Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (7 page)

"Unless ..." She tilted her head slightly, but did not drop her gaze before his. "Unless ye plan to break your word and attempt an escape even now."

"I dunna break me word, lass. And if I ran I would lose this chance ta speak ta ye."

She watched him with an unwavering stare and he found himself wondering about her thoughts.

"Have ye sent word ta Leith already?" he asked.

"No. I have not."

" 'Tis tempted I am ta stay a wee bit longer then. Mayhap long enough to help dig a new well for Dun Ard."

"I am indeed relieved," she said with no sincerity.

"And I am flattered that ye are relieved."

"But tell me," she said without pause. "Why do ye feel ye must leave before yer brother's arrival? Is he so blackhearted that even ye fear him?''

"Leith?" Roderic didn't attempt to hide his surprise. "Mayhap that be a question ye should ask Fiona sometime, or young Roman. They could better tell ye of the state of his heart. But nay," he continued. " 'Tis na fear that forces me ta leave. 'Tis me regard for human life."

"So long as yer brother agrees to our demands, we will harm none of ye."

For a moment Roderic remained in stunned silence, and then he laughed. He couldn't help it, for it was a beautiful day, and he was spending time with a bonny lass with a sporting sense of humor.

"Why are ye laughing?"

"Yer pardon, lass," he chuckled. "I thought ye made a jest."

She raised her brows, and he straightened slightly, watching her and clearing his throat.

"I see that I was mistaken. But ye see, lass, 'twas na Forbeses' lives that I fear losing. 'Twas MacGowans'."

Anger sparked in her eyes. "The Forbeses will return what they took from us," she said stiffly. "And ye shall remain here until they do."

"Which will make me stay verra short indeed, since we took naught."

She gripped her dirk harder in her slim fingers. "And ye say ye do not lie!"

They stared at each other, both angry now. "I dunna, lass," he said softly, "and I say I willna wait for me brother's arrival."

"I say ye will!"

Her obvious anger made his own decline. He liked watching her face when she was riled. 'Twas almost a pity she didn't still have Troy's sword to stab into the earth. It made her look all the more dangerous, like a Viking maiden, flame-haired and fiery-willed.

"And I say I can escape yon tower afore two more days pass."

Despite her anger, her tone was smooth when next she spoke. "Do all ye Forbeses have such fantastic imaginations?"

"Na.. Just me. Would ye care ta make a wager?"

"I do not wager."

"Ahh." He shrugged. "But I wager a good deal— with those who are na scairt ta do so."

Her jaw tightened. "What is it ye would bet?"

"What is it ye would give me?"

"I begin to wonder if your brother could be foolish enough to want ye back."

Roderic laughed. "I didna say I expect him ta hurry, lass. But we lose track of the important topic. What would ye wager?"

"Nothing."

Roderic shook his head with a frown. "I have heard the MacGowans were indeed tight-fisted. But I didna realize to what extent Let me sweeten the pot a bit. If I lose I will…” He paused. "I will give ye Mor."

"Yer steed?" she asked in surprise.

He nodded. "Aye. He is a hearty, well-trained mount and has sired fine bairns. What do ye say?''

"Would ye think it a sign of doubt if I asked what I would owe if ye won?"

"Nay. I would think it a sign of wisdom. And seeing yer hesitation, I will ask nothing of earthly value." He scowled, thinking. "If I win ..." He dropped his elbow from his knee and straightened from the waist before lowering his voice to make certain his words would reach no other ears but hers. "If I win ye must assist me in bathing."

To his disappointment, she didn't blush. Instead, her cheeks seemed quite pale and her lips even brighter than usual. "Come now." He watched her carefully, feeling somewhat insulted by her expression of horror. " Tis na so bad as all that. 'Tis only a bath. Surely ye have assisted men afore."

She didn't argue or agree. Neither did she speak, and Roderic found himself wondering how quickly Nevin could impale him upon his sword should he reach out to shake her from her trance.

"Lass?" he questioned gently. "Are ye well?"

"Aye," she said. "Ye are the one who is ill."

Roderic chuckled. "Nay, lass. I have never felt better. Na that that means I can escape yonder tower," he hurried to add. "Indeed, ye have assured me I canna, which surely gives ye an excellent chance of winning a fine steed."

She remained mute, staring at him.

"Come now, lass, I would offer ye more, but ye did na give me a chance to take much with me when I left Glen Creag."

Flame said nothing, and in that moment Roderic praised himself for baiting the hook well. Only after seeing Dun Ard did he realize the poverty of the Mac-Gowans. And only now could he understand the value she would place on a stallion of Mor's quality.

"Come, Flanna," he urged again. "The steed will be yers free and clear with me vow na ta attempt ta retrieve him."

He could almost see her internal struggle. He was a handsome, tempting man, and she probably felt she couldn't trust herself in such a situation.

"What say ye, lass?" he whispered. "I swear na ta do anything ta compromise yer innocence unless..." He smiled. "Unless ye canna control yerself."

She blinked. Bright color had finally returned to her cheeks, making her look young and angelic and awed.

"Dunna be scairt, lass," he crooned.

"And ye would be ... naked?" She leaned forward to whisper the words to him.

Good God, she was a bonny thing. "Aye, lass, I would," he breathed. "What say ye?"

"What can I do but agree?" she murmured huskily. "For ye are such an..." She leaned closer still and placed a palm to his bare chest Heat radiated from her touch and he nearly closed his eyes to better appreciate the exhilarating sensations. But suddenly she shoved him backward with a mighty heave. Droplets splashed in every direction as his buttocks hit the water, and when he had swept his wet hair from his eyes, she was standing dry and regal upon the shore. "An arrogant bastard who has already forfeited his steed." She pivoted away but turned back in a moment. "Oh," she added, "ye can thank me later for helping ye bathe."

Chapter 5

They would all pay. But she would suffer the most. The Flame of the MacGowans
—
the whore of the MacGowans! Aye, she would pay the dearest price. For she had cost him the most. But he must not let anyone suspect his intent. He must keep his bloodlust at bay, for he had planned too long and too carefully to be foolish now. He would watch and wait, and soon all would be his.

When Roderic returned to the tower, he saw that someone had brought in a straw-filled pallet, a small, rough-hewn table, and a rickety chair. They were the only pieces of furniture that now graced his lofty prison.

Lying on his back, he stared up at the lead sheeting of the ceiling and determined that Flanna MacGowan was not a normal woman. Normal women did not become leaders of unruly Highland tribes. They did not ride out in the middle of the night to kidnap a member of an allied clan. And they did not push him in the water. He shifted uncomfortably, but his sodden plaid was still firmly belted to his waist, reminding him of the humiliation of returning to his tower room dripping wet. Nevin had laughed out loud and related the entire episode to Bullock as they barred the door of the tower room. And though Flanna had controlled her humor, he could see the emerald spark of laughter in her eyes.

No, she was not a normal woman. She was haughty and aloof—and so damned alluring he ached for... No!

He was
not
attracted to her even though she had skin like fine satin and... God's wrath, he had best leave before he made a complete fool of himself. Rising quickly, Roderic strode to the door. "Bullock?"

There was a moment's delay, then, "What be ye wanting, Forbes?" The guard's tone was tight. These people didn't like him much, it seemed. A pity, Roderic thought, but something that couldn't be helped since they wouldn't be meeting again after tonight.

" 'Tis cold I am, and tired. Might ye fetch me a blanket that I could sleep?"

"Why should I get ye anything, Forbes?"

"Well now..." Roderic stared thoughtfully at the heavy timbers that kept them apart. Being wrapped in wet wool had a tendency to make him irritable and the guard's attitude failed to improve his mood. "Because I am yer prisoner, held for ransom and dependent on yer good graces," he said, remembering his manners.

"I have na good graces toward bastards."

Roderic scowled at the door. He was determined to be polite, but the other was insulting his father, and his mother, too, for that matter. Therefore, there seemed little reason not to bait this insolent MacGowan. " 'Twas wondering, Bullock, how is it ye came by yer name. 'Tis because of yer build or is it yer intelligence they refer to?"

Roderic thought he heard the man growl, but the portal remained closed. "I am tempted ta kill ye. But a thieving Forbes is na worth me effort."

Roderic deepened his scowl. The man had not only insulted his heritage but had accused him of thievery. Still, Roderic made certain his tone was patient, for there was no need to be rude when starting a brawl. "So ye, too, think that we Forbeses have stolen yer horses?"

"Aye," came the growled response. "I saw ye with me own eyes. The mighty Forbeses take great pride in their colors and dunna hide their plaids, do they now?"

"So ye saw the Forbeses' tartans?" Roderic asked. "How many warriors? What night was this?"

The door swung open with surprising speed and Bullock strode in. His face was red with rage and his fist wrapped about a spear.

"I tire of yer feigned innocence, Forbes. Are ye such a coward that ye canna even admit yer deeds?"

Roderic remained very still, forgetting his quest to learn the truth. Rage was a fool's defense. He took a deep, calming breath and watched Bullock's eyes. "Do ye call me a coward, man?"

"Aye," came the gritted response, "that I—"

Good sense told Roderic to remain as he was and let the anger flow over him. Hot blood told him to strike.

Feigning a left-handed blow to Bullock's chin, Roderic struck his right fist in the other man's belly. The man was built like a castle wall. Still, he bent slightly and in that instant, Roderic swept an upper cut to his jaw. Before Bullock fell, Roderic caught him about the neck and pulled his back up against his own chest. In an instant the other's spear was in his hand.

There was a clatter of footsteps as another guard raced up the stairs and skidded to a halt before them, sword unsheathed, eyes wide.

Roderic nodded once. "William, isn't it?" he asked.

William's face was pale when he returned the nod.

"Listen, lads," Roderic began. "I have been wanting ta say 'tis sorry I am about yer friend's death. Shaw seemed a likable sort."

William's lips moved, yet no words came. Roderic supposed it did seem a strange time for him to voice condolences, considering he held another MacGowan in a death grip even as he spoke.

"Well now ..." he said, clearing his throat and feeling a bit foolish. " 'Tis like this, I want a blanket and a chance to sleep. And," he added as an afterthought, "I would like me evening meal early. Do ye think ye could do that... or will I have ta kill the two of ye?"

William was a middle-aged man, average in both height and weight, but what he lacked in size he made up for in sheer Scottish bravado, it seemed. "Let him go, Forbes," he said. "Ye'll na get by me."

Roderic tilted his head in concession to the man's bold words. 'Twas not an easy thing to hold one's nerve when looking death in the eye. "I appreciate yer courage, man, but ye surely misunderstand me. I dunna mean ta get by ye. I only mean ta have me meal and a blanket. Bullock here took exception to those requests."

"Ye filthy bastard!" croaked Bullock. His thick neck was bent sharply backward. "Kill me then and have done with it. Just as ye did with Simon."

Roderic remained very still, considering every word. "Simon?" he asked softly.

"Gawd!" Bullock growled, breathing noisily and pressing the hard crown of his head against Roderic's chest. "I should have skewered ye ta the wall."

"Who is Simon?"

"Dunna play me for the fool," gasped Bullock, enraged. "Ye are a filthy—"

But before he could finish his insult, Roderic's patience had fled. Tightening his neck-hold with a snarl, he lifted his gaze to the other warrior's. "Gawd's wrath! Who is this Simon?"

William glanced at Bullock's reddened face before hurrying his gaze to Roderic's. "He was the herald Lady Flame sent to ask for an audience with yer brother."

Roderic searched William's face for some sign that he lied. There was none. "And?"

"And his horse came back with naught but Simon's head and a note from yer brother, the laird."

Roderic ground his teeth. Beneath his arm, Bullock struggled one last time and went lax. "Gawd's wrath!" he swore and let the body slip to the floor. "Take him out of here!" he yelled, nodding to the limp man and dropping the spear beside him. "And bring me that damned blanket!''

Roderic's evening meal arrived with his freshly laundered shirt and the blanket he had requested. Flame came shortly after that. Her expression was somber and her stance stiff. "'Twas kind of ye to point out the fact that I should keep two guards at your door at all times," she said.

Her words fell into the silence like a flat joke. Nevertheless, Roderic grinned. "Glad I am ye appreciated me efforts."

"And I'm pleased that ye were not foolish enough to try to escape entirely. I would, after all, hate to inform your brother of your death."

Roderic snorted. "Dunna be ridiculous. Bullock had fallen like a great stone. If I had wanted ta escape all I would have had to do was..." He stopped suddenly and drew a deep breath. "I willna let ye bait me anger, lass." Rising from his chair, he paced the room once, then stopped not far from her. "Why did ye na tell me of Simon?"