’s shoulder hit him square on, but instead of being plowed beneath the animal’s pounding hooves, Roderic grasped handfuls of mane and hung on.

  Flame gasped in outrage.

  Roderic growled something indiscernible and swung a leg toward the horse’s back.

  “Nay!” Flame screamed and blocking his leg with her own, forced him back down. All the while the stallion plunged ahead. They were running parallel to the wall of the keep and only an arm’s length away.

  “Let go!” she screamed.

  “When the angels sing in hell!” Roderic growled, trying to swing aboard again.

  But already she had turned Heart toward the wall. He swung to the right. Flame yanked her leg from the stirrup just in time, and Roderic’s shoulder hit the battlement with stunning force.

  She heard his grunt of pain, saw one hand slip from the mane. But upon impact, Heart had veered left, allowing Roderic to grapple for a better hold. Suddenly, his foot was lodged behind the saddle.

  “Get down!” she shrieked, but already he was aboard, nearly knocking her to the ground as he pulled the beast to a halt.

  Heart snorted and reared. Flame tried to wrest the reins from Roderic’s hands, but they were like iron on the leathers.

  “Ye will marry me,” Roderic said, his breath coming in great gasps against her ear.

  “Never!”

  “Ye will marry me,” he whispered, “or ye will not see Haydan again.”

  The strength ebbed from Flame’s body. Haydan! So that’s why he had befriended the boy. And that’s why he had brought him here. ‘Twas not out of kindness, but to gain control of her, as others had controlled her in the past. Her hands trembled and she closed her eyes.

  “Flanna?” His voice was soft suddenly, his face very close to hers. “‘Tis sorry I—”

  “Sorry!” she shrieked and swung her elbow with all her might. It hit his shoulder just where it had banged the wall.

  Roderic’s hands fell from the reins. He gasped in pain, but she had no mercy.

  “Sorry!” she yelled, and twirling about on the saddle, bent her legs and thumped him full in the chest with both feet.

  With a roar and a jolt, he toppled over the horse’s rump, but at the last moment his hand whipped out and caught hold of her foot.

  Shrieking and flailing, she was dragged after him. He yelled in outrage as he fell. Great Heart reared. Roderic’s back hit the ground, and Flame, tossed from the fleeing stallion, landed with a grunt and a gasp with her bottom firmly atop Roderic’s crotch.

  The air left his lungs in a croak of deepest agony. But still Flame had no mercy.

  Her identify bad been revealed to the gate man. Her horse was gone and with him her only hope of escape. But it was not too late to exact some revenge on the man who had turned her life upside down, who had torn the heart from her chest and thought to take her to wife in
the same fortnight.

  Lifting her hips from his, Flame scrambled forward to thump her weight onto his abdomen.

  The air left Roderic’s lungs yet again. He moaned in agony, but that was an instant before he felt the prick of her dirk against his jugular.

  He lay very still, trying to draw an even breath and see through the red haze of pain.

  “Ye are about to die, Forbes,” she warned softly.

  He managed to draw a rattling breath. “Did I na say I was sorry?”

  “Ye bastard!” She screamed the word. Her voice shook. “Ye think to take my life from me and ye are sorry?”

  His mouth opened slightly and he shuddered as though wracked with a pain only a man could understand. “Should I have said truly sorry?”

  “Damn ye! Damn ye! Ye stole my heart and then crush it beneath your heel and all ye say is—”

  In an instant Roderic had wrenched the dirk from her. With his hand upon the bare blade, he tossed it aside. “I asked ye ta marry me, woman! Never, not with all the women who wanted me, have I begged for one to become me wife.”

  “God damn ye, ye arrogant lout!” she gasped, and jolting to her feet, prepared to flee.

  But in that moment she realized that a crowd surrounded them three-people deep. Jaws were lax and eyes wide. Flame skittered to a halt. But it was a mistake, for somehow Roderic had forced himself to his feet and grasped her arm in a hard grip.

  She swung wildly toward him.

  “Hit him again, Lady Flanna,” someone called. The voice sounded like Colin’s. “Just once more. ‘Tis certain I am he deserves it.”

  Her mouth fell open. She turned her head to stare bemusedly at the people who should surely be incensed by her attack on one of their own.

  “Gawd, we haven’t had such a bloody fine row since Leith brought us his Fiona. Dunna stop now, Lady MacGowan.”

  Roderic cleared his throat. “It seems we have drawn a crowd, me lady.”

  She blinked, turning from his kinsmen to him.

  “Roderic, I am ashamed of you,” said Fiona, stepping from the crowd. “You know your Flanna shouldn’t be exerting herself like that. What be you thinking?”

  “‘Tis truly sorry I am,” Roderic said from a slightly bent position. “It seemed the lady needed a wee bit of…” He groaned in pain. “…exercise.”

  The crowd chuckled.

  “You take her inside this instant,” Fiona ordered. “And if she’s torn that wound open you will answer ta me.”

  “Merciful Gawd,” someone said. “Ye got the two of them mad at ye. Ye’re in for it now, lad.”

  Roderic’s gaze never strayed from Flame’s face. She watched him breathlessly.

  “What do ye say, Flanna? Shall we go inside and continue our… discussion?”

  She swallowed hard and managed a nod. She would listen to what he had to say—and then she would leave.

  Chapter 30

  Roderic rubbed his shoulder. The castle was finally quiet and Clarinda had been sent from the infirmary. Or, more correctly, she had scurried from the room at the sight of Roderic’s face.

  He was angry. Flame could see the rage in his eyes, in his carriage, in the set of his mouth. And she was glad he was angry, for now she would see who he truly was. Now she would experience his dark side, and she could hate him.

  “Why?” he demanded.

  She sat perfectly straight upon her straw-filled tick, trying to ignore the wild pounding of her heart. She wouldn’t let him see her fear. She was not Clarinda to be frightened away by one black scowl. And yet she wished she could hide beneath the bed as she had as a child during her father’s rages.

  “Why what?” Her tone was admirably flat, revealing only a small bit of her numbing fatigue.

  Roderic gritted his teeth and paced again, but the room was small, causing him to turn in a moment. “Gawd’s wrath,” he swore on a tight exhalation. “Why did ye try ta leave?”

  She lifted her gaze very slowly to his and with the greatest of efforts smiled. “For ye have treated me so well?”

  “Aye!” The single word was growled. He stopped his impatient strides to momentarily stare at her from close range. “That I have.”

  “Truly?” The arrogance of the male mind! She had witnessed it a thousand times, and yet she was always stunned by its dimensions. But she was no longer a child, and fear was fading from her mind. “Let us review your goodness then, Forbes. Ye abducted me.”

  “Ye abducted me—” he began, but she raised her hand and smiled smugly.

  “At knifepoint if my memory serves.”

  His gaze dropped away.

  “Against my will, ye brought me to Glen Creag.”

  “Ye were badly wounded. Ye wouldna have survived had Fiona Rose na nursed ye ta health.”

  “And why was I wounded? Because I was being forced across the Highlands without weapons or escort.”

  “I was your escort.” His voice was deep, and if she looked she could see vulnerability in his eyes. She refused to look.

  “Ye hold me here,” she continued, “knowing my kinsmen will storm this castle in my name and die upon the thirsty blades of the great Forbes warriors when they come.”

  He stared at her. The room was deadly quiet. Anger had drained from his face.

  “Ye have forgotten one thing, Flanna.” He drew a deep breath as if trying to fortify himself. “That I asked for yer hand in marriage.”

  For a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, but she marshalled her senses. “Ye do not want me,” she said. “Or ye will not want me, not for long. My father—”

  “Damn yer father ta hell!” Roderic’s fists clenched and for a moment she thought he might strike, almost hoped he would absolve her from the guilt of being who she was, unlovable, unloving. “I am not yer father.” His voice was steadier now. “And there will be na battle—if ye marry me.”

  She tried to voice an objection, but the thought of having him beside her for a lifetime jumbled her mind.

  “It could be an amicable union,” he rushed on. “A peace between yer people and mine. Young Hawk could stay and grow healthy. Fiona would teach yer healers. The Forbeses have some fine, stout mares. We could breed them to yer stallions and lend ye bulls to improve yer beef. And yer walls. I know every chink in the timbers and stone. The Forbeses could send men. The timber could be replaced with rock. Dun Ard could be—”

  “And what would ye get in return?” Flame asked. The words seemed as if they came from another.

  His eyes caught hers in an intimate spark, speaking a litany of words that never reached his lips.

  Roderic paused. His face was as lean as a hunting beast’s, as well sculpted as a marble bust. “Is it the truth ye wish ta hear, Flanna?”

  No. She didn’t want truth. Truth was hurtful and cold. She wanted lies and reassurances, promises of everlasting faithfulness. Things she did not believe existed. She wanted to sleep for an eternity in his arms and awaken to his smile. “Yes,” she said. “The truth.”

  He delayed for a moment and men said, “I want children.”

  She could not help but laugh. Fatigue seemed to be tangling her emotions. “Children!” she scoffed. “Surely ye jest, Forbes. Ye have probably already sired more bastards than ye can name.”

  She had not thought his back could be straighter.

  “I have na bastards and I never shall.”

  Hope erupted in her chest like childish laughter. But she hushed it to silence, for it was only an illusion. “The trouble is this, ye forget what I know of men.”

  “That they are not worth yer trust?”

  “Just so.”

  He took two steps forward, seeming to be drawn against his will but forcing himself to stop. His fists clenched. “The trouble is this, ye forget what kind of man I am, Flanna.”

  No, the trouble was that she could not forget, could not disbelieve. And yet she tried. “Ye do not need me to produce your heirs, Forbes,” she said. She forced her gaze firom his, for
concentration eluded her when she was drawn into his eyes. “I suspect there are a good many others willing to grant ye children.”

  She felt him drawing nearer but refused to look up.

  “Careful, lass, lest ye flatter me.”

  Humor had returned to his voice with characteristic speed. His eyes would be sparkling with mirth and there would be a crescent-shaped groove in his right cheek, a groove she could trace with her finger and feel the stubble of his beard. She closed her eyes, hoping for strength. She must not succumb. She must not, for the pain of his eventual rejection would be too great to bear.

  He stopped and when he spoke again, his voice was deadly serious. “Ye are a fine leader, Flanna, fine and brave. And ‘tis true that yer people respect ye. But they are, some of them, still uncertain.” He tightened one fist. The movement almost made him appear nervous and tense. “I could ease away that uncertainty. My loyalty ta ye would secure their own. The MacGowans could prosper like never afore. Together we could bind their wounds and soothe their differences.”

  She stared at him in silence, barely able to breathe. He rushed on.

  “They could become a great people again, respected and honored. They could choose a clan plaid to make them proud and cohesive.” His words slowed, his gaze caught hers. “Green,” he said, “to match yer eyes and honor ye. I would care for them as if they were me own.”

  She turned away, unable to face him a moment longer without crumbling, for he talked of clans and alliances while her heart wept for love and comfort.

  “Flanna…” His soft voice drew her gaze back to him. “I love ye.” The words hung in the silent room for a moment. “I love ye with me heart and me soul and me body. And if ye let me, I will be a good husband for ye. Mayhap…” He clenched his fist once in a nervous gesture. “…mayhap someday ye will love me in return. But until then I vow to treat yer people na different than I would mine own. Yer concerns will be mine. Yer hardships—”

  “Yes.”

  She heard the slight hiss of his breath before the question. “What say ye?”

  She had fought his charm, his allure, the laughter he had brought into her life, but she could not fight his declaration of love. God forgive her. Even if it was not honest, she couldn’t fight it. “I will marry ye.”