But there was more to it than that.
A part of her wanted to show him who she was. To let him see her—not struggling to run a household or squabbling with her siblings or dragging sheep out of the muck—but at her best, with a sword in her hand and a cold gleam in her eye.
Why she should care what he thought, she didn’t know.
After all, if things went well for Rivenloch, he’d hie to the Highlands within a sennight, and she’d never see him again.
And even if they went badly, if mac Giric won Creagor, the silent grudge between the clans would make it unlikely their paths would cross.
So what was this curious connection she felt with Colban an Curaidh? Was it because he was her hostage? Was it because they shared a sense of unflinching loyalty? Or the fact they found humor in the same things? Was it admiration for his warrior’s body? Appreciation for his honor? Respect for his fighting spirit?
Was he The One?
That sudden thought popping into her head so disturbed her she almost missed the slash Gellir leveled at her thigh. She managed to block it with her shield. But the impact made her stagger in retreat. She landed with a humiliating plop on her hindquarters.
Reflexively, she cast a glance toward the window to see if Colban had seen her. And that filled her with even more self-disgust.
Why should she care what he thought? He was nobody. He was a Highland foe. A hostage. An orphan. A bastard. He certainly wasn’t The One. No matter what Isabel said.
Gellir held out a hand to her. But even before he pulled her to her feet, a new responsibility reared its head. The laundress came scurrying across the courtyard toward Hallie with a dispute that needed settling.
It was hours before Hallie finally found time to address the platter of supper left in her bedchamber.
Isabel was already asleep in their bed.
The bacon coffyn was cold. The pottage had hardened into a paste. But the ale was drinkable. And the sweet custard was delicious. She’d slurped up the last of it when she realized it was drenched in rosemary-studded honey.
“Isabel,” she said under her breath.
Her little sister was incorrigible.
She was also awake.
She smiled sleepily. “You’ll thank me later, Hallie. You’ll see.”
Hallie didn’t believe in love potions. She kept telling herself that, all the way to the armory.
Yet this morn, she was troubled by her unsettling fascination with the Highlander. Thoughts of Colban an Curaidh had consumed her all night. She’d gone to bed, imagining his twinkling eyes. She’d dreamt of his broad shoulders and impressive stature. Her first waking thought had been of his snow-melting smile.
The best way to purge distractions, she’d found, was to engage in swordplay. Nothing required such undivided attention. When one’s welfare was at risk—when a stray thought could mean a painful slash, or the loss of a finger, or worse—it was easy to set aside everything but the immediate threat.
Still, as she prepared for combat in the hour before dawn, something was definitely wreaking havoc with her. And she wasn’t sure battle was the answer.
Donning her padded cotun, her fingers fumbled with the buckles.
When she snatched her shield from the wall, it slipped out of her grasp and almost rolled away.
As she reached to claim her sword, her gaze was drawn to the Highlander’s claymore hanging above it. Distracted, she paused.
The claymore, like the Highlander himself, was formidable. Long and powerful and heavy, its design and heft were magnificent. Like the man, it also had obvious flaws. But it had been well-loved, well cared for.
Nicks marred the steel. But the blade was sharpened to a keen edge.
The maker’s marks on the crossguard were long worn away. But the metal was polished to a high sheen.
Pressed into the weathered leather hilt were the impressions of Colban’s hands, each finger delineated by a dark indentation.
Blood surged to Hallie’s face. She remembered all too well the touch of those warm fingers on hers.
Her thoughts were abruptly scattered as she heard the Rivenloch knights coming to the armory, their raucous laughter echoing along the passage.
As they arrived, she snatched the sword from the wall and made a grab for her helm, intending to shove it down over her head to hide her blush. But in her haste, she knocked the helm to the floor. It clanged loudly enough to turn all their heads.
“Hallie. You all right?” one of them asked. “You’re up early.”
Mortified, she swept up her shield and tossed her braid over her shoulder with a cool confidence she didn’t feel. “Just restless. Eager to leave one of you idle sluggards in the dust.”
They laughed at that.
One of the knights nodded toward her weapon. “Are you going to try the claymore then?”
The claymore? In that instant, she suddenly noted the weight of the sword in her grip. The width of the crossguard. The indentations in the hilt from fingers larger than hers.
Shite. Somehow she’d whipped the wrong sword off the wall.
Another knight elbowed the first. “Don’t be ridiculous. ’Tis nigh as tall as she is.”
“Aye,” a third agreed, “and far too heavy for a lass.”
She wasn’t fooled by their taunts for an instant. They knew she couldn’t resist proving them wrong. She might have made a mistake, seizing the Highlander’s sword. But she wasn’t about to back down now. She gave them a grim smile.
“If that wee mouse of a Highlander can handle it,” she boasted, “then ’twill be like a child’s dagger in my hands.”
The knights guffawed at her cocky claim.
“I’ll take that challenge,” one of them called out as he thrust his arms into his cotun.
“Me as well,” another added, plucking his sword from the wall.
“I wager we’d all like to take a crack against a Highland claymore,” a third said.
The rest cheered in agreement.
“Fine,” she said, wondering if her arm would hold out. Even carrying the thing to march Colban through the woods had tired her shoulder. A claymore was a two-handed weapon, heavy and slow. Hallie was accustomed to fighting with speed, not force.
“I’ll meet you on the field,” she said, intending to take a few practice swings before she engaged with an opponent.
“The field?” one of the knights scoffed. “I say we show our Highland hostage what Rivenloch knights are made of, right, lads? Let’s spar beneath the prisoner’s window.”
Hallie’s brows collided. She’d come to the armory to forget about Colban an Curaidh, not to taunt him.
But already the men were urging her on, their eyes full of eager fire.
She could hardly deny them. Having an enemy to intimidate fueled the knights, spurring them on to fiercer battle. Besides, what would she say? That she didn’t want to spar in front of Colban because the idea made her heart flutter?
“Very well,” she conceded drily, arching her brow to add, “but afterward, you’ll pick up your own lopped-off limbs from the courtyard.”
The men roared with laughter at that.
Despite her levity, Hallie had serious reservations about her decision. After all, what message would that send to Colban?
If she fought well with his weapon, defeating her own men, it would prove the superiority of the Highland claymore over the Lowland longsword.
If she fought poorly, it would mean she didn’t deserve her reputation as a fearsome warrior lass, a dangerous foe, an enemy to be feared.
Under the circumstances, Hallie couldn’t help but think she was making a tactical error.
Something had stirred Colban from sleep.
He groaned. His head was still foggy with dreams. Rubbing at one eye and stumbling from the bed in naught but his braies, he made his groggy way toward the garderobe.
As he passed the window, the sound of steel on steel made him frown.
Who was crossing swor
ds at this ungodly hour?
Blinking his eyes to try to clear the cobwebs, he opened the shutters and peered out into the dim light before dawn.
On the ground below, he saw the swirl of Hallie’s tabard.
His eyes widened.
The lass was confronting a pair of giants. Defending herself with his claymore—a two-handed blade that was far too heavy for her. She fell back as the bloody savages attacked her on two fronts.
Then his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.
Beyond the two brutes, out of the thick morning mist, emerged an entire army of huge, blade-wielding knights.
The castle was under siege.
And Hallie was out there alone.
Colban didn’t think. Or blink. Or hesitate.
He stepped up onto the ledge and leaped from the window into the fray with a bellow of fierce challenge.
The drop was longer than he expected. The landing made his bones shudder. But he barely felt the impact. His sole focus was getting Hallie out of danger. He could deal with his own injuries later.
The two giants stood frozen with shock. In that instant, he tore his claymore from Hallie’s hands and set her behind him.
“Go!” he commanded.
There was no time to see if she’d obeyed.
Colban clenched his fists around the familiar weapon.
He’d never survive. He knew that. He had no targe, no cotun, no chain mail. Hell, he wasn’t even wearing his boots. But maybe he could buy Hallie time to escape.
He blew out a bracing breath. Set his jaw. Then turned to face the pair of towering foes and the massive army behind them.
Chapter 16
Hallie was too stunned to move.
In one moment she’d been playfully sparring with two of her knights.
In the next, like a dark, avenging angel, wearing naught but his braies, the reckless Highlander had swooped down out of nowhere. He’d reclaimed his weapon from her. Shoved her away like a bothersome pup. And was now taking over her fight.
How dared he?
How had he?
The drop from the window had to be ten yards. Only a fool would attempt it.
Yet here he was. He’d landed on his feet. By some miracle, he seemed uninjured. But judging by the fierce look in his eye, he intended to inflict some injuries of his own.
“Come on!” he shouted in invitation, brandishing his claymore.
The two knights accepted his challenge. They charged at him with their swords flashing.
Twisting his shoulders with violent force, Colban blocked the first blade with his own. The second he caught at the hilt, sending it sailing across the courtyard. Then, returning with a hard downward chop at the first sword, he broke the blade in half.
Hallie’s mouth dropped open.
Having effectively disarmed both knights in the blink of an eye, the Highlander cast a quick glance over his shoulder.
“Go, Hallie! Run! I’ll hold them off!”
Still reeling at how quickly he’d dispatched her knights, she whipped the helm off her head.
Hold them off? What the bloody hell did that mean?
The Rivenloch knights seemed just as mystified.
But when Colban charged forward—his brows lowered in grim determination and his claymore raised in challenge—there was naught they could do but respond.
The Rivenloch knights took up their weapons. And Hallie watched, slack-jawed, as the half-naked Highlander swiftly disarmed three more of them.
One sword he wrenched away by brute force with his left hand.
One he destroyed with a powerful hack of his claymore.
And one he removed with a sweep of his blade that stripped the man’s gauntlet off as well, sending the sword flying in its grip.
After that, all chaos broke loose.
Like a roiling sea, the Rivenloch knights surged forward in waves. Their chain mail shivered. Their sabatons pounded the sod. Their swords glinted with the cold dawn’s light. Sparks and curses and fists flew.
Hallie’s heart pounded as awe and dread flooded her veins in equal measure.
Did the brazen hostage think he could take on the whole fighting force of Rivenloch? Surely he realized a company of armored knights could cut his unprotected body into minced meat.
Yet he battled like a raging beast. Lunging and slashing at them with the ferocity of a cornered boar. Desperate. Powerful. Fearless.
Was he mad? Was this some reckless and misguided attempt to escape? Did he honestly believe he could defeat her entire army?
Or was it a mission of suicide? Did he intend to sacrifice himself as a pawn to destroy her leverage against his laird?
Whatever the truth, there was one rule of warfare Hallie knew she dared not break.
Never kill a hostage.
Over the cacophony of scraping steel, clanking armor, grunts of pain, and roars of challenge, she cried in command, “Take him alive!”
The Rivenloch knights instantly tempered their attack. Chivalry and fighting fairly were ingrained in the disciplined warriors. They knew the hostage’s worth. They would take him alive.
Colban raged against the surging sea of knights until they completely surrounded him. Until he was able to stay on his feet only by force of will.
It took a dozen men to subdue him. Half of them stole up behind him while the rest pressed him back with a wall of shields. But they finally seized him by the arms. Pried the claymore from his steely fists. And wrestled him to the ground.
Outnumbered, overpowered, and pinned by a dozen sword points, Colban at last had to admit defeat.
His breath came in burning gasps. Hot fear and fury pulsed through his veins. And now he began to feel the throbbing in his ankle where he’d twisted it in his wild leap from the window.
He supposed they’d slay him now. But at least he’d die knowing he’d done his best to give the Valkyrie a fighting chance against the invaders.
He prayed Hallie had listened to him. Fled fast and far. Hidden in a place they’d never find her.
Squinting against the blinding light of dawn, he spat out one final defiant curse. “Rot in hell, ye sheep-swivin’ cowards!”
The rising sun was suddenly eclipsed by a figure towering over him. The leader of the army, no doubt. The one who would deal the killing blow.
In a brazen act of courage, Colban glared boldly at the faceless warrior.
The last thing he expected to hear was a woman’s voice. “Are you hurt?”
He frowned.
Hallie. Why was she here?
He’d told her to flee.
If she didn’t escape, the knights would…
He narrowed his eyes.
The knights weren’t attacking her.
“Are you injured?” she repeated.
Confused, he gave a small shake of his head.
“What the devil are you doing?” she demanded. “Attempting escape? Or trying to get yourself killed?”
Before he could answer, one of the knights replied. “I think he was trying to save you, Hallie. From us.”
The rest of the knights laughed low.
“What?” she said. “Why would he…”
Colban blinked as he slowly realized the truth. These weren’t invaders. They were Hallie’s own forces. He’d been protecting her against her own men.
But why had they attacked her?
Or had they? Was it possible his blurry eyes and sleep-addled brain had misinterpreted what he’d seen?
If so, they must think him a fool.
“God’s wounds, did you see him leap from the window?” one of the knights said in awe.
Another marveled, “’Tis a wonder he can walk.”
A third gave a low whistle. “And the way he wielded that claymore…”
“Like a bloody berserker…”
“Broke my blade, he did.”
“Mine as well.”
“Tore my gauntlet clean off.”
“Lucky he didn’t tear your han
d clean off.”
“Stop,” Hallie said, holding up a hand to silence them before they could dizzy him with their praises. Then she hunkered down beside him, close enough that he could see the sky blue accusation in her eyes. “That isn’t true, is it? You weren’t trying to come to my…?”
The way she said it—in disbelief—chafed at him. He scowled in silence. Of course he’d been trying to come to her rescue. What man with any ballocks would not?
From the back of the company, Brand pushed his way forward. “Why would he come to her rescue? Hallie can handle herself. Besides,” he sneered, “when a lass is in trouble, ’tis usually trouble of her own making.”
One of the knights gave the lad a chiding smack on the back of his head. “Half-baked whelp.”
Another added, “You’ve got a lot to learn, lad.”
A thin cry from a window above interrupted their discourse. It was Isabel.
“Oh Hallie, what have you done?” she lamented, clutching the neck of her night shift and wailing in despair. “You killed him, didn’t you? How could you? You’ve ruined everything!”
“He’s not dead, Isabel!” Brand yelled back. “Don’t be a chit!” Which earned him another smack.
But Hallie was paying no heed to her siblings. Her frosty gaze thawed as she looked at Colban in wonder.
“You could have been killed,” she murmured.
“Aye.”
“Why would you risk your life…for a foe?”
He knitted his brows. How could he explain what he didn’t understand himself? He hadn’t made a decision. It had just happened. He hadn’t thought. He’d acted on instinct. He’d seen the beautiful Valkyrie in danger and done what had to be done.
In the end, he shrugged. “They don’t call me ‘an Curaidh’ for naught, I guess.”
The knights chuckled.
But Hallie was too lost in thought to find humor in his remark. She stared at him as if he were a knot she needed to untangle.
Normally Colban appreciated the attentions of a beautiful woman. Hallie’s gaze was sweeping over him like a caress, touching his snarled hair, his stubbled jaw, his heaving chest.
Bride of Ice Page 11
