Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (14 page)

Groans of disbelief greeted his words, but Roderic pulled his most offended expression and continued. "Dunna doubt me. The beast would stand upon this verra table, complete with hide and hair and a full rack of antlers."

The groans grew in volume, generously peppered with chuckles. The MacGowans did not resent Roderic's propensity to stretch the truth. In fact, if their demeanor toward him was any indication, they believed his vow that he had nothing to do with Simon's death and the loss of their stock. But if they did, they were not yet willing to set him free. Only to listen to his tales and delay further judgment. "Gawd's truth," he lied glibly.

The chuckles turned to laughter, and not a person turned away. Leith had oft said Roderic could entrance a snake if given a couple mugs of ale and a few viable lies. He grinned and drank again. The MacGowans, it seemed, were not so different from the Forbeses. Less prosperous, less prolific, but with the same zest for life and the same proud spirit.

"And I suppose the lady's beauty rivals the splendor of the sun," said someone.

Roderic lifted his gaze from his horn. "'Twould take the multitude of stars and the moon itself ta so much as dim her glory. Her eyes ..." He lifted his hand, palm upward. "They are like two jewels so rare that none can afford their value. Deep as Loch Ness and just as mysterious, they are. And her hair..." He sighed dramatically. "’Tis rich as winter berries and burns with its own light. Aye," he said with a shake of his head. "When Lady Fiona is near, na fire need be lit, for her beauty warms the hall like a thousand blazes."

"Woe ta us!" someone said loudly. "For if Laird Leith knows yer feelings for his lady, he will surely leave ye here forever."

There was laughter from every listener. Roderic, too, chuckled. Lifting his horn to the speaker, he nodded in concession. "Set in plenty of supplies, lads," he said. "Winter comes early and I like ta eat well."

"Lock up the lasses," someone warned. "If Roderic the Rogue be staying."

"Nay," called another. "Methinks we need na fear, for he says there is none to rival his sister by law and the Rogue Forbes seems fair smitten by her."

"Smitten? Mayhap," said Roderic, finally letting his gaze rest on Flanna. She sat upon a high-backed chair at the center of the hall. Although the benches around her table were filled, she spoke to no one. "But I didna say there were none ta rival her beauty."

"Merely that the moon and stars could na."

"Aye," Roderic conceded. "But far be it from me to think a lass is na more inspiring than the constellations."

"Dare touch that inspiration, lad, and the Flame will burn yer fingers off," warned old Alexander, leaning close and nodding toward the lady of the hall.

Roderic drew his gaze from Flanna to settle it on the old man's weathered face. "Ye think so?"

"Aye." The old one nodded. "She be our flame, and too hot for the likes of ye."

"Now get back, lads," said the maid called Effie as she tried to push her way through the mob with a fresh pitcher of ale. "Canna ye let Forbes eat in peace for a moment's time?"

"We be discussing important business here," complained a nearby warrior.

"Aye, I ken what be important ta ye men," she said, then gasped as someone's hand found her well-padded bottom. Though she tried to look angry, there was a spark of humor in her eyes. "Ye most likely be discussing which lass has the softest bum."

They chortled in response before a man named James spoke up. "If that be the question, I would be the one ta ask, for the maids have a weakness for me."

Several men groaned. Someone threw a bit of venison at him. It caught in James' beard, and he picked it out with a chuckle and ate it.

"And whose would ye say would be the softest, Forbes?" asked Alexander.

"Softest?" Roderic mused, not shifting his gaze from Flanna's back. "Perhaps 'tis firmness I desire. The firmness of a rider's seat"

"Dunna even think about her," warned James, anger sparking in his eyes. "She is na for the likes of ye."

"Nay." Nevin slipped onto a bench, holding a mug and scowling thoughtfully. "But I fear she is na for any man."

"What do ye mean by that?" asked James.

Nevin's fair cheeks colored, and he quickly took a quaff of beer. "I have already said more than I should."

"What do ye speak of, lad?" Alexander asked.

"She is a brave woman," Nevin said quickly.

"Na one said she was na," James reminded him.

"And I would give my life for her," Nevin said. "I would fight any man who would say she should not rule the MacGowans, any man who would say it is not a woman's place. That we are not men enough to choose a true laird, that we are laughed at by the other tribes."

Around the table, the men were suddenly quiet.

"I am na laughing," Roderic said.

Nevin stared at him for a moment then pulled his gaze away.

"I worry about none of that," Nevin continued. "It is good that she leads us. But what of an heir? Should she not have a husband?"

"And what makes ye think she willna?"

"Because she prefers her stallions," said Nevin.

"Damn ye!" James swore, rising to his feet.

But Nevin had already gone pale. "I did not mean it like that. Sweet mother of God, I but mean she spends so much of her time in the stable. I've seen nothing to suggest any ... sinful acts with her steeds. Truly ..." He seemed to be trying to convince them, and yet the flush on his normally pale face suggested the opposite. "I've seen nothing."

No one at the table spoke. But not far away someone laughed, accentuating the silence. James found his seat.

Effie cleared her throat. "Well, 'tis a lot any of ye know," she said, "for 'tis said the Flame has chosen her kindling."

"What?" Alexander asked.

Effie leaned close as she poured a bit of beer into the old man's horn. "She has a suitor."

"What?" Nevin said, looking up quickly. Marjory started at the sound of his voice and glanced up from where she poured a drink for her lady several rods away.

"How ye be knowing this, Effie?" James asked.

"Was bound to happen," said old Alexander.

But despite his words, every man there seemed relieved, as if they thought Flanna's independence somehow unnatural. As if they thought she had no desire for a man. Obviously, none of them had ever felt her tremble beneath his hands. That thought made Roderic feel slightly better, but he reined in his optimism and concentrated on Effie's next words.

"Marjory told me," she said.

"Her maid?"

"Aye."

"And what did she say? Who be the lad?"

Effie drew herself up, enjoying her importance. "I am thinking I have already said too much."

"Devil take it!"

"Tell us, lass."

"Verra well," agreed Effie, eagerly leaning nearer. "’Tis said there was a love note on her pillow some days past."

"Nay! On her pillow?"

There were hushed denials and arguments.

"'Tis true." Effie nodded smugly. "Marjory saw it with her own eyes before the lady snatched it away."

Roderic allowed himself a single sigh of relief. So Flanna's suitor was himself. Still, that did not explain her nocturnal whereabouts. But if she had a lover, she must keep him well hidden indeed.

"I dunna ken who," Effie whispered. "But if I had ta place me bets I'd put me coin on Troy."

Troy! It took all of Roderic's self-control to keep from jerking to his feet and screaming the man's name out loud.

Old Alexander had no such inhibitions. "Troy!" he cackled softly. "'Tis daft ye are. He's auld enough ta be her da."

The toothless way he said it made a few men chuckle. Roderic was not amongst them. Neither was Effie.

"Aye, but he's still a virile man, and there are them who like their men well aged."

"Nay," argued someone. "'Tis Bullock she favors."

"Burke?"

"He's a right braw lad."

Bullockl
Roderic steamed in silence. Good Lord, not Bullock. He had a fat neck.

"Bullock would be a fine choice for the Flame. Their bairns would be as braw as the oak. Dunna ye agree, Forbes?" asked Alexander, turning to Roderic. But Roderic had risen to his feet. "Forbes?" he said. "Where ye be going?"

Roderic didn't answer, for Flanna was within his sight and anger was in his soul.

She didn't look at him as he approached her table.

He remained silent a moment, soothing his temper. "Good eventide," he said to the side of her head.

She turned finally, showing in her cool emerald eyes that she had been well aware of his presence for some time.

"Might I sit and share a few words?"

"As ye can see, all seats are taken," she said, nodding toward the far end of her table.

"Aye," he said, "but I have important issues ta speak of." Had she met someone in the dark of the night? Didn't she know that he lov... lusted after her? Hadn't she read his note? Of course he hadn't signed it, but he had thought she would hope it was from him. Perhaps, instead, she had shown it to her lover. Perhaps they had even laughed over it.

"Such as?" she asked.

"Such... such as?" he repeated, losing the trail of their conversation.

"What did ye wish ta discuss, Forbes?"

"Ahh," he said, trying to sound thoughtful. Heaven's gate, he was acting like a love-smitten, knobby-kneed lad. "'Tis .. .'tis a matter of some import."

"So ye have said."

"And should be spoken of in private."

"I believe my people have a right to hear words that may affect their lives."

Despite his anger, Roderic could not help but admire her. She was as regal as a queen, filled with beauty and intelligence and a caring she kept carefully hidden. In short, the MacGowans did not deserve her, for they did not appreciate her as they should. They thought her unnatural. More interested in her stallions than men, indeed! What a ridiculous notion. But he could make them see her value, if he were her husband. God's wrath! He was losing his mind! He would have to be a pain-loving dolt to wish to tie himself to any woman who called herself the Flame.

"Say what ye've come to say," she ordered.

Who is your lover?
He almost asked the question that hounded him. But good sense and the desire to remain alive stopped him. "'Tis about a cistern." Good God! A cistern? Sometimes it seemed that his lips were possessed when he was near her. Even he could not guess what they might say next.

"A cistern?" she asked. Those around her table had gone absolutely silent Every man there watched him. He used to have some pride, Roderic reminded himself. Where had it gone?

"Aye, a cistern. If properly designed, ye could draw water on every floor of Dun Ard."

Beside her, Troy rose to his great height, and Roderic could not help but think the man looked disgusted by his choice of topics. "'Tis truly a personal matter ye have ta discuss with her, Forbes," he murmured and then he said more loudly, "Take me seat."

Roderic did so, but the quiet that surrounded them was chilling. Close at hand, several warriors rose and left in rapid succession.

"Is it me?" Roderic asked.

Flanna toyed with her roasted ptarmigan before finally raising her gaze. "Nay, Forbes. I have promised to sell three trained steeds to the MacGraw. It seems my men do not approve of my decision to deliver them myself. They think it unbecoming of Dun Ard's lady. They did not say whether it was unbecoming of their leader. Mayhap they forget I am both." She watched him carefully.

Despite himself, Roderic smiled. She was a rare one, and he would not insult her intelligence by pretending things were different than they were. "Mayhap 'tis yer manly attire that they find disconcerting," he said quietly. "It could make them feel less like men."

Her eyes met his in sudden, brilliant shards of green. "And does it make ye feel less manly, Forbes?"

"Nay," he said on a soft breath, feeling the impact of her presence to the depths of his soul. "Ye make me feel more the man” For one instant it seemed there was no one on the earth but the two of them. But in a moment, she turned her gaze to her trencher.

"Do ye know how to construct a cistern, Forbes?" she asked. Her tone was suddenly cool, as if she had felt none of the heat between them. What would it take to penetrate her defenses, to have her trust him? But, in truth, that was not all he wanted. He wanted
her,
he realized suddenly. He wanted her in his arms and in his bed, true. But he also wanted himself in her thoughts. He wanted to know she dreamed of him and only him. And yet, it seemed as if she could dismiss him out of hand.

"’Tis said ye have chosen a lover," he whispered, needing to draw her attention back to him.

It worked. Her sharp gaze snapped to his. "How dare ye?" she gasped.

Roderic kept his gaze pinned to her face. It was suddenly pale. He had been a fool to say the words, of course. And why had he? He was a master at this game of seduction. What made him act the dolt now? "Shall I take that as a denial?" he asked softly.

"Ye can take that and shove—"

"Is Forbes bothering ye, me lady?" asked Nevin.

"Nay." She didn't look up as she said the word. "Do not concern yourself."

Nevin's narrow hand trembled near his sword, as though he were afraid to lay his hand on the hilt, but there was a passionate light in his eyes. "The lady is not interested in the likes of ye, Forbes," he said. "Say the word, lady, and I will find the courage to run him through."

Roderic rose without thought. "Do ye wish ta try?"

Flame jumped to her feet, and pointed to Roderic's chair. "Sit!" she demanded, then drew a deep breath, calming her tone. "I said he is not bothering me, Nevin. Go."

The quiet sensitivity in Nevin's eyes was momentarily replaced by a fierce light. But it disappeared in an instant, and he turned away.

With a soft exhalation, Roderic sat. If he was going to continue challenging men to duals, he should at least obtain a sword first. He must keep his head, literally and figuratively. But the MacGowans' Flame had a way of making him say and do things far out of character.

"Tell me I was wrong," he said when she found her chair.