Page 116 of Bride of Ice
Colban set his jaw.
Counterattack? What kind of counterattack did they expect Morgan to mount? The mac Giric would be lucky to survive a siege with so few warriors in residence. The truth of that left a bitter taste of defeat in his mouth.
But what did they intend to do withhim?
As if Rauve had read his mind, he frowned and said, “You’ll come as well.” Then he ducked out the door.
Colban’s mouth twisted. He had hoped to be returned to Creagor today in exchange for the Rivenloch cousins. But the fact that Rivenloch was willing to charge into battle must mean that Morgan’s hostages had escaped.
No doubt Rivenloch intended to use Colban as leverage on the battlefield. A pawn to wield influence over Morgan.
He stuffed his arms into the sleeves of his cotun, wondering if Rivenloch would threaten to kill him all at once or chop off bits of him at a time and fling them over the walls of Creagor as a warning.
Either way, Morgan would have to decide whether to surrender Creagor peacefully or sacrifice his right-hand man. Once he glimpsed the might of Rivenloch’s army, he’d surely realize that more than just Colban’s life was at stake. Challenging Rivenloch meant risking the lives of all of his men in a contest he had no hope of winning.
How could Colban tip the scales in Morgan’s favor?
The immediate battle was already lost. He knew that. But did one slim hope remain for winning the war?
Colban’s gaze drifted over to the bedside table where Ian had left his notebook. Within those pages was a way to regain what was rightfully Morgan’s. Mac Giric might lose the day. But with that book of secrets, they could return for vengeance.
While Ian was struggling into his trews, Colban stealthily slipped the notebook into his cotun.
It wasn’t long before Ian noticed. “Has anyone seen my notebook?”
Colban occupied himself with his boots. Guilt made the book feel like a millstone pressing against his chest.
“There’s no time for notebooks, Ian,” Gellir said. “We’ve a war to wage.”
“Aye, Ian,” Brand said. “You can look for it later.”
When everyone had finished dressing, Gellir motioned to Colban with the point of his dagger, giving Colban a look of sober shame and grim regret. “Will you come with me then?”
Colban understood what Gellir left unspoken. Ian was too young to comprehend. Brand was too enrapt with the idea of battle to notice. But Gellir and Colban both recognized that their positions had shifted.
Colban was no longer a guest of Rivenloch. He was once again a hostage. At least Gellir was offering him the courtesy and dignity of walking out of his own volition.
He nodded. He’d give the lad no trouble. As much as he wanted to do win Creagor for Morgan, he wouldn’t do it by breaking his word to Hallie to keep her siblings safe. And he wasn’t about to violate Gellir’s trust.
The great hall teemed with clansfolk. They bustled about like hens in a crowded yard. But each person seemed to have a purpose. What appeared to be chaos was in reality a well-ordered exercise in preparation.
And heading it all up, shouting out commands from atop a trestle table, like an armored goddess directing the fates of mortals, was Hallie.
His mouth went dry. Stunned, he halted so suddenly that Gellir almost jabbed him in the back with the dagger.
“Hallie’s not goin’ to fight,” Colban said. It wasn’t quite a question. More like an audible hope.
“Aye,” Gellir replied. “She’s one of our best warriors.”
“But what if… She could…get hurt.” Even as he made the argument, he knew it was futile.
“Hallie can look after herself.” This time, Gellirdidprod him with the dagger. “Come on, no time to waste.”
Brand squeezed past to clear a path in front. “The knights always gather for battle in the armory,” he told Colban. “This way.”
He led them through the bustling throng, past men hauling bags of grain and women gathering up children, until they arrived at the short passageway that opened onto the armory.
The armory took Colban’s breath away. Not just a storage place for weapons, it was a cavernous chamber befitting a renowned warrior clan. Squires took down shields and sharpened swords. Knights donned armor, hefted helms, tightened belts. Whatever steel weapons didn’t grace the walls were being buckled on and sheathed by the dozens of warriors filling the room.
