Page 130 of Bride of Ice
Chapter 33
Colban’s possessions were packed. He stashed the heavy satchel at the foot of his bed, along with his claymore, his targe, his helm, and his chain mail.
Though he’d continued to serve as Morgan’s right hand man at Creagor for the last five days—helping him make wedding preparations, hiring a priest and musicians, sourcing victuals for the feast—he didn’t intend to stay a moment longer than was necessary.
He didn’t even want to watch the ceremony, to be frank. But he’d promised to linger long enough to stand beside Morgan as he made Jenefer his bride.
After that, he was a free man.
Colban plucked a piece of lint from the gray velvet sleeve of the cotun he saved for special occasions. He’d be leaving these garments behind, changing into more roadworthy clothing of worn brown leather and wool. Where he was going, he had no need of silks and velvets.
Then he gave a rueful chuckle.
Wherewashe going anyway?
He didn’t know. He only knew he wanted to get as far away from Rivenloch—and Hallie—as possible.
There was a knock on the door. “They’re here!” sang Bethac through the closed door.
The Rivenloch clan had arrived. Companionable Rauve. Serious Gellir. Lively Brand. Inquisitive Ian. Starry-eyed Isabel. Hallie’s esteemed parents. The worthy knights and loyal servants. He greeted them all with a polite smile. But it was a smile that never quite reached his eyes. A smile he forced to his lips to hide his breaking heart.
And then he saw Hallie.
If she’d resembled a Valkyrie before, today she appeared to have materialized straight out of the misty realm of Valhalla. She wore a rich gown of midnight blue velvet, embroidered with white and silver vines. Her fair hair was caught in a silver circlet and partially fashioned into a knot of intricate braids that draped the tresses falling to her waist. Her pale skin lent her an ethereal appearance, furthering the impression that she was not of this world.
She should have been happy. Her cousin was getting married today. Rivenloch was gaining an ally. Peace had been forged.
Yet her face reflected all the bleak despair he felt.
In the midst of a sea of cheering and merriment, the two of them floated like deserted ships. Forgotten. Forsaken. Forlorn.
It was a day for Morgan and Jenefer, with all the festivity that entailed. There was a kiss to seal their union. Honey mead to ensure their fertility. A feast to feed the masses. Entertainment to maintain the cheer long into the night.
No one spoke ofHallie’simpending nuptials.
Why would they?
But that fateful date—just ten days hence, by Ian’s reckoning—was burned like a brand on Colban’s heart.
He endured the celebration in the great hall with grace. But when the clans started calling for the bedding of the newly wedded couple, Colban made his escape. The last thing he needed to see was the newlyweds’ bedchamber decked with candles and their marriage bed strewn with flowers. It would be easier to leave unnoticed while the crowd made their way upstairs, ostensibly to witness the consummation.
Of course, that tradition had been long ago abandoned. Now it was but a token nod to a primitive practice. Morgan’s clansmen would feign to tear off the couple’s clothes. Jenefer’s maids would feign to protect her. And in the end, Morgan would defend his bride and chase them all out of the room.
Still, the rite provided good cover for Colban to slip away to the stairs on the opposite side of the hall.
He hadn’t counted on being followed.
He’d ascended the winding steps and opened the door to his bedchamber when he heard someone close behind him in the corridor.
He turned. His eyes widened. “Hallie?”
“Colban.”
She’d had too much to drink. That was immediately obvious. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyelids sagged. Her circlet was askew. And she weaved on her feet like a wheat stalk teased by the wind.
“What are ye doin’ here?” he asked gently.
“I wanted to see you.”
