Chapter 16

“Ye say I can pet ye and leave ye," Flanna said. "But the world does not work that way, Forbes. Do ye not know that women are the weaker vessels? Scripture says it is so. And therefore—"

"’Tis na the strength of the chalice that determines its worth," Roderic interrupted softly. "Indeed, 'tis the delicately crafted vessel that is most cherished."

"But we are the ones that must bear the burden of childbirth."

"Some consider it a great blessing, lass."

"My mother died in her travail," she said. "Shamed, despised, and exiled from her homeland."

"Is it childbirth ye fear then, lass? Or is it something else?"

He was so very near. So large and powerful and alluring. So frightening.

"I fear nothing," she lied. "But I am—"

"Then ye are na afraid ta kiss me?"

A thousand feelings exploded within her. Her chest felt suddenly tight. "Nay," she breathed. "I am na afraid. I am merely uninterested."

His smile tilted only one corner of his mouth, and when he touched her face, his fingers were as light as falling snow. She shivered. "Now it is ye who lies, lass."

His hand slipped slowly along her jaw and down her throat. Against her better judgment, Flanna closed her eyes.

"Ye are scairt." His fingers flowed around her neck and into her hair. His words were no more than a breath in her ear. "Ye are afraid of what ye feel for me."

"Nay," she denied, but again she shivered.

"Then kiss me, lass, and prove it."

She opened her eyes, breathing hard. His face was tilted down toward hers, his high, broad cheekbones sharply chiseled, his eyes intense. She was a fool. She was weak. She kissed him.

Lightning struck her lips and sparked through her at the gentle caress. But in a moment, he moaned and pulled her closer, pressing her hard against him as he ravaged her lips. A thousand suppressed emotions jangled in her head, confusing her, titillating her, frightening her.

She shivered violendy, quaking with cold and heat and denied longing. Roderic's hand slipped downward, over her jaw, her throat, the thundering pulse that raced between her collarbones.

"Heaven's gate, lass!" he rasped. "I need ye."

"Nay!" She broke frantically away from his embrace. He took a step nearer, but she flattened herself against the wall with her heart beating like galloping hooves.

He stopped only inches from her. "Please, lass," he pleaded. "I need..." he began, but he watched her carefully and finally drew a shaky breath. "I didna mean ta frighten ye."

"Ye did not." The words sounded pathetically untrue to her own ears.

Roderic smiled and ran splayed fingers through his wet hair. "Truly?" His hand trembled and he laughed. "Well, ye scared the hell outta me, lass."

She said nothing. Never had she felt such rampaging emotions. Carvell had charmed her, had flattered her, and she had imagined herself as his bride, as the mother of his children. But this was entirely different. This was a desire so primitive that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth.

"Ye may na believe this, lass, but I'm usually quite…"He chuckled, seeming to be laughing at himself. "…sane."

God forgive her. She wanted him right here, right now, and damn the consequences. "Truly?" Her breathing was still harsh and she shivered.

"Me apologies, lass. I am usually a patient man. I dunna often lose control."

"Should I be flattered?"

He raised one brow, and in that moment he looked very noble and aloof. "Aye, lass. Ye should. Now take off yer clothes."

Her mouth fell open, and he laughed out loud.

"So ye think ye've but to kiss me once and I'd beg for your favors?" she asked, aghast.

"'Tis usually how it works."

"Ye are a conceited, braying—"

"And ye are freezing," he interrupted. "Take off yer clothes, lass, and I'll..." He skimmed his hot gaze down her saturated form where her clothing clung like a second skin. "I'll..." She braced herself against the onslaught of his eyes. "I'll start a fire," he said, before turning stiffly away to rummage about for dry kindling. After a few moments, he took a flint from his sporran and sparked a tiny flame into the scraps of wood he had found. Adding a small bit of a stool leg, he fanned the flame.

Flanna moved closer. Her eyes were huge in her pale face and her hands trembled as she stretched them toward the fire. He turned away, still lacking control and forcing himself to think of something other than how she felt in his arms.

Outside, thunder rumbled again and though the wind had decreased, the day grew no brighter. There would be little hope of finding dry timber beneath the flint-gray sky.

Roderic searched the interior by the light of the feeble fire. He found bits of twigs, fragments of broken crockery, and then, buried beneath the rumbled stone of what had once been a fireplace, he uncovered a blanket. Dust wafted from the small, tattered plaid in billowing clouds as he pulled it from the debris. Its color was indistinguishable, but it was mostly dry.

He rose to a stooped position and raised his gaze. Flanna caught it. Emotions sizzled.

Roderic drew a deep breath and reminded himself that despite the heat that seared his nether parts, she was cold and scared. "If I vow na ta look, will ye take off yer clothes and wrap up in it?"

She shivered.

"I willna compromise ye, lass."

She blinked at him, and for one wild moment he hoped she would beg him to do just that.

She didn't.

"Despite what ye think of men, me word is good."

An eternity passed before she nodded. "Turn around."

He did so. In a moment, he could hear her soggy boots drop to the earth. Her shirt followed. His manhood throbbed. Imagination, he mused, was a wonderful, if excruciating, thing.

"Ye may turn back, now." Her voice was small.

She was wrapped from head to foot in the ratty woolen. It was just wide enough to circle her body one and a half times, he noticed, and he saw how she held it together at her bosom with a white-knuckled grip. He steadied his breathing and managed a grin. "Ye look bonny."

"And ye lie," she said, louder now.

"Nay." He retrieved her soggy garments and laid them by the fire. The leather hose felt soft and slick. "I dunna."

"Then ye are blind."

"Na that either," he assured. He straightened as best he could, and then began loosening his belt buckle.

"What are ye doing?"

"I am cold and wet and weary, lass. And I am removing me plaid."

"Nay!"

He chuckled. It was good to know his impending nudity disturbed her, for indeed 'twould be a sad thing to think she simply didn't care.

"Ye mustn't take off your clothes," she breathed.

"Ahh, but I must, lass," he disagreed. "For I, too, am cold."

"But…" She glanced frantically about as if looking for a rock to hide under. "There are no more blankets. Ye’ll only get colder."

God she was beautiful. Every fiber in him was singing with the thought of being near her. He loosened his sporran and belt with a couple quick jerks and in a moment, his heavy, soaked plaid was in a pile on the floor. Her gaze flitted to it before snapping abruptly back to his face.

Roderic unlaced his shirt with numb fingers, then he dragged its wet length along his shivering skin. In a moment he was stark naked and colder than ever.

Her eyes were huge and vibrant green. All traces of the haughty lady fled as he stepped toward her.

"What are ye doing?" Her words were no more than a whisper. "Ye promised."

"I promised na ta look. I didna promise na ta touch," he said, and snatching the blanket from her hand unwrapped her far enough to press himself up against her. She could feel every inch of his naked, rock-hard form, the heavy strength of his thigh as it brushed hers, the bulging curve of his arm against her breast. Desire unfurled within her like a blossoming rose.

"I do not want ye," she lied, shaking violendy.

"Na even a little?" he murmured, looking into her eyes.

"Nay. Never!"

"Ye dunna long for me touch?"

Dear God, she would sell her soul for his touch. "Nay."

He turned and leaned closer so that his chest brushed against the aching nub of her rigid nipple. "Ye dunna dream of me kiss?"

Every night. "Nay," she breathed.

His eyes smote her with blue flame for a moment, and then he shrugged. "As ye wish," he said, and turning away, dragged her along in the cocoon of their shared plaid and sat down in front of the fire.

There was nothing she could do but plop down beside him. Thus, they sat side by side before the weak blaze, staring into its crackling center. Her left side was pressed against his from thigh to shoulder. Roderic repressed a grin. She felt as stiff and cold as a slab of ice.

"Flanna?"

She jumped at the sound of her name, and he turned an innocuous gaze to her.

"I must add a bit a kindling to the flame. Ye willna faint if a bit of me bare arm is exposed, will ye?"

A flash of color returned to her cheeks. "I assure ye," she said through clenched teeth, "I could not care less if ye pranced naked as an owlet from here to Edinburgh."

His laughter was gently mocking. "Ah, 'tis a poor liar ye are, lass," he said, and reached for the kindling.

"I assure ye, I do n ..." she began, but his movement had forced the blanket to fall from his chest and her attention caught there.

Roderic froze. Their gazes melded as he drew a sharp breath. "I willna hurt ye, Flanna. Ye could surely chance a touch."

"I—I told ye, I haye no desire to ... touch ye."

He smiled, not taking his gaze from her lips and losing himself for a moment in his own thoughts. "Would that I felt the same, lass," he said with a sigh and stretched out on the ground beside the fire.

He heard her gasp of dismay as the blanket was stretched tight between them. Probably, the filthy woolen was tugged from her grasp and threatened to expose any manner of interesting body parts, Roderic deduced. It took a good deal of self-control to keep from looking, but Roderic managed to remain facing the fire, and finally closed his eyes. 'Twas going to be a long, cold, wearisome day.

Roderic was not sure what had awakened him. Thunder rumbled softly. Breakfast would be waiting in the hall below, he thought. But he was still tired and his feet were cold. He tried to pull them under his blankets, but something weighted down the woolens.

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.