Highland Flame (Highland Brides) by Lois Greiman Page B

wounds.
    "Yesterday ye werena prepared for me foolhardy attempt at escape, for ye knew I wouldna leave alive," he said. "Be assured that I know ye willna be caught unawares again. Dunna worry. Surely she is safe with me."
    Flame nodded once at her men, then turned toward Roderic. All four guards stepped inside, spread their legs, and gripped their weapons.
    The room was painfully silent. "Must ye glare at me?" Roderic asked, addressing the guards. "I am na about to devour yer Lady."
    "Touch her and ye'll na live long enough ta regret it," Bullock warned.
    "Bullock does not oft suffer being made a fool of," Nevin added. "He has some pride."
    Roderic watched Nevin before shifting his gaze to Bullock. The stocky warrior's face reddened, the flames of his anger fanned by his companion's reminder of his shame. But Nevin's emotions were not so easily read, though he seemed intelligent and spoke as if he had been well educated.
    Drawing his attention from the warriors, Roderic sighed and motioned Flame toward the only chair. "Be seated, lady."
    She remained standing where she was. "What is it you wish to speak to me about?"
    Roderic moved to the wall nearest her and let his gaze draw in fresh perceptions. Her shirt was laced at the throat with a single narrow strip of leather that was knotted at the bottom, weaved through the holes and tipped with a small cone of pewter that rested against her left breast.
    He sighed mentally. 'Twould truly be pathetic to be jealous of a bit of metal.
    "What did you want to—"
    "’Tis about Leith," Roderic interrupted, wrenching himself from his reverie and snapping his gaze back to her face. "Have ye sent a herald to him yet?"
    It was a poor choice of words, for Simon had been a herald and Simon had been decapitated. Roderic had no wish to remind her of that just now, especially since he had recently stolen the note from her room and she was bound to eventually wonder what had happened to it.
    "No." Her answer was cool and reserved and did nothing to shed light on her true thoughts. "I have not."
    "Then I would like to send a message of me own."
    "And why would I allow you to do that, Forbes?"
    "Leith is a stubborn man." Roderic let that statement lay in the silence for a moment. "But he is still me brother. And while 'tis true that for a time I thought I might escape this fortress, I see now that I was wrong. I wish to send him a message saying that I am well and that I wish for na blood to be shed. In essence, I wish to recommend that he comply with yer demands."
    "But ye do not know what our demands will be."
    "Would I appear petty if I admitted that I think me own life ta be worth whatever price ye ask?"
    She pursed her lips. They were full and berry-bright. "I will bring ye a quill," she said and turned to go, but he stopped her again.
    "Please stay. There is na rush. I would ken, what are yer demands?"
    "Ye cannot repay all ye have taken from us, for Simon was a good man and well loved," she said, staring at him from her regal height. "So we but ask for enough goods to ease his widow's burdens and help restore Dun Ard. And, of course, for the return of our stock."
    It was no use denying that the Forbeses were at fault until he could prove the truth. And yet he longed to proclaim their innocence, and could not stop himself from asking, "What stock might that be?"
    Anger sparked immediately in her eyes. Roderic cleared his throat and tried to look disarming. He took some pride in his innocuous expression. "I mean, what stock, exactly. Ye'll want to be precise."
    She drew a deep breath and slipped into the chair. Grace robed her like a velvet cloak. "Ye have taken at least a score of our cattle that were fattening in the glen."
    He waited in silence for her to continue.
    "More than a dozen sheep were lost or killed."
    Beef and mutton were mainstays in the Highlands, but Roderic was beginning to know her mind. "And the horses?"
    He saw the anger in the tightening of her lips. "Fourteen steeds