A Rivenloch Christmas

by Glynnis Campbell

  Of course, fulfilling her need for battle was Colin’s less noble motive. He knew that nothing made Helena more amenable to his lusty advances than a good swordfight. He planned to take full advantage of that fact as soon as she tired of sparring.

  The only hazard he faced after so many days of abstinence was distraction. Helena was a skilled and ruthless fighter. But sometimes that was hard to remember when he was gazing upon her wild golden locks. Her flashing eyes. Her challenging grin. And the way her chain mail draped her voluptuous breasts to perfection.

  His inattention must have shown in his face, because she chose that instant to swing her blade around, hard enough to lop off his head. He raised his shield, warding off the blow just in time.

  Unfortunately, surprise made his instincts take over. He immediately charged forward. His shield collided far too forcefully with her head, knocking her on her arse in the snow.

  He staggered back with a grimace. God’s blood. He hadn’t meant to hit her that hard.

  “Ah, Hel, I’m sorry,” he began, preparing himself for a barrage of outraged cursing.

  When none was forthcoming, he furrowed his brows. “Hel?”

  Sitting in that undignified position, she stared blankly at the snow between her knees, stunned. She seemed lost in a distant world, unable to hear him. Without warning, her eyes rolled up, and she fell backward in a faint, landing with a soft plop in the snow.

  “Hel!”

  Colin’s heart plunged into his gut. He dropped his weapons, cursing his careless strength. Then he dove forward onto his knees beside her to cradle her head.

  “Hel, can you hear me?”

  She wasn’t moving.

  “Hel? Helena.”

  Using his teeth, he tugged off one of his mailed gloves, dropping it beside him. With trembling fingers, he carefully brushed the stray hair from her face.

  “Helena, wake up.”

  She was completely limp. He gave her a gentle shake.

  “Come on, Hel.”

  There was no response. He patted her rosy cheeks, trying to get a response.

  His heart was pounding now. He’d been knocked unconscious before and awakened. But he’d also seen men who didn’t. Dear God, if he’d hurt his precious Helena, he’d never forgive himself. If he’d killed her…

  His throat caught. Nay, he couldn’t think of that.

  Was she breathing?

  He lowered his head, turning his ear to her parted lips.

  That was his mistake.

  The minx’s wicked teeth suddenly clamped down on his earlobe, and his fear turned instantly to regret.

  He bellowed in outrage and pain. Trapped and helpless in the viselike grip of her jaw, he wasn’t even able to feel relief that she was alive.

  She mumbled something he couldn’t understand.

  “What?” he gasped.

  “I said,” she bit out, still clinging tenaciously to his ear, “Do. You. Yield?”

  A braver man would have simply endured the pain.

  A pluckier man would have refused to surrender.

  A prouder man would have sacrificed his ear and called it a wound of war.

  But Colin was more clever than he was brave or plucky or proud. He chose his battles wisely. And he knew if he let her win this one…

  “Aye,” he squeaked out, “I yield.”

  When she released his ear with a smug chuckle, the honey warmth of her voice helped to soothe his pain. Still, when he drew his fingers across his tortured ear, he was surprised she hadn’t drawn blood.

  “That’s your weakness, you know,” she informed him with a cocky lift of her brow as she sat up, dusting the snow from her gloves.

  Still cupping his sore ear, he sat back on his haunches with a wince. “My weakness?”

  “Your soft heart.”

  “Indeed?” The corner of his lip tugged into a fleeting smile. Two could play at that game. “And what about your weakness?”

  “My weakness?” she scoffed, hopping up to her feet and brushing the snow from her thighs. She stared smugly down at him. “And what would that be?”

  He extended his hand for her assistance, and she took it, bracing herself to haul him to his feet.

  Instead, he tugged back hard on her wrist, pulling her suddenly off-balance and forward into his lap with a clash of chain mail and a surprised squeak.

  “Overconfidence,” he whispered against her gasping mouth, just before he claimed it in a kiss.

  HELENA

  She might have been able to prevent the catastrophe, if only she hadn’t lured Colin into the tiltyard. She’d known very well what she was doing. After all, Helena was no innocent. As sure as day led to night, sparring with her husband would lead to swiving him.

  Of course, she’d let Colin pull her onto his lap. She wasn’t fooled for an instant by his help-me-up ploy. She’d used that tactic herself countless times.

  Still, she had no choice but to let him win. If she didn’t, they would be fighting till noon. And she had other plans. The stable was only a few yards away, and it was as good a place as any for what she had in mind.

  Afterward, she’d tell him the happy news. They would be blessed with their fifth child next year.

  Colin would be ecstatic, of course. He and Pagan were engaged in a friendly competition for who could sire the most children. So far, they each had four.

  Helena, on the other hand, had no interest in the numbers. She believed her sons and daughters—Hew, Grim, Jenefer, and Nichola—could knock the stuffing out of any of Pagan’s children. And that was what mattered most to her.

  But all thoughts of happy news and warrior children, indeed all rational thought, escaped her when Colin pressed demanding lips to hers. His breath melted her frost-chilled flesh. His tongue swirled like a warm snowstorm inside her mouth. And when he slipped his bare fingers into her damp hair, she locked her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

  She might have stripped off her armor and made love to him right there in the snowy tiltyard, witnesses be damned. But she suddenly felt the sharp prick of Colin’s dagger against her throat.

  She gasped. Hell! She should have disarmed him. Perhaps she’d bitten his ear with a bit too much force. Perhaps he sought revenge.

  “What do you want?” she whispered breathlessly.

  Colin murmured against her mouth, “I’m taking you hostage.”

  Her lip curved into a one-sided grin. Colin never let her forget that when they’d first met, she’d abducted him and held him for ransom.

  “Up,” he commanded.

  She held her hands up in surrender. Then she glanced down pointedly at his lap, where her backside was warming his loins. “Are you sure?”

  “Wicked lass,” he said, clucking his tongue. Then he prodded her with the dagger point. “I’m sure.”

  Slowly, carefully, lest she nick her neck on his blade, she eased up from his lap. He followed her, keeping his dagger at her throat, until they were both standing.

  Smoldering mischief danced in his green gaze as it slowly caressed her body from head to toe.

  “Now, m’lady,” he drawled, “you’re my hostage. What ransom shall I demand for a—”

  Helena smirked. She swept her hand suddenly forward to cup his cock, rendering him instantly speechless. She had no patience this morn for his leisurely love play.

  The dagger faltered in his grip. With her free hand, she easily knocked the weapon away. Then she seized the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

  He groaned in pleasure.

  She chuckled in lusty triumph.

  She released his lips just long enough to gloat, “Now who’s the hostage?”

  Then she seized him by the arm and dragged him toward the stables.

  To be honest, her abduction was met with very little resistance. They burst through the door, heedless of the startled horses. In a melee of kissing and groping and clawing at each other’s armor, they managed to slam the door shut behind them.


  Somehow they shivered out of their chain mail, sending up puffs of dust and bits of straw that glistened in the sunlight seeping through the cracks of the wooden door.

  It had been far too long since they’d last coupled. Helena could feel her blood, already hot from battle, surge in her veins faster than a winter flood.

  Colin was clearly swept up in the same raging current. He raked the linen from her bosom and feasted on her breasts.

  She moaned and clenched her fists in his thick chestnut mane.

  Curving an arm around her waist, he tumbled her into the pile of hay. In a mad rush of desire, he hiked up her underskirts and plunged forward. As he sheathed himself in her welcoming warmth, she sucked a sharp breath of awe between her teeth.

  It wasn’t the most graceful swiving they’d ever done. There was no sensuous seduction. No romantic finesse. No murmur of affection. No tender gesture. No heartfelt promise.

  There was only a hasty, torrid coupling. The two of them thrashed and gasped and mated like wild beasts until they erupted in a roar of completion.

  Then they collapsed in a weak heap, spent and satisfied. There would be plenty of time for honeyed words and loving gestures later. For now, their desperate tryst was perfect.

  Until someone pounded on the stable door.

  “Shite,” Helena hissed, annoyed, but in no hurry to extricate herself from their sensual embrace.

  “Are we going to answer that?” Colin whispered.

  “Not if we can help—”

  “Hel!” It was Deirdre.

  Helena didn’t respond.

  After a moment, Deirdre said, “Helena, I know you’re in there.”

  Helena scowled. “Well, if you know I’m in here,” she yelled, “then you know you shouldn’t be banging on—”

  “Open up,” Deirdre said. “I need you.”

  The command was subtle. But the understated concern in Deirdre’s calm words struck Helena to the core, turning her ire to alarm.

  She clambered up to locate her clothing. Colin followed her lead.

  Something had happened. She didn’t know what. But it was serious enough for Deirdre to risk the wrath of interrupting Helena in a tryst. It must be dire indeed.

  DEIRDRE

  Deirdre stood outside the stable door, sword in hand, biting her lip. She could no longer blame the mistletoe or her husband for what had happened. This was entirely her fault.

  Deirdre was Laird of Rivenloch, after all. She had one duty—to look after the clan. And she’d utterly failed.

  Of course, once she decided this was her battle to fight alone, Pagan insisted on lending aid. At present, her loyal husband and clan—and even the mummers and musicians—stood armed and assembled in the tiltyard behind her, breathing fog into the cold morning air, eager to help.

  Deirdre was about to bang on the door again when Helena snatched it open. She was only half-dressed, but she had a dagger in her grip and a grim cast in her gaze.

  “What is it, Deir?” she demanded hoarsely. “What’s happened?”

  Behind Helena, Colin was tying up his trews. Hay was strewn through his dark hair.

  “The lasses,” Deirdre breathed, “Hallie, Feiyan, Jenefer…”

  The shirtless Colin pushed past Helena to bark, “Jenefer?”

  Colin’s aggression toward Deirdre was understandable, given the circumstances and how protective he was of his children.

  But Helena wouldn’t let her husband use such intimidation against Deirdre. She grabbed his arm to restrain him.

  “What about the lasses?” Helena asked.

  “They’re…missing.”

  “Missing?” Colin aped. “What do you mean, missing?”

  Miriel’s high-handed servant Sung Li stepped in front of Colin. “Missing. It means they cannot be found.”

  Colin’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I know that, you pesky…” He made a grab for Sung Li’s throat.

  Before anyone could intervene, diminutive Sung Li, with a quick flick of the wrist, somehow brought Colin to his knees in the snow with his arm bent behind him. The clan gave a collective gasp.

  Helena, furious at seeing her husband laid low by Miriel’s aged and irritating servant, targeted Miriel’s husband. She stepped forward with her dagger, pressing the point against Rand’s throat. “Call off your lackey, Miriel.”

  Rand froze.

  “How dare you,” Miriel bit out. “Besides, ’tis your husband’s own fault. He should know better than to—”

  Helena fumed. “If your pompous minion would stop interfer—”

  “Sung Li was only defending—”

  “Sung Li needs to be taught a lesson in—”

  “Hel! Miri! Enough!” Deirdre shouted. “We need to work together…and quickly.”

  Still simmering with ire, Helena and Miriel nodded a reluctant truce. Helena lowered the blade from Rand’s neck. Sung Li released Colin, and Pagan helped his fallen friend to his feet.

  Deirdre glanced up at the sky. It had been cloudless at dawn. But a storm was fast approaching from the east. If the lasses got caught in it…

  She didn’t dare finish the terrifying thought. Fear only paralyzed a warrior. She had to do what she did best—take charge.

  “We’ll cover the most ground if we search in small numbers,” she decided. “Archers, split up and take the north woods. Rauve, lead the men-at-arms and search the great glen to the south. Pagan, Colin, Rand, go west toward the loch. My sisters and I will head east. Lucy and Sung Li, gather the children and scour the keep for any sign of them. The rest of you, search all of the outbuildings—the mews, the smithy, the chapel.”

  As everyone left to do her bidding, Deirdre’s sisters came to her side. Then she summoned all the Rivenloch children and hunkered down to speak to the oldest cousins.

  “Gellir, Brand, Hew, Adam, I promise you we’ll find your sisters. But I need your help. Are you certain they said nothing this morn about where they were going?”

  The four lads solemnly shook their heads.

  Deirdre nodded, swallowing back disappointment. “I need you lads to search every nook and cranny of Rivenloch. Can you do that?”

  They nodded.

  “I’ll search the armory,” Gellir offered, his eyes gleaming.

  “Good.”

  “I’ll look in the buttery,” Brand said. “Maybe they got hungry.”

  “Good idea.”

  Hew chimed in, “What about the storeroom? The one where Da locked up Ma so she wouldn’t have to wed that horrible—”

  “Aye!” Helena interrupted before her son could finish the lurid story.

  Adam screwed up his nose. “What about the secret passageway where Ma and Da were playing Zhuōmí—”

  “Nay!” Miriel barked, startling everyone. She blushed and quickly explained, “Your da and I…already searched there.”

  Deirdre smirked. It seemed all three Warrior Maids of Rivenloch had been caught with their trews down—literally. And they needed to make things right before they’d ever let that happen again.

  Helena quickly donned her armor and buckled on her sword. Miriel swirled her cloak over her exotic secreted weapons. Then the three of them struck out through the snow-frosted trees.

  They traveled well into the woods, taking turns calling out their daughters’ names, to no avail. Finally, Deirdre found the courage to tell them the rest.

  “Listen,” she confessed, “there’s more.”

  “More?” Miriel and Helena replied in unison.

  Deirdre nodded. “Laird Gellir is missing as well.”

  “What?” Helena exploded. “Da too? Bloody hell!”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Miriel.

  “You know Da,” Deirdre said defensively. “He’s missing half the time, always wandering off.”

  On days when his wits were addled, which were more and more often of late, Laird Gellir roamed the halls of Rivenloch. Deirdre honestly didn’t always know where he went. But without fail, he appeared in t
he great hall for supper every evening. Still, she felt guilty, not knowing precisely where he was.

  “Most of the time he’s safe enough,” she added. “There are servants everywhere in the keep and guards posted around the castle wall.”

  “The guards should know where he’s gone,” Miriel deduced.

  “And maybe they saw our daughters leave,” Helena added.

  Deirdre stopped in her tracks and shook her head. “With all the festivities of Christmas, I gave the guards a reprieve. I allowed them to attend last night’s feast and the mummer’s spectacle. Then Pagan and I…” Then she bit out a foul curse. “I should never have let my guard down. This is all my fault.”

  Deirdre was prepared for her sisters’ fury. She deserved every bit of it.

  What she was not prepared for was their understanding.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Miriel said. “You aren’t the only one to blame. Rand and I…well…” She blushed. “I wasn’t exactly…attentive to my children this morn.”

  “Nor was I,” Helena added. “I’m certain the whole clan heard what transpired in the stable.”

  “Besides,” Miriel said, “you can’t watch over every clan member every hour of the day.”

  “I’m the Laird of Rivenloch, Miri,” Deirdre reminded her. “That’s my bloody duty.”

  “Ballocks!” Helena scoffed. “Even Da didn’t do that. If he had, we’d never have had half the adventures we did.”

  “That’s right,” Miriel agreed. “Remember how we used to sneak off to bathe in the loch?”

  “Oh aye,” Helena said, smiling at the memory. Then she elbowed her little sister. “And your secret passage, Miri. I still can’t believe you used it all those years, right under Da’s nose.”

  Miriel shrugged. “Remember the overgrown crofter’s cottage where we used to plan sieges?”

  Helena arched a brow. “How could I forget? That’s where I held Colin hostage.” Then she gave Deirdre’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure the lasses are fine.” Her smile wasn’t quite as certain as her words.

  “That’s right,” Miriel agreed. “Knowing our daughters, that’s all they’ve done—gone off on some adventure.” Her bravery too seemed forced.