But her intense scrutiny was unsettling. Particularly now. His blood was still hot from battle. They were surrounded by her clan. And he suddenly realized he was clad in naught but his linen braies.
Finally she showed him mercy.
“Let him up.”
The knights withdrew their swords. She held out a hand to help him to his feet.
Manly pride made him turn down her gesture. He wasn’t about to be coddled by a woman he outweighed by half. He might be vanquished by her knights. But he could damn well rise and stand on his own two feet.
He rocked forward and made the attempt. But as he stood, a searing bolt of pain shot up his left leg. He hissed, shifting his weight to favor his right leg.
Hallie seized his elbow to give him balance. “You are hurt.”
One of the knights remarked, “He’s lucky he didn’t break his neck in the fall.”
Gellir, who’d apparently just arrived in the courtyard, said, “What? What fall? What happened?”
“’Twas no fall,” Isabel called down, adding in a sigh, “The Highlander leaped from the window to save Hallie.”
“The window? That window?” Gellir asked, nodding toward the laird’s bedchamber. “Impossible. ’Tis nigh thirty feet.”
“Thirty-two feet, eight inches,” said young Ian, trailing behind him.
Isabel sighed again. “A mere trifle for a hero.”
Brand gushed, “He took on the whole of the Rivenloch army, Gellir. You should have seen him.”
As the knights recounted the details, speaking in glowing terms, Colban became more and more discomfited by all the attention.
He was no hero. He was a fool. A misguided fool who had leaped before he looked. Humiliated himself in front of all of Rivenloch. And gained naught for his efforts but a twisted ankle.
“Is it broken?” Hallie murmured.
“Nay,” he said with a grimace, “just wrenched, I think.”
“’Twas a mad thing to do,” she muttered. But there was a curious tenderness in her gaze. As if she was moved by his gesture.
And then he said something undeniably mad. “Maybe. But I’d do it again.”
She glanced up in touched surprise.
Before he could regret his reckless words, Gellir came forward and ducked under his arm. “I’ll take him upstairs.”
Hallie nodded.
Ian said, “And I’ll fetch Burunild to see to his injuries.” He screwed up his young forehead. “’Tis likely just a sprain. ’Twill need a cool compress and wrapping to hold it in place.”
An hour later, Burunild crouched before Colban as he sat in the bedchamber chair, carefully tying off the cloth brace around his ankle. He still wasn’t dressed. As soon as she was finished, he intended to remedy that.
But before he could even throw on his leine, Hallie breezed into the room. Her gaze lowered to his bare chest. A faint, becoming blush rose in her cheeks. She averted her eyes and addressed the healer.
“How bad is it?”
“Not bad,” Burunild proclaimed. “A wee bit of rest, and he should be fine.” The maid winked at Colban. “No playing champion for a few days, aye?”
He gave her a sheepish smile.
“Good.” Hallie awkwardly cleared her throat. Then she ambled past, absentmindedly picking up his leine from the bed. She creased it between her fingers as she crossed to the window.
Meanwhile, Burunild gathered her things and bid them both farewell.
Once they were alone, Colban turned his attention toward Hallie, who gazed out through the shutters, biting her lip in restless silence. With the sun gilding her hair and illuminating her face, she looked more like an angel than a Valkyrie. She was beautiful. Breathtaking. Arousing.
How could he regret leaping from a window to save such a prize?
Of course, she wasn’t his prize. But it was hard to convince the beast betwixt his thighs that she wasn’t here for his pleasure. And that was becoming more painfully apparent with each passing moment.
Still avoiding his gaze, Hallie peered down over the window ledge. She shook her head, murmuring, “That fall could have killed you, you know.”
“’Twasn’t a fall,” Colban reflexively corrected. He’d made a reckless choice in leaping from such a great height. But he hadn’t fallen. He wasn’t clumsy.
“Right.”
Meanwhile, his eyes were on his leine, which he was beginning to need with a quiet sort of desperation. At the moment, her fists were clenched in it, twisting wrinkles into the linen.
When she finally faced him, she seemed to have forgotten his state of undress. Her eyes flared with a quick intake of breath.
“You should get dressed,” she muttered in distress.
“I would, but…” He gestured toward his leine.
She looked at the garment in her hands as if she had no idea how it had come to be there. “Oh!”
She thrust it toward him. When he reached for it, their fingers met. She recoiled as if she’d been burned.
He slipped the leine over his head and tugged it down over his lap, grateful to cover the rapid appearance of desire.
She cleared her throat. Then she picked up a poker and jabbed at the fire, which was already crackling with cheery flames. A curious conflict warred in her eyes. Something between worry and irritation.
Finally she replaced the poker. Faced him. Crossed her arms. Raised her chin.
“Listen,” she said with uneasy authority. “You must cease leaping from windows and…and fighting off wolves on my behalf. I command it.”
He almost laughed at that. She might as well command him to cease breathing.
But she was serious.
He lowered his brows and fought back a grin. “Is that so?”
“Aye.”
He mused over that, rubbing his chin. “And why exactly?”
Hallie blinked.
Why. She’d been asking herself that ever since he’d faced off against the beasts in the woods.
Why would he want to help his enemy? Why should he care what happened to her? And why should he so cheaply value his own life?
The conclusion niggling at the back of her mind was—as Isabel kept insisting—the Highlander had affections toward her.
The idea was ludicrous. Preposterous. Inconceivable.
Yet her heart fluttered at the thought.
What other reason could there be?
No one defended Hallidis of Rivenloch. Her little brother was right. She wasn’t the sort of woman who needed defending. Trained as a warrior, destined to be laird, she’d been taught to be self-sufficient.
She had to be as strong as any man. Thus no man had ever tried to be her champion.
Now, for the first time in her life, a stranger sought to protect her, not because it was his duty as a member of the clan, but purely because he didn’t want her to get hurt.
She was touched. Flattered.
She was also troubled.
First, because it was a dangerous mistake to trust a captive, whose prime objective was always to escape.
And second, because this foolhardy hostage with his misplaced heroics was beginning to tunnel his way into her heart. Even now she could feel him sapping her supports and undermining her resistance.
Her eyes melted when she looked at him. Her breath softened when they spoke. Her pulse quickened when he was near. And if they happened to touch, the brush of his skin awakened her senses in a curious and enticing way.
Clearly, allowing anyone that kind of power over her mind and body could prove deadly. No matter how pleasant and intriguing and welcome his attentions felt.
Besides, Hallie had no right to feel affection for a man. Any man. She was well aware of that. She was the heir to the title of Rivenloch, with all the responsibility that came with that. Her heart was not her own to give. Her hand was a matter of strategic alliance. Her clan and her inheritance were a royal gift to be bestowed upon whomever the king chose.
So how could she answer him?
Why should Colban the Champion refrain from being her champion? Why should he stop risking his life for her?
In the end, she gave him an answer that was technically true. A brusque, honest, chilling answer. Even if it wasn’t the answer in her heart.
“Because you’re no use to me dead.”
Chapter 17
The Valkyrie’s words felt like a blunt knife shoved between Colban’s ribs.
For a stunned instant, all he could say was, “I see.”
A stony silence fell as his hurt slowly coiled into anger.
Damn it, twice now he’d been willing to forfeit his life for the lass. Even her men were impressed by his deeds.
True, this time his judgment had been faulty and his rescue misguided. But his sacrifice had been genuine.
Was this how she repaid him? With cool indifference and callous rejection?
Maybe Isabel was right. Maybe Hallie was too cold and unfeeling for her own good.
Bitterness compelled him to remind her of the cost of his actions. Indicating his injury, he said with heavy sarcasm, “Then I must apologize for damagin’ your goods and decreasin’ my value.”
It gave him some satisfaction to see her color at his remark. Then she breezed past, muttering, “Breakfast will be up soon.”
When she closed the door behind her, he was left with an ache in his gut. An empty place that no amount of frumenty was going to fill.
For a brief moment, he’d felt something burning between them. A spark of life. An ember of affection. A flame of lust.
For an instant, he’d forgotten they were foes. He’d seen her as a capable warrior. A brilliant commander. A clever lass. An alluring woman.
Just as he’d let his instincts guide him in defending her, he’d allowed his heart to lead him in desiring her.
But his instincts had been wrong. It appeared his heart was as well. And he was paying the price of his miscalculation with a throbbing ankle and a hollow chest.
With a sniff of self-disgust, he pushed up from the chair to test his bandaged limb. Putting weight on it sent a twinge up his leg that made him grimace and sit back down. He supposed he’d limp for a few days. But the pain would remind him never to come to Hallie’s rescue again. At least not without a formal invitation.
Her indifference did serve one useful purpose. It made the prospect of betraying her much more palatable.
Battling her knights had already taught Colban a valuable lesson. While his claymore had proved a powerful weapon against Lowland longswords, the pace of fighting was quicker with a lighter blade. The Rivenloch soldiers had been able to spin and dodge, maneuver and infiltrate his defenses while he was still hefting his heavy weapon.
Morgan’s forces were unaccustomed to that kind of warfare. Pitted against such an army, they would find their legs cut from beneath them before they could even raise their swords.
Colban had to warn them. He had to train them. He had to study the Lowlanders’ fighting style and their weapons and pass that information along to Morgan.
He’d seen Rivenloch’s numbers now and witnessed their impressive unity. They were formidable and awe-inspiring.
Not that the men of the mac Giric clan weren’t intimidating in their own way. Wild and fierce, they brandished their blades and gnashed their teeth, charging like a herd of galloping beasts. Morgan’s warriors could make the enemy soil their braies ere they could engage their weapons, if they dared to stand their ground.
But these Lowlanders fought shoulder to shoulder, battling as a single force. They operated as smoothly as the gears of a gristmill. When one man fell back, another would take his place. Without a word, they sensed when and where to fill gaps in the line, maintaining an unrelenting and impenetrable advance.
If that army attacked Creagor now, the castle would fall. Good mac Giric men would die. And what was left of the clan would be sent hobbling back to the Highlands in disgrace.
Colban couldn’t let that happen. He had to learn all he could about Rivenloch. Her defenses. Her weaponry. Her strengths and weaknesses. Which ramparts were unassailable. And where the chinks in her armor were.
He knew just where he could unearth that kind of information.
Hallie’s siblings.
Hallie might have turned a cold shoulder to him. But Brand admired him. And Gellir was growing to respect him. They could teach him all about Rivenloch’s fighting style and tactics.
Young Ian hungered for Colban’s company. Studying that detailed notebook of his would tell Colban all he needed to know about the castle defenses.
As for Isabel, she’d hand him her heart if he asked. It would be child’s play, coaxing her to reveal Hallie’s vulnerabilities.
Indeed, he’d just begun to consider who he would question first when the lovesick lass knocked at his door.
“Sir Colban? Are you dressed? May I come in?”
“Aye, come in.”
She pushed through the door with a platter of food. “I’ve brought you brea—”
He figured his leine was long enough for decency. Until the lass’s eyes dropped immediately to his bare legs—and her platter almost followed.
Perhaps he should have put on his trews before he let her in. These Lowlanders didn’t seem to run about bare-legged the way they did in the north.
To close her jaw and break the awkward silence, he donned his trews and nodded toward the platter. “Did Hallie send ye?”
“Nay. I mean, aye!” She closed the door behind her. “She insisted you have a hero’s breakfast, since you saved her life and all.”
Colban smirked. He didn’t believe that for an instant.
The platter was piled high with oatcakes, butter, bacon, bread, frumenty, cheese, sweetmeats, and ale. It appeared the lass had raided the pantry and brought him a feast fit for an army.
He took the tray from her, setting it on his lap. “Hallie agreed to this?”
Isabel nodded, insisting, “She said ’twas the least she could do.”
He doubted that. He suspected Hallie would just as soon feed him gruel.
Isabel clasped her hands meekly before her, almost as if in prayer. “I know my sister seems hard and heartless. But I beseech you, don’t judge her in haste. You’ll see. She’s not as unfeeling as she seems.”
“Hmm.” He buttered half an oatcake and offered it to the lass.
She shook her head. “I’ve already eaten.”
He popped the oatcake into his mouth.
She began to pace, wringing her hands. “’Tis only that Hallie is going to be Laird of Rivenloch one day. She’ll have to manage the lands and command the army. So she has to prove her worth. And sometimes that means she has to black an eye. Or break a nose. Or lop off a finger.”
Colban nearly choked on the oatcake.
“But I’ll tell you a secret,” she confided in a murmur, stopping before him. “She’s never actually killed a man before.”
“That’s…comfortin’.” Of course, Hallie had already assured him he was no use to her dead. He took a sip of ale.
“And…” She glanced left and right as if she feared someone might be listening. Then she lifted her brows to impart the grave significance of what she whispered. “I don’t think she’s ever kissed a man either.”
Somehow he managed to swallow the ale and keep up a pensive frown.
Isabel seemed to sense his doubt. “I know ’tis hard to believe. But you don’t know her like I do.”
Here was his opportunity. “So tell me, since ye know her so well. What is this ‘not as unfeelin’ as she seems’ sister o’ yours really like?”
Isabel’s eyes lit up. She hopped up onto the bed, dangling her legs over the edge and kicking her slippered feet back and forth as she warmed to the subject.
“Hallie is fierce but fair. Above all else, she cares for the clan. She loves and protects all of us. Faithful Sir Rauve who’s guarding you. Burunild who dressed your wounds. Bart who laid your fire. Wee Tim who mucks out t
he stalls every day. John and James, who tend the sheep. The Rivenloch children just learning to crawl. Even the wrinkled white-haired wenches who bicker all day.”
Colban chewed thoughtfully at a bite of bacon. Hallie’s loyalty to her kin was likely her fatal flaw. It was the reason she’d taken such drastic action—absconding with him—in order to protect her foolish cousins.
“She’s generous,” Isabel continued. “She’s always buying us gifts from the fair. New weapons for Brand and Gellir. Something scholarly for Ian. A trinket for me. Oh!”
Hopping down from the bed, she came close. She reached for the sheath at her hips and whipped out a dagger. For an instant, Colban wondered if she meant to stab him. But she turned the blade in her hand to show him the haft. It was a small eating dagger, and the delicate handle was inlaid with pearl.
“She brought me this last spring. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Colban swallowed the bacon as he nodded.
Two thoughts popped into his head as he studied the jeweled crossguard.
One, the lass was entirely too careless. He could easily snatch that dagger from her, leaving her at his mercy.
Two, Hallie must be a woman of wealth to afford such a lavish gift. Was her wealth inherited? Or won off of unfortunate foes?
“And what does she purchase for herself?” he asked.
Isabel furrowed her brows as she put away her dagger. “Not much. Maybe new stockings. Or tallow candles. Once she bought an orange. I don’t think she liked it.”
He’d heard of oranges, though he’d never tasted one. They came from far away. And foreign merchants seldom traveled to the remote Highlands.
Isabel gave a sharp, startling gasp. “Are you thinking of getting her a gift?” Her eyes brightened. “That’s brilliant! She can hardly refuse a gift. And it would surely soften her heart toward you.”
Colban’s jaw hung open. Was she mad? He had no intention—and little hope—of softening Hallie’s heart. But before he could tell her so, Isabel began pacing again, twirling the dagger in her fingers and chattering all the while.
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