“Maybe.”
He grinned. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint ye, my fierce avengin’ angel, but no one knows where they went. They were ne’er seen again.”
She nodded, but he couldn’t miss the hint of regret in her eyes. The lass wanted to punish his abusers. Even though he’d recovered from the incident—even though the unwanted foundling had emerged a champion—Hallie wanted to heal the scars of injustice.
That touched him deeply.
It also reaffirmed the wisdom of forming an alliance with Rivenloch.
The lass who would one day rule the warrior clan was devoted to justice, protective of honor, loyal to what was right and fair. She would not let good deeds go unrewarded. Nor would she let wrongs go unpunished.
She was the last person he would want as an enemy.
Indeed, the more time he spent with her, the more he realized she would make a good friend. Despite their thorny beginnings, the willful lass was beginning to grow on him.
Hallie was hardly cold and unfeeling, as Isabel maintained. After all, she didn’t mind his scars. She didn’t blame him for the circumstances of his birth. And now that she’d managed to get him into the tub, she didn’t even seem to be that bothered by having to scrub his back.
While she was feeling so amenable, he thought he could tell her about his idea.
As she held his elbow to swab his upper arm, he said, “Ye know, I’ve been mullin’ it o’er—this matter o’ the ownership o’ Creagor.”
She gave him a guarded, “Aye?”
“I think there may be a way to forge an alliance, no matter what the king decides.”
“An alliance? Why?” She lowered her eyes, and a slight crease appeared between them. “Once he decides in Rivenloch’s favor, you’ll return to the Highlands. Won’t you?” Was that hope or regret he heard?
“Ah, but what if he rules in the mac Giric’s favor?”
“He won’t do that,” Hallie was quick to say, though there was a scintilla of doubt in the wavering of her voice. “It makes no sense. Strategically. Logistically. Practically.”
She began scrubbing a bit too fiercely at his forearm. He stayed her hand before she could scrub the skin away.
“Just bear with me a moment.”
She dropped the sponge in the water and sat back on her heels. “Fine.”
He picked up the sponge, rolling it idly between his palms. “’Twouldn’t be the first time a king made an impractical decision. To curry favor. Or gain land. Or just on a whim.”
He could see by the grim set of her mouth that Hallie knew the truth of that all too well. In the Highlands, king and country were a vague concept. Laws were made by and for those who lived far away. But for Hallie, dwelling closer to the seat of Scotland’s power, royal edicts were real. They had immediate consequences.
“Go on,” she said.
“What if neither of us has to lose?” he suggested. “What if we both claim Creagor?”
“Both?” She blinked.
He continued, gesturing with the sponge to emphasize his point. “What if we forge a different kind of alliance? One more bindin’ than that o’ the king. One made in the presence o’ God.”
She looked at him with skepticism. “A holy alliance?”
“Of a sort.” He racked his brain for a good example. “Consider Isabel. What if Isabel were betrothed to a mac Giric lad?”
“What mac Giric lad?” she demanded with a fierce scowl.
“I’m not sayin’ she is,” he clarified. “But what if she were?”
“Not Isabel. When my sister marries, ’twill be for love.”
“O’ course.” He smiled. The hardhearted warrior lass had a soft spot for her little sister. “Perhaps Abygail then or…”
“So you’re suggesting a marriage between our clans.”
He took a tenuous breath, hoping she wouldn’t reject the idea out of hand. “Aye.”
“To keep the peace.”
“Aye.”
She furrowed her brows and tapped thoughtfully at her lip.
She was silent so long, Colban began to fret she might reconsider.
“’Twouldn’t have to be Abygail,” he offered. “Maybe Gillian or—”
“My cousin.”
“What?”
“My cousin is of marriageable age now.”
Colban gulped. He hoped she wasn’t talking about one of the two hellions he’d tangled with on the field at Creagor. The hostages Morgan was holding even now in his bedchamber. Colban wouldn’t wish either of those wild wenches on any of his clansmen.
Hallie was beginning to think the Highlander might be on to something.
If by some chance Rivenloch didn’t win Creagor, if her cousin didn’t get the castle she’d been promised, Jenefer wasn’t the kind of lass to surrender with grace. In fact, she’d probably harass and harangue the mac Girics for the rest of her life.
But if she wed a mac Giric, it wouldn’t matter which clan the king favored to claim Creagor. Rivenloch would maintain a controlling piece of the land.
Naturally, as soon as that thought formed, several obstacles popped into her head.
First, her cousin Jenefer refused to be commanded by anyone. The fiery lass could hardly follow Hallie’s orders. There was no way she’d agree to an arranged marriage. Especially to a Highlander, whom she considered savage and inferior.
Second, Jenefer believed Creagor was hers by rights. She didn’t think a marriage was required to grant her dominion over the land. No matter what the king decreed.
Third, Jenefer was impossibly hotheaded. Even if she did agree to wed a mac Giric, the marriage probably wouldn’t last a sennight. The bride or the groom would be killed ere the honeymoon was over.
“Not Jenefer,” she decided.
“Ye mean the other one?” Colban asked. “The one who tried to kill me?”
She grimaced. Feiyan wasn’t always so bloodthirsty. But she was unpredictable, which made her seem untrustworthy. Whoever married her would spend half the time watching his back and the other half wondering where she was hiding.
Still, Feiyan would be more amenable to a political alliance. Her heart, as capricious and elusive as the lass herself, belonged to no one. If she ended up unhappy with the arrangement, she’d simply slip away with none the wiser.
Colban stared down at the water. His face was unexpectedly grim.
“Very well,” he said. “If ye give me your word she won’t try to murder me with one o’ those pointy toys o’ hers, then I suppose ’tis worth the sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice? What sacrifice?”
“I’ll take the lass to wife.”
The bottom dropped out of her heart. “What?”
He exhaled a long breath. “If it means peace between our clans, ’tis a sacrifice I’m willin’ to make.”
Suddenly, Hallie couldn’t draw air into her lungs. Just the thought of lithe and lovely Feiyan with her arms wrapped around Colban’s neck and her legs entwined with his made her feel ill.
She couldn’t allow it.
She wouldn’t allow it.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t wed Feiyan.”
“Why not?”
“She’s…she’s…I can’t promise she won’t try to kill you.” In a panic, she stooped to an outright lie. “You wouldn’t be the first man she killed in cold blood.”
He gulped. “Is that so?”
Even as the words left her lips, Hallie regretted them. Why the devil had she said that? Feiyan had done no such thing. She might be sneaky and vicious and underhanded. But she’d never even seriously injured a man who didn’t deserve it.
“Well,” Colban mumbled, “I suppose murderin’ the bridegroom might damage the alliance a bit.”
“Aye. So you see? ’Twould be an empty sacrifice.” Only half-relieved, she twisted her fingers in her lap. “On the other hand, why should it have to be your sacrifice?”
He shook his head. “Och, when it comes down to it, I couldn’t as
k anyone else to do it. To marry a foe? To wed out o’ duty and not fondness? ’Twould be cruel.”
Before this week, Hallie had given it little thought. After all, she was expected to wed out of duty and not fondness. It had never seemed cruel to her.
Until now.
Over the last few days, she’d sampled something more delicious than duty. More savory than responsibility. More nourishing than power.
She’d had a taste of affection. A wee taste, to be sure. But it had been sweet and warm and filling. And now the thought of marrying a man for whom she didn’t have those feelings left a bitter taste in her mouth.
And if Hallie—whose prize for sacrificing marital happiness would be the lairdship of all Rivenloch—felt the unfairness of that, she couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be Colban. He had naught to gain from a loveless union but the satisfaction that he’d done his master a noble service.
If only the union binding their clans weren’t loveless… If the bride and groom actually cared for each other…
She tucked the corner of her lip under her teeth as an idea began to form in her brain that was intrepid. Impulsive. Irresponsible. A reckless scheme with as many loose ends as a frayed rope. But one that was more satisfying than she cared to admit.
She could marry Colban.
The future Laird of Rivenloch could seal the alliance with the Champion of mac Giric.
The idea made her heart flutter. But she was certain her excitement was from finding the perfect solution to a problem. Nothing more.
After all, it was the sensible thing to do. They were already reasonably compatible. And they were both aligned as to their purpose, willing to sacrifice their own happiness for the good of their clan.
Their union could forge an unbreakable bond, enriching the power of Rivenloch, and creating a formidable force along the border.
The more she considered it, the more brilliant a solution it seemed. And the more right it felt.
All she had to do was convince the king of the wisdom of such a union.
Persuade her parents of the Highlander’s worth.
And make Colban agree to the terms.
As he sat stewing in the bath, Colban mentally ticked off the possibilities for a Rivenloch wife out of the limited choices he’d seen.
If not one of Hallie’s cousins, then who?
One of Isabel’s friends?
They were too young. No matter how long the betrothal, he’d never be able to bed one of them without feeling like he was bedding a child.
What about the blind seer?
Her infirmity didn’t bother him, though she was several years his senior. But what was it she’d predicted for Colban? Loneliness and heartbreak? Surely she’d not wed a man for whom she’d foretold such a bleak future.
He was reduced to Burunild, whom he supposed would be a godsend when it came to looking after his injuries. If he could overlook the fact she was ancient enough to be his grandmother.
Hallie would probably find excuses for all of them anyway. Her fierce cousins notwithstanding, she clearly didn’t wish to sacrifice any of her clanswomen to a baseborn Highlander whom she thought swived sheep.
He sighed, wondering what other eligible Rivenloch maidens might look past his humble beginnings and find him palatable.
He’d be far more palatable once he finished this bath, he supposed. He returned to scrubbing his ribs, working his way down his abdomen and lower.
Hallie offered him her hand. “I’ll do it.”
He raised his brows. Now she wished to help him with his bath? Now? When he was about to wash his ballocks? He didn’t think so.
“Nay, thank ye.” he said with a chuckle.
She blinked. “What do you mean, nay?”
“I can manage it from here.” The last thing he needed during these sensitive negotiations was to lose control and embarrass himself like a randy oaf.
She looked flummoxed. “You won’t consider it?”
He gave her a baffled frown. She seemed overly offended. “I’d…rather ye didn’t.”
“You feel naught for me then?” she said stiffly, dropping her offered hand in her lap.
“What?” He creased his brow in confusion. Had the naughty lass not stolen a glimpse of his nether regions? Did she not realize it was his feelings for her that had caused his agitated state?
She muttered, “Maybe, if you gave things time to grow…”
“Grow?” He was already full to bursting. “I hate to disappoint ye, but—”
“Then don’t,” she insisted. “Say you’ll agree.”
His mouth worked as he battled indecision. Till now, she’d treated him with civility and generosity. He didn’t wish to jeopardize their arrangement and ruin the truce between them. So rather than risking offending her further, he shook his head and handed her the dripping sponge.
“Och, fine,” he said in exasperation. “Do your worst. Just don’t blame me for what ensues. A man doesn’t always have reign o’er such things, ye know.”
When he glanced up, she was staring at the sponge as if in confusion. Her gaze flitted to the beast between his legs.
“Best hurry,” he said. “I don’t want the water to get cold.” If she thought he wasn’t “grown” now, he couldn’t imagine what she’d think when the chill shrunk him.
“Aye. Fine. If that’s what it takes…”
The look in her eyes was dazed yet determined as she studied his anatomy. She swallowed hard, as if she were planning an attack on a wild boar. When she rose up on her knees, lifting the sponge like a weapon, he realized she’d never done this before in her life.
“Hold on,” he said, catching her wrist before she could plunge it into the water. “Why do ye want to be doin’ this?”
“Like you said, ’twill bring peace to our clans.”
“Washin’ my cock will bring peace to our clans?” he blurted out.
“What? Nay! Who said anything about washing your bloody…?” she exclaimed, casting the sponge into the bath. “God’s eyes, Highlander! Will you take me as your wife or not?”
Chapter 25
Colban was rendered speechless. He tried to replay their conversation, unable to fathom where it had gone astray. But none of that mattered.
“My wife?” he finally choked out.
“Aye. What did you think I was offering?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
What mattered was Hallie was offering herself in marriage. The beautiful warrior lass wanted to wed him. Him. An orphan. A bastard. A Highlander with no coin or name.
And by her eyes, she was dead serious.
“Me?” he ventured. “Ye wish to wed me?”
“Aye, though I can see you’re not enthused about the idea.”
Not enthused? His heart was pounding like a swordsmith’s mallet. And beneath the water, he stood as proud as a claymore.
She continued. “You said you were willing to make a sacrifice for your clan. So am I. ’Twas never my lot to marry for love. But you and I, I think we have at least…an understanding. I think we could make a…a compatible marriage that would benefit both our clans.”
Colban couldn’t breathe. An understanding? Compatible? God’s blood! She was the most desirable woman he’d ever met. This was an offer beyond his wildest dreams. Never had he imagined himself worthy of her affections. Never had he expected she would settle for anything less than a laird.
She mistook his speechlessness for reluctance. “There will be time later to become better acquainted and…” She lowered her eyes and mumbled, “Nurture our affections.”
Hell, his body wanted to nurture their affections at once. Wedding the magnificent Valkyrie? Waking up to her each morn? Making love and bairns and memories with such a woman?
It seemed too good to be true. His heart soared at the prospect.
Yet it would be a blunder of negotiation to let her believe he could be so easily won. So instead of shouting out in triumph to the sky, he pensively rubbed hi
s chin.
“I think perhaps I could grow to care for ye, as long as…” He slipped her a sideways glance. “Ye don’t intend to slay me in my sleep like Feiyan, do ye?”
She smirked. “Nay.”
“Or kill me in a fiery rage like Jenefer?”
“If you like,” she quipped with dry humor, “we can write that into the marriage vows.”
Keeping a grim face, he nodded, pretending to consider her terms. “I’d also like apple coffyns every day.”
She wasn’t fooled for an instant by his ridiculous demand. “Every other day.”
He gave her a sly grin. “What about daily baths?”
She gave him a wry smile. “Don’t press your luck.”
He feigned a loud sigh of disappointment.
“So what say you?” she asked. “Are you willing to take me to wife? For the good of our clans?”
His smile faded as the import of what he was promising sank in. For him, it meant more than the good of the clan.
Once he gave his word, he would be her husband, not only in name, but in deed. He’d be required to honor his vows. To be faithful to Hallie. To protect her with his sword. To defend her with his life. To be her champion forevermore.
It was a weighty decision. One he was compelled to make after knowing his bride for less than a sennight.
But one he was confident he would not regret.
“Aye, m’lady,” he told her. “I would be honored to be your husband.”
“Good. ’Tis done then.” She offered her hand once again to seal the vow.
There was just one problem with Hallie’s very sensible, practical alliance between two “compatible” people who had “an understanding.”
He had no intention of letting her marry him for political gain.
He intended to ensure she married him for love.
He meant to prove he was The One. Convince her he was a suitable suitor. A devoted champion. A worthy husband. By the time they recited their vows, he would have Hallie of Rivenloch solidly embedded in his heart and eating out of his hand.
As if proving his point, he took the hand she offered, turned it over, and placed a tender kiss in her palm.
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