Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (12 page)

She tilted her head and nodded curtly. "The enemy assumes the horse is wounded and the rider pinned." She pressed slightly harder with the dirk. "Giving me the advantage."

Roderic raised his brows, admiring the ploy, but admiring the woman more. The fire, the wit, the nerve. “But what if the enemy did this?'' he asked, and without allowing himself a moment's thought, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.

Her breasts were firm against his chest, her lips soft against his—and her dirk sharp against his side. He felt all three sensations, and though his mind demanded that he draw back and spare his life's blood, his arms refused to let her loose. Her heart beat frantically against his. Her body trembled, and he wondered if it was fear or excitement?

He slid his hand up her back, pressing her closer still, allowing his thigh to slip between hers, feeling the heat of her body as she kissed him in return.

Sweet Mary, she was kissing him! But just as his loins clambered at that realization, she jerked her head back and pressed away from his embrace. Still, he could not let her go, for he wanted her with an all-consuming ache, and he had felt her answering flame. Her eyes were round with shock, her lips kiss-softened and bright as Yuletide berries. But the dirk had not moved. Roderic lowered his gaze.

A droplet of blood had seeped through his shirt, but it failed to hold his interest.

"Do that again," she warned in a quivering voice, "and I'll carve my name in your gizzard."

But he had felt her tremble in his arms, had felt her need as surely as he felt his own. "Lass, I only wish ..." he began, but the dirk pressed harder.

"Don't do it, Forbes."

It took every bit of control he possessed to release her. He did so slowly and backed away, trying to remember to breathe as he pushed his fingers through his hair. "When does he get up?"

She blinked at him, looking lost.

"Yer steed," he explained, relaxing his muscles one by one. She was not his for the taking. She was not his. But perhaps she wanted to be. Perhaps she lay awake nights thinking of him just as he thought of her. Thinking of... God's wrath, his hands were shaking. Roderic the Rogue with shaky hands. He drew a careful breath, reminding himself to be civil lest he fall upon her with all the finesse of an excited hound. "How do ye get him up?"

Her kiss-swollen lips moved soundlessly. Roderic watched them and somehow, foolishly, they drew him. He moved a step nearer.

"Get back,"
^r
she warned, but her dirk shook as she raised it.

"What are ye afraid of, Flanna MacGowan?" he whispered.

"I am afraid of naught," she said, but her words were quick and her eyes as wide as those of a frightened doe.

He took a solitary step closer, though he knew he was a fool. "If I were na such a gentleman I would insist on proving ye wrong with another kiss."

She raised her chin and her dirk simultaneously. "And if I were not such a gentle woman—" she began, but suddenly, Roderic covered her hand with his own, easily holding the dirk steady between them as he leaned close.

"If ye were na such a gentle woman ye would have kilt me when ye had the blade pressed ta me ribs," he murmured. "But ye did na."

The air between them crackled with tension. Roderic held his breath, for she was very near, her body tense and her lips slightly parted. His pulse leaped and his manhood did the same.

"Surely it would be a sin to slay ye." Her voice was no more than a husky whisper.

He was trapped in her eyes, in her tone.

"For I have vowed to show ye my horses before I kill ye," she said suddenly, and drew away with a jerk. "Now get back to the tower, Forbes, before I change my mind."

God, she was infuriating! Roderic padded silently about his dark tower room. One minute she trembled, the next she teased, and the next she threatened. It was making him angry. It was making him crazy. It was making him... randy. Heaven's gate, she aroused him.

Finding his pallet with a sigh, Roderic stared at the ceiling. Even after everything she had put him through, the mere thought of her heated his blood. Without trying, he could remember how her soft, leather hose hugged her thighs, how the simple saffron shirt caressed her breasts and her buttocks. But more than that, he could remember the light in her eyes as she rode, the turn of her wrist as she gestured, the sound of her voice when she...

God's wrath! He was on his feet in a moment and pacing again. He had acted the fool since the first moment he had laid eyes on her. He shouldn't have trusted her ruse that night at Glen Creag. In retrospect, he couldn't imagine how he could have believed her to be a simple Highland maid, for she had the bearing of a laird and the beauty of a goddess. He should have immediately realized she was not what she seemed. He shouldn't have been duped. He shouldn't have been taken. He shouldn't have kissed her. And he shouldn't have allowed himself to be locked away in this tower again.

He stopped by the open shutters to look down into the darkness below. It was time to go home, but...

She had trembled when he kissed her. Was that fear or budding passion? The question still haunted him. Still begged to be answered.

Gripping the plaid near his chest, Roderic stared into the night. He would be a fool to stay much longer. He tapped his forefinger against his brooch. He would be an even bigger fool to go to her bedchamber again. A really big fool. A huge fool. But...

He grinned. Leith had often called him a fool.

Suddenly he knew he would go to her chamber. But this time he would not go empty-handed. Hurrying to his simple table, he picked up the quill they had brought him earlier. With that quill he had carefully penned a message to his brothers. In the missive he had begged them not to be hasty. He had assured them of his safety and asked them not to retaliate. In short, Roderic had done everything he had promised Flanna he would do.

But he had also told them he had no way to escape.

Roderic could imagine his brothers reading such a missive. Leith would snort at the ridiculousness of the words. Colin would laugh out loud, for never had there
been a room from which Roderic the Rogue could not escape.

No. The brothers Forbes would not come to his rescue. They would read his message. They would understand his meaning, and they would stay put and bide their time, risking no lives and allowing Roderic an opportunity to take care of important business. Such as watering that tiny bud of passion he had felt blooming within Flanna.

Roderic grinned at the parchment, dipped the quill into the ink, and began to write.

Flanna lay on her side with her back toward him. The descent from the tower prison had gone smoothly despite the rain that wet the stone walls.

Roderic pulled the note from his sporran, and set it on her pillow. She had been so sure he could not escape. What would she think when she awoke to find the letter? He could imagine her reading it. His tender words would stoke her woman's soul. But he must not forget the warrior in her, for that facet was likely to skewer him to the wall should she find him in her chambers. Roderic turned, preparing to leave when he noticed her shoulder was bare. It gleamed with the luster of a pearl and was framed by the flaming mass of her unruly hair.

He held his breath, knowing he should leave. But the castle slept and the sight of the warrior woman drew him. Ever so carefully, he perched on her mattress and reached cautiously forward. The tress of hair he touched was as soft as he had expected. It curled about his index finger with careless abandon. If only the lass herself would relax in his presence. But no. She was cool and aloof, only letting down her guard during sleep, when she looked like an angel.

Roderic spared a grin for his romantic notions. Yet it was true. She did look angelic and innocent in her guileless sleep. But if she were innocent where men were concerned, why did she fear his nearness so?

Had some man hurt her? The thought made Roderic's stomach twist. He knew there would be men who would resent her. They would be the same men who were intimidated by her position and her power. A noise from the far side of the door cut his musings short.

Without a moment's delay, Roderic dropped to the floor and rolled beneath the bed. However, the door didn't open and no other sounds could be heard. Had someone discovered his escape and followed him here? He lay very still, waiting.

"Nevin."

Though it was nearly inaudible he recognized Marjory's voice. There was a whispered protest, but in a moment he heard the soft rustle of fabric and knew the couple was well occupied. Strange, for Nevin did not seem like a lady's man, and Marjory seemed a shy lass. Perhaps he was taking advantage of her. Perhaps Roderic should put a stop to it, he thought, and then nearly laughed aloud at his foolishness. These were not his people, nor was a midnight tryst any of his business. Still, lasses were under the protection of their laird, or in this case, under Flanna's protection. Perhaps he should tell her of the affair. Instead, he lay perfectly still, waiting. Minutes slipped by in utter silence but he could well imagine the couple's activities. Roderic scowled. He had a pain in his back and his imaginings were not making him any more comfortable. The wooden floor beneath him was hard and cold and he was separated from
his
would-be partner by nothing more substantial than a sagging mattress ... and the threat of death. An oaken knot pressed into his spine. Roderic shifted, trying to ease the ache, but it only moved the pain to his shoulder. He shifted again and knocked his head on the bed's frame.

He knew the moment Flanna awoke. The soft sighs of her breathing ceased. The mattress rustled quietly. He heard her roll over and held his breath.

A half hour elapsed, creaking along by rusty minutes. Was she asleep? He couldn't be sure, but it was unlikely that dawn would delay its advent on his account. He would have to risk an escape before someone discovered him missing. Suffice it to say the MacGowans would be rather put out to find him creeping about their lady's bedchamber in the wee hours of the morning.

Ever so quietly, Roderic eased to his left. His shoulder slipped past the edge of the mattress. He allowed himself one shallow waft of air and then...

"Pity's sake," Flame sighed.

Roderic froze. The mattress dipped. The ropes moaned and suddenly the girl's bare feet brushed his sleeve. He held his breath and squeezed in his arms but dared not move farther, lest she hear him.

On slim, silent feet, she padded across the floor. Roderic allowed himself another shallow breath, scooted a scant inch to his right and stilled, watching her with unblinking eyes.

She paced to the window and opened the shutters. A spattering of rain flitted in. Flanna lifted her hand, letting a few drops strike her palm before hooking the blinds back in place and striding to the fireplace. Only a few embers glowed there. Dear God, please don't let her see the note he had left on her pillow. Not until he was safely back in the tower.

Lifting a poker from its place by the stone hearth, she hefted it thoughtfully in her hand. The thing would make an effective weapon, Roderic reasoned, if she knew he was there. But of course she did not. And so long as she remained standing, he was well hidden.

In perfect unison with his thoughts, she seated herself on the hearth.

Roderic dared not do so much as blink. 'Twas just like her to spite him.

"What am I to do?" she murmured.

It seemed she looked straight at him. But if she did, having men squashed under her bed must be a nightly occurrence, for she showed not the least bit of surprise. Roderic drew a cautious breath. There was a cramp in his lower back, but he dared not move. Finally she turned away to jab at the embers. After adding kindling, she set the poker aside and tucked her bare feet beneath the hem of her voluminous gown.

Light from the rekindled flame danced on the unruly mass of her hair, setting each individual strand to glistening brilliance. Her profile was flawless, sun-touched ivory rimmed by the bright orange of the blaze behind her. Through the sheer fabric of her gown, he could see the curves of the fine form God had given her.

Roderic found he no longer desired to breathe, for even had he allowed it, he wouldn't have been able to draw a normal breath. What leather hose and manly attire had not shown him, the firelight did, and he was entranced. Every movement she made seemed poetic— the way she brushed her hair aside, how her slim fingers lay softly curled upon her knees. Her pale gown was stretched taut over her buttocks. He could imagine his hand settling there, smoothing along that gentle, rounded curve.

Roderic exhaled softly. Heaven's gate, she was a bonny thing, and though she was always comely, seeing her thus cast a different light on his thoughts of her. She was not the steel-hard warrior woman he had thought her to be.

She was a woman with a woman's strengths and weaknesses. And yet she was more. She was a leader with a weighty burden to shoulder. A gifted trainer of steeds. A temptress with a fiery temper.

But now she seemed like nothing more than a lonely lass.

The sight of her thus pulled at him, for surely he could help shoulder her burdens. Surely he could help find solutions to the problems that troubled her. And surely he could give her comfort and companionship.

Why not take her in his arms and offer those things?

But suddenly a slight noise startled her. She rose with the grace of a wildcat. Poker in hand, she stalked toward the door.

He wouldn't reveal himself because she would kill him, Roderic remembered. And if she didn't manage the job, her men would gladly pitch in. Gawd's wrath, he must be insane.

Out of his sight now, he heard her open the door with a noiseless jerk. There was a gasp and then a moment of silence before he heard her sigh. "Marjory."

"Aye, lady," came the servant's breathy voice. "I am here."

"Ye look flushed. Was it ye that made a noise?"

There was a moment's delay, then, "Aye, lady. There was ... somemat in me pallet. Lice," she hurried to add. "There was lice in me pallet And they were bedeviling me.”