“She has little use for ribbons or jewels. And she’s got plenty of daggers. Ink? Too practical. A bottle of French wine or beeswax candles? Nay, gone too soon. Something lasting, like an ivory comb or a silver chalice…”
Colban’s head was spinning. A silver chalice? The lass must think he was made of coin. He had absolutely no intention of buying a gift for his captor. Not only was he certain it would do naught to soften her heart. But he knew the only “gift” she was interested in was the return of her cousins.
“I know!” she suddenly cried. “I know the perfect gift for my sister!”
Before she could reveal her perfect gift, there was another knock on the door, accompanied by an announcement of, “Breakfast!”
Apparently, Rauve was no longer overseeing who came in and out of Colban’s room.
Brand didn’t wait for an answer, but shouldered his way in. Carrying a platter piled high with fruit tarts, he grinned and kicked the door shut behind him.
His face fell when he saw the tray already on Colban’s lap. His brow furrowed when he saw who had brought it.
“Isabel! How did you get in here?”
“I knocked,” she said, adding pointedly, “and waited for permission. You can take that food away. I’ve already brought him breakfast. Shoo.”
“Don’t shoo me.”
Before they could begin bickering, Colban said, “’Tis fine. He can stay. I’ll have the tarts for supper.” Salvaging Brand’s pride would serve Colban well when he wanted information out of the lad.
“Fine,” Isabel agreed. Anger smoldered deep in her eyes, but she kept a civil tongue for Colban’s sake.
Brand set the platter on the bed. “I brought cherry and apple. I wasn’t sure which you preferred.”
“I like both,” Colban said.
“Aye, right?” Brand enthused. “’Tis like choosing a weapon. Sometimes you like the reach and power of a full blade. And other times you want the speed and flexibility of a dagger.”
“What are you jabbering about, Brand?” Isabel said. “’Tis pastry filled with fruit.”
“Oh, Dizzy Izzy, you wouldn’t understand.” Brand smirked knowingly at Colban.
Isabel bristled. “You’d better guard your tongue, Braying Brand.”
When her fingers tightened on the dagger, Colban decided to intervene before a full-out battle could ensue.
“I wouldn’t mind tryin’ one o’ those cherry tarts right now.”
Brand brushed past Isabel, dangerously close to her bare blade. But he passed unharmed and offered the platter to Colban.
Colban took one of the jewel-red tarts.
“Did ye break your fast yet?” he asked Brand, who was eyeing his bountiful feast. “I have far more than I can eat. Here, have a bit o’ bacon and an oatcake.”
Colban could feel Isabel’s frosty glare from a yard away. She’d brought the food for him, not for her pesky brother.
Colban took a bite of the cherry tart and then cooed to her, “Oh, lass, ye must try one o’ these. They’re like a wee bite o’ heaven.”
Her feelings somewhat mollified, she put away her dagger and came forward to take a bite of the tart.
She closed her eyes, savoring the sweetness. “Cherry is my favorite,” she divulged, licking her lips.
“Which does your sister prefer?” he murmured. “Cherry or apple?”
Brand barked out a laugh. “Hallie? She wolfs down food so fast, I doubt she tastes it.”
Isabel jabbed the sharp point of her elbow into Brand’s belly, hard enough to make him cough out crumbs of oatcake.
“Don’t be an oaf,” she scolded. “’Tis only that she has no time to dawdle over dinner. She’s too busy training, protecting your worthless arse.”
“Trainin’. Indeed?” Colban interjected, heading off another skirmish. “What weapon does she prefer then?”
Brand straightened proudly. This was something he knew. “Oh, Hallie’s weapon of choice is definitely the longsword. She’s deft and strong. And none can match her for speed.”
“Aye,” Isabel admitted, adding carefully, “though she’s clever enough to avoid a fight when she can. She’s not a violent person by nature.”
Brand scoffed at her. “You didn’t see her lay the friar out flat when he dared to put a hand on her—”
They were startled by a sudden single pound on the door, as if someone had struck it with a battering ram.
“Stand back from the door!”
“Gellir?” Brand murmured.
Isabel nodded.
“Did you hear me?” Gellir added.
Colban realized the lad must be addressing him. “Aye. I’m well away.”
The door opened an inch, and Gellir spoke through the crack. “I’ve got a dagger at the ready. So don’t try anything.”
The three of them exchanged puzzled glances.
Colban replied, “I won’t. Ye have my word.”
Gellir must have used his boot to swing the door open. One hand gripped a small dagger. The other held aloft a platter draped with a napkin. He stopped with a scowl. “What the devil?”
“Don’t be an arse, Gellir,” Isabel scolded. “Poor Colban can hardly walk. He’s not going to wrestle you for that plate of…whatever you’ve brought.”
Gellir closed the door and lowered the dagger. “Why are you here?”
Isabel raised her chin. “Why are you here?”
“Even a hostage needs a proper breakfa-…” He glanced at the two trays. “What’s that you’re feeding him? Tarts?”
Brand took offense. “What’s wrong with tarts?”
“He’s a man of war. He needs something of more substance than tarts.”
Brand countered, “He likes tarts.”
“Besides,” Isabel chimed in, “he has all this as well.” She swept her arm toward the feast she’d brought. “So he doesn’t really need more of your…” She narrowed her eyes at his platter. “What is that?”
Gellir whipped off the napkin. An enormous slab of glistening meat sat on a flat trencher of bread. “A roast.”
“A roast?” Isabel snickered. “A whole roast?”
Gellir’s face clouded. “I’ll have you know it came at a great price. I had to promise the cook a new cleaver.”
To keep the peace, Colban said, “Thank ye for your generosity. Let me sample that roast then, since it came at such a cost.”
Gellir wasn’t about to let Colban have the dagger. So he cut several slices from the roast himself. Then he offered the platter to Colban.
The siblings all waited with bated breath as he took a bite. The beef was savory and succulent, fattier than the meat of the wild cattle grazed on Highland grasses. He nodded his approval.
“That’s a meal for a champion,” Gellir boasted.
In truth, it was more like a dozen meals for a champion. He hoped the lad didn’t expect him to finish off the roast.
“Ye’ve been very kind,” Colban said with gentle diplomacy, adding a wee lie. “In truth, I feared your sister might wish to starve me for my foolishness this morn.”
As predicted, all three rushed to her defense.
“Hallie wouldn’t do that!” Isabel assured him.
“I wouldn’t let her,” Brand said.
“Our sister can be firm,” Gellir said, “but she’s not cruel.”
It appeared her siblings were as loyal to her as she was to them. Still, they’d gone behind her back to bring him food.
“There’s far too much here for me to eat alone,” he said. “I hope ye’ll join me and indulge yourselves. Gellir, can ye carve up the rest o’ this roast while Brand gives everyone a tart?”
They seated themselves on the edge of the bed, filling their bellies. Before long, their chins were shiny with beef fat and their fingers were sticky with fruit.
“What’s going on?” came a wee voice from the open doorway.
Ian had entered so quietly, no one had noticed. In one hand was his ubiquitous notebook. In the othe
r was a long wooden staff.
“Come on in, Ian,” Brand called out. “Shut the door.”
Mildly annoyed, Isabel asked, “You didn’t bring food too, did you?”
“Wait,” Gellir scowled. “Did you come here alone?”
“Aye.” Ian closed the door. “But I didn’t bring food. No one told me to bring food. Were we supposed to?”
“What did you bring?” Gellir nodded toward the wooden staff.
Ian hurried forward. “A crutch. ’Tis oak. It should be strong enough to support your weight,” he told Colban. “About half a sack, aye?”
Colban had no idea how much he weighed.
Ian handed him the wooden crutch. “Here. Try it. The length is three-quarters of your total height, which I estimate is seventy-four inches. So I set the crossbar at fifty-five and a half inches.”
“Ye made this?”
“Aye.”
Colban couldn’t imagine how the lad could have garnered so much information about him, things he didn’t even know himself. Nor how he could have fashioned the crutch so quickly. But his siblings seemed unimpressed. They must be used to Ian’s genius.
“I haven’t used a crutch before,” Colban said.
“Here,” Ian offered, setting his notebook on the table. “I’ll show you.”
He helped Colban to rise.
“Tuck it here, on the opposite side of the injured limb,” he instructed, slipping the crutch under Colban’s arm. It fit perfectly. “When you walk, instead of stepping on your foot, let the crutch take the weight.”
“Like this?” He took a stumbling step forward.
Ian caught his forearm so he wouldn’t fall. “Aye, that’s it.”
With Ian by his side, he made slow progress. When he reached the window, Isabel cheered as if he’d completed a pilgrimage.
“Now you try it alone,” Ian encouraged.
Colban limped back with the aid of the crutch, faltering only once and leaning on the table for balance. Ian rushed forward to help, but Colban warned him away with a quick, “I can do it.” He took two more steps, then collapsed back into his chair.
Brand and Isabel clapped in congratulations.
Colban grinned. “’Tis amazin’,” he told Ian. “This will be o’ great aid. Thank ye, Ian.”
The lad glowed with pride.
“I’ll need more practice,” Colban said. “In the meantime, who’s hungry?”
A few moments later, Ian was squeezing in between Brand and Isabel, consuming an apple tart. It seemed food was an effective way to silence the lad’s ongoing commentary. For a long while, the only sounds in the room were chewing and slurping while Colban practiced limping past the hearth on the crutch.
He wondered how long it would be before he wouldn’t require the thing. Before he’d be back in fighting form. Before he’d be well enough to escape to warn Morgan, should the need arise.
He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Glancing up at the four siblings seated in a row on the bed as they licked their fingers and smacked their lips, he couldn’t help but smile. They might be on the verge of adulthood, but in some ways they were still as innocent, honest, and trusting as children.
Getting to know them was a double-edged sword, because he was growing to like them. Betraying them would break his heart.
Chapter 18
Why the kitchens were so bereft of food this morn, Hallie couldn’t understand. The cauldron of frumenty had been scraped clean. There was no bacon. And not a crumb of a fruit tart remained.
Battling Sir Colban must have worked up the knights’ appetites, because they’d all but cleaned out the pantry as well. And now she didn’t know what to give the Highlander for breakfast.
She supposed she shouldn’t be disappointed. After all, most captors forced hostages to subsist on bread and water. Hell, some let them starve. If she wanted to be feared as a fierce Border laird, she had to harden her heart against showing too much mercy.
On the other hand, she had to admit Colban the Champion had committed a noble gesture this morn, even if it was misguided. His kindness should be rewarded. And she felt she owed him an apology of sorts for her callous remark about being of no use to her dead. While that was technically true, it had naught to do with her feelings about his worth.
As she headed for the larder to see what she could scrape together, her thoughts were a snarl of confusion.
All her life, Hallie had been drilled on the various situations that might arise when she was laird of Rivenloch.
She knew the castle protocols for an English attack.
She knew how to settle clan disputes over personal property.
She knew how to hire and dismiss maidservants and turnbrochies.
She knew how to purchase goods. How to rally the knights for battle. How to plan banquets.
She knew what to do about lazy crofters, sickly sheep, and unfaithful wives.
She could handle thieves, beggars, nuns, cattle reivers, harlots, murderers, unexpected guests, and—until very recently—wolves.
But this hostage had broken a link in the perfectly meshed chain mail of her command.
His actions were nothing like she’d been taught to expect.
He had no birthright, yet he possessed the qualities of a noble.
He had no education, yet he had a quick and clever mind.
And he had more honor than common sense.
His unpredictability made him a threat, especially when the first rule of warfare was to know one’s enemy.
She sighed. She’d hoped her parents would be home by now. But seeing she was going to have to maintain the role of laird a while longer and possibly deal with the matter of Creagor herself, she needed more information. As unsettling as the task was, she had to find out exactly who Colban an Curaidh was. And how valuable he was to his laird.
Deciding on a stack of oatcakes, a dish of butter, and a cup of ale, she made up a modest platter for the prisoner.
Once his belly was full, she could start her interrogation.
Standing outside the bedchamber, she steeled herself for the encounter, determined not to let the Highlander’s kind eyes and silver tongue distract her from the fact he was a hostage and a foe.
She wasn’t prepared for what she found when she opened the door.
Seated at the foot of the bed like four hens crowded together on a perch were her siblings. They’d been clucking away like hens as well, until she came in.
“Hallie!” Isabel exclaimed, choking on the apple tart she was holding aloft.
They froze like figures sitting for a painting, all eyes on her. Hallie saw instantly why the pantry was bare. Platters piled high with food were balanced on their laps. Brand was guzzling from a cup. Ian was chewing on a piece of hard cheese. Gellir’s cheek bulged with whatever he was eating. They looked as guilty as hell.
Before she could ask them what the devil they were doing and remind them of the definition of fraternizing with the enemy, Colban, standing at the window, came to their defense.
“’Tisn’t their fault. They only brought me a bite to eat. They feared ye might decide to starve me.” His eyes flattened, and his next words were as jarring as a well-aimed slap in the face. “O’ course, I told them ye’d ne’er do such a thing. After all, I’m no use to ye dead, aye?”
Isabel swallowed her bite of tart and let out a nervous giggle, as if he’d made a clever jest. “Would you like to join us? There’s enough for everyone.”
“I knew you wouldn’t starve him, Hallie,” Brand assured her. “I just thought you might be too busy to remember to feed him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Isabel chided. “Can’t you see she brought him food? ’Tis a whole platter of…” Her face fell in disappointment. “Oatcakes.”
Gellir spoke around the food in his mouth. “I’m mostly here to look after the others. And to make sure the hostage doesn’t try anything treacherous.” He tried to maintain a grim tone. His overstuffed mouth ruined the effect.
/> “I made him a crutch,” Ian proclaimed.
Colban held the wooden staff aloft for her to see.
“Leave. All of you,” Hallie said. She’d deal with their insubordination later. Right now she needed to interrogate the prisoner. And she couldn’t very well do that with her chatty siblings inserting their opinions every few moments. “And take your feast with you.”
They reluctantly slid down from the bed and filed past her to the door.
“Sorry,” Brand mumbled.
Gellir frowned. “Sure you don’t need extra muscle?”
Hallie shook her head.
“You won’t hurt him, will you?” Isabel whispered.
“Only if I have to.”
She couldn’t bear to look into Isabel’s dismayed eyes. She had no intention of hurting Colban. But it would be foolish to admit that.
Ian called back over his shoulder, “If you need any adjustments to the crutch, let me know. I can whittle it down. Or make a pad for the top. Or—”
“Go,” Hallie swatted him on the hindquarters as he passed.
After they had filed out, she made a mental note to post Rauve at the door again. Not to keep the hostage in. But to keep everyone else out.
When she’d closed the door on them, Colban told her, “Don’t punish them. They meant no harm. They just wanted to keep me company.”
But Hallie was no fool. She could guess what he’d been up to. “What did they tell you?”
“What do ye mean?”
She leaned against the table, her arms crossed over her chest. “While they were lavishing you with a feast fit for royalty, what secrets did you pry from their innocent minds?”
Colban blinked in feigned astonishment.
“I don’t know what ye’re talkin’ about.”
Damn her cunning. The wily wench had seen right through him. He hadn’t pried nearly enough secrets from her siblings in their short time together.
At least Ian had conveniently left his notebook behind. It sat on the table behind her. He hoped she wouldn’t notice it.
He shrugged. “We were only woolgatherin’. Ian was explainin’ how he made the crutch. Brand and Gellir wanted to hear about the fight, blow by blow. And Isabel was showin’ off the pearl-handled dagger ye bought for her.” He took a sip of ale from his cup and lifted his brows. “Must have cost a bonnie penny, a dagger like that.” Maybe he could pry from her the source of Rivenloch’s wealth.
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