Page 118 of Bride of Ice
Colban’s confused thoughts finally resolved into sharp focus.
Bloody hell. TheEnglishwere after Creagor.
His heart turned to stone.
Morgan was no match for the English, who had armies of thousands. Not with a bare bones retinue. Few provisions. And no experience fighting foreigners.
“Take heart, Highlander,” said another nobleman, giving him a friendly wink and clapping him on the back. “The warriors of Rivenloch never lose.”
A small, dark-haired woman beside him said softly, “Thank goodness, our clever Feiyan escaped in time to alert us.”
Thesewere the parents of the lass who’d tried to kill him? Strange. They seemed too kind to have raised such a bloodthirsty daughter.
“You!” Laird Deirdre barked, tossing a coat of chain mail at Colban and almost knocking him down. “This should fit.”
He frowned down at it.
Rauve pushed his way forward, thrusting a shield at Colban. “Well, what are you waiting for, lad? Are you coming or not?”
This wasn’t a skirmish between clans.
It was a war between countries.
They would be fighting on the same side.
“Fetch me my claymore,” he ground out.
Chapter 30
A battle was just what Hallie needed. It gave her something to focus on. Something other than the loss of the Highlander she’d begun to love. Something besides her bleak future with a stranger. There was nothing like clashing with the enemy to exorcise the frustration from one’s soul.
Though she knew there was little chance the skirmish with the English would come to Rivenloch, her responsibility in times of war had always been to prepare the castle for attack.
Brand was old enough now to take command of the keep. But she needed to leave it in the best possible shape for siege when the army left and he was in charge.
So she surveyed the great hall from atop a trestle table, directing the castle folk as they brought the livestock within the castle gates and the foodstuffs into the keep.
The clan executed the defenses with expert care, weaving between one another as smoothly as warp and weft on a loom.
Only one anomaly—Isabel skulking about the great hall—caused Hallie concern. The lass had never exactly promised to keep the indiscretion between Hallie and Colban secret. And she seemed to be seeking an audience with anyone who would listen.
Of course, that was the least of Hallie’s concerns at the moment. It had been a long while since anyone had dared cross the Rivenloch clan. She hoped her combat skills hadn’t grown rusty.
As for Colban, he must feel completely out of his element. He had never even seen an Englishman, let alone fought one. And now he’d be thrown into battle in the midst of an army of unfamiliar warriors.
A frisson of worry rattled her. What if something happened to him? What if he was wounded? Or worse?
She couldn’t live with herself if he was hurt because of her.
She was the one who had forced him to come to Rivenloch.
She was the reason he hadn’t been at Creagor to defend his laird when the English first attacked.
Perhaps it would have been better if she’d never met Colban an Curaidh.
She swallowed down a thick lump in her throat. There was no time for guilty musing and melancholy regret. The sooner the keep was prepared, the sooner she could arm herself, march to Creagor, and right her wrongs.
Isabel arrived then with brusque impatience, planted her hands on her hips, and announced, apropos of nothing, “’Tis Archibald Scott.” She stuck out her bottom lip in displeasure. “I thought you should know.”
