Bride of Ice

by Glynnis Campbell

  At a snail’s pace, Colban swung his head toward her to find the source of the attack.

  Hallie returned his fierce glare with a grim gaze of her own, before her attention was drawn again to Archie.

  Archie took one staggering step, and his heel slid sideways on the grease-slickened floor. At that moment, he lost his balance. And his quarry.

  Ian dropped onto his hands and knees at the edge of the planks. But before he could dodge away, Archie, trying to regain his footing, flung out his arm, knocking the lad off the end of the platform.

  Hallie gaped in disbelief. She surged forward, battling her way toward Ian. But it felt like she was running through thick honey.

  Despite her best efforts, she still didn’t get there before Colban. By the time she fought her way past Archie to peer into the water, Colban was diving past her into the icy depths.

  Chapter 37

  Archie had never been stabbed before. He stared down at the leather-wrapped haft protruding from his leg in disbelief. Watched the blood oozing onto his fine velvet trews with dismay.

  The pain was incredible. Moving was unthinkable.

  And yet he knew he had to get away. Flee before either of the two emerged from the water.

  He expected the lad would die, either from the cold or drowning. He was small and weak.

  But his coldhearted wife likely thrived in icy water. And the claymore-toting warrior looked like the sort who would brave the frozen north to seek revenge.

  There was nothing left for Archie here now. If either of them survived, Archie’s sins would come to light. And he’d probably be strung up by his ballocks in the courtyard of Rivenloch.

  He had to escape. Now.

  He felt lightheaded, and his breathing was fast and shallow. He’d pass out soon if he didn’t remove the dagger, which grated against the bone of his thigh every time he shifted his weight.

  So when he heard the splash behind him of someone surfacing, he gritted his teeth and, using both hands, pulled the blade free of his leg.

  Sobbing in anguish, he struggled to keep from fainting, dropped the dagger, and hobbled forward.

  Each step was torture. Blood pulsed from the wound with every beat of his heart. But somehow he managed to limp through the crannog, across the walkway, and off into the safety of the woods.

  Colban never felt the cold. Pumped full of fear, driven by desperation, he dove into the loch with only one thought. Saving Ian.

  Thrice he came to the surface emptyhanded. Each time he lost a measure of hope. But the fourth time he emerged, he heard Ian’s thin cry.

  The clever lad had swum to one of the crannog supports and was clinging to the timber with blue fingers.

  Colban lunged toward him. But as he neared, Ian screamed, “Hallie!”

  Colban frowned.

  “Where’s Hallie?” Ian cried at him.

  It was then Colban suddenly felt the ice in his veins.

  He glanced up at the platform. Where was Hallie? Had Archie taken her? Had he hurt her? Or worse?

  A soft splash sounded behind him, and he turned in the water to see the Valkyrie surfacing. The impetuous lass must have dived into the loch after him.

  But as relieved as he was to locate her, he glimpsed a Hallie he’d never seen before. Her eyes were bleak with despair. Her hair hung in wet threads over a face as pale as snow. Her lips were blue and trembling. Never had he seen a face so lost and full of dread. Never had he longed so fiercely to remove her pain.

  “Hallie,” Colban breathed. “He’s fine. Ian’s fine.”

  “I’m here, Hallie!” the lad cried out.

  She clapped a hand to her mouth in relief, and tears spilled from her eyes. She didn’t bother to hide them as she swam toward her little brother.

  Colban helped lift them back onto the platform, first Ian, then Hallie. Finally, he pulled himself up. Only when they were all safe inside the shelter of the crannog did he notice the killing cold.

  “Here,” he said, handing them the wool cloaks Ian and Archie had brought. “If ye change out o’ your wet clothing, these should keep ye warm for the journey home.”

  “What about you?” Hallie asked, shuddering violently.

  “Wh-where’s Archie?” Ian asked with a shiver, eyeing the cloak his friend had left behind. “Wh-wh-what did you d-do to him?”

  The look Colban exchanged with Hallie was brief, but it spoke volumes.

  Ian likely didn’t understand what had happened. As far as he was concerned, his sister had thrown a dagger at Archie, who was only trying to protect him from Colban.

  He prayed the lad had not been exposed to Archie’s dark intentions. Prayed he’d been spared the monster’s perversions.

  But he could tell Hallie had recognized the nature of his sin. Her shaking might well be rage.

  Their unspoken agreement then—the message Colban and Hallie exchanged in the course of a glance—was that they wouldn’t reveal Archie’s villainy to Ian. Not only was it too twisted for the innocent lad to comprehend. He wouldn’t believe them. Wouldn’t believe such evil could exist in a man, let alone the man he’d trusted and called his friend.

  “I’ll…go look for him,” Colban said, surreptitiously tucking Hallie’s bloodied dagger into his belt. There was no need to leave evidence behind.

  “It should be me,” Hallie countered, urgency in her eyes. “He’s my husband.”

  That was exactly why it should not be Hallie. He couldn’t expect her to kill her own husband.

  “Nay,” he said. “Ye’re shiverin’ like a lamb. I’ve got thick Highland blood. Ye just keep Ian warm, get him to safety.”

  He could see she wanted to argue, but she kept quiet for Ian’s sake.

  But when Colban swept up his claymore and buckled it on, the lad frowned in concern. “You w-won’t hurt him, will you? He was only trying to k-keep me safe.”

  Meanwhile, Hallie’s fierce and frigid gaze sent Colban an entirely different message. Not only did she want Colban to hurt him. She wanted him to hunt down the demon and send him back to hell.

  Colban deflected Ian’s question. “Don’t worry, Ian. I’ll find him. He was injured. He can’t have gone far.”

  Though his words reassured Ian, for Hallie, they held the promise of retribution. He meant to keep that unspoken vow.

  “Go on now,” he said to Ian. “Get out o’ your wet things before they… What was it? Crystallize.” He winked at Ian.

  Ian’s eyes lit up at the fact that Colban remembered one of the scientific words he’d taught him.

  But the moment of camaraderie was fleeting. After all, the last time Colban had seen Ian, he’d abandoned the lad without a word of farewell. Now he’d threatened the man Ian called friend. He hadn’t exactly proved himself worthy of the lad’s trust or affection.

  Colban let his gaze linger on the two siblings for a moment. Long enough to preserve their faces in his heart.

  Ian—safe and whole, with his innocence, God willing, preserved.

  Hallie—grateful yet melancholy. As if she knew. As if she realized he was not coming back.

  Then he set aside his regrets and turned his thoughts to vengeance as he followed the trail of blood into the forest.

  Archie felt almost gleeful.

  It might be delirium. But in spite of the throbbing in his thigh, in spite of the dreadful stains of blood and wool grease on his expensive trews that no amount of scrubbing was going to erase, he felt as happy as a lamb.

  He’d escaped.

  Never before had he attempted such a bold and daring act.

  Geoffrey would be so impressed when Archie showed up at his door—the Old Cock, sporting a fresh pair of velvet trews, his newly won freedom, and a dashing scar on his thigh.

  He lifted a trembling hand to wipe away the sweat that kept dripping into his eyes. He’d left his cloak behind, and the mist was thick among the trees. But he strangely didn’t feel the cold. Not at all.

  Perhaps it was the glow of success war
ming him.

  Once, he tripped over a root on the path and fell hard onto his hands and knees. A sharp burst of pain shot through his thigh, and his vision grew foggy. He moaned, incapacitated, fighting the strong desire to surrender to a sudden weariness and agony. To lie down on the path and rest a while.

  But a vision of his fierce, cold-eyed wife—whom he was convinced might miraculously rise from the loch in pursuit, tracking him to the ends of the earth—compelled him onward.

  Ignoring the ache in his leg and the stinging in his palms, he limped along at a feverish pace and tried to focus on his next course of action.

  Stirling was miles away. He’d have to use a false name. Find lodgings. Buy a new pair of trews. Possibly from a ragpicker, since he was in a hurry. He shuddered at the thought. Perhaps he could have trews fashioned while he rested for a few days to let his leg heal. Fortunately, he had enough coin on his person to hide for a while before he fled to safety.

  He grinned in triumph, though the pain that began to permeate his good mood made it feel more like a grimace in his tight face.

  He was going to be all right. Things were going to work out. Before long, he’d be sharing Geoffrey’s bed again, enjoying sweet young lads to his heart’s content.

  Those were his happy thoughts when he glimpsed the first pair of yellow eyes, gleaming at him from the shadows beyond the mist.

  Colban had no trouble tracking Archibald. The man hadn’t taken the time to bind his wound. Drops of his blood marked the trail.

  There was no reason to hurry. Wounded in the thigh like that, Archie wouldn’t be able to go on much longer. If his torn muscles didn’t give out, he’d faint from loss of blood. And things would work out better for Colban if the man was both unconscious and as far away from Rivenloch as possible.

  Colban meant to finish him. It was what Hallie wanted. They both knew Archibald’s vile secrets. The man was a rabid beast with an unspeakable disease. He needed to be put down.

  To the rest of the clan, however, Archibald Scott was Hallie’s husband, chosen by the king. Once his body was discovered, Colban would become the Highland bastard who’d murdered him.

  As he stole through the gray mist of the woods, Colban’s sodden clothing chilled him, and he shuddered with the cold. But his flesh was no colder than his blood as he envisioned what kind of death was fitting for a man who raped children.

  A sudden piercing screech in the distance stopped him in his tracks. A shiver coursed up his spine.

  Colban didn’t believe in wicked spirits. But if they did exist, it would doubtless be in a place like this, where the mist curled along the forest floor and the dark pines loomed overhead like towering giants.

  His heart pounded as the eerie sound faded.

  After a moment, he cautiously continued.

  The second and third shrieks were definitely human. The raw terror Colban heard in them made his bones quiver.

  He unbuckled his sword belt and unsheathed his sword. He blew out a hard breath to expel his fear. Then, clenching his jaw, he held the claymore aloft in both hands, stealthily advancing toward the source of the sound.

  The screams after that were bloodcurdling and full of agony, driving him to abandon caution and hurtle down the path.

  What he saw made him skid to a horrified stop on the leaves. Lying on the path, several yards ahead of him, was Archibald Scott. Or what was left of him.

  Surrounding him were five growling wolves. Their maws dripped with blood. Archie, barely alive, had been mauled by the beasts. His throat was bitten. His arms were shredded. His belly was slashed. His blood was everywhere.

  On instinct, Colban immediately rushed forward, bellowing and swinging his claymore to frighten the beasts away.

  The wolves snarled and snapped, but they slunk off into the trees.

  As they disappeared into the mist, Colban looked down at the mewling villain and wondered if he should just let the wolves have the monster. After what he’d done, Archibald Scott deserved a brutal and lingering death.

  “Please,” Archibald rasped out through his damaged throat, lifting one shaky hand. “Don’t let them have me.”

  Colban might not let the wolves finish Archibald. But if the fool thought Colban would save him, he was mistaken. The man deserved to die. And considering the extent of his injuries, Archibald was beyond saving.

  “I’ll grant ye mercy on one condition.” Colban hunkered down beside him. “Ye tell me the truth.” He unsheathed Hallie’s dagger. “Did ye touch Ian?”

  “Nay,” he said, coughing up blood. “Nay.”

  “Ye swear it? Not once?”

  “Nay.”

  Colban nodded in relief. At least Ian had been spared. He hated to think of all the other lads who had suffered at this brute’s hands.

  Then Archibald’s eyes got a glassy, faraway look, and his lip curved up in a smile that bared his bloody teeth. “But ’twould have been sweet, aye?”

  Disgust and rage gave Colban the strength to finish the monster. One carefully placed thrust through Archibald’s throat, and the villain’s life gurgled out quickly on the path.

  For his own safety, Colban had to begin counting the moments. He had blood on his hands. Everyone had witnessed his agitation when he’d arrived at Rivenloch, his insistence on finding Archibald. Hallie and Ian had seen his determination when he’d gone after the wounded man. All evidence proved Colban was the killer.

  But he couldn’t just leave the body to the wolves.

  He didn’t want Hallie to see her husband like this.

  And he shuddered to think Ian might stumble upon Archibald’s remains. It would be better if the lad thought Archibald had simply run away.

  There was only one thing he must do, even if it took up precious time.

  Half an hour later, sweat dripped onto his cheek as he wiped a grimy forearm across his brow. The wolves hadn’t returned. And using his sheathed sword as a makeshift spade, he’d managed to gouge a hole in the forest floor, deep enough to bury Archie’s remains. He covered the body with earth and leaves, disguising the grave. Then he rocked a small boulder over the remains to keep the wolves from digging them up.

  He stabbed the dagger into the ground beside the boulder as a sign for Hallie, so she would know he’d kept his vow. Then he dusted off his hands and came to his feet.

  He would leave now and never return. Colban an Curaidh would be no more. He’d change his name, go someplace far away. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d started over, been given a second chance. This time, however, the new beginning wrenched bitterly at his heart.

  If only things had worked out differently, Colban could have been the one wedded to Hallidis Cameliard of Rivenloch. He could have been the one playfully sparring with Brand and Gellir, marveling over Ian’s inventions, charming Isabel. He could have been The One.

  With a self-indulgent sigh, he began kicking dirt and leaves over the trail to cover the blood.

  Then, in the distance, he heard a sound. Someone was coming.

  Cursing his luck and snatching up his claymore, he fled down the path, leaving behind his name. His destiny. And the woman he would love forever.

  Knowing what she knew now about Archibald Scott, Hallie didn’t waste a moment. Once Ian was safely deposited beside a warm hearth at Rivenloch with plenty of maidservants to fuss over him, she slipped out in pursuit of the monster.

  If Colban didn’t find Archie, she’d scour the woods until she did. She wouldn’t suffer the fiend to live.

  Along the way, she tormented herself with self-doubt.

  How could she have been so blind? So oblivious?

  How could she have missed what was going on in her own household? Right under her nose?

  And how would she ever manage to protect her clan if she couldn’t even shield her little brother?

  The signs of Archie’s debauchery had been there in front of her all along. The way he preferred the dark. And silence. And pleasuring himself. The way he shriveled in rev
ulsion when she touched him.

  Then there was his curious affinity for Ian. He’d been spending more and more time with the lad. Alone.

  Her stomach suddenly heaved. She stopped on the path, waiting for the nausea to pass. She wasn’t sure what was making her more queasy. The sickening idea of what Archie might have done to Ian. Or the growing evidence, afflicting her more acutely each day, that she was with child.

  She had to admit, having her husband dead would solve her problems where the babe was concerned. With no one alive to know otherwise, the clan would accept that the child was Archie’s.

  As she hung her head down, staring at her boots and waiting to recover, an improper thought slithered tantalizingly at the back of her brain.

  Once Archie was gone, what was to stop Colban from marrying her?

  For a brief, glimmering moment, the idea sent a thrill of hope through her. To be wed to the father of her babe felt like providence.

  But she quickly locked that idea away. She dared not let false hope consume her. She’d done that before.

  Besides, too much time had passed. Surely Colban had found another lass by now. And Hallie had to at least feign to be stricken over Archie’s death.

  Meanwhile, she meant to make certain he was dead, to ensure the devil would never exercise his vices again.

  Her stomach settled, and she continued down the path, wondering if Colban had found Archie or if she’d need to kill him herself. It wouldn’t be a pleasant task, but after what he’d done to Ian, it wouldn’t be difficult.

  She focused on the leaf mulch, following the trail of blood droplets. They were growing closer together, indicating he had either slowed his pace or was losing blood at a faster rate. But when she entered the place where the path snaked through a stand of oaks, the blood trail suddenly disappeared.

  She flinched in surprise, not by what she saw, but by what she didn’t see. Where was he? Where was Archie?

  She narrowed her eyes at something else leading off into the trees. Bloody tracks. The paw prints of wolves.