Then he faced the wild Highlander alone.
The man was tall and broad of shoulder, though not as big as Colban. He was clad in weathered leather and chain mail stained with blood. The sounds issuing from the shadows of his helm were like the groans and growls and snarls of a feral beast.
Colban didn’t wait. He lunged forward with his weapon, hoping to pierce the man’s heart by force before he came round with the claymore. But the warrior threw off Colban’s blade with as much ease as tossing off a cloak.
Recovering, Colban swiftly attacked again, this time with a powerful strike at the man’s sword arm, trying to disarm him and keep the others safe.
Any other man would have dropped his weapon instantly. He’d hit the rogue with enough force to numb his arm, if not break it.
But something was wrong with the savage. Like a Viking berserker, feeling no pain, either drunk or enraged or suicidal, he continued with his aggression, wildly swinging his blade at everything in his path.
Colban fell back for only a moment to summon his strength again. But in that splinter of time, disaster struck.
Brand had followed in Colban’s wake. Eager to prove his worth, the lad took advantage of Colban’s instant of retreat and charged the warrior on his own.
Hallie was on his heels.
Brand had cast aside his shield to grasp his sword in both hands. He thrust directly forward with every ounce of his strength, aiming for the vulnerable spot just under the edge of the man’s helm.
He never made it. The edge of the claymore caught his blade, showering sparks as it slid down the length toward Brand’s hands.
Before Colban could move toward him, Hallie intervened.
Lunging forward, she used both hands to crack her blade down on top of the claymore, diverting it just enough so it slipped away from Brand’s weapon—and his wrists.
Colban immediately grabbed the foolhardy lad by the scruff of his chain mail and yanked him back out of the claymore’s path.
Then he turned his attention to Hallie. She was still finishing her downward chop when the madman bent his elbow and struck her in the head with the heavy pommel of his claymore.
Colban’s heart plunged as Hallie fell backwards. He watched helplessly as her helm, dented by the blow, flew off her head and tumbled through the air. His breath caught as her beautiful blonde head hit the ground with a horrific thud. Her eyes shut. Her mouth fell open. Her body stilled.
So shocked was he, he let down his guard.
He hardly felt the kiss of the claymore as it sliced through the chain mail, cotun, and flesh below his ribs. He only felt a slight concern that blood was leaking from his side. That concern was dwarfed by the fear that Hallie was dead. And by the stunned silence on the field, that fear was shared by all.
Even the crazed warrior.
The man staggered, dropping the bloody claymore from his trembling gauntlets.
With an awful sob of horror, he stumbled back and then tore away from the field. Most of the Rivenloch clan chased after him. But he leaped onto an enormous warhorse and rode away at neck-breaking speed.
Colban fell to his knees beside Hallie. His heart pounded against his ribs.
She couldn’t be gone. He refused to believe she was gone.
Yet she lay as still as death.
Even when he brushed her hair back from her face with his gloved hand, she didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.
He clapped her lightly on her cheek. Tried to revive her. There was no response.
“Hallie,” he croaked, pressing her hand between his own, praying silently while the crowd whispered in speculation.
“Is she…?” It was Laird Deirdre. She had gone white. Her pale lips trembled.
Beside her, Brand looked on in worry, probably blaming himself. And beyond Brand stood Gellir, as rigid as stone.
Colban shook his head, refusing to consider the possibility. He grasped Hallie’s shoulder and gave it a hard shake. Then another. Then a third. To no avail.
Forgetting his secret identity, he tore off his helm and bent closer. He ignored the gasps of recognition from the crowd, lowering his ear to listen for her breath.
No air issued forth.
He pulled off his gauntlets. In desperation, he wrenched up her shirt of chain mail and tore open the buckles of her cotun. Placing his palms atop her leine in the middle of her chest, he pressed down repeatedly, trying to force her lungs to work.
He paused. There was no response.
“Wake up, Hallie!” he demanded, resuming his pumping.
He paused again. Still no response.
“Damn ye, wake up!”
He applied pressure again and was almost ready to give up when a curious image popped into his head. An illustration he’d seen in Ian’s notebook. Instructions on making a ball out of a sheep’s bladder.
The sketch showed a lad blowing air into the flat bladder to inflate it.
Could such a thing be done with lungs?
He acted on instinct, ignoring the crowd’s murmurs of shock and disapproval. Bending close, he covered her mouth with his in a kiss of desperation and blew lightly between her lips.
Nothing happened.
Maybe it required more. He took a deep breath and blew with greater force. This time he felt her chest rise as her lungs filled.
The air came rushing back out.
He tried again.
The air rushed out once more.
With the third breath, he began to feel lightheaded. But he didn’t dare stop.
This time, as the air flowed out, she coughed awake, and her eyes fluttered open.
The last thing Colban heard was a great gasp of awe from the clan.
The last thing he saw was Hallie’s confused face.
The world went black, and he toppled over, unconscious before he even hit the ground.
“Is he going to be all right?” Hallie knotted her fingers.
Colban was awake, but exhausted from his ordeal, stretched out atop Morgan and Jenefer’s bed. Morgan, staring down at his right hand man, shared Hallie’s worry. Jenefer too looked on with fierce concern.
The healer, Bethac, an old woman with a cheery face, patted Hallie on the arm and gave her a wink. “Och, aye. He’s lost a good bit o’ blood. But the cut is clean and shallow.”
A linen bandage encircled Colban’s waist now. But Hallie had seen the nasty gash that cut across several inches of his abdomen. She’d let him squeeze her hand while he endured every agonizing stab of Bethac’s needle as she stitched the wound shut. She’d stared into his eyes, lending him her strength as sweat beaded his face and he clenched his jaw against the torment.
Bethac packed her herbs and tools into her satchel. “Colban always was a fast healer. Weren’t ye, lad?” She gave him a fond pat on the cheek. “Ye’ll be good as new in no time.”
After the healer left, Jenefer bit out, “I only wish we’d caught the bloody villain who did this.”
Morgan sighed. “I’m just grateful no one else was seriously injured.”
Colban murmured, “I’m glad no one was killed.”
Jenefer and Morgan’s eyes locked pointedly on Hallie.
She squirmed uncomfortably. She’d already heard the tale numerous times from her siblings. How she’d looked like she was dead. How Colban had performed a miracle, breathing life back into her. But now she wanted to focus on Colban. And she’d just as soon forget how close she’d come to dying.
Colban, sharing her discomfort, murmured, “Hallie wasn’t killed. Not exactly.”
“The hell she wasn’t!” Jenefer said. “I saw it, Hallie. You weren’t breathing. ’Twas miraculous. If ’tweren’t for Colban, we’d be digging a grave for you right now.”
“’Twasn’t a miracle,” Colban protested. “’Twas science.”
Morgan smacked Colban’s shoulder with the back of his hand.
“For God’s sake, don’t argue the point, ye dunderhead,” he chided. “’Tis your savin’ Ha
llie and her ma that’s put ye back in good graces with the Rivenlochs.”
“It has?” Colban asked.
Jenefer crossed her arms. “Well, ’tis put you back in my good graces, and if anyone wants to challenge me on that…”
Colban frowned. “But what about Archibald?”
“He deserved to die,” Hallie said.
She’d never uttered those words before, and they shocked Jenefer and Morgan.
Morgan narrowed his eyes. “What did he do?”
When Hallie refused to say, Morgan looked to Colban, who also sealed his lips.
Jenefer defended her. “If Hallie says he deserved to die, then he deserved to die.”
“That’s what Ian said as well,” Hallie told Colban. “He said if Colban the Champion thinks Archie did something bad, then logic dictates he did something bad.”
“Ian said that?” Colban breathed.
“Aye.”
He looked as if a yoke had been lifted off his back. “I’m truly forgiven?”
She nodded.
Colban let out a relieved breath. “Then there’s somethin’ I’d like to ask ye.”
“Aye?”
Morgan cleared his throat. “Would ye like us to—”
“Nay,” Colban said. “Stay. Ye can bear witness.”
Hallie stiffened. Bear witness? What was he going to say?
“Hallidis Cameliard o’ Rivenloch,” he said, “if ’tis your will, ’twould be my great honor to be a husband to ye…and a father to your bairn.”
His confession, at first so sweet and adoring, twisted quickly into a mortifying revelation of her secret. Bloody hell. How had he found out she was with child?
“Wait,” Jenefer burst out. “You have a bairn, and you didn’t tell me?”
Hallie blushed in answer, clasping a defensive hand across her belly. But her heart was breaking. Was that the only reason Colban was asking her to wed him? Out of honor?
“How did you know?” she mumbled.
“Isabel may have said something,” Colban admitted.
“And how did she know?”
Morgan tried to explain. “’Twas through a tangled web o’ gossip. But the point is Colban knows, and he wants to do the honorable thing.”
Jenefer smacked her husband on the shoulder. “The honorable thing? A marriage is based on more than honor.”
“How can ye say that?” Morgan asked. “After all, Hallie’s first marriage was based on honor. She honored the king’s bidding.”
Jenefer scowled. “And you see how that ended up.”
“And what about us?” Morgan said. “Our marriage was ordained by the king as well.”
“But we didn’t know that.”
“Still, ’tisn’t a bad way to start a marriage, with honor.”
“Pah!” Jenefer spat. “Hallie and Morgan? They’ve spent a lifetime doing the honorable thing. Don’t they deserve something more?”
While Morgan and Jenefer continued their skirmish, Hallie let her gaze slide to the man lying on the bed, who was looking at her with bemused adoration.
“I love ye,” he silently mouthed.
She bit her lip. This wasn’t going to be a marriage of honor or convenience or duty. This would be a union based on respect and generosity. Honesty and patience. Forgiveness and devotion.
Reaching across the bed, she took his hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand with genuine affection.
“I love you too,” she mouthed back.
Epilogue
It was time. The wedding feast was over. Hallie had gone upstairs.
Even if this was the bride’s second marriage, Colban knew Morgan wasn’t about to spare his right hand man the indignities of the wedding night ritual.
A mob of rowdy mac Giric men hefted Colban up on their shoulders and bore him up to her bedchamber, threatening to remain to witness the consummation. Colban feigned to be mortified that they would wish to gaze upon his wife as she lay in their bed.
But when he opened the door to the gleeful shrieks of the Rivenloch ladies guarding his bride, one glance at Hallie made him glad his clansmen could feast their eyes on the prize he’d won. And then it made him want to get rid of them as soon as possible.
“That’s enough, ye greedy sots,” he chided, winking at Hallie. “Out with ye.”
They crowded around the door to steal a glimpse, cursing in mock complaint when Colban pushed them back.
Hallie dismissed her ladies with a grin, and after they all dutifully filed out, Colban closed the door.
Then he took a moment to look at his stunning bride.
He still couldn’t believe she was his. That the stars had aligned and everything had worked out right.
The clans had agreed it was wolves that had killed Archibald Scott.
The king, made aware of Hallie’s condition, had granted her request to wed Colban.
Now Colban was going to be Morgan’s neighbor. He was getting a second clan. Brothers and a sister. And the most beautiful woman in all of Scotland as his wife.
He would be her helpmate, her right hand man, her champion. No longer would she have to shoulder the burden of leadership alone. No longer would she have to face the prospect of raising a fatherless child. No longer would she be forced to wed a man she didn’t love.
He intended to cherish his wife for the rest of their years. Starting tonight.
Hallie’s shining hair, crowned by a silver circlet, fell like pale satin over her lovely shoulders. Her lips, full and ripe, curved up in the slightest hint of a smile. Her eyes beckoned him with sultry blue promise.
“Are you going to stand there all night, Highlander,” she murmured, raking his body with her gaze, “or do you want to show me what you can do with your trusty blade?”
Giving her a smoky grin, he pushed off the door, unbuckling his belt.
Hallie shivered with anticipation. Though it had been months, her body remembered well the thrill of coupling with him.
This time, however, it was different. More thoughtful. More tender. There was more than wild passion in their lovemaking.
Together they crested the rise of their desire with their eyes locked, their hands clasped, their souls entwined. A deeper bond secured them, promising an infinite well of joy and love in the years ahead.
As their bodies glided together in the pursuit of pleasure, the pressure growing inside them was more than physical. It was the blossoming of something more. A union as powerful and everlasting as metals forged into steel.
They ascended together, soaring above the earth. Timeless. Weightless. When they could remain aloft no longer, they gasped in ecstasy, bursting into a thousand fragments and falling softly to the ground like flakes of snow.
Hallie lay back on the bed. Satiated. Drained. Exhausted. A warm and welcome carelessness settled over her in the afterglow of love. For those few moments, she felt no responsibility. She felt only utter bliss.
Summoning up the strength to turn her head toward Colban, it appeared he shared her carefree euphoria. A soft sparkle of delight lingered in his shining brown eyes. But the rest of him lay as limp and spent as a landed salmon.
For several long moments Hallie reveled in this haven, far from the outside world. Here there was no responsibility. No conflict. No challenges to face. No problems to solve. There was only peace and contentment.
Eventually, the elixir of love soothing her mind wore off, and her sense of honor and obligation returned. After all, she couldn’t dwell in a lofty paradise forever. But it was enough to know this place existed. And she intended to return to it as often as possible.
She smiled at her husband, who never ceased to amaze her with his gentle humor, his fierce devotion, his honest heart, his unflagging courage.
But duty called. She had a precious gift for him. One she’d managed to conceal until this moment. One she couldn’t give to anyone but him.
Before she could speak, Colban’s eyes lit up. “I have a wee gift for ye.�
�
She supposed hers could wait. “Is it the wee gift you keep in your braies?” she teased.
He clucked his tongue at her. “Wicked wench.”
He threw back the linens and hopped up from the bed. She rose on one elbow, savoring the sight of his sculpted shoulders, his broad chest, his narrow hips. Then he crouched down to fetch something from under the bed.
When he rose again, what he showed her took her breath away.
She scrambled upright. “Is that…”
He grinned. “Your own claymore.”
Her fingers trembled as she clasped the haft in both hands.
It was magnificent. A long blade of flawless polished steel. A hefty crossguard. A leather grip, soft and yielding. Heavy, but well-balanced.
“Do ye like it?”
“Oh, aye,” she breathed. It was the best wedding gift ever.
“I did that bit on the pommel myself,” he mumbled.
She turned the sword to look. He’d carved her name.
“You did this?”
He nodded, coloring.
“’Tis perfect,” she sighed.
Her heart melted. This man, born under the most unfortunate circumstances, had pulled himself up from his humble beginnings and become a champion. He’d shrugged off his past. He’d mastered the sword. He’d embraced chivalry. And now, never turning down a challenge, he’d learned to write her name.
She smiled through tears that came as often as spring storms lately, and she vowed she’d never tell him the Ls were backwards.
Colban was noble, inspiring, generous, kind, strong, principled, everything a woman could want in a husband…and a father.
“I have a gift for you as well,” she said, placing the claymore carefully atop the coverlet.
She took him by the hand, pulling him down to sit beside her on the bed. Then she placed his palm over her swollen belly.
“The babe growing here,” she murmured. “’Tis yours, Colban.”
He stiffened. “What?”
She gave him a gentle smile. “’Tis true. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”
Bride of Ice Page 34
