Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (36 page)

Flame lowered her eyes. She was the quaking, hard-shelled daughter of a man who had despised her very existence. And she must not forget it. "About my health, lady. When might I be allowed to return home?"

"Home?" Fiona sounded shocked. "But I thought you and Roderic ..." She lifted a scowl fretfully to her brother-by-law, who quickly lowered her gaze to Flame again. "I..."

Flame's mind whirled. What about her and Roderic? Tearing her gaze from Fiona, she looked at him, but his expression was implacable and cool.

"That is to say," Fiona continued more smoothly now. "We cannot even consider moving ye yet."

"But, my lady," Flame began. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded pleading, for she could not remain much longer at Glen Creag. "I must go back to my people."

For a moment, Flame feared the lady would ask why. But she didn't. Instead, she settled her hands into the full sleeves of her opposite arms.

"I fear it is far too early for such talk," Fiona said firmly. "God has graciously allowed ye to return to us.

“I would be remiss in my duties if I let ye endanger your life now."

Beside her, Roderic shifted his weight. Flame could feel the allure of his presence and knew she had to leave before she lost herself completely to it. "But I cannot stay abed any longer," she said, grasping at straws. "I've been here nearly a full week."

"Ahhh." Fiona breathed a sigh as if relieved by Flame's explanation. "So ye are bored is all. Roderic, I am surprised at you."

"Me apologies," he said, but his tone was tight. Flame could feel his emotions, though she could not quite identify them. Anger? Resentment? "I will try harder to entertain her."

Fiona laughed but the sound was not so silvery light as before. "Make sure ye do, brother. Or I will find a young man who can."

"The cat's name is Silken," Roman said quietly.

True to her word, Fiona had sent a young man to entertain Flame. He was a handsome lad with a dark red mop of unruly hair that defied mastery and set off the rich color of his green eyes. He couldn't have seen more man thirteen summers, and yet his manner spoke of wisdom learned through pain. Still, despite Roman's charm, Flame could think of nothing but Roderic. Where was he? Did he hate her now, after her plea to return home?

Flame pulled her thoughts back to the lad and gazed at the wildcat that lay on the stone sill of the window. He was, without a doubt the largest feline Flame had ever seen. "Silken?" she asked softly.

"Aye."

"Does he belong to ye, Roman?"

"Nay. He belongs ta no one. But I think, mayhap, Lady Fiona belongs to him."

The lad reminded her of Haydan, not in looks or build, certainly, for Roman outweighed the other boy by at least two stone. But they both had a quiet intelligence that touched her soul.

"I have never known a wildcat to be tamed," Flame said.

"He is na tamed," whispered Clarinda. She was a young maid of less than five-and-ten years and eyed the feline with awe and uncertainty. "He is as wild as the night."

"’Tis true," Roman agreed. "He is na tamed, but he is my lady's protector."

"Nay."

"Aye.'' He nodded solemnly. "He will let none come near her unless he knows them well."

Again, Flame's stomach churned. Even the wild beasts loved Glen Creag's lady.

"She must be well protected indeed, then," said Flame. She tried to keep her tone light.

"Aye, she is that, for there is na a man amongst the Forbeses that would na give his life for her."

She could not stop the question. "Does that include Roderic?"

For the first time Roman laughed. "Laird Leith says that if a man be a true man he will love Lady Fiona. And amongst the Forbeses, we say that Roderic is more a man than most."

"Aye," said Roderic from the doorway. "I am indeed a specimen ta behold." Flame nearly closed her eyes against the power of his presence. When had she become so hopelessly enamored?

"Have ye been regaling Flanna with tales of me manliness?" Roderic asked, taking a seat on a nearby bench.

Roman turned solemnly toward the other. "'Tis what ye told me ta do, is it na?"

"Ye rascal!" Roderic said, reaching to cuff the back of the boy's head.

But apparently Roman had lived a good deal of time among the Forbes brothers, for he saw Roderic's intent and had already slid from his stool and scampered away with a laugh. "As Fiona says," quoted Roman blithely, "ye shouldna think so highly of yerself."

"If I dunna, who will?" asked Roderic, still chuckling. "Now get yerself gone afore I tell yer wee sister that ye wish to play with her dolls."

Grimacing, Roman rose to his full height then bowed from the waist. "'Twas a pleasure meeting ye, Lady MacGowan."

She nodded at his courtly manner. "And ye, Master Roman. Thank ye for coming."

Mischief twinkled in his eyes. "Thank ye for allowing me ta tek Roderic's place fer a wee bit of time."

"Get gone,” Roderic said, and Roman headed for the door.

At the window, Silken rose and disappeared from sight.

The room seemed suddenly very quiet.

Roderic cleared his throat "He is a bright lad but can be a bit loquacious at times. I hope he didna tire ye."

"Nay." She could feel his gaze on her face and kept her attention riveted on her hands atop her blankets.

"Fiona said ye are mending well."

She could think of nothing to say.

He cleared his throat again. His gaze was warm. She knew how he would look. His eyes, blue as Highland Harebell, would be sharp and deeply set beneath his fair brows. His mouth would be cast in a straight line, and his hair, bright as sunlight, would be plaited in two narrow braids beside his ears. "She thinks ye will have full use of yer—"

"I wish to leave!" Flame said the words quickly, for if she delayed all would be lost. Lost in his eyes, in memories, in her own hopeless desires.

Absolute silence greeted her. Seconds ticked past. Flame studied the Forbes plaid that covered her lap.

"Look at me, Flanna."

"Do not call me Flanna!" she all but yelled, jerking her gaze to his. Breath left her lungs with a rush, for he was just as she had imagined, only larger and more powerful and more tempting to her woman's soul. "I am Flame," she said weakly. "And I must return to my people."

For a moment a sharp edge of unidentifiable emotion showed in his eyes, but he dulled it and said, "I willna let ye go."

She laughed aloud. "Ye think ye can hold me?"

His face was unusually solemn. "I know I can, lass."

Breathing was difficult, but it had nothing to do with the arrow that had pierced her lung. "Why?" she whispered. "It would only cause war."

His lips parted slightly. Their gazes met. He drew a deep breath and carefully let it escape. "Me brothers think an alliance would be advantageous."

"An alliance?" The words slipped from her lips.

"A marriage," he said evenly. "Between the MacGowans and the Forbeses."

Yearning as strong as the tide rose up within her, but she couldn't afford to let him sense it. Her laugh was short and unnatural. "I have na kinsmen I can spare for such a marriage."

"Gawd's wrath, Flanna!" he said, jerking to his feet. "I meant us."

Though she had known what he had meant, his words made her gasp. But she drew a careful breath now and released it slowly. "And I have told ye afore, I will not wed."

He was breathing deeply. "I know ye care for me, lass."

She lifted her chin slightly. "As young Roman says, ye should not think so highly of yourself."

With long, steady strides, he walked to her bedside. "I have felt yer fire," he said softly. "And 'tis na the flame of the MacGowans. 'Tis me own flame, kindled in me hand and set ablaze in yer body."

Her lungs hurt and her stomach roiled. "'Tis but physical lust," she said. "And easily forgotten."

"'Tis more," he countered.

"Ye imagine," she murmured, but she became caught in his gaze.

"Aye, lass. And ye imagine, too." Dropping to his knees, he leaned forward so that she could smell the scent of him, could see each fine line engraved in his face, each long, sparkling lash that highlighted his heavenly eyes. "Ye imagine what it could be like between us."

"Nay," she denied, trying to turn away from him but failing.

"Aye, ye do," he whispered, and suddenly his fingers were on her cheek. The touch was feather soft and trailed gently toward her ear.

She trembled under his hand and closed her eyes, trying to force him from her mind. But he was tracing the curve of her ear with one fingertip. Her breathing sounded gravelly.

"Ye were na meant ta be alone, lass." He pressed a kiss to her lobe. She tried to pull away, but his words mesmerized her, his touch trapped her. "Ye were meant ta be loved."

"Loved!" She forced the word out on a harsh whisper. "Men speak well of love, but they know not the meaning."

"Ye are wrong," he said, drawing back and finally rising slowly to his feet. "Ye are wrong, lass, and I will prove it."

Chapter 26

A strangely familiar noise awakened Flame. She moaned and pulled herself from one of a thousand dreams, each filled with images of a fair-haired warrior with a jester's smile and a minstrel's voice.

"Great Heart missed ye."

The voice became reality. She opened her eyes and gasped softly, for a large, whiskered muzzle hovered above her face. The horse nickered low and nuzzled her neck.

"Heart?" she said in bewilderment, trying to place her setting.

"Aye. It seems he could na bear ta be separated from ye and followed us here," Roderic said.

Flame tried to push herself to a sitting position, but the movement made her entire body throb. She winced.

Roderic was suddenly on the far side of the bed from the horse, easing her upright. "Lean on me."

Their eyes met, and for a moment she was tempted nearly beyond restraint. Tempted to do as he asked and more. Warm breath against her arm drew her back to reality.

She turned toward the steed that towered above her. "But..." Reality was strangely mixed with foolishness. It almost seemed she was still in the infirmary but ... there was this horse... She placed a hand gently on the destrier's broad brow, blinked in confusion, and turned back toward Roderic.

"'Twas the verra devil getting him up the stairs," he said, his face a serious mask.

Her mouth fell open. "Up the ..."

"I fear he has been overeating, for I could barely squeeze him round the turns."

"Ye brought him up the stairs?"

"He was worried," Roderic said. His smile was like a ray of sunlight in the darkest night. "And I thought ye might enjoy his company."

Heart lifted his upper lip, kissing her neck. Flame couldn't help the giggle that escaped her. She stroked his head and fondled his long ears. "Ye truly brought him up the stairs?"

Roderic scowled as if confused by her words. "Of course, lass. The window was too high."

She tried to turn toward him, but the stallion was now breathing down her borrowed nightgown. "Why did ye bring him?" she murmured.

"I told ye." His voice was suddenly very soft and had lost the edge of humor. "He missed ye, Flanna, and I, better than any, understand the agony of losing ye forever."

Butterflies filled her stomach. A thousand pretty words filled her head. She tried to remind herself to be stem and cool, but he was so near, so strong, so alluring. And if he thought her lovable, maybe she was. He seemed a good judge of people, and she desperately wanted to believe.

"And to prove—"

"Well, Flanna, how are ye..." Fiona began from the doorway, but suddenly her words stopped and a small gasp of surprise escaped her. "Roderic," she said evenly, "why is there a horse in my infirmary?"

"He was lonely."

"Ahh. And why is Clarinda lying on the floor?"

"She fainted."

"I see. Mightn't you prop her up somewhere more comfortable?"

"I fear there is na room in here, me lady."

"Aha. Leith," Fiona called, "could ye lend a wee bit of assistance?"

"Flanna! Is she..." Leith's voice was accented by his quick, sure footfalls.

"She is fine," Fiona assured. "'Tis Clarinda who concerns me."

"Clarinda!" The footsteps halted. The door creaked open a bit further. "Fiona?"

"Yes, my laird?"

"Why is there a horse in yer infirmary?"

"He was lonely," said Roderic and Fiona in unison.

"Ah. And Clarinda?"

"She fainted."

"Of course," said Leith. "And ye want her out of the way?"

"If ye are not too busy. It seems a bit crowded in here."

Not another question was asked. Leith carried the poor maid away with Fiona trailing him, and the door closed behind them.

Flame blinked. "I believe I begin to understand," she said weakly.

Roderic smiled that smile that surely made lasses from Inverness to Paris swoon. "Aye," he said softly, "we are all touched. And ye, me sweet lass, would fit in admirably."

"But—"

The door swung open again and a tiny voice squealed. "Looky! There's a horse eating barley in Mama's infirmary." Apparently, Roderic had brought a bucket of grain to coax Heart up the stairs. Tiny feet pattered rapidly across the floor. "Can I ride him, Roddy? Please?

"Ohhh!" The pattering feet stopped, then resumed at a more sedate pace. "Ye're beautiful."

A wee elf of a lass appeared beside the bed, hugged Roderic's hand to her chest, and peeked up into Flame's face. The child had eyes as bright as amethyst stones and so like Fiona's there could be no doubting her heritage. And though she looked like a miniature of her mother, her father, too, was represented in her angelic features, for her hair was as dark and slick as fine sable. She blinked her wide eyes in childish wonder.

"This is Lady Flanna MacGowan, Peepsweep."

The tiny lass tightened her grip on her uncle's hand. "Good day t'ye, me lady," she said.

"Good day, mistress..."

"Me name is na really Peepsweep," the child began solemnly. "Roddy just calls me that because I am so small. But Papa says, 'tis na the size of the bird but the swiftness of its wing stroke that matters." The wee girl pursed her lips for a moment and blinked. “Me Christian name is Rachel. And ye are just as bonny as Mama said." The skin above her upper lip was stained red, as if she had been eating strawberries. A smile tilted the corner of her mouth. "She is a bonny one, isn't she, Roddy?" The lass lisped slightly when she spoke and turned her attention back to Flame. "Mama said ye're as bonny as a pimpernel on the hillock. Papa laughed and said he hopes ye’ll stay forever, then mayhap the men will na always be staring at Mama. Will ye stay with us forever, lady?"