Highland Flame (Highland Brides) (25 page)

He opened his eyes only to discover he was not at Glen Creag, nor in his tower room. He was not in a bed, and his muscles ached. The hut he occupied was very dark. It smelled rather like wet wolfhound, and something warm and soft was pressed against his back.

Please God, don't let it be a dog, he thought. It was then that he realized one slim arm rested across his waist. Not daring to move, he mentally assessed the rest of the situation. Someone breathed softly against the back of his neck. His right leg was bent at the knee and pulled up slightly. His left leg was straight. It was the third leg that intrigued him. It was cradled between his, and if he wasn't mistaken, warm, soft breasts were pressed up against his back.

Roderic stared at the dying embers of his pitiful fire, barely daring to hope. Either Bonny had changed a great deal or...

The slim arm moved. Roderic held his breath as the third leg was drawn upward. Instead of lying with comparative innocence between his, it settled with firm conviction against his buttocks and ... other things.

Heaven's gate!

He drew a ragged breath. Hot desire sparked at the point of impact and scampered off in every direction, galvanizing his system.

Behind him, Flanna sighed softly in her sleep and snuggled closer.

Oh God! He had promised not to compromise her. What did that mean exactly? Since at this very moment he was lying naked with her, he could only assume he had been referring to copulation. Gawd's wrath! 'Twas an idiot's promise if ever he had made one!

But no. Wait. He was thinking with his nether parts. There were a thousand things a man could do without actual fornication.

Her fingers moved, brushing softly against his abdomen. Roderic sucked air through his teeth and let himself absorb every vibrant sensation, the feel of her breasts as she shifted, the rasp of her coarse pubic hair against his backside.

She moaned again and shifted restlessly. Her hand moved more swiftly, patting him tentatively, as if searching for familiar landmarks, first his abdomen, then his hip.

He knew the moment she awoke. There seemed nothing more practical than turning on his back and saying, "Good momingtide."

“What are ye doing here?" Her voice was weak, her eyes very wide.

Roderic tried to grin, but her nearness was taking its toll on his devil-may-care attitude. Still, he did his best to maintain his position as The Rogue. "The question is, lass, what were
ye
doing?"

Her mouth opened, but no words came. She tried again. "I thought... I didn't... I was cold," she said, finally settling on a haughty tone.

"Ahh." Despite the throbbing ache of his desire, Roderic could see how the situation might be considered amusing ... if he tried really hard. "Ye were na trying ta seduce me then?"

"I..." She shook her head, looking very young in her present state of disarray. While he slept, she had apparently unplaited her hair. It was mostly dry now and haloed her face and shoulders in brilliant, auburn curls.

He could not resist touching it.

"I..." she tried again.

His fingertips stroked her ear as he pressed a few fiery wisps behind its delicate curve.

She shivered. "I wasn't." Her voice was no more than a whisper.

He watched her eyes. "Ye weren't what?" he asked, letting his fingers sweep back to her scalp and then down her long, elegant throat.

She swallowed. He felt the movement beneath his fingers and let his hand slip to the soft hollow between her collarbones.

"I wasn't trying to seduce ye," she whispered.

"Yer heart beats as fast as a captured fledgling's," he murmured, feeling her life thrum beneath his fingers. "Perhaps ye didna think ye had to."

She blinked and swallowed again. "Had to what?"

"Seduce me," he whispered, unsure whether he was answering her question or begging for her attention. The look in her wide, emerald eyes made him realize that she, too, was uncertain.

He sighed. "I be as harmless as a wee babe, lass."

"Forgive me if I doubt ye." For just a moment her gaze slipped to his naked chest.

"Dunna doubt. Touch me and I will prove it."

She was holding her breath and doubting, he knew. But finally her hand moved.

Her fingers were as light as a spring breeze against his unshaven cheek. "Ye see?" he murmured, remaining very still and not allowing so much as a grin. "Soft as a bairn's behind."

"Hardly that," she whispered, but her tone was hoarse. Her hand remained where it was.

"Ye could…" His body felt as tight as a bowstring as he waited. "…move lower. I dunna bite."

"'Tis not your teeth I fear."

Roderic grinned. "I willna do that either, lass."

She searched his face for honesty, and apparently she found it, for her hand slipped slowly lower, over his throat and down the center of his chest. Now it was he who shivered.

Startled, she lifted her gaze to his face. He shrugged apologetically. "I canna control all me impulses."

For a moment he saw raw desire etched in her regal features, but she lowered her eyes quickly and drew her hand away.

"’Tis na right that ye despise yer own longing." Reaching out, he gently lifted her chin to look into her eyes.

"Would ye have all of Scotland mating like wild beasts?" she asked.

"Nay. Just us. Sorry," he apologized quickly, but in that moment he realized she was neither offended nor shocked.

Indeed, the faintest shadow of a smile teased her lips. It enchanted him, for Flanna MacGowan smiled all too little. Placing her palm flat against his chest, she said, "Ye are a strange man, Roderic Forbes."

The look in her eyes made his upper half feel light and his lower half heavy. "Aye, lass," he rasped, remembering to breathe. "That I am."

"Why are ye here?"

"Have ye forgotten the abduction yet again?"

His attempt at levity did not divert her. Her hand slipped to the right, over one pectoral. She felt the hard muscle leap beneath her fingers. "Why am
I
here?" she whispered. "Why do you keep me here?"

The slow breath he drew sounded ragged. "Because ye would get soaked outside?"

She watched him in silence.

"The truth again, lass?"

"Aye," she said.

"I keep ye here because ye are the verra star that lights me night. The sun that warms me skin. There is na another like ye, Flanna MacGowan."

It would be so easy to be lost in his eyes, in the warmth of his words. So foolishly simple. But she was not a fool.

"Is it oddities ye search for then, Forbes?" she asked.

"Nay." He shook his head. "'Tis spirit and intellect and depth of character." He pulled her hand closer and placed it over the steady beat of his heart.

She may not be a fool, but she was lonely, and he touched her soul as none other had.

"Ye know nothing about me," she whispered, reminding herself to be wary.

"’Tis na true, lass. I have admired yer spirit, suffered for yer intellect, and witnessed the depth of yer character."

He still held her fingers over his heart, but she no longer had any desire to pull them away, for she had done the forbidden. She had fallen into the heavenly blue of his eyes.

"Ye know nothing of my character."

"I know of a boy named Haydan," he said, and she shifted her gaze away, trying to keep this enemy from touching her soul, but his fingers had left hers and smoothed slowly down the length of her forearm. "At first I couldna understand why ye concerned yerself with him. But now I ken the truth. Yer heart is as soft as yer skin."

She must not cry. Must not show weakness. "He has suffered enough. I but give him an anteroom and a straw tick."

"And yer love."

Fear coursed through her. She must not let him past her defenses. "Ye're entirely wrong."

He smiled directly into her eyes. "I am na, lass. There is na another that champions him as ye do. Even Troy, who is his kin."

"Haydan, too, was a Scot in France. We shared some history. That is all."

"Ye share yer heart," he murmured. "And ye are scairt to admit it."

"He had no one else to see to his welfare," she whispered, desperate to prove she had invested no emotion in the child called Haydan, but Roderic's eyes called her a liar. "He was alone." She was weak, so hopelessly weak and there seemed little point in denying it. "As am I."

"Nay," he murmured, and leaning closer, he kissed her.

The shock of the caress shook her entire being. It soared through each vein and tingled every nerve ending. Somehow his arms were wrapped about her body and she was crushed to him, breast to chest, thigh to thigh. His hand slipped along her spine and she arched against him, feeling the heat of his fingers burn her senses, feeling his hand cup her buttocks and pull her closer.

"Lass," he breathed. "Ye have the heart of a warrior and the form of a goddess."

He squeezed her closer still. Flame felt him throb hot and heavy and upright between them. Against all good sense, she was drawn to that heat and pressed against it. A moan escaped her lips. But it was barely audible over his.

She pushed her hips forward. His tautness tormented her with sweet promise. His kisses blazed a flaming trail from her mouth and down her neck. She moaned again and pressed her head back, arching her back and granting him access to lower regions.

"Sweet Flanna," he murmured. His breath caressed her like a summer breeze and then he kissed her breast.

The breath stopped in her throat. Her body went rigid as she waited, and then he took her nipple in his mouth and suckled.

Sparks of hot desire flashed through her, and she gasped, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling him closer.

Her knees bent of their own accord and suddenly her legs were wrapped about his hips. She felt the smooth tip of his manhood throb against her moistness and pressed toward it.

"Flanna!" he rasped, pulling his head from his breast to stare at her.

"Please," she whispered, "don't stop."

He closed his eyes. Beneath her hands, the muscles of his back tensed. The hard shaft of his desire throbbed against her. She waited, breathless, needy. He leaned closer and their lips met again.

But suddenly, the wood at the door crashed to the ground.

In one smooth movement, Roderic rolled away and crouched like a besieged lion protecting his mate.

Flame gasped, Roderic swore, and Bonny thumped her tail against the dirt floor and proudly dropped a hare at her beloved's bare feet.

Chapter 17

“Bonny!" Roderic breathed in relief.

With shaking hands and trembling knees, Flame pushed herself to her feet, the musty woolen draped before her. Dear God, what had she done? What had she been about to do?

"Bonny," Roderic said again, "ye startled the verra devil right outta me." Turning slowly, he rose to his feet, finding Flame with his eyes.

She felt sickened by her weakness.

"Flanna," he said softly, "I—"

She lifted her chin a notch and tried to calm her trembling. "I will return to Dun Ard now."

Roderic drew a deep breath and bent his arm against his chest, as if prepared to clutch his plaid in a characteristic gesture. But his plaid was not there and his bulging forearm touched nothing but the mounded firmness of his pectoral. Below that his abdomen undulated in hard hillocks of muscles and below that...

She blushed for them both and looked away.

"Flanna—" he began again, but she shook her head.

"I will go."

He scowled. "I willna let ye die, lass."

Anger was suffusing her system. Anger at herself for her weakness, at him for his allure. "Do ye think yourself so powerful that ye can decide who lives and who dies. Is that how ye can justify…" Her voice trembled for a moment as she raised a hand to indicate their place by the fire. "…this?"

"Lass," he breathed, "surely ye dunna blame me for—"

"Who then?" She was the Flame of the MacGowans, had vowed to be strong and had failed again. Thank God for the hound or she would have been far past the point of no return.

"Gawd's wrath, Flanna. Ye blame me for yer reactions.

"Nay," he said, lifting a hand to silence her. "Ye wanted me as I wanted ye. As a woman wants a man. But ye are ta scairt ta admit it."

"I am not," she denied, but her voice trembled.

Roderic snorted and turned abruptly away. With a sweep of his hand, he knocked the remaining timbers aside and stepped into the open air.

Flame watched him go, but in a moment he returned, snatched his plaid from the dirt floor, and marched out again, his backside as naked as his front. She drew a steadying breath. Her hands were shaking. It must be caused by the cold, she told herself and retrieved her shirt. It was damp and made her skin stand up in sharp goose bumps as she dragged it over her arms. Her hose were no better, making her struggle to pull them over her legs.

She shivered within the clammy clothes. Thinking of a fire, she hurried to his sporran, where he had replaced the flint. But reality struck her suddenly. He was gone. This was her chance to escape. They had slept through the day, and night was almost upon them. She must think and take what she could. Sweeping up his sporran and the limp rabbit, she rushed for the door.

"Going somewhere, lass?" He stood in the crooked doorway, big as life and just as irritating. His arms were full of firewood and his chest was bare.

She careened to a halt, losing control of his sporran, which tumbled to the ground as she scowled at him. "Home," she said, trying to recall some dignity.

"With me sporran and Bonny's meal? She will be quite distraught."

Roderic bent his neck and took a step inside. Flame backed away, but as she did so, her gaze fell on the tumbled contents of his sporran. There was a flint, a steel, a dozen other objects that he had gathered from somewhere, and a curling scrap of parchment.

She stared at it for a moment and then bent to pick it up. It felt soggy as she smoothed it open. 'Twas the note regarding Simon's death.

She filled her lungs with air and straightened her back to stare at him. "Ye stole the Forbeses' missive from my chambers."