Page 11 of Bride of Ice
“You swear it? You’ll drop the blade?” she asked. “On your honor as a warrior?”
She wondered if Highlanders evenhadhonor. But she prayed the man would comply. If he didn’t lower his weapon, the wolves would surely attack him.
“Don’t ye trustme?”he said, tossing her words back at her.
Oddly enough, shedidtrust him. Still, it was with a good deal of reluctance that she eased toward a sturdy oak, grasped the lowest branch, and pulled herself carefully up the trunk, finally settling on a thick limb out of their reach.
The wolves abandoned her then and crept toward the man with the sword.
She could see the Highlander’s inner battle as his knuckles whitened around the hilt of his claymore. She understood. A warrior’s sword was his natural defense. Surrendering it in the face of danger was completely at odds with his instincts.
“Lay it down!” she hissed. “Hurry!”
His mouth twisted with misgiving as he cautiously lowered the blade to the forest floor.
Surely the wolves would retreat now. The man was no longer a threat.
But they didn’t.
Apparently, they weren’t convinced the Highlander meant her no harm.
Thankfully, the Highlander wasn’t so naïve. He had expected as much and was prepared.
As soon as one of the wolves lunged forward, he grabbed hold of the broad limb of a sycamore overhanging the path and swung himself up to safety. The wolf missed his ankle by an inch.
The beasts continued to range beneath the tree, growling and snapping in frustration at the prey they couldn’t reach.
Hallie was mortified. She couldn’t look the man in the eye. She’d been so sure her wolf—the one she’d hand-raised—would back down once the threat was gone.
Now both of them were helpless and weaponless, treed, at the mercy of the circling beasts. And it was Hallie’s fault.
She expected the Highlander to rail at her. To accuse her of trying to get him killed. To curse in frustration at their predicament. To bellow in rage.
But he didn’t. And his silence was almost worse.
Eventually the wolves stopped pacing. Hallie hoped they’d given up the hunt and would return to their den. That was not to be. Instead, they bedded down at the foot of the Highlander’s tree in patient wait.
Hallie perched atop the oak limb, waiting for them to leave.
An hour passed. And then another. And another.
It was almost dawn when the wolves finally rose on silent haunches and slunk away into the woods. Hallie glanced over at the Highlander to see if he’d noticed.
He was slumped against the trunk, fast asleep. His mouth was half open. His long legs dangled over the thick branch.
Her lips curved up in a rare smile. He looked less like a fierce Highlander and more like a helpless lad now.
Then she sobered as she realized she had the advantage. While her pursuer slumbered, she could clamber down the tree. Seize his sword. And steal away to Rivenloch. Right under his nose.
It was what cunning Feiyan or impulsive Jenefer would have done. Hallie could be halfway home before the dozing Highlander woke.
Then she sighed. Hallie wasn’t like her cousins. She’d made the man a promise. She’d sworn she’d return to Creagor with him.
He might be her enemy. But she couldn’t leave him to the wolves. He’d held up his end of the bargain. Against his instincts—and common sense, it turned out—he’d willingly surrendered his blade.
She had to keep her word. She owed him as much.
But she had another weapon left in her arsenal. Her wits. With a hostage in tow, she could change her strategy. She’d never specified exactlywhenshe’d return with him to Creagor.
