Bride of Ice

by Glynnis Campbell

  When he wrapped his arm around her back to pull her closer, she didn’t even think to resist. Emboldened by longing, she surged forward, grasping his arse and hauling him up against her.

  The bulge pressing against her abdomen inflamed her desire. His groan of pleasure took her breath away.

  Colban was in over his head. He knew that now.

  He had intended the kiss to be a light distraction. After all, a lass’s first kiss was usually an awkward peck full of flustered blushing.

  He meant to set her off-balance, at which point she’d rush from the room and forget all about the notebook.

  Never had he imagined Hallie would kiss him back. Never had he dreamed she’d return his advances with such passion and heat.

  Her lips were insistent and demanding. Her ragged breath seared his cheek. Wherever her hands touched him, they sparked fire.

  Now he was engulfed in a dizzying blaze of desire. His head spun as if he’d taken a blow to the helm. His hands grasped in desperation at her tresses, as if they could keep him from being consumed by the flames. His mouth fed on her with greedy abandon. Within his trews, he was throbbing with need.

  All thought, all reason, all purpose fled his mind. He wanted only this. Only her.

  He longed to roar out his claim upon her, toss her on the bed, and sink his aching lance into her welcome warmth.

  She wanted it too. He could tell from the wild smoldering in her eyes. The breathless begging of her gasps. The mad clawing of her fingers. The pressure of her hungering body against him.

  He yearned to get past the torment. Purge this inconvenient attraction between them. He’d not had a woman in weeks. It would be over in a moment.

  Yet in some deeply buried place in the back of his mind, he knew he’d do no such thing. Seducing maids was dishonorable. Taking a virgin was not the conduct of a champion. Even if the virgin was his foe.

  He might be a low-born Highlander. But his reputation as a gentleman was untarnished. And he wanted to keep it that way.

  Hallie was an innocent victim.

  He’d gotten them into this predicament. It was up to him to get them out. As painful as it was, he decided he’d just have to live with the discomfort of unrequited lust.

  Then Hallie did the unthinkable.

  She reached between them and slid her hand into his trews, closing it around that part of him that most wanted her caress. He sucked in a shocked breath as his unruly body roused to her touch. Squeezing his eyes shut at the divine sensation, he growled in his throat—half in approval, half in anguish.

  Like snow in the sun, his control melted away, leaving him in a puddle of his noble intentions.

  She obviously wanted this as much as he did. Or perhaps Lowland lasses were just more forward about their needs than Highlanders. This lass certainly was. And she seemed to know exactly what she was doing.

  It was possible she’d lied to Isabel about never killing a man. He was certain now she’d lied about never kissing a man. By the way she was caressing him, she’d done far more than kissing.

  He leaned his brow upon hers, closing his eyes to relish the perfection of the moment before kissing her again. Her breath was like the warm breeze of summer. Her lips were as soft and sweet as peaches.

  At her gentle urging, he grew more and more rigid by the moment in her hand. Then, inspired by her brazen gesture, he let his hands slide down from her face, past her throat, where her heart pulsed against his thumbs. His fingers brushed her delicate collarbone and then plunged farther, delving beneath the edge of her kirtle to claim the silken treasure of her ripe breasts.

  One sharp gasp, and she snatched out of his grasp. Dropping him from her hand like a blade hot off the forge, she stepped away.

  He reeled in disappointment, but not surprise. This was the reaction he’d predicted, after all. It had only been delayed. And now he half expected her to slap him for his insolence.

  She didn’t. She blushed, lowered her eyes, muttered under her breath—a stammer of disbelief or apology, he wasn’t sure which—and stumbled toward the door.

  He should have been pleased. He’d succeeded. He’d distracted her so thoroughly, she’d completely forgotten about the notebook.

  Yet that wasn’t what he felt as she fled, closing the door behind her with hollow finality. His loins ached. His hands felt empty. His heart sank.

  What had started as a ploy had become real for him. He did desire the Valkyrie. He did want to kiss her. Hold her. Make love to her. And for one shining moment, he’d felt his affections returned.

  But such dreams were foolish. She was his captor. He was her foe.

  Clearing his throat, he shook off the dregs of desire. Raked his hair back. Adjusted his trews. And reached behind his back to retrieve the notebook.

  It wasn’t there.

  Chapter 20

  Hallie fled down the corridor with breathless haste.

  She should have been grinning in triumph. The notebook was snug in her satchel, bouncing against her hip as she took the stairs.

  Yet all she felt were the pangs of guilt.

  Why was she running?

  She wasn’t fleeing Colban, though she felt compelled to get as far away from him as she could.

  She was instead pursued by her own misplaced desires, from which there was no escape. She’d barely left with her dignity. Hell, she’d barely left with her virginity.

  She hadn’t realized how hot the flame of lust would burn between them. Like an entranced moth, she’d strayed too close. Now her wings were singed, and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to fly from him again.

  When she emerged onto the great hall, Isabel was there, chatting excitedly with her friends. They silenced at her appearance.

  “Hallie, what’s wrong?” Isabel asked.

  “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.” Holy hell, could they tell? Was it obvious? Did the glow of seduction linger on her face?

  “You look…troubled,” Isabel said. Then her slim brows rose together in a wrinkle of dismay. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Oh nay. You hurt him, didn’t you?”

  Irritation flared in her at Isabel’s assumption.

  “I didn’t touch him.” She flushed at her own outright lie. She had indeed touched him. In a very inappropriate manner.

  Isabel squinted her eyes in suspicion. “Then why are you upset?”

  “I’m not upset,” she said, adding pointedly, “At least I wasn’t.”

  That was another lie. Hallie was absolutely upset. Why? She wasn’t sure. After all, she’d won, hadn’t she? She’d outwitted Colban and taken the notebook straight off of his person.

  Thankfully, Isabel abandoned her line of questioning. She brightened and announced, “Never mind. I have just the thing to cheer you up.”

  Her group of maidens giggled and nodded.

  “We’re assembling an entertainment.”

  Hallie knew better than to be pleased by that news. Isabel’s schemes oft went awry. “What sort of entertainment?”

  Isabel shrugged. “Some music. Some dancing. A play.”

  It seemed harmless. And it would keep Isabel occupied and away from the hostage. “Fine.”

  Isabel turned to the maids. “Your brothers can be the noble knights. Brand can play the wizard. And I’m sure Ian can find a way to make the dragon breathe fire and smoke and—”

  “Wait,” Hallie interrupted at the mention of Ian’s name. She dug in her satchel for the notebook. “Give this to Ian when you see him. And warn him if he’s careless with it again, I’ll have to hold onto it for safekeeping.”

  She supposed it was a blessing that Isabel had decided to enlist her siblings for this entertainment of hers. That would make four less problems to deal with in the busy day ahead.

  In a way, she was grateful for the myriad challenges that cropped up all day long. They kept her mind off an uncomfortable reality, a reality she didn’t want to face.

  She was attracted to the Highlander. Not only was he a temp
ting feast for the eyes. He was brave. Loyal. Strong. Clever. All the things a champion should be.

  Colban an Curaidh wielded some mysterious power over her senses. He took her breath away. Hastened her pulse. Sapped her strength. Weakened her resolve.

  Indeed, she’d come dangerously close to yielding to that power.

  And part of her didn’t find that abhorrent. Part of her felt a thrill of adventure at the prospect of surrendering in his arms.

  It was a terrifying truth. One she dared not dwell on. So before she could allow herself to think too deeply, she threw back her shoulders and set out to face the responsibilities of the afternoon.

  First, she helped to round up a trio of stray sheep. Then she settled a quibble between the blacksmith and the stable lad. A sickly old hound required her care after that. By mid-afternoon, she oversaw the repair of the quintain that had been splintered in the last practice. Afterwards, she took stock of the castle stores in preparation for winter, writing out orders for those who would need to procure goods. Then she had to punish wee Robbie, who’d stuck his thumb in all the pies, by making him serve as the baker’s apprentice for a week.

  When she finally finished lending a hand in repairing the thatch of the dovecot and mulching the strawberries against frost, it was time for supper.

  For several peaceful hours, she’d successfully forgotten about her handsome hostage.

  Until Isabel plopped down beside her for supper in the great hall.

  “Sorry we’re late.”

  Her little sister was decked in her finest gown of rose velvet. Her hair was woven into a fantastic tangle of braids. And her face was powdered and painted in a way that made her look more like a woman than a lass.

  Before Hallie could ask what the devil she was up to, Isabel drew her finely penciled brows together. “Did you send supper up to Sir Colban?”

  To be honest, it had slipped her mind. “I was about to,” she said, summoning one of the maidservants to make up a platter. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  “’Tis for the entertainment. Remember? After supper, we’re going to perform in the courtyard.”

  Hallie frowned. “In the courtyard?”

  “Aye,” she replied, stabbing a parsnip with her pearl-handled dagger and popping it into her mouth. “You don’t want a fire-breathing dragon in the great hall, do you?”

  “Fire-breathing dragon?”

  Brand slid onto the bench next to Isabel. “Aye, Hallie, wait till you see it! Leap a sheep! ’Tis brilliant.”

  Hallie pointed her dagger in threat at the two of them. “If you burn the keep to the ground while our parents are away…”

  “’Tis perfectly safe,” Ian told her as he seated himself beside her. “I wanted to use Greek fire, but Gellir thought ’twas too risky. So I’ve settled on peat fire in a great helm, with a bellows to—”

  “Greek fire?” Hallie choked on a turnip.

  Greek fire was a concoction so savage and dangerous that most civilized armies still refused to use it.

  Gellir ruffled Ian’s hair as he joined them at the table. “I’ll get lads with full buckets of sand to stand by.”

  At least Gellir had a cool head on his shoulders. He was taking the proper precautions.

  Still, it was with a certain amount of trepidation that, an hour later, Hallie sat in her assigned spot in the courtyard to watch the spectacle.

  Seated on a faldstool cushioned with sheepskins, she was surrounded by the entire clan. Some crowded together on benches dragged from the great hall. Some sat on plaids spread on the ground.

  It didn’t escape her notice that Isabel had arranged the entertainment to take place directly below Colban’s bedchamber.

  And when Hallie glimpsed up to see Colban’s face at the window, her heart skipped a beat. Her face warmed. Her breath grew shallow. Sparks of lust ignited her senses.

  When it came to the Highlander, it seemed, as with Greek fire, there was no way to extinguish the persistent flames of desire.

  What the devil was going on? Colin had just polished off his pea and parsnip pottage when the castle folk began to assemble below his window. A square area was roped off in the middle of the courtyard. To one side was a folded screen. A small raised platform was located in the midst of the square, with an upright wooden beam lodged in its center.

  He hoped they weren’t setting up a whipping or an execution. He had little taste for that sort of bloodthirsty display. It was one thing to kill a man in fair combat. And it was fair and just to execute a man for his sins. But he didn’t approve of making a spectacle of punishment, of seeking enjoyment from the suffering of others.

  Besides, he’d had enough suffering for one day, considering his humiliating defeat at the hands of that crafty Valkyrie.

  There she was now, being seated at the center of the crowd. Despite his irritation at being outwitted, his heart leaped at the sight of her. Whatever mischief she’d perpetrated upon him, she remained as lovely as winter snow, as alluring as a summer loch.

  Still, it stung to realize how gullible he’d been. How easily she’d deceived him. He’d actually believed that she too was overcome with lust. That she was drowning in the depths of desire beside him. That the same force of attraction pulling at his heart and shattering his thoughts affected them both.

  He supposed he had to admire her skills. That level of deception was probably useful in combat. And it did amuse him to try to determine exactly when she’d lifted the notebook from him. While they were kissing? Or while she had her hand wrapped around his…

  “Sir Colban an Curaidh!”

  Startled from his musings, Colban looked down to see Isabel, gowned like a princess, gesturing up at him with one graceful arm.

  “’Tis in your honor we present this entertainment!”

  God’s blood. His honor? Oh aye. He’d all but forgotten about his heroics of the morn. They seemed to pale in comparison to the humiliation he’d endured since. Nonetheless, with all eyes on him, he waved back. At least the clan wasn’t planning to torture anyone.

  Isabel turned to address the crowd in dramatic tones. “I bring you a tale of true love and loyalty. Of unmatched chivalry and noble sacrifice. A tale with fierce warriors, lovely maidens, magical enchantment, and a fire-breathing dragon.”

  All the children gasped in awe at that.

  “But first we shall hear a stirring ballade from Boniface,” she finished as a man armed with a lute came forward.

  What followed was an excruciating and highly romanticized account of Colban’s leap from the window and his ensuing battle. By the end of the performance, Colban decided they had decided to torture someone. His ears burned, and his smile of gratitude strained the corners of his mouth.

  Isabel then announced Agile Giles, a lad in tattered clothing who could juggle four hen’s eggs in various manners without breaking a single one.

  A white-haired blind woman swathed in colorful scarves was introduced as Sofia the Seer. She waved her hands about wildly, summoning various people in the crowd to come forward so she could touch their sleeve and tell them what their future held.

  She foretold wealth for a bright-eyed lad, two dead sheep for an old man, another babe for Rauve in the summer, and victory for a knight in the spring tournament.

  Finally she lifted her finger to Colban. “You. Champion.”

  Colban scowled. He didn’t want to have his destiny foretold. He didn’t believe in such drivel.

  “Throw down an article of your clothing.”

  One of Isabel’s bolder friends squealed, “Throw down all of them!” A spate of girlish giggles followed.

  Colban wanted to withdraw from the window. But everyone was staring expectantly at him now. Gellir. Brand. Isabel. Hallie. He supposed it would be easier to comply and dispense with this nonsense.

  He didn’t have any spare clothing. And he wasn’t about to tear a sleeve off his only leine. But since his foot was bandaged at the moment, he supposed he didn’t need his bo
ot.

  “Ye’ll return this, aye?” he called down, garnering laughter from the clan.

  He tossed it onto the green, not far from where he’d landed this morn. A man picked it up and handed it to the seer.

  “What do you see?” Isabel eagerly asked, clasping her hands hopefully beneath her chin. “What’s in the stars for our champion?”

  Colban smirked and folded his arms. He expected Isabel had paid the woman to predict a romantic match between her sister and The One. A quick glance at Hallie’s tensed jaw told him she suspected the same.

  But the old woman’s face clouded. She clutched the boot to her bosom as if it were an injured kitten.

  “A dark time is ahead for you, I fear,” she intoned.

  Despite his disbelief in her sight, her words felt like a cold dagger sunk in his chest.

  “Nay, nay, nay,” Isabel complained. “That can’t be right. Try again.”

  The woman shook her white head. “I see loneliness and heartbreak.”

  Isabel’s face fell, and the crowd silenced.

  The old woman’s predictions were nonsense. Of course they were.

  Determined to make light of her comments, Colban shouted, “There will be heartbreak if I don’t get my boot back.”

  His words relieved the tension as the crowd chuckled. But they didn’t erase the furrow from between Hallie’s brows. And they didn’t banish the chill from his soul.

  Nor could they remove the disappointment in Isabel’s eyes, disappointment she quickly hid with a quavering smile. Ushering the seer aside, she introduced a consort to play while her friends danced and frolicked about with garlands of ivy and hawthorn berries.

  The main play featured two youths in armor, one lad wrapped in a plaid like a Highlander, Isabel and two of her friends dressed in finery, a fur-robed lad introduced as the Laird of Rivenloch, and a cloaked wizard with a beard made of moss who looked and sounded suspiciously like Brand.

  The story was fairly simple.

  According to the wizard, centuries ago, Rivenloch had been besieged by a terrible fire-breathing dragon. Each year, the dragon visited for three days. And on each of those three nights he demanded the sacrifice of a virgin for his supper.