After that, he was a free man.
Colban plucked a piece of lint from the gray velvet sleeve of the cotun he saved for special occasions. He’d be leaving these garments behind, changing into more roadworthy clothing of worn brown leather and wool. Where he was going, he had no need of silks and velvets.
Then he gave a rueful chuckle.
Where was he going anyway?
He didn’t know. He only knew he wanted to get as far away from Rivenloch—and Hallie—as possible.
There was a knock on the door. “They’re here!” sang Bethac through the closed door.
The Rivenloch clan had arrived. Companionable Rauve. Serious Gellir. Lively Brand. Inquisitive Ian. Starry-eyed Isabel. Hallie’s esteemed parents. The worthy knights and loyal servants. He greeted them all with a polite smile. But it was a smile that never quite reached his eyes. A smile he forced to his lips to hide his breaking heart.
And then he saw Hallie.
If she’d resembled a Valkyrie before, today she appeared to have materialized straight out of the misty realm of Valhalla. She wore a rich gown of midnight blue velvet, embroidered with white and silver vines. Her fair hair was caught in a silver circlet and partially fashioned into a knot of intricate braids that draped the tresses falling to her waist. Her pale skin lent her an ethereal appearance, furthering the impression that she was not of this world.
She should have been happy. Her cousin was getting married today. Rivenloch was gaining an ally. Peace had been forged.
Yet her face reflected all the bleak despair he felt.
In the midst of a sea of cheering and merriment, the two of them floated like deserted ships. Forgotten. Forsaken. Forlorn.
It was a day for Morgan and Jenefer, with all the festivity that entailed. There was a kiss to seal their union. Honey mead to ensure their fertility. A feast to feed the masses. Entertainment to maintain the cheer long into the night.
No one spoke of Hallie’s impending nuptials.
Why would they?
But that fateful date—just ten days hence, by Ian’s reckoning—was burned like a brand on Colban’s heart.
He endured the celebration in the great hall with grace. But when the clans started calling for the bedding of the newly wedded couple, Colban made his escape. The last thing he needed to see was the newlyweds’ bedchamber decked with candles and their marriage bed strewn with flowers. It would be easier to leave unnoticed while the crowd made their way upstairs, ostensibly to witness the consummation.
Of course, that tradition had been long ago abandoned. Now it was but a token nod to a primitive practice. Morgan’s clansmen would feign to tear off the couple’s clothes. Jenefer’s maids would feign to protect her. And in the end, Morgan would defend his bride and chase them all out of the room.
Still, the rite provided good cover for Colban to slip away to the stairs on the opposite side of the hall.
He hadn’t counted on being followed.
He’d ascended the winding steps and opened the door to his bedchamber when he heard someone close behind him in the corridor.
He turned. His eyes widened. “Hallie?”
“Colban.”
She’d had too much to drink. That was immediately obvious. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyelids sagged. Her circlet was askew. And she weaved on her feet like a wheat stalk teased by the wind.
“What are ye doin’ here?” he asked gently.
“I wanted to see you.”
That was unwise.
“Shouldn’t ye be seein’ your cousin to her marriage bed?”
She waved away his concern. “She’s been there before.”
Before he could stop her, she pushed past him into the room, then half sank, half collapsed to perch on the edge of his bed.
He gripped the edge of the door in indecision, not sure which would be worse. Leaving it open or closed.
She sighed. “I wanted to tell you how much I’ve missed you.” She ran her fingers lovingly over the carved wooden post at the corner of the bed.
He wanted to tell her he missed her too. But he knew better. He wasn’t half-drunk.
“I think ye should go,” he decided. “The others will be lookin’ for ye.”
“Nah.” She shook her head. “I told them I had to piss.”
His mouth twitched. “Do ye?”
“Do I what?”
“Have to piss?”
She gave him a sloppy grin. “Nay.”
Hell, even drunk off her arse and stumbling on her feet, Hallie had the power to tug at his heart. It grieved him to think of leaving her. But remaining would be even worse. And every moment of delay only increased his pain.
“Let’s get ye back then,” he beckoned. “I’ll help ye.”
She smiled and came to her feet. Too fast. She took a dizzy few steps toward him and staggered.
He caught her upper arms to steady her.
She placed her hands against his chest for balance.
“That honey mead is strong,” she said, looking up at him with a sheepish grin.
He gulped. Her eyes were glazed with a dangerous combination of lust and liquor.
“Too strong,” he agreed.
Then her gaze slipped sideways. She frowned in dismay as she saw his armor and satchel beside the bed. “What’s this?”
He furrowed his brow. “I’m…goin’.” This was exactly the kind of confrontation he’d hoped to avoid by stealing away.
“Going? Where?”
He shrugged. “Away.”
“But you don’t have to go now. Your clan is staying at Creagor.”
“There’s naught for me here,” he said with a sniff. “Not now.”
“I see.” Though she tried to maintain her cool stoicism, the mead took a toll on her control. Her chin trembled. “When will you depart?”
“Tonight.”
“So soon?”
“Why not?”
She lowered her gaze, as if she realized her next words were unworthy of her. “’Tis ten more days until my nuptials.”
He pretended he didn’t know what she meant by that. “Aye, ’tisn’t much time to plan the weddin’.”
When she looked up again, her eyes were filled with a desperate panic, as if life were pulling her under the sea and drowning her. “Kiss me.”
His gaze was drawn to her lips. Lips he remembered were soft and warm. Lips that trembled with hope. Lips literally begging to be kissed.
And though it cost him every bit of cruel restraint, he muttered, “Nay, ’twould be a mista—”
She refused his refusal, crushing his velvet cotun in her fists and hauling him to her, planting her mead-sweet mouth on his with a fierce passion that took his breath away.
For a long, mindless moment, he let his emotions ride on a runaway steed. Felt the heady swirl of her affections as they wrapped around him. Returned her kisses with mad abandon.
But somewhere deep in his conscience the champion awakened. He knew the truth. Consummating their desire now would do nothing but sharpen their yearning and bring shame to the friendship they had.
It was a mistake to violate their honor. No matter how badly they both wanted this.
So using all his willpower, he broke off the kiss and set her at arm’s length. “Nay, Hallie. We mustn’t.”
For one breathless moment, they stared at each other in a kind of shock. Astonished by the speed and fury of the fire they’d started.
“Take me with you,” she blurted.
For the smallest instant, a tiny glimmer of possibility brightened his thoughts. In that split second of time, he saw a future where they fled Creagor together, companions in exile, living by their wits, stealing through the forest by day, making love by the fire at night.
It was a romantic notion.
And completely unthinkable.
“Ye know I cannot,” he murmured. “And ye…”
She knew. He saw it in the dimming of her gaze. They both knew it. Hallie couldn’t run from he
r responsibilities. And he couldn’t be the one who’d deprived a man of his wife and a clan of their laird.
Despite her attempts to remain stoic, in her inebriated state, raw despair flooded Hallie’s eyes. Extinguishing love’s flames. Dampening her passion. Bruising his heart.
He reached up to caress her jaw.
“Och, my darlin’ Hallie, do not despair,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek to collect a stray tear. “Our clans are joined now. It may be a while. But we’ll meet again.” He wondered if that was true. “One day we’ll look upon this time with fondness. Neither of us wants to tarnish this sweet memory with an unchivalrous and selfish act.” If there was a harsh edge to what he said after that, it was no less bitter than what he felt in his soul at the cruelty of fate. “I’m not the kind o’ man to make love to another man’s wife,” he said, lowering his hand from her face. “And in ten days, that’s what ye’ll be.”
Hallie’s throat clogged with tears.
She cursed the mead that had brought her emotions to the surface. And she cursed the man before her who had dared to speak the ugly truth in such stark words.
But in the end, she knew he was right. At heart, they were people of honor, both of them.
It was better to deliver a coup de grace to their love than let it suffer a lingering death.
She had been foolish to think coming here would change anything.
“Where will you go?” she croaked.
He shrugged. “I’ll let fate steer my course, I suppose.”
Her brow creased. That sounded unwise. So far, fate had been a brutal navigator.
She reclaimed his hand in both of hers, hugging it to her breast.
“I’ll yearn for you always,” she said, her voice catching.
“And I’ll ne’er forget ye, my beautiful Valkyrie.”
Her eyes fogged. Before she could break down sobbing, Hallie fled the room. She didn’t join the others, but instead made her way to the lowest levels of the keep, in a shadowy corner of a stairwell, to sorrow in peace. Like snow after a thaw, grief frozen for days escaped as hot tears, slipping between her lashes and rolling down her face.
She wept for lost innocence. For lost youth. For a love that might have been. For an unavoidable destiny. For her heart—shattered like glass and lying in bits on the ground.
When she was done with tears, when every drop of self-pity was wrung from the rags that remained of her life, Hallie felt a sort of inevitable peace.
She’d indulged in a flight of fantasy. That was all. What she thought she’d held within her grasp was but an illusion that had quickly turned to mist, like the night dissolving at dawn.
She had never been free to follow her heart. It was ludicrous to imagine she ever was.
Journeying home in the wee hours of the night with her clan, she silently, soberly reminded herself of the facts.
In ten days, she would welcome her husband to Rivenloch. Denying that would only bring her pain. She had to accept the king’s arrangements with as much composure and detachment as she would the acquisition of, for example, a cow.
Edinburgh. Why not? Perhaps Colban could lose himself in the bustling town. Hire on as a castle guard. Find fellowship among the royal soldiers. And companionship in the lavish brothels.
The thought should have cheered him as he waved farewell to the drowsy guard at the palisade gates, taking his leave of Creagor. He was free now. Free of responsibility. Free from judgment. Free to make his own decisions. To follow his heart.
Nay, he amended. Following his heart wasn’t in his future. Following his heart would have made him turn round at once and return to Hallie.
Soon, he vowed. Soon he would be able to purge the beautiful Valkyrie from his thoughts. With each mile, the journey would become easier. Gradually her image would fade. Eventually he would have trouble recalling her face.
But at the moment, her snowy hair, honey skin, ice-blue eyes, and inviting lips were painted indelibly in his mind’s eye. And neither the moon peering playfully through the shredded linen clouds nor the cold but gentle breeze nudging him onward in the quiet hours after midnight made him eager to seek his freedom.
At the hillock where the road branched to north and south, he cast one last look toward Creagor.
The warm glow of candlelight yet flickered from the windows of the great hall, where revelers reluctant to retire still sang and danced and drank.
From Morgan’s window all was dark. His lifelong friend was doubtless celebrating his well-deserved triumph. A new castle. A new wife. A new life.
And somewhere deep in the castle, a warrior lass wept for lost love.
But she would recover.
In ten days, she’d pledge herself, body and soul, to another. Then Colban would become a brief, vague, pleasant memory.
It was that unsavory thought that made him turn back to the northern road, leaving his clan, his laird, and his love behind.
Chapter 34
Archie cracked open the garderobe shutters and gasped for air through the small gap, fanning himself with his embroidered kerchief. Sweat beaded his forehead and slicked his palms. His stomach roiled. His mouth watered. His head swam. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick.
He prayed that wouldn’t happen. Not today. Not while he was still wearing his finest burgundy brocade, a beautiful ensemble Geoffrey had helped him select for the occasion of his wedding. Geoffrey had said it showed off his form to a flattering degree, and the yellow-green trim matched the flecks in Archie’s hazel eyes. At the moment, it likely matched the sallow color of his skin as well.
Thinking of his beloved Geoffrey only made Archie feel worse. His throat thickened, adding to his nausea.
But the feeling eventually passed, as it had every night since he’d arrived at Rivenloch six days ago.
He had yet to lose his supper.
At first, he’d wondered if he was being poisoned. It seemed likely, considering how hostile everyone was toward him.
He dabbed at his brow with the kerchief.
That wasn’t quite accurate. Nobody was openly hostile. The Rivenloch clan were civil. Polite. Welcoming. Decent.
The laird and her husband had even afforded him special courtesies. His own bedchamber. An extra chest for his vast selection of garments. The daily hot baths he so enjoyed.
But he’d seen the clan folk whispering in the corners behind their hands. And he’d heard enough to know what they were saying.
In a clan full of warriors, Archie was as misfit as a duck in a dovecot. He had no interest in battle and no stomach for bloodshed. And no matter how Rauve, the captain of the guard, tried to encourage his skills, hoping to mold him into the protector everyone needed for their laird, Archie always ended up with a bruised and battered body and a face full of dust, feeling like a miserable failure.
He’d ultimately decided, despite their displeasure, no one was trying to poison him. What made him nauseous and dizzy was the anxiety of having to prove himself to these very demanding border clansmen…and women.
Disappointment was clear in everyone’s eyes. His bride’s father frequently frowned in concern. Her mother’s cool smile was edged with pity. Hallidis’s oldest siblings, Gellir and Brand, gave him glares of barely disguised contempt. Her sister, Isabel, regarded him with sorrow and despair, as if she wished he would vanish.
There were moments he wished he could vanish.
Only one person kept him from surrendering all hope and made Archie think there might be a chance at happiness in this household.
Ian.
Hallie’s youngest brother.
He was blond. Frail. Young. Comely. Exactly the kind of lad suited to Archie’s particular tastes.
A lad of intellect, he even seemed to bear some affection for Archie. He’d shown Archie his book of clever drawings and pretty letters. He’d demonstrated his designs for birds made of parchment that could actually fly. He’d even given Archie a pouch of what he said was dried mint an
d mugwort to help soothe his stomach, though at the time Archie had thrown it down the garderobe hole, fearing it might be poison.
The lad’s one flaw was he was sometimes too forthright and forthcoming. Perilously prone to speaking freely and sharing information. He hadn’t hesitated to explain to Archie that the reason everyone at Rivenloch hated him was because he wasn’t a champion and he wasn’t The One. Whatever that meant.
In any event, Archie had won Ian’s trust, which was…fascinating.
Archie had never engaged a willing lover. Geoffrey always forced the lads they shared to do their bidding—with shame, threats, and on some occasions, violence.
The thought that Ian might come to Archie of his own free will was intriguing. Considering that, the lad might maintain Archie’s interest for longer than usual, perhaps a few years, until he approached manhood. By then, Archie might have sons of his own, lads he could train specifically to his pleasure, another interesting prospect.
First, however, he would have to make those sons.
He’d survived the wedding. Despite the significance and weight of the ceremony, that wasn’t what made Archie quiver and perspire with nervousness.
What troubled him was the bedding. And his history with women.
He’d never been able to perform with them. It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Indeed, it was after several disastrous trips to the stews of Stirling that Geoffrey had pulled him aside, telling him he had something that might be more to his liking.
He’d been right. And that was the last night Archie had embarrassed himself with a woman. For the last seven years, he’d sought pleasure only with the young lads Geoffrey brought to his bed.
Tonight, however—on his wedding night—he had to succeed. He had to maintain an erection long enough to claim his bride’s virginity and hopefully impregnate the lass. And he had to do it while her kin waited below for proof of his accomplishment.
“Are you all right?”
Archie cringed. Even the slightly impatient sound of his bride’s voice from the adjoining chamber was intimidating. At least she’d foregone the traditional bedding ceremony. The only thing that could have made his situation worse was a room full of witnesses.
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