Bride of Ice

by Glynnis Campbell

  But she ignored his unspoken question. “She knows how to use that dagger. Don’t be gulled by my little sister’s sweet smile. Cross her, and she’ll strike you faster than a snake.”

  He doubted that. Isabel might have a sharp tongue. But the squeamish lass probably didn’t have the stomach to cut the head off a landed trout.

  “Brand can be a braggart,” she warned him. “So anything he said to you was likely an exaggeration.”

  Colban smirked. “Ye mean ye don’t have an army o’ wolves and twelve siege towers?”

  Her eyes glittered at his unexpected jest, and she responded in kind. “Oh, aye, those we have,” she said drily. “But his accounts of warrior falcons in chain mail are largely exaggerated.”

  Colban chuckled in surprise. The lass had an unpredictable sense of humor. And she wasn’t afraid to use it.

  “What about Gellir?” he asked.

  “Gellir.” She narrowed her gaze. “Do you have any brothers, Highlander?”

  He narrowed his eyes in return. Why would she ask that? “None that I know about.”

  “Then you don’t know how fierce a brother’s love is.” She uncrossed her arms to run a finger idly along the edge of the table. “Gellir would die before he’d divulge anything that might endanger his siblings.”

  Perhaps. But Gellir was young. The youth’s misplaced admiration for Colban and his pride in Rivenloch would lead him to reveal useful information without even realizing it.

  Colban had already learned much about the Lowlanders’ fighting techniques, watching the two lads battle beneath his window.

  “But perhaps you do understand,” Hallie allowed. “’Tis possible you protect your laird with the same sort of brotherly devotion. You grew up together, aye?”

  “Aye.” He supposed there was no harm in telling her the truth about that.

  “Of course, it would have been clear that he was heir to the title, while you…”

  He chafed at the uncomfortable reminder that he was of lesser status and not born into the clan.

  Hallie’s fingers drifted toward one of the tiny bottles on the table, and she casually picked it up.

  Colban stiffened. Her fingers were only inches from Ian’s notebook. If she happened to notice it…

  She uncorked the vessel, taking a sniff. “You were more like his guardian, protecting him from injury, risking your life for him while you had to fend for yourself.”

  He bristled at that. “Nay, ’twasn’t like that at all. There was many a time Morgan saved me from harm.”

  “Indeed?” She corked the bottle again and raised a dubious brow. “He didn’t protect you from my cousin.”

  Her cousin? The one who had come out of nowhere like a bolt of lightning and hurled the wicked steel star into his chest?

  Before he could tell her that nobody could have protected him from that, she set the bottle down and added, “You could have been killed.”

  That was true. But it wasn’t Morgan’s fault.

  “And leaving you alone to guard the gate.” She clucked her tongue and picked up a second bottle, this one of amber glass. “Why not simply station a pair of fresh men-at-arms there?”

  He frowned, wishing he could get her away from the table.

  She was right about the gate, of course. The task should have been left to fitter men. Colban had had very little sleep. But guarding the keep had been his idea.

  “Leaving you to battle the entire Rivenloch army by yourself…” Hallie shook her head in wonder, lifting the bottle to squint at its contents. “And why hasn’t he sent anyone to find you?” she mused. “’Tis almost as if he considers you…expendable.”

  Expendable?

  The word jarred him from his self-doubt. Suddenly he saw her ploy. Colban himself had insisted he was a worthless hostage. The clever Valkyrie was trying to trick him into admitting he was valuable after all.

  Now that he was on to her game, he could make a move of his own.

  He straightened and gave her a smoky smile. “I am expendable. And I warned ye about that before. He won’t pay a farthing to see me returned, let alone surrender the castle that is his birthright.”

  Disappointment made a tiny crack in her mask of confidence.

  Nonetheless, she continued. “That remains to be seen. How well is your laird connected to the new king? Has he even met him?”

  “There have been…correspondences.”

  “Correspondences. That’s all?” She flashed him a cool smile. “Even now my kin are seeking an audience with the king. They’re petitioning him and his court for ownership of Creagor.”

  Bloody hell. Was that true? Had her clan gone to the king in person to usurp Morgan’s legacy?

  Colban didn’t want to think about it. Morgan might not have the status of the Rivenloch clan. But he’d already lost his wife. He didn’t deserve to lose his holding as well.

  If the outcome turned out to be unfavorable to Morgan, it was up to Colban to find a way to seize the advantage.

  His glance fell on the notebook. The castle plans sketched there might help. If he could hide it somewhere until he had a few hours to study them…

  “The Rivenloch warriors have guarded the border for centuries,” she told him, “conquered many a rival army. The shields of the fallen line the great hall.” She set the bottle back down. “I saw no such shields on the walls of Creagor.”

  In the Highlands, resources were scarce. If you were lucky enough to obtain a shield from your foe, you didn’t hang it on the wall. You repainted it and put it to good use. But he wasn’t going to brag about thriftiness. Instead, he gave her a cocky grin.

  “They wouldn’t all fit.”

  She smirked at his boast. Then she began drumming her fingers on the table, an inch from Ian’s notebook.

  He had to find a way to lure her away from the precious thing before she discovered and confiscated it.

  “Why would a Highlander want to live at Creagor anyway?” she mused. “Wouldn’t you rather be among your own kind?”

  “My own…”

  He tamped down rage at her obvious slight. His own kind indeed. She was poking him. He refused to be goaded into anger. Besides, he could give as well as he got.

  “We’re not so different, Highlanders and Lowlanders,” he said. “We serve the same king, do we not? Ye and I have a sworn duty to protect the innocent. Defend the weak.” He shrugged. “Why else do ye think I leaped from the window?”

  It took an instant for her to realize he’d just insulted her, calling her weak. Her eyes frosted over like ice crystals. But she too refused to be prodded to anger.

  “’Twas a wild and reckless move,” she claimed.

  “Ye say that as if ’tis a bad thing.”

  “’Tis bad when one is responsible for keeping the peace at the border.” She leaned back against the table, blocking his view of the notebook. “Oh, I’m sure you’d frighten the English with your undisciplined brawling. At first. But they’d return again and again. For that, you need a trained army. A killing machine that operates smoothly and efficiently.”

  “And Rivenloch has that army?”

  “We do.”

  He hated to admit she was right about their smooth operation. He’d witnessed that himself, battling against them. But there was something she’d overlooked. “So ye’re predictable.”

  “What?”

  He limped closer with the aid of the crutch. If he could reach the table, he could tuck the notebook out of sight behind the basin before she noticed it.

  “Ye say ye’ve fought the English for centuries, aye?” he asked.

  “Aye.”

  He sidled up to the table and set his crutch against the wall, resting his fingers on the lip of the basin.

  “Then they know your every move,” he said. “How ye form your lines for battle. When ye’ll advance. When ye’ll retreat. They know how ye deploy your archers and at what point ye send in the men-at-arms. They likely even know who your best swordsmen a
re.” He leaned forward to confide, “Rivenloch is…predictable.”

  While she was reeling from that insight, he pretended to lose his balance. Flinging his arm out for the crutch, he missed and sent it clattering to the floor.

  In the moment while her eyes were drawn to the fallen crutch, he slid the basin in front of the notebook, concealing it from view.

  It was a matter of reflex for Hallie to lunge for the falling crutch. But even as her fingers closed around the freshly smoothed wood, she realized she’d made a tactical mistake.

  Colban had dropped it on purpose. As a distraction.

  Like her, he must have spotted Ian’s notebook.

  Ian never went anywhere without it. It contained all of his notes, sketches, plans. It also contained something that might be of use to a hostage. A detailed map of Rivenloch and an accounting of its defenses.

  Had Ian left it behind by accident? Or had Colban had taken it?

  Whatever the truth, it was clear Colban meant to keep it.

  That was going to be a problem. Colban might not be able to read. But he could find someone who did. And he could study drawings. She couldn’t give him access to anything that might compromise the security of Rivenloch.

  She’d hoped to surreptitiously slip Ian’s notebook into her satchel. If Colban didn’t know its value, she wasn’t about to alert him to it.

  But when she rose to return the crutch, he’d neatly slipped into the space between her and the table, blocking her access.

  She could see by the flicker in his dark eyes he knew exactly what he was doing. Which meant the time for mincing words was over.

  “Give it to me.”

  He reached for the crutch. “Give what to ye?”

  She pulled the crutch out of his reach. “Hand it over.”

  “What are ye talkin’ about?”

  “You know.”

  He reached out again. She pulled the crutch back again.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Give it to me,” she said, “and I’ll give you the crutch.”

  He lowered his hand and frowned in disbelief. “Ye’d keep a crutch from a lame man?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Only a lame man who’s a thief.”

  “A thief? Me?” His surprise and dismay seemed almost genuine. Almost.

  “Stand aside.”

  “Give me the crutch, and I will.”

  She cautiously handed him the crutch.

  He tucked it under his arm. With a glare of hurt meant to invoke pity, he limped aside.

  Her smug victory was cut short when she slid the basin over and found nothing. She scoured the table, beside the basin, among the bottles, behind the ewer, under the table. It was gone.

  “What did you do with it?”

  “With what?”

  “Is it on your person?” She quickly perused him, letting her eyes trace the curve of his shoulders, the expanse of his chest, his cocked hips, his bare calves. Where could he have stashed it?

  His eyes narrowed to smoky slits as he opened his arms in invitation. “Would ye like to search me?”

  Aye, in fact, she would. But she wasn’t about to say so. She’d be a fool to give him that advantage.

  She’d never admit it, but she felt a strange, inexplicable current when the Highlander drew near. A curious force that threw her off-kilter and made her feel dangerously vulnerable. Standing this close, she could feel the heat shimmering off his skin and sense the harnessed power of his muscles. His musky, masculine scent dizzied her. And when he gazed at her like that—his warm brown eyes smoldering like coals and dancing like sparks…

  Aye, she’d like to search him. She’d like to tear his clothing from him and explore every inch.

  But she had to ignore that urge.

  Before all else, she was a warrior.

  He had something of hers. And she needed it. Now. Before she fell prey to his lusty distractions.

  Chapter 19

  Colban figured he had Hallie at a disadvantage now. He’d slipped the notebook into the back of his trews. It was lodged against the small of his back. As long as he didn’t turn his back on her, she’d never find it.

  He could see the frustration in her eyes. She knew he had the book. She did want to search him.

  Of course, she’d never admit that. Nor would she do it. His proximity was having an effect on her. He saw it in the trembling of her lips. The flush of her cheek. The softening of her gaze.

  At first he thought she might be afraid of him. Impressed by his size. Intimidated by his dominance.

  Now he recognized the signs of desire.

  He should know. He felt it as well. A yearning to draw closer. To haul her into his arms. To bury his face in her silky blonde tresses.

  For one brief instant, as their gazes connected, he felt a surge of something even more irresistible than desire.

  Fascination.

  He wanted to know more about the Valkyrie. Wanted to thaw her icy layers and expose the unique woman beneath. Wanted to know her thoughts, her hopes, her dreams.

  Then he felt the sudden prick of sharp steel against his belly.

  He stiffened as his fascination curdled into disappointment.

  Her glare was hard now. “Give it to me.”

  He wasn’t going to surrender the precious notebook without a fight. Not now. Not when she’d had the audacity to draw a blade on him. A blade he was almost certain she didn’t have the nerve to use.

  Deciding it was a wager he was willing to make, he straightened to his full height and dared her, “If ye’re so certain I have somethin’ o’ yours, why don’t ye take it from me?”

  “You realize I’m holding a dagger?”

  “I know ye don’t want to damage me. Ye’ve said as much. And ye won’t kill me. Isabel said ye’d ne’er killed a man.”

  The subtle twitch of the dagger was the only indication that his words had rattled her.

  But her gaze was steady as she replied, “Do you think I’d tell Isabel if I had?”

  She had a point. One he hadn’t considered. Perhaps it was best to get her mind off of violence. Perhaps he should try to confiscate that dagger.

  “She also said ye’d ne’er kissed a man.”

  The second accusation seemed to rattle her far more than the first. She drew in a sharp breath and found herself at a loss for words.

  “’Tis true then, isn’t it?” he pressed, lowering his gaze purposefully to her mouth.

  If he could distract her with a kiss—nothing seductive, just a sweet, simple brush of his lips—maybe it would be enough to tease the dagger from her grip. Maybe he could even make her forget about the notebook.

  He continued to gaze at her pink, ripe, inviting mouth and let his tongue slip out to wet his lower lip.

  Every bell in Hallie’s head was ringing in alarm. The hostage was too close to her, literally and figuratively.

  Thanks to her conniving sister, Colban knew two of her most closely held secrets. And that put her at a disadvantage.

  Even now, she could feel the melting heat of his lusty gaze.

  What he didn’t know was, while she’d never been kissed, it wasn’t for lack of opportunity. In the past few years, several lads—most on a dare from their fellows—had tried to kiss Hallie. Most of them had been discouraged by an icy glare. A few had earned scars from the attempt.

  For Hallie, hostility was the swiftest natural defense against aggression.

  But that was when she wanted to eliminate the aggressor. In this instance, when she needed something in return, different tactics were required. She had to keep Colban off-balance to claim with stealth what she couldn’t seize by force.

  She lowered her gaze to his mouth. Her heart fluttered at the prospect of what she was about to do. But surely it was no different than the way her pulse raced when she entered the free-for-all fighting in a tournament melee. In the melee, she’d found it was best not to dally, but to go on the offense and charge in with confidence.

&n
bsp; The corner of Colban’s lip drifted up as he taunted her. “Ye’ve ne’er felt the sweet surrender of a man’s—”

  She pitched forward and, before caution could make a coward of her, seized the back of his head and shut him up with a hard kiss.

  At least that was her intent.

  What actually happened was her lips contacted his. He twitched in surprise. Their teeth clacked together. And she recoiled.

  It was as jarring as two swords clanging.

  In a clash of blades, she would have retreated and tried again.

  But when she tried to pull back, he caught her jaw. Sweeping his hand over her cheek, he slipped his fingers into her hair to hold her steady.

  “Like this,” he murmured against her mouth.

  His lips were incredibly soft upon hers. For a rough-hewn Highlander, his touch was unexpectedly gentle. His breath, warm and scented of apples, stirred her senses.

  Though he’d fallen neatly into her trap, she suddenly felt more like prey than predator. His kiss was doing strange things to her. Making her head sing. Weakening her knees. Sending white-hot current through her veins. Burning like banked coal between her legs.

  Waves of pleasure threatened to rock her off her feet. Instant by instant, her control slipped away. She had the vague, distant thought that she must seize the advantage. Take the upper hand. Leave him incapacitated by longing.

  Then he clasped her head in both hands, tilted her jaw, and teased her mouth open with his own. His tongue flicked out, making her gasp and searing her senses like lightning.

  At that moment, she knew she’d met her match.

  Drawn into an abyss of desire, she let the dagger slip from her fingers. As it clattered on the floor, she moaned against his mouth. Collapsed into his arms. And fell into the kiss.

  Time dissolved as she gave in to lust and curiosity. She answered his mouth’s sweet assault with kisses of her own. Her fingers tangled in his hair, bunched his leine, grazed his throat, swept over the vast expanse of his chest with feverish need.