Page 142 of Bride of Ice
The man stood behind Ian, to one side. His trews were unlaced. With one hand, he fondly rubbed the back of Ian’s neck. With the other, he fondled his own lavishly greased prick.
Too sickened and enraged for words, Colban let out a snarl that startled both of them.
Archie jerked back, knocking over a clay vessel that splattered his boots and trews with the same kind of shiny yellow grease that coated his cods.
Ian dropped the fishing pole and spun around. He furrowed his brows, confused by both Colban’s sudden appearance and Archie’s curious condition.
Colban hesitated. Perhaps nothing had happened yet. Perhaps Ian didn’t understand Archie’s intentions. If so, he didn’t want to destroy the lad’s innocence. He didn’t want to be the one to explain Archie’s villainy to him.
In the next instant, he regretted that moment of hesitation.
Archie panicked.
He’d been caught with his trews down. Something that had never happened before. Not in Sir Geoffrey’s sheltered world.
And this stranger clearly didn’t approve. He was vexed. Worse, he looked as powerful and threatening as an angry ox.
Archie racked his alarmed brain to think of a reasonable excuse for his situation. A plausible reason for him to have exposed himself.
There was none. Words failed him. So in the end, he had to rely on the only leverage he had.
Ian.
Sweeping the lad up into his arms, he backed away toward the loch.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured to the lad. “Don’t worry.”
But the visual message he sent to the intruder was altogether different. Narrowing his eyes, he skewered the man with a glare that reflected his dire warning.
If the stranger didn’t back away and forget what he’d seen here, Archie would toss Ian in the loch. Considering the ice crusted along the edge of the shore, the lad wouldn’t last long in the cold depths.
“Get back!” Archie screamed at him, eyeing the surface of the black water.
The man clearly got his message. He froze, lifting his palms in surrender.
“But Archie…” Ian protested, wriggling in his arms.
“Be still!” he hissed. “He’s got a sword.”
“But that’s Colban. He’s my friend. He wouldn’t—”
“Hush!” he ordered.
So the little whelp knew his savior. That was unfortunate.
“Let the lad go,” Colban said.
Archie wasn’t about to yield his hostage. Especially now. He retreated with Ian another step, inches from the splintered edge of the wood planking, and bit out, “Back away.”
His threat had some effect. The Colban fellow took a judicious step backward. But the man still had a claymore slung across his back. A huge blade that could cleave Archie in half from his shoulder to his ballocks, which were beginning to pucker in the chill air, despite a thick layer of wool grease.
“Take off your sword,” Archie said.
The impatient lad began to struggle in his grip. Archie almost lost his balance on the wet wood.
“Nay, Ian!” Colban barked. “Don’t fight him. Ye could slip and fall.”
The lad went still, all but his incessant mouth.
