Chapter 18

Flanna stood frozen like a rock to the earth. A shapely rock, Roderic thought, but a rock, nonetheless. She stared into his face.

He stared back, granting her a carefully benevolent smile. "Dunna bother to thank me."

She said nothing, only continued to watch him with wide eyes.

"Lass," he said, lifting a hand to wave it in front of her face, "are ye alive?"

"I did not agree to your foolish wager. I did not promise to bathe ye," she breathed.

He brightened his smile. "Ahh, but ye did, lass. Ye said ... and I remember the exact words. 'What can I do but agree?'"

"I was being cynical!" she gasped.

"Ahh. Cynicism doesna become ye, lass. And it was still a wager."

"But... but I did bathe ye!"

"Ye pushed me in the burn, lass. 'Tis na quite what I had in mind. And ye well know it," he said and took a step closer.

"Damnation! There was no way for ye to escape the tower."

He chuckled gently, glad to see she was so greatly impressed by his deeds. "On the contrary, lass," he said modestly, "there were several at least."

"But I... I can't..." All the color had left her face and her voice went soft.

"Now, lass," he chided gently. "Ye are too hard on yerself. Ye canna say whether or not ye could scale the tower until ye are driven as I was. Indeed, the trek through the window was na so very difficult and ye have strong legs." He glanced down at her limbs, admiring their slender shape. "Aye, lass, fine legs they be. And probably able to get ye from—"

"I cannot bathe ye!" she interrupted hoarsely.

He frowned at her for a moment. "Oh. And why would that be?"

She swallowed again. "It would not be ... decent."

"Again I must beg ta differ, Flanna," Roderic said in a mildly scolding tone. "’Tis a much honored tradition for the laird's daughter to assist a guest with his bath."

"Ye are not my guest."

"But I was."

"You're not now."

"That's because I won the bet," he said and laughed. "Come now. Ye will feel better once the debt is paid. I can tell ye are feeling poorly for having delayed so long."

She was definitely feeling poorly. In fact, panic was swelling up from her stomach in a dark, stifling tide. What a fool she had been to underestimate this man. But it was so easy to do, for he seemed so harmless ... most of the time.

Without trying, she remembered the tale William had related to her regarding Roderic's first opportunity to escape. He had grabbed Bullock and twisted the spear from his hand. Rather absentmindedly, he had choked the air from his prisoner before tossing the spear to the floor and storming back into his high dungeon. Who could guess at such a man's moods? Certainly not she. So she turned stiffly away, stumbled toward the lochan, and thought up every possible means she might have to escape.

But no fantastic ideas came to mind and soon she stood before the small loch, staring at it in horror. It was blue-green, still and quiet and seemed to belie her agitation.

"Well, lass," he began, "how shall we—"

"What will it take," she interrupted, turning stiffly toward him, "for ye to forget the foolish wager?"

He blinked. His lashes were incredibly, indecently long, and his expression suspiciously benign. "Forget? I fear I dunna understand, lass. For if the truth be told, I have an outstanding memory. Especially when it concerns matters of such import as—"

"What'll it take, Forbes?" she all but shouted.

The dimmest shadow of a grin flitted across his face. "Methinks ye are becoming overwrought." He leaned slightly closer. "Could it be ye have been anticipating this event more than I knew?"

She didn't slap him, didn't kick him, didn't even swear at him, and for this, she was quite proud. Instead, she straightened her back, filled her lungs with air, and watched him with her haughtiest expression. "The MacGowans are not a wealthy tribe," she said quietly. "But I am willing to pay what I can. What will it take?"

He looked her straight in the eye. "I will take yer firstborn," he said evenly.

Her mouth fell open. Her lips moved. And then she laughed. The sound, however, was a bit high-pitched. "Ye have a whimsical, if rather unorthodox, sense of humor, Forbes."

His face was deadly serious. "And ye are stalling."

"I asked what it would take to change your mind."

"And I answered."

She drew a steadying breath and found her dignity. "I tell ye truthfully, Forbes. I will never bear a child. Yours or any other man's."

For a moment he didn't speak but stood immobile, trying to understand her words. "What foolishness is this now?"

"I am the Flame of the MacGowans, chosen to lead. But I will not bear an heir. My people will have to choose another when my time is done."

"Because ye think yerself such a horrid ruler?" he asked.

"Because I am my father's daughter." Her voice trembled with the words, but she kept her chin high.

"Aye." He scowled and drew himself straighter. "Ye are yer father's daughter. And is that na a terrible thing? For look, ye are so selfish ye would rather give up yer leadership than fight another yer clan has chosen. Ye are so vain that ye dress yerself in simple garb so that yer people can fare better. Ye are so evil that ye strive ta keep peace even though ye think we Forbeses have grievously sinned against ye. Ye are so vindictive that ye saved me life when yer warrior would have taken it.'' His voice had dropped to a whisper, and he stepped forward to touch her cheek. "If yer blood is tainted, lass, any child would be honored ta be so poisoned."

His words and nearness sent a quivering warmth through her. How long had she longed for tenderness? How long had she craved kindness?

"There are others more fit to rule than I," she murmured, trying to keep her head. "Nevin is intelligent and kind."

Roderic stroked a finger down her cheek. She tried not to tremble. "Have ye looked into his heart and found purity, then?" he asked. "Or do ye simply judge yerself so harshly that others look better by comparison?"

"But Nevin—"

He slid a finger gently over her lips, stopping her words before skimming along her jaw. "Do na tell me of Nevin, lass, for I trust no one where ye are concerned. Especially na one who might rule if ye were dead."

"He is loyal to me and the MacGowans."

"Mayhap, but yer own children would also be loyal, and they would have yer fire." His fingertips drifted lower. "And yer heart and yer beauty." A flame of desire sparked in the trail of his touch.

Flanna felt the kindling of her long-dry passions. Temptation lured her, numbing her good sense. But she fought her own weakness and pulled back with a jolt.

"Nevertheless"—her voice cracked on the single word. She clenched her fists at her sides—"I decided long ago that I would bear no man's child."

"Ye only say that because long ago ye had na met the right man."

"Could it be that ye are speaking of yourself?" she guessed blithely.

He grinned. "How is it that ye have guessed?"

"In my fairly vast experience, 'tis a man's favorite topic," she mused. "But ye must think yourself a particularly miraculous lover if ye think ye can change my mind."

"I dunna mean ta seem immodest, lass, but miraculous is na a word unheard by these ears in the dark of night."

"And are ye familiar with the word 'vanity' as well?"

"Aye, lass," he said with a laugh. "I have heard that one, too. And now that ye've had some time ta relax, are ye prepared to assist with me bath?"

"No, I am not."

"And what of yer vow?"

"I did not vow! And, too, we were within the safe confines of Dun Ard where I would have been well protected from—"

"And what about me own protection?"

She stared at him.

"Do ye na think I worried that ye might attack me own person? Especially once ye have seen me…" Lowering his head, he stared at the ground and made a crescent shape in the sand with the toe of his boot. "…unclothed?" Peeking up through his lashes, he looked for all the world as if he were trying to blush.

She thumped him on the chest with a good deal of force. "Ye are a braying ass!"

His mouth fell open in apparent surprise, but he failed to stop his chuckle. "I was but trying ta act humble, for I thought ta please ye."

"Well, ye failed miserably."

"Humility is a new endeavor for me, Flanna. Surely I will improve in time."

"Were I ye, I wouldn't plan to live that long."

He chuckled again. "I see ye are truly relaxed now. Shall we begin?"

For a moment she wasn't quite sure whether he was speaking of making babies or bathing. "When the clouds rain gold coin," she said to both ideas.

"Now, lass, I am merely trying to help ye fulfill yer vow. Tis true," he assured her, apparently noticing her dubious expression. Or perhaps it was her gritted teeth that made her appear skeptical. "I wouldna wish ye ta continue yer life knowing ye have failed to keep a promise to yer fellow Scot," he said, undoing the wildcat brooch from his tartan and shirt. It dropped to the ground. Flame's gaze followed it, then hurried back to his face. But his hands were already on his belt. It loosened with one simple movement. His plaid dipped and followed the brooch.

She took a deep breath and prepared to flee. His gaze settled on her. "Did I tell ye, lass, that I be the fleetest runner of all the Forbeses?"

She swallowed. "I believe ye forgot to spew that bit. of braggery."

" 'Tis true," he said. "I can best a steed for twenty rods."

"Luckily, I am not a horse."

He grinned. "Ye wouldna escape."

She licked her lips. "If I... help ye bathe ... will ye let me go?"

"Nay."

"Then why should I do it?"

"Because ye are honest," he said, and grasping the bottom of his voluminous, saffron shirt, pulled it over his head.

Flame gaped in shocked immobility. He stood before her in the broad light of day, every muscle taut and lean, every line sculpted and powerful. Turning smoothly, he marched into the water, leaving her alone on the sand.

Dear God! Flame stared after Roderic, ready to lambast him. How dare he make her feel guilty for not bathing with him? How dare he disrobe before her very eyes? But he had already dived beneath the water. If she hoped to scold him, she would need to follow him, she thought, gazing at the spot where he had disappeared.

But that was ridiculous. Now was her time to escape. And yet... all she could think about was that he was naked. Every muscle in his long, tight form would be as sleek as seal skin. And she would have an excuse to touch those muscles, to run her fingers down his hard form and ...

She shook her head and paced, trying to forget her mental images of him. But when next she turned to the pool, he had surfaced. The water lapped lovingly at his shoulders. His hair gleamed like molten gold in the summer's sun, and every muscle stood out taut and hard, just as she had imaged. In a moment he disappeared again.

Her leather hose seemed to drop from her of their own accord, but when her fingers moved to her shirt, she pulled them away with an effort and waded into the water. It was surprisingly warm. She hurried toward deeper water, for despite her shirt, she felt exposed and jittery. But the pool was much shallower than she had expected. It had not yet reached her waist when Roderic surfaced not half a rod from her.

His eyes matched the color of the water. His wet, slicked-back hair exposed every lean line of his face in sharp detail. A fat droplet slipped lovingly along his jaw to follow a taut cord down his throat and onto his chest. Flame watched its progress.

"Ye came." His voice was husky.

Flame swallowed and tried to think. "Did ye doubt?"

"Aye." He must have been kneeling, for he rose slowly to face her, baring unspeakable parts of his glistening, rock-hard anatomy. "And I was fast running short of ways ta look appealing."

"Mayhap ye should have stood up sooner."

His grin only lifted the right corner of his mouth. She could feel the blood drain from her face.

"I did not mean that the way it sounded."

His brows rose the slightest fraction of an inch. "Of course na, lass."

"I merely meant..."

"Aye?"

She stared into his eyes and tried to think of some clever explanation, but she could barely recall her own name. "I have not the faintest idea why I said that."

He tilted his head back slightly when he laughed. Even his neck was muscular and alluring. But he was also dangerous. Flame knew that, and yet...

The blush burned her face, but in a moment he reached out to touch her cheek. "I am flattered. Dunna be embarrassed. For I am na."

"Well…" She drew a deep, shaky breath. "…ye should be."

He chuckled again. "Do ye always bathe in yer clothes?"

His fingers had slipped to her neck. She stood perfectly still. Water plastered the long shirt to her hips, pressing intimately to places better left unnamed. "Yes. All the time. It saves work for the washing women."

His teeth were incredibly white and straight, the right side of his full lips tilted slightly upward. "How thoughtful of ye, Flanna MacGowan, to worry about the fate of the washerwomen. Did ye ken ye have dried mud on yer nose?"

"Umm ..." She swallowed, searching for an answer, but his gaze was too intent on hers. She couldn't face him, but neither could she turn away. So she stared at his collarbone and wished she could act like who she was, the lady of her clan. The proud blood of royalty charged her veins. But even his collarbones were beautiful and jangled her senses.

"It makes me wonder where else ye might be dirty." He leaned closer.

"Roderic!" She tried to move away from him, but either the bottom of the lochan was very muddy or her feet simply refused to leave him, for they were stuck fast in the mire.

He caught her about the waist before she flopped gracelessly into the water.

Their faces were inches apart. All hope of dignity fled.

"Aye, lass?" he said softly.

"Roderic," she said again, but his name was no more than a murmur now.

"Aye, lass," he repeated.

"This was a... bad idea."

“I must agree. But it can be easily remedied. The shirt can be removed."

Flame took a slow breath. She wanted to speak, but no sound would come. She tried to step away. His arms loosened slightly, still balancing her but allowing her escape.

"But I can wait."

She wanted to tell him that his hair would turn gray and fall from his head in clumps before she would remove her shirt but again her lips betrayed her. "Very well," they said instead. It occurred to her that the demon Forbes was bent on causing trouble. She should march right out of there, but apparently her knees were also possessed, for she did not even try to back away.

"There's a bit of mud right there," he said, touching her nose. Water dripped from his finger down to her lips. She shivered at the feeling. He grinned, rubbed gently, and dropped his hand to the water before raising it and rubbing again. She could do nothing but stare into his face. "And there." His fingers skimmed to her eyebrow and smoothed with luscious slowness along the ridge. "And there." Her cheekbone felt his touch.

Flame closed her eyes. His hand slipped lower.

"There," he murmured, running one finger along her bottom lip. The shiver took her entire body now, trembling her from head to foot, but already his mouth had captured hers.

She tried to resist, but he was all hard muscle and soft sentiment. And at this moment, she was all woman. The heat of his kiss seared her senses. The tenderness of his fingers against her cheek abolished her objections, and when he drew away, she felt bereft. But in a moment he bent and lifted her from the water. She could hear him splashing through the gentle waves, but she didn't look where he took her. For this moment, she wanted only to feel the beat of his heart against her breast, the play of his muscles beneath her hands.

Finally, he bent. She felt her back brush against the smooth surface of a warm rock. He settled her legs into the soft grip of the water and her bottom against the sand. A jumble of age-worn boulders stood here, trapping still, sun-warmed water in their midst.

Roderic settled beside her and then he was kissing her again, half covering her with his torso. Even through her shirt, Flame could feel his muscles flex and shift against her breasts. She should call this to a halt, she knew. Instead, she raised her hand to his chest. Air rasped between his teeth at her touch. Their gazes met and melded. Without her consent, her hand slipped lower. Her fingers skimmed over each rib and onto the taut, undulated plane of his abdomen. Again, air hissed through Roderic's teeth, but he didn't draw away. His lips were slightly parted, she noticed, and his body was as still and rugged as if it were crafted from purest granite.

Curiosity pulled at Flame. Her gaze slipped down his broad throat, over his mounded chest, and lower still.

His desire stood rock hard and upright against his flat belly.

She jerked her gaze and her hand away with a start. "Roderic!" she gasped, sitting upright.

He blinked innocently. "Aye?"

"This is ... this is foolishness."

"Nay, lass, this is heavenly."

"But I..." She was breathing hard. A hundred night raids would be less frightening than this—and less exhilarating. Her gaze caught his, and the intensity in his eyes stopped her breath in her throat "I... I left my hose on the shore," she murmured hopelessly.

"That I noticed, lass."

"And I…" A thousand proper phrases came to mind, but she seemed unable to force a single one of them past her lips. "I don't want to stop ye."

"Forgive me for having na regrets."

"But I must stop ye."

"Nay, lass," he whispered, his expression suddenly serious. "Trust me ta stop meself."

"I do not trust men," she whispered.

He touched her face ever so gently. "I admit that I may have earned the name of Rogue, Flanna. But I have never broken a vow. Trust in me now, lass. Even if ye beg, I will not agree ta mate with ye this day. However, I am about ta remove yer shirt."

She could not stop him, did not want to. The fabric felt wet and soft as he slipped it from her arms and over her head, and suddenly she was as naked as he.

Flame watched his eyes and shivered beneath his attention. Instead of reaching for her, he urged her further into the water. Sand cradled her back. Soft, warm ripples caressed her.

Roderic's nostrils flared and his jaw tightened as his gaze skimmed her body, caressing her breasts, her belly, the length of her legs.

She felt breathless and tight as a bowstring.

"Ahh, ye are stunning, lass. I can hardly believe ye have been saved for me," he murmured. His gaze felt hot on her skin.

She closed her eyes aqd trembled. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Do something. Say something, her mind commanding. "Did I not tell ye I have a lover?"

"Aye, ye did, lass," he murmured, kissing her throat.

"And did I mention the others?" Though she tried to sound flip and confident, her throat felt tight and her hands were clenched to fists in the water.

"Others?"

"Yes. Hundreds."

"Ahh," he murmured and smoothed the backs of his fingers across the high swell of her breast. "So there have been hundreds, have there?"

"Yes. Scotsmen, Frenchmen ..." She shivered as he brushed her nipple. Against her will, her head dropped back.

"Beggermen, thieves?" he asked.

"Yes... those, too," she said and trembled again.

He laughed. The sound was husky and caused something deep inside her to ache. "I dunna mean ta call ye a liar, lass, and though I ken that men are often fools, na man could have ye once and na give his life ta call ye his verra own. Have ye left dead men in yer wake, lass?''

"None to my knowledge," she breathed.

"Then ye were saved for me."

She tried to argue, but his lips were on hers again. They moved with a tender warmth that teased and tantalized. With the fluidness of a wave, his body slipped onto hers. There was nothing more natural than cradling him between her thighs.

Sunshine caressed her skin. And wherever the light reached, his fingers reached, too, skimming over the bridge of her nose, the fullness of her bottom lip. Feather soft, his hand drifted along her shoulder. She was breathless with the feelings he evoked. But there was more to come, so much more, for where his hand roamed, so roamed his kisses. Her arms quivered beneath his caresses, but when she drew them toward her body, his kisses only drifted to the side. She gasped at the feel of his lips against the aching tenderness of her breast.

"Roderic!" she murmured, trying to push away, but he only slipped forward onto one hip at her side. Ever so gently, he eased her back and kissed her lips.

"I dare not let myself trust." Her breath brushed his lips. Their gazes fused, azure on emerald.

"Be ye speaking from yer heart or yer head, lass?" he murmured.

"I am speaking from my memories."

"Then let us make new memories, Flanna. Memories we shall na forget for a lifetime." He touched her cheek with tender fingertips. "Memories ta make ye smile."

She wanted that. She wanted the memories he promised. But she was being foolish, and pain followed foolishness. But perhaps he was worth the pain. Perhaps a moment in his embrace was worth anything. She reached out, knowing her hand shook.

The bone in his shoulder was thick, the muscle of his upper arm, bunched and firmly packed. Without breathing, Flame ran her hand down his back. It rippled with power, but he neither hurried her nor stopped her exploration. Her fingers fell easily into the furrow that creased the middle of his back. They ran along that course until the rise of his buttocks. There her fingers spread, smoothing over one tight mound and down the back of his bulging thigh. It was as hard as an oaken bough. Instinctively, she pulled him toward her, aching for closer contact

Roderic willingly obliged. Coarse, golden hair rasped against her thighs as he dragged his leg over hers. Against her hip, Flame could feel the hard press of his desire and the heavy, twin sacks beneath it.

Reaching up, Flame slipped her free hand behind his neck and pulled him closer. Their kisses were no longer tender but scorching. With a moan, she pulled him back between her legs.

The hard length of his manhood pressed against her. He groaned. With a hand beneath her hips, he drew her closer still. Water sloshed over them, rocking her in its wake. Flame tilted her head into the pool and arched upward. She felt the urgent thrust of desire and pressed against his throbbing heat. He moaned but didn't enter her. She pushed more eagerly and he pushed back until they were rocking together on the waves, breathing hard and trembling with desire. Her shoulders pressed into the sand. His hands gripped her buttocks, pulling upward.

She arched higher and suddenly she felt his mouth close over her nipple. She shrieked against the intensity and thrust her hips wildly against him. Sparks of excitement streaked from her breast to her loins and off in every direction. Desire became pain, relief necessity.

Wrapping her arms about his back, she pulled him nearer still, trying to fill the aching need inside her, to find the Utopia that called like a siren's song. She heard his throaty moan again, but took no heed, for an unfamiliar need drove her onward.

"Lass," he rasped, abandoning her breast to kiss her throat, "dunna stretch me limits too far."

She was so close. So close. He pulsed hot and heavy against her nether regions. She arched against him.

"Lass," he moaned again, "I vowed."

"Damn the vows," she swore and dragged him inward.

Their gasps melded. But for the drawing of gasping breath, their bodies halted. He had entered her virgin gates by the barest fraction of an inch. Their eyes were shut, but each glimpsed heaven's door.

Flame's hands moved finally, drawing him closer with a ragged groan. Roderic shuddered, fighting a battle she neither shared nor condoned and raised himself to his hands and knees.

Flame felt paradise slipping away. "Nay!" she gasped, trying to pull him back.

"I vowed," he repeated through gritted teeth.

"But I did not," she rasped, gripping his arms with her nails. "And ye said I could use ye. Use ye and toss ye aside if I wished."

A self-mocking smile twitched his lips, but Flame could see nothing amusing.

"Was that not also a vow, Forbes?"

"Aye," he murmured, straddling her thigh to settle against her, "that it was."

"Then..." she began, but already he was suckling her again. "Oh!" she whimpered, thrusting her hips upward. Her desire did not meet the hard answer of his manhood. But it met the solid relief of his thigh. And it would do, for desire was exploding within her, erupting in sharp, demanding waves. She pressed urgently against him time and again, finally gaining the summit of need to fall limply on the other side.

He was there to catch her in his arms. But even through the blur of her tattered emotions, she felt him tremble.

Flame drew a shaky breath finally and tried to sit up. He allowed her a scant inch of room to lever her elbows into the pool's sandy bottom. She couldn't meet his gaze, but felt the sharp penetration of his eyes as he watched her.

She cleared her throat and pushed a strand of dripping hair from her face. His chest was very broad and rose and fell slightly with every breath he took. But finally, she couldn't resist the allure of his eyes and lifted her own to meet his. They shone like twin blue flames. Emotion made his features appear as hard as sculpted stone.

She could feel the sharp evidence of his unfulfilled desire against her abdomen and blushed. "Why do ye look at me like that?" she asked breathlessly.

"Like what?" His tone was husky, his stare as steady as a falcon's.

"Like you'd like to devour me."

The world around them was silent. "If ye dunna ken that, ye are na as smart as I suspected," he said and rose slowly to his feet.

His manhood reached nearly to his navel, hard and erect and still throbbing.

Flame gulped and forced her gaze to his face. He had, then, found no pleasure in their embrace, and so he was angry, she deduced, but she would not apologize, for in the past, apologies had gained her little. Haughtiness served her better. "Fetch my clothes," she demanded.

"Am I ta be yer maidservant then, lass?" he asked.

She nodded once, hoping he couldn't see how her hands shook. "Since ye have taken me far from my own servants, ye will need to serve me in their stead."

For a moment, she thought she saw a hint of amusement light his eyes, but then he bowed from the waist. "As ye wish, me lady," he said, and scooping her garments from the sand, hurled them into the lochan.