Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (10 page)

"Be ye coming?" demanded Flame from the door of the stable.

Roderic nodded and solemnly lengthened his strides until he stood before her. "Ye are so impatient, lass," he said, speaking for her ears alone. "Could it be ye already miss me company?"

She raised her chin a mite. Her jaw was firm and her luscious mouth pursed. It was almost incongruous in her neatly sculpted face. "Few have been granted this opportunity."

He paused a moment, still studying her mouth before leaning closer. "Indeed? And which opportunity be ye speaking of, lass?"

"Few outsiders have seen our horses."

"Ahh." He shrugged noncommittally and settled a shoulder against the stone wall of the immense barn. "I have seen many horses. But
ye,
lass..." He lowered his tone. "I've not quite seen your ilk."

For just a moment she appeared distracted, but then she pulled her dignity about her and opened the door. Roderic followed with a grin. Disarming the Flame was proving to be a difficult but enjoyable task.

The pungent redolence of the barn greeted him. It was a scent he had grown to love as a child. As small boys, he and Colin had delighted in hiding in the loft and scaring the old horse master from his wits as they plummeted from their secret spots in the hay above.

From a dark stall, a horse trumpeted a challenge and banged his door. Another called in more congenial tones and then another.

"Good morn, Lochan." Flame's voice was soft as a blue-gray head reached above a half door.

"Ahh," said Roderic, stopping not far from her to cross his arms and notice the softening of her tone. How would it feel to have her speak to him such? "So this be the poor, wee beast that carried ye ta Glen Creag."

"Poor beast indeed!" Flame said and whistling a shrill, distinctive call, swung the stall door open.

Lochan Gorm thundered into the aisle like a streak of blue lightning.

Tail raised and proud, refined head held high, the stallion was an impressive sight. But Roderic was not quite ready to admit as much. "At least they've freed him from the mud and burrs that bedeviled him on our first meeting," he said, but at a sound from his mistress, the animal charged.

Roderic had barely enough time to press himself back against the timbers before Flanna whistled again. The lithe steed skidded to a halt, but his yellowed teeth were bared and not a full hand away.

Roderic had seen what an enraged stallion could do to a man. Not daring to breathe, he eased to his left. Lochan tossed his silver mane and flattened slipper-shaped ears against his neck. His eyes were rimmed with white as he stalked his prey.

Not far away a two-pronged fork hung between pegs on the wall. Roderic shuffled a few inches closer. If he could but reach it he might have a chance of surviving the day, but just as he prepared to lunge for the thing, Flame whistled again.

Lochan's ears came up. The wild expression left his night black eyes and his head dropped as he turned away.

Air returned to Roderic's lungs. Beside him, the guards chortled at his fear, but he had little time to notice, for his heart still thundered in his chest. He placed a hand over it, not attempting to hide his obvious reaction.

The guards' laughter grew louder. "I thought ye called him a poor, wee beastie," chuckled Bullock.

"Well now..." Roderic grinned and drew a noisy breath. He was not above seeing the humor in this situation, although it would have been considerably funnier if it had happened to someone else. "I find that when one is attacked by a crazed stallion, it matters little if he outweighs me by five times or a hundred. 'Tis the lunacy in the beast's eyes that—"

"Lunacy?" Bullock chuckled, nodding to the beast in question.

Lochan stood like an old cart horse now. One hip was cocked and his head drooped peacefully against his mistress's bosom.

Flame raised her gaze to Roderic as she straightened the gray's foretop.

"Lady," Roderic murmured in amazement, "tell me how ye did that."

She smiled. Gone was all reserve, he realized. Her eyes were shining with pride and humor, and her body was relaxed. "Mayhap Lochan simply detests the smell of ye."

Roderic chuckled and shook his head. "That couldna be the cause, lass, for I recently bathed. Surely, ye remember, since ye were kind enough ta assist me. Nay," he continued, "'tis me own thought that the lady transferred her feelings to the horse."

She laughed. It was a bright and bonny sound. "That is an opinion I've heard voiced before. But ye are wrong, Forbes. 'Tis naught but training that makes him act so."

"Nay," disagreed Troy from the doorway. "In truth, she be half horse herself."

"Truly?" asked Roderic, eyeing Troy as he approached. "Which half?"

There were a few reluctant chuckles from the guards.

Nevin smiled, too, and said, "I but wish Simon and Shaw were here to enjoy this humor."

Roderic watched the smile die on Flame's lips. Damn Nevin. He forever seemed to be reminding them of the MacGowans' losses. It had been like the first breath of spring to watch her smile, to see her worries drop from her for a moment. And Roderic was determined to make it happen again. With that thought, he strode over to the stallion that could so easily have killed him. It was obvious now that there was nothing to fear, at least not until the lady lost her temper.

"Tell me true, lass," he said, standing not far away and gazing at the pair. "How do ye do it?"

"With time and patience any steed, or..." A stallion trumpeted angrily from a closed box stall again, interrupting her words with the harsh challenge. "Or any steed but Bruid," she said, nodding in the direction of the stallion that had just screamed. "Most any horse could learn what Lochan knows. Though the brawny brutes will never be so quick and supple.''

"Ye jest."

"Nay." Her expression was somber when she turned toward him, and for a moment Roderic felt his breath stop in his chest. Flanna MacGowan was always beautiful, but now she was stunning. "They are living, feeling beings. Not so unlike ourselves. All they want is to be lo—" She stopped abruptly and turned her attention back to the fine-boned stallion.

"All they want is what?" Roderic asked softly.

"'Tis just training," she said. Her tone was suddenly stiff. "Nothing more."

And love, Roderic thought. She had meant to say that horses, like people, wanted nothing more than to be loved, but such would show weakness. He scowled mentally. Who was this woman that she would need to seek affection from a dumb beast? But, he corrected himself, perhaps
this
beast was not dumb, for he seemed nearly to share her thoughts and had somehow gained her trust enough to press his head against the softness of her bosom.

Some would find such a relationship eerie, he supposed, but some did not know Fiona Rose, his brother's wife. If Fiona could talk to a wildcat, there was no reason to be surprised when Flanna spoke to horses.

"So ye yerself have trained him?" he asked now, watching her face closely.

She remained silent for a moment. "Lochan and I have known each other for a long while."

It wasn't easy for Roderic to pull his attention from Flame's face, but there were now five of her clansmen staring at his. Perhaps it would be wise to hide some of his interest. He turned his gaze toward the stallion. "How is it ye came by such a steed?" Now that the burrs and mud had been removed, Lochan's coat had the silver sheen of a finely crafted sword. Though he wasn't tall, his legs were long and straight. There was no fat on this beast and every line of him showed beauty and grace.

"He was a gift to my father," Flame said simply. She watched Roderic as he walked behind Lochan. Had she been mistaken, or was there a glint of admiration in his eyes?

"Barb breeding," he deduced, studying Lochan from his clean limbs to his wide-set eyes. "Produced through centuries of meticulous, desert breeding. Your father must have been well pleased."

Flame watched him carefully. She hadn't originally planned to frighten him with her stallion's maneuvers. It was Forbes' patronizing attitude that had caused her to fling the stall door open. But neither had she expected him to so rapidly admit Lochan's fine quality. Few did, for in these days of weighty armor and weapons, only the large destriers were coveted.

"My father favored sheer might above all else. The laird of the MacGowans had no use for such a small steed. I acquired Lochan when he was but a colt."

She could feel still Forbes' thoughtful gaze on her face. "Your father must have valued
you
greatly," he said, but his tone was very soft, as if he voiced a question, "to give you such a fine gift."

"So, Forbes," broke in Troy, squeezing his huge body past Lochan's and interrupting their conversation, "the wee beastie scared ye?"

"Nay," Roderic said, turning toward Troy, "na atall."

He was lying, Flame thought, but he didn't seem to care that they knew it What kind of man could best her guards one instant and so easily disregard his own fear the next?

"At Glen Creag, our steeds greet us in just such a manner every mom." Mischief glinted in his eyes. "'Tis a daily occurrence."

Troy snorted, but there was the trace of a smile on his lips. "I see wee Lochan hasna scared that glib tongue from ye at the least."

"There are those who say I will be dead first," Roderic admitted.

"Mayhap that will happen when the lass shows ye her other pets," Troy suggested.

"I await the introductions with baited breath," Roderic said.

Flame watched the exchange. Was there comradery of a sort developing here? Or was it antagonism. It was difficult to tell. Only a few days ago, her men had screamed for justice, had insisted that they make the Forbes pay. But now they seemed intrigued by Roderic, cautious and sometimes fearful, but also amused and impressed. 'Twas like that among her wild kinsmen, she thought. Love and hate were so similar. Rage and respect only a heartbeat apart. She knew that, and yet she resented any admiration they might spare Roderic, for each day she fought to gain a little respect for herself and her leadership. Surely, it was not right or good that be could easily earn what she so desperately desired.

"Mayhap ye should show him yer other steeds, lady," Bullock suggested.

Flame felt her resentment build. "I have better things to do than entertain prisoners. And so do ye,'' she said, turning toward her men.

"Hamilton," she said, "'tis your task to see that Forbes does not escape." Troy was older and not as easily impressed by a glib tongue—she hoped. "If ye have need of me I will be on the green."

She could feel Forbes' gaze on her back as she turned to go. Lochan followed her of his own accord. Horses thrust their heads over half doors as she passed. She heard Lochan stop to stamp and squeal a challenge, but she refused to turn around. She could not bear to meet Roderic's gaze, for somehow she was sure he would see who she really was, a small lass still begging for acceptance. He would know how she struggled for the smallest smidgen of respect. He would know her every weakness.

Roderic watched her go, saw Lochan trot after her when she whistled. Never had he met a woman with her strength.

"So even a hound will drool after a princess." Troy's words broke into Roderic's reverie, and he realized suddenly that the huge warrior had been watching him closely for some time.

"What the devil are ye speak of, ye half-brained Wolfhound?" he asked irritably. Why could he not be spared five minutes alone with the lady? He had felt, for an instant, that he was very near to learning something important about her. Something that would shed some light on who she was.

Troy snorted. "There are men who are wise enough na ta insult me ta me face, lad."

"And there are men with balls," countered Roderic. "I happen ta be the latter."

The big man laughed. "Ye've got grit, I'll give ye that, but have ye got staying power?"

"Have ye come ta test me strength, then?" asked Roderic.

"Nay, I have come ta learn the truth. Why did ye kill her messenger? Why have ye raided her herds?"

Roderic felt his stomach knot. Tension and frustration were building to a keen edge inside him. "Are ye so daft that ye think I willna take offense to yer accusations or are ye hoping for a fight, Wolfhound?"

Hamilton snorted and placed his fists to his hips. Though he was many years older than Roderic, he was also half a head taller and three stone heavier. None of the weight was fat. "Why would I wish ta fight with a wee one like yerself, Forbes?"

"I dunna ken, Wolfhound," said Roderic, sizing up the other. "Mayhap ta rile up yer clansmen when I wound ye. Mayhap, ye are looking ta cause trouble."

"And why would I want that?"

"Ye're not a MacGowan, are ye, Troy? And though ye act like an ally, mayhap ye have some grudge against this clan. Or mayhap against the Flame herself."

Troy's expression had gone very solemn. "Ye've na idea what ye're speaking of, lad."

"She trusts ye," Roderic continued, watching his eyes. "She trusts yer judgment. Why did ye wish to send Simon to speak with me brother? And why send him alone? Could it be ye were planning to kill him yerself?"

The big man's body was tense, his voice low. "Any ideas why I would do that?"

"None atall. Yet."

"Then shut yer mouth, lad, before I shut it for ye. The lass has enough worries without ye adding yer wild tales "

"Afraid I'll tell her the truth?"

“Tell her anything ye wish, wee one, just dunna make me do something I'll regret."

"Such as?"

"Ripping yer tongue from yer head."

Roderic forced a laugh but kept his weight carefully balanced lest the huge warrior charge him. "I see I've got ye scairt, Wolfhound. But what of? Of losing her? I've seen the way ye watch her. Mayhap ye think of her as yer own and fear I'll horn in?"

Troy tightened his huge hands into fists, but in a moment he loosened them and laughed. "Ye think I'm scairt of yer effects on her, lad? Ye think yerself such a bonny piece that she'll na be able ta keep her wits about her? That ye'11 win her adoration?"