Page 20 of Bride of Ice
She struggled to come up with a proper cell. Apparently, none of the Border castles had been built with accommodations for prisoners.
“The laird’s chamber is empty at present,” Rauve suggested, “I can keep watch over him there.”
“Aye. Good.” Hallie straightened. Then she faced Isabel. “As for you, say a word to anyone about this, and I’ll throttle you with your braid. Do you understand?”
Isabel scowled. “See?” She picked up her skirts, and stomped off, snarling back over her shoulder, “A heart of ice.”
Hallie wanted to smack her meddling sister.
The Oneindeed.
She compressed her lips.
There was no such thing as The One.
There never would be.
Not for Hallie.
Hallie was destined to be a powerful laird. She had no use for a husband, except to forge a favorable alliance and create heirs. And for that, a suitable match would be chosen for her by the king.
Her wee sister was a foolish lass. A hopeless romantic. She believed in true love. In couples destined to be together. In happily ever after.
Maybe that would be true for Isabel. As the fourth in line, she was a lass with no responsibilities. No expectations.
For Hallie, however, love was not in the stars.
But a heart of ice?
Hallie only did what she had to do. What was required of a woman in her position. She’d had to harden her heart in order to survive.
Nonetheless, as she nudged the captive forward, she took care not to jab him too forcefully with the point of the sword. There was no need to be unnecessarily rough. After all, a damaged hostage was of little value.
The moment they breached the castle walls, Hallie knew Isabel had disobeyed her. What had the wag-tongue told the clan? That her captive was The One? That Hallie had beaten a defenseless man to a bloody pulp? That she meant to keep him in her bedchamber?
Whatever it was, the news of an exciting arrival had spread like wildfire. It seemed the entire clan had rushed to the courtyard—some fresh from their beds—eager to feast their eyes on the captive. They stared at him as if they’d never seen a hostage before.
“Shite,” she muttered.
Brand, Hallie’s middle brother, loped up to meet her. At fifteen, he was half-lad, half-man. His upper lip was downy, but he still moved like an awkward pup.
“Is it true?” he asked, his face alight as he perused the captive. “Did he put up a fight?” Then he spied her sword. “Sard a bard! Look at that sword. You seized it from him, didn’t you, Hallie? Is that a claymore?”
“Aye,” she said with a scowl. She didn’t need her little brother admiring the weapons of the enemy.
“Is he a Highlander?” Brand’s eyes went wide with amazement as he neared the hostage. “Are you a Highlander?”
Hallie’s oldest brother, named after their grandfather Gellir, arrived next. A year older than Brand and as grim as the grave, he caught his brother’s sleeve.
“Get back, Brand,” he warned. “You should ne’er approach a prisoner.”
Brand frowned in annoyance and pulled free of Gellir’s grasp. But he heeded his brother’s advice, taking a judicious step away.
Meanwhile, in the midst of the courtyard, Isabel was conspiring with three of her friends. She whispered something to them, and all four began staring at the Highlander with dreamy eyes.
“Enough!” Hallie announced, holding up a hand for quiet. It was time to set things straight.
She handed the claymore and the prisoner off to Rauve and waited for silence.
