Chapter 13

“ He

had had the bitch in his hand. How it galled him to fawn over her, to pretend she was truly a leader, that she had the right to that position. For years he had carefully schemed, and he had been so close to victory. Close enough to taste her blood. But the bastard Forbes had moved just in time to take the arrow in his arm. He had planned it so perfectly. She would not have died immediately. Indeed, she was to remain alive until he lifted her head from her body. And Forbes was to watch — and die later, by her arrow.

But his plans would yet pay off. Forbes was becoming increasingly infatuated with the bitch. He was taking greater and greater risks. Soon he would go too far, and some MacGowan warrior would take offense at his liberties, for they treated the bitch as if she were a sacred goddess instead of the whore she was. Just as every woman was a whore.

Soon, very soon, she would die. The MacGowans would accuse Forbes and tear him to shreds. After that, blood would spill in earnest — both Forbeses' and MacGowans', and he would be there to pick through the bones.

The morning crowd in the hall was noisy and restive as they discussed the events of the previous night. Everyone knew someone or something had been seen clinging to the stone wall of the keep. Old Alexander, who had been wandering outside to answer a call of nature, swore he had seen an unidentified man running across the roof, and had shot arrows at him. Roderic gazed about, keeping his expression innocent.

He had been busy this morning, cautiously questioning his guards and others in an attempt to formulate some guess about who might have attacked them by the bum. Thinking he could perhaps learn something from the arrow Marjory had taken from his arm, he had asked the maidservant to have a look at the bloodied weapon. But it was already gone, tossed from the window into the river. Her cheek sported a purplish bruise that she had said was caused by a fall in the dark. He supposed her restless night was the reason for her distraction. Nevin should take better care of his lady, Roderic thought, and wished with all his heart that he had the opportunity to take his own advice.

He turned his gaze to Flanna, where she sat near the center of the room. She was safe, he assured himself. Bullock was with her, and though he was hot-tempered, he was loyal and stalwart. Wasn't he? God's wrath, he could trust no one and should be beside her himself even now.

In fact... He rose smoothly, unable to stay away.

"Now I understand why you came to the tower last night," he said. "I heard of the disturbance."

She turned slowly toward him, striking him with her jewel-bright gaze. "'Twas nothing to concern yourself with, Forbes."

Truly, she took his breath away. "'Tis na what I heard, Flanna," he murmured. "They say someone may have been attempting to reach yer chambers."

She let the silence stretch between them as she studied him. "'Twas most probably only vermin of some sort."

Did she know it had been he? Had she felt his gaze on her? Did she think of him standing there, watching her in the dark of the night?

She rose abruptly, pushing her heavy chair from the table.

"Where are ye going?" he asked.

Again she smote him with her eyes, but in a moment she turned silently away.

Without hesitation, he strode after her, and she stopped at the door to turn and look at him once more. "Where do ye think ye're going?"

He smiled down into her face. "With ye."

She smiled back. "Nay."

He shrugged, hoping to look disarmingly charming, or at least, harmless. "I am yer guest. 'Twould be a sin ta mistreat me."

"And how would it be to get ye killed by my own carelessness?" she asked abruptly.

Her expression was suddenly sober. Roderic drew a deep breath and sternly forbade himself to touch her. "Na so bad as getting yerself kilt, lass."

He heard her sharp inhalation and wondered what it meant. But in a moment she was her usual self again— controlled, cool. "Bullock," she said, looking past him. “I will be on the green. Make certain Forbes stays safely within the walls of Dun Ard." She turned to go, but Roderic reached out and grasped her elbow in an unplanned movement.

She glanced at his hand, then at his face, and slowly raised her brows.

"Ye willna go without me, lass," he warned.

"Indeed?" Her tone was haughty.

"Indeed."

"Trouble, lass?" rumbled Troy, approaching Roderic from behind.

"Aye." She nodded once. So cool and perfect were her features that they might have been chiseled in purest marble, or in ice. “It would seem Forbes has a wish to die."

Whether she was threatening him or protecting him, Roderic wasn't certain. Nevertheless, he kept his grip steady and his gaze on her face.

"Methinks ye neglect yer duties, Wolfhound, if ye let her leave these walls unescorted. Or could it be ye dunna mind if she dies?" Turning, he looked into Troy's strange, pale eyes.

"I tire of yer accusations, Forbes," he said quietly.

"I asked about ta find out who would gain the reins of control if Flanna died," Roderic said evenly. "It seems ye would be a likely one ta rule, Wolfhound."

The big man nodded slowly. "I be her father's cousin."

"Hence, ye have a great deal ta gain," Roderic said. "And hence, ye are the most likely culprit."

Unidentifiable emotion sparked in Troy's silver gray eyes. "Thus ye have decided ta save the lass from me. But Nevin is her father's nephew. Bullock was fostered by the auld laird himself. Who is ta say who might reign if the Flame was doused? Will ye protect her from all of us, Forbes?"

"If there is a need," Roderic said, and drew his hand from Flanna's arm. "And I believe ... there is a need!"

For an old man, Troy moved with admirable speed. Suddenly, he clenched Roderic's shirt in his huge fist. Behind him, Bonny growled, but Troy ignored the hound and hissed, "Then cease skulking about in the dark like a thieving scoundrel and do somemat!"

With his fists poised for a blow, Roderic tried to decipher Troy's words. "What?" he murmured, hesitating, but Troy merely shoved him away and turned toward Flame.

"Despite Forbes' wish to die, I again vow ta keep him safe, lass, inside these walls and out," the Wolfhound promised. "Be assured he will yet live when night falls upon us."

Flanna rode across the drawbridge on a great black stallion with a mincing gait. Roderic went on foot, followed by Troy, who was followed by thirty or so warriors on horseback.

They gathered on the broad, green sward as Roderic stood to the side and watched. Troy placed his back to a gnarled, lone oak and said nothing. Left to his own devices, Roderic watched Flanna ride and felt that now-familiar lurch of his heart.

Her hair was unbound and blew like windswept fire. Her face was smooth and somber, her hands steady.

Not only did she ride the dark stallion Dubh as if she were a part of him, but she tutored her men at the same time. She seemed to watch every equestrian team, to command and critique every miraculous movement they made. Never in his life had Roderic seen such feats performed on horseback. And it was all orchestrated by Flanna MacGowan.

She didn't seem like a woman who needed protection. And yet, without trying, he could remember how she looked when she slept. He could remember her slim body, curved and soft. He could remember her face, kissed by the firelight, and he knew that whether she wanted protection or not, he would give it, for she stirred something deep inside him.

"Ye'd do well ta think with yer head instead of with yer nether parts," rumbled the Wolfhound.

Roderic drew his gaze slowly from Flanna. "What the devil does that mean?"

Troy turned his great, shaggy head. The feather in his tam danced in the morning breeze. "Ye made a bloody big target against the wall, Forbes. Tis lucky ye are ta still be alive."

Roderic narrowed his eyes. Now was a time for caution if ever there was one. "Is there meaning ta yer words?"

Troy lifted his weight from the oak with a snap. "Though ye are acting the fool, Forbes, I am hoping ye are na."

"I, too, am hoping that, Wolfhound."

"Then use yer head," he said, "or lose it."

Roderic stared at the huge warrior, but Troy had turned his attention to the riders and refused to say more. Had the Wolfhound recognized him on the side of the keep? And if so, why didn't he tell the others?

Nothing was certain except that Roderic must guard Flanna with his life.

The day passed slowly, for though Flame usually enjoyed her training sessions, Roderic's presence disconcerted her. Regardless of where she was or what she did, she felt his gaze on her at all times. And when she could no longer ignore his stare and would turn to him, he would smile that heart-stopping smile and shatter her concentration. Why did he insist on being there? Why didn't he attempt to escape? Had it been he who was found creeping down her wall like an unearthly cat? And if so, how had he gotten there? An eerie feeling crept up her spine. Was the letter from him? But no. It didn't matter, for she had no time for such things.

She turned the black stallion toward her men, trying to concentrate. But still the thought of Roderic disturbed her. She could imagine him in her chambers, watching her, touching her hair, leaning closer to...

For pity's sake, she had to get control of herself before she became just like the hound that followed him everywhere and couldn't bear to be out of his sight. She had to gain control, for her clan's sake, and for her own.

Evening was nearly upon them when they made their way back to Dun Ard. It was time for the second and last meal of the day. The riders were weary as were the horses. Flame led the company into the stable. Lochan greeted her with a reproachful nicker for her inattention. Bruid's trumpeted call was not so musical. Men and horses filed past to their respective stalls. Laughter and easy banter drifted to her ears. If there was any place in the world where she belonged, this was it, for the stable usually allowed her peace of mind. But as she turned to lift the saddle from her mount, her gaze fell on Roderic. He stood in the aisle, his back against a wall, his attention pinned on her.

She scowled at him as her contentment fled. He smiled back.

"Might I care for yer steed, lass?" he asked, still grinning.

She gritted her teeth. Her nerves felt raw from his constant attention. "I always care for my—" she began, but suddenly a door burst open and a giant gray beast thundered into the aisle, trumpeting a challenge.

"Bruid!" Flame shrieked, frozen in place. Her mount knocked her to the earth as he pivoted toward his rival. Ears pinned back and teeth bared, he reared, towering over her, hooves thrashing. She raised her arm with no hope of sheltering herself from the blows. But suddenly she was plucked from the floor and snatched away.

"Flanna!" Roderic gasped, holding her in his arms.

Behind her, two stallions screamed and clashed, but she could see nothing but Roderic's face.

"Are ye hurt?" he breathed.

She couldn't speak, couldn't lift her gaze from his eyes. Worry was etched there. Worry for her. His arms trembled.

She opened her mouth to answer the emotions she saw in his eyes. But Bruid screamed again, snapping her from her trance.

"Nay," she yelled. Breaking free of Roderic's grasp, Flame launched herself toward the thrashing stallions.

"Flanna!" Roderic roared and leaped toward her to grasp her by the shirt and toss her out of harm's way.

"Nay!" she cried again, terrified for the horses' safety, but just then Roderic threw himself into the fray.

Grabbing Bruid's head collar, he tried to drag the horse to a halt. But the stallion was enormous and enraged, and he reared again, whipping Roderic into the air like a stubborn autumn leaf.

Men stood immobile and transfixed as they watched in horror. From Flame's spot on the floor, every incident seemed to be played out like a scene upon a stage. She saw the stallions rear in slow motion. Saw Forbes lifted from the ground. It almost seemed as if she saw herself rise. Saw herself propelled forward to grasp Dubh's headstall and drag him around. From nowhere, Troy appeared, lending his weight as he, too, pulled at the black.

Bruid crashed his forefeet to the earth and finally men swarmed forward with hay forks and loose timbers. With shrieks and threats, they drove the great stallion backward. Leaning into the gray's shoulder, Roderic forced the beast around and back into his stall. Gilbert thudded the door closed behind, opening it only far enough to allow Roderic to slip back out.

But for wild trumpeting and the thudding of hooves, all was silent.

"I've said a thousand times we should be rid of the beast," Troy said. "How did he get loose?"

Roderic turned toward the old warrior, his hand still on the door. "The latch has been tampered with."

The two men's gazes met with a clash and held. Flame watched, barely noticing when someone took Dubh from her.

"Nay!" she said, striding forward. "Ye were both on the green. No blame can be cast."

"'Tis na true," Roderic said. "Someone is ta blame."

Troy said nothing.

All stood immobile, watching, listening.

"'Tis enough," Flame said, turning abruptly on shaky legs. "The entertainment is ended. 'Twas an accident and nothing more.

"Magnus, make certain Bruid's stall is mended. Ye others, see to your mounts then go to the hall." She tried a tentative smile, though she wondered if it looked ghoulish and frightening more than soothing. "Go fetch your meals. We cannot have the great MacGowan warriors so famished they grow weak."

The men seemed to shake themselves from their trances as they watched her.

"My lady!" gasped Nevin, rushing into the stable. "I heard a commotion and feared for your life." Bruid crashed his hind feet against his stall, and Nevin jumped and veered sideways. "The beast got loose!" he gasped, shifting his gaze from the shattered latch to Flame's face. "Sweet Mary, ye could have been killed."

"I am fine," she said.

"But, lady," Nevin said, his voice choked with emotion, "ye are as pale as death. Ye must go rest after such a fright."

She managed to laugh. "I assure ye, I am fine."

"Where have ye been, Nevin?" Roderic asked.

Nevin turned slowly to Forbes. "You!" he said, his voice a growl. "'Twas you that caused this."

"He was on the green all day," Magnus said.

"But what of before?" Nevin asked. "Who watched him while ye were saddling your mounts?"

No one spoke.

"Lady," Bullock said, "I should have watched him myself ta make certain he caused na harm. But ye are unhurt?"

"Aye. I am unhurt. 'Tis time for the incident to be forgotten." Though Nevin and Roderic still eyed each other, it was easier for Flame to smile now, for perhaps Forbes had been right. Perhaps these men were loyal to her. They were certainly concerned. And perhaps they would appreciate her praise. "I am unharmed. 'Tis a fine job ye did with Smitty today, Bullock." His chest seemed to swell. Her knees felt steadier. "And Bryce," she called, "no one has handled Dana better."

By the time the warriors made their way to the hall, they were chatting and laughing again. Even Nevin had lost his pallor.

"Come and eat, lady," said Bullock, filling the doorway with his great bulk. “We canna allow our lady to become famished, for who would tame the beasties for us wee men?"

Flame laughed as an unfamiliar warmth spread through her. Comradery was a strange feeling. Was it caused by her simple compliments to the men? Should the credit go to Roderic's suggestion? "I will be along shortly. I only wish to spend a moment or two with Lochan."

He nodded and turned to follow his friends.

Only a few warriors remained with their mounts now. Troy and Roderic stood in the aisle, watching her.

"Go eat," she said softly.

"Nay," they said in unison.

She scowled first at Roderic then at Troy. "What is the matter with ye two?"

The men remained silent.

"'Tis fine then. Starve if ye like." Turning her back to them, she spoke a few words to Lochan and stroked his face. Behind her, her protectors watched. Flame remained as she was, trying to find the serenity the stable usually granted her, but there was no peace to be found with these two men lurking about in her wake. She moved on, stepping into Dubh's stall.

He was beginning to calm down, but a large patch of hair had been torn from his neck. A swelling as large as her fist protruded from his shoulder. She set a hand gently to it. "Dubh," she said reproachfully, "ye should know better than to scrap with the likes of Bruid. But..." She sighed, not looking behind her at the men who hovered at the stall door. "So is the way of men, I suppose." She moved closer, appreciating the stallion's warmth, his solid presence. Her fingers touched the muscle of his cheek before running down the powerful neck and back to his wounded shoulder.

From the doorway, Roderic held his breath. He couldn't pull his attention from her hands. They seemed so small and delicate against the huge animal's body. They seemed so gentle and tender. And there was nothing he wanted more than to feel that tenderness against his own skin.

"Aye, ye look and ye dream," rumbled Troy in his ear. "But do ye have the stones ta act?"

Roderic turned irritably toward the speaker. "What are ye yippin' about now, Wolfhound?"

Troy shook his head in disgust. "Chance is lek a bird." Lifting one huge hand, Troy gripped it into a fist. "Tek it now or it will fly."

"Gawd's wrath! What is that supposed ta—" Roderic began, but Troy raised his voice and shifted his gaze to Flanna.

"Please come, lass," said he, "while the lad makes up his mind."

Outside the tower, lightning flashed like golden pitchforks across the ebony sky. Thunder cracked. Roderic paced. He should be with her. He should be guarding her. He should surely not be here, confined to this high stone Hades. But he doubted whether the MacGowan warriors would allow him to sit at the end of Flanna's bed as she slept.

Roderic paced again. Storms made him feel edgy. The thought of Flanna in danger made him feel violent.

And there was danger. But from where did it come? Who was the culprit?

Chance was like a bird, Troy had said. What the devil did that mean?

Who had shot the arrows? Who had tampered with Bruid's latch? He had to know. But he did not. And so he must keep her safe. But neither could he do that.

And so ...

He stopped abruptly. Bonny's wet nose bumped his bare leg. He glanced at the shutter. It was boarded up. He looked at the ceiling. Without the furniture, it was far beyond his reach. The door held the only possibility of escape.

But how? Glancing desperately about, his gaze fell on the hound. She smiled adoringly up at him.

It might work. He squatted down and stroked the dog while he studied the dark outline of the door. It would work. He would leave—tonight. But he would not leave alone.