He couldn’t have been more wrong.
Not only was King Malcolm forcing Archie to wed against his will. He was being required to marry a woman who carried a sword. Rumor said Hallidis Cameliard of Rivenloch was as tall as a Viking berserker, kept wolves as pets, and had a reputation as a callous, cruel, coldhearted bitch. Nothing like the sweet, pure, compliant lovers Archie preferred.
He chewed his thumbnail as he paced his bedchamber, past the comely young initiate Geoffrey had secured for them this evening.
Though at eleven years of age, the lad was a bit older than Archie liked, he was suitable for their purposes.
Pale. Blond. Naked and pure as the day he was born. Freshly bathed, then slathered in wool grease for Archie’s pleasure, smelling like the innocent wee lamb he was.
The lad shivered despite the fire roaring on the hearth and stared at Archie with eyes as blue and wide as robin’s eggs.
Normally, Archie relished a quiver of trepidation in the lads they deflowered. But this damned edict from the king had completely ruined his mood and chilled his libido.
Tonight the lad’s terror was mildly annoying. After all, Archie’s fears were far more real and debilitating.
The lad was lucky. At the end of the night, if he’d performed well and could be trusted to hold his tongue, he might return to service them again. If not, Geoffrey would be merciful and dispatch him with painless efficiency.
But for Archie, the torture would be ongoing. For the rest of his life, he’d be trapped in a household where no one understood his needs. Pressured to perform sexually with someone he despised and feared in order to continue the Rivenloch line and please the king.
He suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. Rushing to the window, he cracked open the shutters to get a breath of fresh air. His vision blurred as he gazed in frustration at the stars taunting him from the black heavens.
He stamped a velvet-shod foot. “God’s hooks, Geoffrey!” he snarled toward the night sky. “’Tisn’t fair.”
Geoffrey was the only one who understood him. Who shared his hunger. Who catered to his special requirements. What would he do without him?
Coming up behind him, Geoffrey massaged the tension from Archie’s shoulders.
“We’ve always known this day might come,” he murmured.
Archie didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to believe that life would go on as it had for the last seven years. That his frequent explorations with Geoffrey, indulging their deepest, darkest fantasies together, would go on forever.
But the new king had destroyed those dreams. His royal parchment with its purple ribbon and blood-red seal, condemning Archie to a life of misery, seemed to smirk at him in mockery from the table beside the bed.
How he longed to cast the thing into the fire. To forget he’d ever read the horrifying words. To go on savoring this secret, fulfilling existence.
Archie’s face crumpled as he turned to his friend. “Oh, Geoffrey, how will I ever live without you?” he despaired, picking at the ties of Geoffrey’s brocade cotehardie. “Rivenloch is so far away.”
“We’ll find a way,” Geoffrey promised, cupping his cheek. “I promise. Even if ’tis only once a year—”
Archie gasped. “Once a year? ’Tisn’t nearly enough.”
Geoffrey tipped his head forward till their brows touched. “’Twill have to be enough.”
Archie managed to squeeze a tear from his eye. “I shall be miserable,” he mourned.
“As will I.” Then Geoffrey cleared his throat and lifted a brave chin. “But we shall make the most of it, be grateful for what we have.”
Archie nodded. But he didn’t feel grateful. Not at all.
The new whelp of a king who couldn’t even grow a proper beard had condemned him to a loveless marriage with one of the most ferocious and feral warrior maids in Scotland.
Archie had met Hallidis of Rivenloch once before, though he didn’t remember her well. She’d been a child then—pale, quiet, serious, cold. She and her cousins had snickered at him with the uncouth transparency of the young, mocking his reluctance to engage in what they termed sword play and what he perceived as dangerous bloodsport.
Now she was old enough to have earned a reputation for violence. And nothing could terrify him more than to be anchored to a woman with ice in her veins who wouldn’t hesitate to lop off his head at the slightest provocation.
“Come now,” Geoffrey urged, his eyes lowering to Archie’s trembling lips, his tongue flicking out as if he longed to taste them. “We can’t let a bit of bad news ruin our evening.”
Archie was distracted by a movement behind Geoffrey’s shoulder. The lad was stealing toward the door.
“Hey!”
Geoffrey turned his head to follow Archie’s stare. “Hey!”
The lad squeaked, opening the door and wriggling through it as slickly as a trout escaping a net.
Geoffrey started to bolt after the lad, but Archie grabbed his arm to halt him.
“Shite, let him go,” he said with a sigh. “He won’t say a word. And I’ve lost my appetite. He was a bit too ripe for me anyway.”
For an instant, rage simmered silently behind Geoffrey’s eyes. Apparently, Geoffrey hadn’t lost his appetite. And he’d probably gone to a great deal of trouble to secure the lad.
But he shuttered his anger and nodded his head. “As you wish.”
Geoffrey straightened, sweeping up the royal decree from the table. Then he slipped it inside Archie’s embroidered gambeson, beneath his leine.
“Be brave, Old Cock,” he said, a pet name that always made Archie smile, since only two years separated them.
But this time Archie’s smile was bleak as Geoffrey departed with a deep bow and an elegant flourish of farewell.
All the while, the king’s decree rested against Archie’s bare chest, burning an angry hole in his heart.
“You have to tell her today,” Isabel insisted, as she’d been insisting every morn for the last seven days.
Hallie sighed as she shivered into a fresh leine. She wasn’t about to tell anyone about her tryst with Colban. Especially her mother. Her mother was so confident about Hallie’s ability to put the clan before herself. How could Hallie disappoint her?
“Why would I do that, Isabel? ’Twould only upset everyone.”
Isabel pursed her lips as she struggled into her own leine, which was beginning to grow tight around her blossoming chest. “’Tisn’t just.”
“Life isn’t just.”
“You deserve to be happy, Hallie.”
Did she? Or was her happiness just the price of being the most powerful laird at the border?
“I will be,” she lied, rifling through her garments to find a suitable kirtle.
“Nay, you won’t.”
“I’ll learn to be, Isabel,” she amended. “I’m not the first person to have an arranged marriage, you know.”
“I know,” Isabel pouted.
“Besides, I’ll be in good company,” she said, giving Isabel a teasing pinch at her waist. “Jenefer and I will be able to commiserate about our miserable husbands.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Isabel said, drawing out a rose-colored kirtle for herself.
Hallie frowned, waiting for her to explain.
“I don’t think Jenefer is miserable at all,” Isabel said. “I think she’s in love with Morgan mac Giric.”
“You too?” Hallie scoffed. “’Tis what Feiyan said. In love with a Highlander? Jenefer? You are a dreamer.”
Isabel pulled out Hallie’s forest green kirtle, the one she said warmed up Hallie’s eyes. “Wear this one.”
Hallie shrugged. She didn’t much care which one she wore. The ladies of Rivenloch were visiting Creagor today to deliver word of Jenefer’s arranged marriage. Hallie should probably wear chain mail, in the event Jenefer reacted badly to the news.
“Let me plait your hair,” Isabel offered. “I have a new braid I want to try.”
Hallie
frowned. Isabel’s transparency was annoying. She knew who they’d see at Creagor today. Isable wanted to make Hallie look beautiful for Colban an Curaidh. The Champion. The One.
Rather than argue with Isabel, she shrugged. “Fine. But make haste. We’re supposed to leave after we break our fast.”
Hallie hated to admit it, but the thought of seeing Colban again made her heart flutter.
Part of her longed to see him. These last seven days had felt like an eternity. Visions of his sparkling eyes, his heart-melting grin, and his breathtaking body intruded upon her day and night, invading her thoughts and haunting her dreams.
Part of her feared to see him. Though it would be a blessing in some ways, she wondered if her absence had changed his feelings. Perhaps now that he’d returned to the bosom of his clan, he saw things more clearly. Perhaps his desire and affection for her had waned.
Not that any of it mattered. Her future was set on its course. Fate would not be waylaid.
Still, when they arrived at Creagor several hours later, fate had stationed Colban at the palisade gates. And one glance from him rocked the foundations of her world, making Hallie desperate to rearrange her stars and change her destiny.
Colban’s reaction was well worth Isabel’s special attention to her appearance. His jaw went slack. His nostrils flared. His gaze raced over her every contour, hesitating for an instant at her eyes.
The brief connection hit her like a bolt of lightning. Bright with energizing love. Hot with electric desire. Distance had increased the power of their attraction. Their love had not diminished. Not at all. It had grown to striking proportions. And proximity had made it erupt in a jolt of current.
Hallie caught her breath at the force of his gaze. She lowered her eyes before they could reveal the equally intense hunger burning there.
Isabel, however, had no compunctions about making her affections known.
“Colban!” the lass cried, breaking away at a run toward the gates and waving up at him. “How I’ve missed you!” Then she added cheekily, “How we’ve all missed you!”
If her mother thought it strange that Isabel would show affection toward the Highlander they’d held hostage, she didn’t say a word. She was likely distracted by weightier matters ahead.
“May we enter?” Deirdre asked pointedly.
“Och!” Colban shook his head at his clumsy delay. “Aye.”
He leaped down and opened the gates for them. As they filed past, Hallie focused her eyes on the path ahead. Still, she felt a heady thrill as she passed Colban, glimpsing his chest rise with a breath. She was suddenly glad she’d let Isabel dab her with vanilla and orange perfume.
“Your laird?” Deirdre prompted.
“O’ course,” Colban said, awkwardly closing the gates behind them. He beckoned a second guard patrolling the wall. “Stand watch, will ye?” Then he moved to the fore of the group. “This way, if ye please.”
He led them across last week’s battlefield, though little remained to mark the event. Rain had washed away the blood of war. The only scars left were muddy gouges in the grassy slope. The battering ram the English had abandoned was being butchered for wood near the castle wall. The doors to the courtyard had already been restored by carpenters.
Isabel skipped up beside Colban. “Well? Have they fallen in love?”
Hallie frowned. Isabel was badly in need of a bridle.
“Who?” he asked.
“Your laird and my cousin.”
“Isabel!” Deirdre scolded. “Another word, and I’ll leave you at the gates.”
Isabel sighed and fell back beside Hallie, whispering, “I’ll wager they have. I always know these things.”
Hallie let her eyes drift down the length of the tall, handsome champion striding before her—remembering the feel of his broad shoulders, his scarred back, his firm arse. She wished Isabel were right about knowing things. She wished Colban an Curaidh could be The One.
When they entered the courtyard, a maidservant showed alarm at the unannounced arrival of such esteemed guests. She whispered something to Colban.
“It seems Morgan has not yet arisen,” he said.
“What?” Helena burst out. “’Tis mid-morn. Is your laird a layabed? I won’t have my daughter shackled to a—”
Miriel silenced her with an elbow to the ribs.
“Perfect,” Deirdre intervened. “Don’t wake him. We’d like to see the babe first.”
“The babe?” Colban asked in surprise. “Ye mean Morgan’s bairn?”
“Aye,” she replied. “Take us to the nursery.”
Puzzled at first, Hallie quickly recognized her mother’s genius.
Assuring the match between Morgan and Jenefer required the approval and support of Jenefer’s mother. Deirdre knew that once Helena held her future grandson in her arms, there would be no taking him away.
“Aye, let’s see the babe,” Helena agreed. Already she was eager to see her grandchild, even if his father was a layabed.
Along the way, Isabel chattered endlessly about Colban. Praising his patience with Ian, his kinship with Brand, and his tolerance for Gellir. Applauding his honorable chivalry towards her and her friends. Exclaiming over his prowess with the claymore as he singlehandedly fought the knights of Rivenloch to save Hallie.
By the time they reached the nursery, even her stoic mother had to raise an impressed brow at this paragon of virtue who had escorted them there. Colban, blushing to his ears, muttered an excuse and left them at the door. Hallie resisted the urge to throttle her little sister.
The babe seemed healthy and happy, for all the poor creature had endured in the last fortnight. The nurse, Bethac, said he was called Miles. Since the wet nurse had just fed him, she let the ladies pass him around. They cooed over the babe, who spent most of the time kicking his legs and sucking his fist.
When it was Hallie’s turn, she hesitated. She’d never particularly cared for babes. But as soon as Miles snuggled in her arms and grinned up at her with toothless joy, her heart melted. Jenefer might not have fallen in love with the Highland laird as Isabel had predicted. But how could her cousin walk away from this adorable babe?
Sharp regret twisted her heart then as she felt Miles’s tiny fist coil around her finger. She thought about the beautiful babes she and Colban might have made.
Gulping back painful hopes, she was handing the babe back to her mother when voices arose from the chamber next door.
They came from Morgan’s bedchamber. And though the sound was muffled, those were definitely Jenefer’s angry tones filtering through the wall. Without compunction, Isabel rushed to the window, throwing open the shutters.
Everyone was notably appalled at the idea of eavesdropping.
But nobody did anything about it.
In the end, Isabel’s hunch proved correct. When the couple’s quarrel resolved into a proposal of marriage, they all cheered and clapped at the resolution.
Hallie tried to be pleased about the outcome. At least one of them would be happily married, she reasoned. And yet she couldn’t help but be bitter about the inequity of it.
Of course, she was pleased for her cousin. Jenefer had gotten the land she wanted. She’d won the husband she desired. And to watch her with Miles, she’d even gotten a babe she loved as her own. Life was going to have a happy ending for her.
And it wasn’t as if Hallie didn’t have something to gain. Her cousin’s strategic alliance would strengthen their collective power along the border.
But watching Jenefer glow with affection over her adopted son, Hallie was bitten by a green demon of envy. Her heart ached as Morgan gazed down at Jenefer in awe and her cousin returned his stare with warmth and love and desire. Things Hallie would never have.
The rest of the day was long. Filled with wedding plans. And dreams for the future. Cooing over the babe’s antics. Swapping stories with the servants. Discussing changes to the keep.
Hallie floated through it all with a cool, stiff smile that bel
ied the torment in her heart.
Jenefer still didn’t know about Hallie’s role in the bargain, about her arranged marriage to Archibald Scott. She hadn’t bothered to actually read the king’s decree. And no one had bothered to tell her.
She’d find out eventually, of course. But Hallie wouldn’t dampen her cousin’s spirits on this special day by bringing up the cost she personally was paying for Jenefer’s prize.
Colban made himself scarce the rest of the day, which was a blessing. Seeing him would have strained Hallie’s efforts at appearing glad for the happy couple.
Indeed, she saw him only once more, as they departed through the palisade gates in the afternoon. He hopped down to open the gates, giving each woman a nod of farewell as they passed.
In front of her, impulsive Isabel stole a hug from him.
Startled, Colban awkwardly patted her back.
“Isabel!” Hallie hissed, wary of what their mother would think of her questionable behavior.
Isabel skipped off. Then it was just the two of them.
Their eyes met only briefly. But in that exchange, a universe of emotions orbited through her mind. Longing. Sorrow. Desire. Despair. Adoration. Melancholy. Love.
She loved him.
And she would never stop loving him.
A week apart had not diminished her feelings.
A month apart, a year apart, a lifetime apart would not make her love him less.
Her destiny was written. She would be wed to another. But her heart would always belong to Colban.
Chapter 33
Colban’s possessions were packed. He stashed the heavy satchel at the foot of his bed, along with his claymore, his targe, his helm, and his chain mail.
Though he’d continued to serve as Morgan’s right hand man at Creagor for the last five days—helping him make wedding preparations, hiring a priest and musicians, sourcing victuals for the feast—he didn’t intend to stay a moment longer than was necessary.
He didn’t even want to watch the ceremony, to be frank. But he’d promised to linger long enough to stand beside Morgan as he made Jenefer his bride.
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