Page 37 of Bride of Ice
“Nay, I’m not,” Ian argued. “’Tis a…a show of force. Now that he’s seen our might,” he reasoned, “his army won’t dare to attack Rivenloch.”
It was brilliant—and somewhat true. Colban stifled a smile of admiration. The lad was apparently as inventive with his excuses as he was with his devices.
“Put it away, Ian,” Hallie commanded. “Brand, will you live?”
Brand sat up with the aid of his brother. He was clearly in pain. But seeing Colban watching him, he snorted once, and labored to his feet.
“I’m fine,” he insisted, demonstrating his own show of force despite the strain in his voice. “No toy siege engine will lay me low.”
Gellir tried to loop his brother’s arm over his shoulder. But Brand batted away his help, limping bravely across the courtyard under his own power.
Meanwhile, it was a brooding and disappointed Ian who rolled the trebuchet back to the armory.
Colban stole a sidelong glance at Hallie. For an instant, he glimpsed the weight of duty reflected in her face.
“They must be a handful,” he murmured in sympathy.
Then her mask of icy indifference returned. “I can handle them.”
He had no doubt of that. His ballocks still throbbed from her handling ofhim.
“Ye won’t destroy his toy, though?” he prodded. “’Tis impressive.” He let the shine of humor creep into his eyes. “If ye can reload it fast enough, ye could lay low an entire army. One by one. In a day or so.”
There was a subtle, reluctant twitch of amusement in Hallie’s lips. But it vanished when a knock sounded at the door.
Before Hallie could give her permission to enter, Isabel rushed in.
“Did you finish dinner?” the lass eagerly asked.
Then her gaze lowered to the floor, littered with greens, overturned trenchers, and smashed apple coffyns.
She gasped, and her brow furrowed. “What happened?”
“You,” Hallie accused, starting toward the lass. Isabel inched backward in retreat. She might have fled. But Hallie closed the door behind her, sealing her escape and cornering her. “What did you put in the wine?”
“N-nothing.”
“Isabel?”
She bit her lip and glanced nervously at Colban. “I only…flavored it a wee bit.”
“Flavored it. With rosemary and honey?”
“Fine,” Isabel admitted. “’Twas a love potion. But ’twas perfectly harmless. Besides, you needed something to smooth o’er your…hostilities.”
“Smooth o’er…” Hallie said in disbelief. “There’s a reason to be hostile. The Highlander is a hostage. A foe. A usurper.”
Colban took issue with the last term. Creagor rightfully belonged to the mac Girics. “Now just a moment. I’m not a usur—”
“You have no right to stick your nose into my affairs, Isabel,” Hallie scolded.
Isabel thrust out her chin. “I do when you’re too blind to see what’s right in front of you, Hallie.”
“And what’s that?”
They stood nose-to-nose now, and Isabel gave Colban one quick glance before she whispered, “HeisThe One.”
“Oh, for the love of—”
