Read Online Highland Flame (Highland Brides) by Lois Greiman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lois Greiman
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Historical Romance, Scotland, Highlanders, scottish romance, highland historical
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before he made a complete fool of himself. Rising quickly, Roderic strode to the door. "Bullock?"
There was a moment's delay, then, "What be ye wanting, Forbes?" The guard's tone was tight. These people didn't like him much, it seemed. A pity, Roderic thought, but something that couldn't be helped since they wouldn't be meeting again after tonight.
" 'Tis cold I am, and tired. Might ye fetch me a blanket that I could sleep?"
"Why should I get ye anything, Forbes?"
"Well now..." Roderic stared thoughtfully at the heavy timbers that kept them apart. Being wrapped in wet wool had a tendency to make him irritable and the guard's attitude failed to improve his mood. "Because I am yer prisoner, held for ransom and dependent on yer good graces," he said, remembering his manners.
"I have na good graces toward bastards."
Roderic scowled at the door. He was determined to be polite, but the other was insulting his father, and his mother, too, for that matter. Therefore, there seemed little reason not to bait this insolent MacGowan. " 'Twas wondering, Bullock, how is it ye came by yer name. 'Tis because of yer build or is it yer intelligence they refer to?"
Roderic thought he heard the man growl, but the portal remained closed. "I am tempted ta kill ye. But a thieving Forbes is na worth me effort."
Roderic deepened his scowl. The man had not only insulted his heritage but had accused him of thievery. Still, Roderic made certain his tone was patient, for there was no need to be rude when starting a brawl. "So ye, too, think that we Forbeses have stolen yer horses?"
"Aye," came the growled response. "I saw ye with me own eyes. The mighty Forbeses take great pride in their colors and dunna hide their plaids, do they now?"
"So ye saw the Forbeses' tartans?" Roderic asked. "How many warriors? What night was this?"
The door swung open with surprising speed and Bullock strode in. His face was red with rage and his fist wrapped about a spear.
"I tire of yer feigned innocence, Forbes. Are ye such a coward that ye canna even admit yer deeds?"
Roderic remained very still, forgetting his quest to learn the truth. Rage was a fool's defense. He took a deep, calming breath and watched Bullock's eyes. "Do ye call me a coward, man?"
"Aye," came the gritted response, "that I—"
Good sense told Roderic to remain as he was and let the anger flow over him. Hot blood told him to strike.
Feigning a left-handed blow to Bullock's chin, Roderic struck his right fist in the other man's belly. The man was built like a castle wall. Still, he bent slightly and in that instant, Roderic swept an upper cut to his jaw. Before Bullock fell, Roderic caught him about the neck and pulled his back up against his own chest. In an instant the other's spear was in his hand.
There was a clatter of footsteps as another guard raced up the stairs and skidded to a halt before them, sword unsheathed, eyes wide.
Roderic nodded once. "William, isn't it?" he asked.
William's face was pale when he returned the nod.
"Listen, lads," Roderic began. "I have been wanting ta say 'tis sorry I am about yer friend's death. Shaw seemed a likable sort."
William's lips moved, yet no words came. Roderic supposed it did seem a strange time for him to voice condolences, considering he held another MacGowan in a death grip even as he spoke.
"Well now ..." he said, clearing his throat and feeling a bit foolish. " 'Tis like this, I want a blanket and a chance to sleep. And," he added as an afterthought, "I would like me evening meal early. Do ye think ye could do that... or will I have ta kill the two of ye?"
William was a middle-aged man, average in both height and weight, but what he lacked in size he made up for in sheer Scottish bravado, it seemed. "Let him go, Forbes," he said. "Ye'll na get by me."
Roderic tilted his head in concession to the man's bold words. 'Twas not an easy thing to hold one's nerve when looking death in the eye. "I appreciate yer courage, man, but ye
There was a moment's delay, then, "What be ye wanting, Forbes?" The guard's tone was tight. These people didn't like him much, it seemed. A pity, Roderic thought, but something that couldn't be helped since they wouldn't be meeting again after tonight.
" 'Tis cold I am, and tired. Might ye fetch me a blanket that I could sleep?"
"Why should I get ye anything, Forbes?"
"Well now..." Roderic stared thoughtfully at the heavy timbers that kept them apart. Being wrapped in wet wool had a tendency to make him irritable and the guard's attitude failed to improve his mood. "Because I am yer prisoner, held for ransom and dependent on yer good graces," he said, remembering his manners.
"I have na good graces toward bastards."
Roderic scowled at the door. He was determined to be polite, but the other was insulting his father, and his mother, too, for that matter. Therefore, there seemed little reason not to bait this insolent MacGowan. " 'Twas wondering, Bullock, how is it ye came by yer name. 'Tis because of yer build or is it yer intelligence they refer to?"
Roderic thought he heard the man growl, but the portal remained closed. "I am tempted ta kill ye. But a thieving Forbes is na worth me effort."
Roderic deepened his scowl. The man had not only insulted his heritage but had accused him of thievery. Still, Roderic made certain his tone was patient, for there was no need to be rude when starting a brawl. "So ye, too, think that we Forbeses have stolen yer horses?"
"Aye," came the growled response. "I saw ye with me own eyes. The mighty Forbeses take great pride in their colors and dunna hide their plaids, do they now?"
"So ye saw the Forbeses' tartans?" Roderic asked. "How many warriors? What night was this?"
The door swung open with surprising speed and Bullock strode in. His face was red with rage and his fist wrapped about a spear.
"I tire of yer feigned innocence, Forbes. Are ye such a coward that ye canna even admit yer deeds?"
Roderic remained very still, forgetting his quest to learn the truth. Rage was a fool's defense. He took a deep, calming breath and watched Bullock's eyes. "Do ye call me a coward, man?"
"Aye," came the gritted response, "that I—"
Good sense told Roderic to remain as he was and let the anger flow over him. Hot blood told him to strike.
Feigning a left-handed blow to Bullock's chin, Roderic struck his right fist in the other man's belly. The man was built like a castle wall. Still, he bent slightly and in that instant, Roderic swept an upper cut to his jaw. Before Bullock fell, Roderic caught him about the neck and pulled his back up against his own chest. In an instant the other's spear was in his hand.
There was a clatter of footsteps as another guard raced up the stairs and skidded to a halt before them, sword unsheathed, eyes wide.
Roderic nodded once. "William, isn't it?" he asked.
William's face was pale when he returned the nod.
"Listen, lads," Roderic began. "I have been wanting ta say 'tis sorry I am about yer friend's death. Shaw seemed a likable sort."
William's lips moved, yet no words came. Roderic supposed it did seem a strange time for him to voice condolences, considering he held another MacGowan in a death grip even as he spoke.
"Well now ..." he said, clearing his throat and feeling a bit foolish. " 'Tis like this, I want a blanket and a chance to sleep. And," he added as an afterthought, "I would like me evening meal early. Do ye think ye could do that... or will I have ta kill the two of ye?"
William was a middle-aged man, average in both height and weight, but what he lacked in size he made up for in sheer Scottish bravado, it seemed. "Let him go, Forbes," he said. "Ye'll na get by me."
Roderic tilted his head in concession to the man's bold words. 'Twas not an easy thing to hold one's nerve when looking death in the eye. "I appreciate yer courage, man, but ye
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