Page 32 of Bride of Ice
“His words were you ‘didn’t want Colban to be lonely’.”
Hallie would have to have a talk with Ian about the definition of a hostage. And she didn’t care for the hopeful gleam in her sister’s eyes.
Isabel continued, waxing romantic. “’Tis such a merciful gesture on your part. An offering of peace to a tortured soul. Sharing a meal and conversation. Gazing—”
“Nay,” Hallie said, refusing to be maneuvered by her little sister. “You go in. Leave the platter on the table. And come straight back.”
Isabel was visibly disappointed, but she nodded. “Fine.”
She carefully opened the door for Isabel, aware Colban could be crouched behind it, ready to spring.
He wasn’t. He was standing at the window. When he turned, the setting sun made a halo around his blond head, making him look like an angel. A powerfully handsome angel with broad shoulders, a massive chest, and sparkling brown eyes.
“Sir Colban!” Isabel cried, dashing into the room past her.
Hallie, choking, made a grab for her and missed.
“I’ve brought you dinner,” the willful maid gushed.
Ignoring Hallie’s instructions, Isabel rushed directly up to the Highlander and pressed the platter into his hands.
He gave her an uneasy smile. “My thanks.”
“Isabel,” Hallie hissed. Her silly sister had practically cornered the poor man against the window.
“Oh!” Isabel exclaimed in feigned surprise. “I’ve brought enough for both of you. Hallie thought you’d like company.”
Hallie gave her a chilling glare.
“Did she?” he asked.
“Oh aye,” Isabel insisted. Then she added in a loud whisper, “She might look fierce, but she has a tender heart.”
“That will be enough, Isabel,” Hallie said. “Leave the food and go.”
“Aye, m’laird,” Isabel said on a sigh, giving Colban a brief curtsy.
As she headed back toward the door, she winked broadly at Hallie. When she turned to flutter her fingers in farewell to the Highlander, Hallie smacked the mischievous maid on the bottom. Isabel yelped and hastened out the door.
When Hallie’s gaze returned to the prisoner, he was still standing by the window, resembling an angel. Afallenangel, she amended. From his bruised face, it looked as if he’d taken quite a tumble out of heaven.
“Ye don’t have to keep me company,” he said, guessing Isabel had fabricated her offer. “Though, as ye can see, ’tis too much for one man.”
She lowered her eyes to the platter. A large trencher of fresh-baked bread sat in the middle. By the mouthwatering smell wafting through the chamber, it was filled with beef pottage. Beside it was a salat made of winter greens. Atop a linen napkin were a pair of apple coffyns, still steaming and fragrant. And two empty silver goblets stood beside an open bottle of red wine. Expensive French wine that should have been reserved for honored guests.
She licked her lips. She hadn’t had time for breakfast, and she’d only picked at supper. It seemed like a shame to let all that food go to waste.
“Ye may as well join me,” he urged.
Despite the hunger pangs in her belly, she told him, “I don’t fraternize with prisoners.”
“Fine. I won’t fraternize with ye. We’ll just sup together, and I won’t say a word.”
She smirked. His eyes were dancing. He clearly had about as much respect for her boundaries as Isabel did.
Then again, what could it hurt? Was she so weak-willed that she couldn’t sup with the man without losing her power over him?
He was her prisoner. She was laird here. This was her castle. Her servants. Her food. Her domain.
