Page 43 of Bride of Ice
“How dare you call me that, you…you pinheaded churl!”
“You’re nothing but a pack of blathering ronyons!”
“And you’re a pair of oafish cumbergrounds!”
“Dimwitted damsels!”
“Loggerheaded lads!”
The two factions continued hurling insults at each other like missiles from a trebuchet. Hallie sighed, knowing she was going to have to end this skirmish ere it turned into full-scale war.
Isabel had just called Gellir a skelpie simpleton when Hallie heard a curious sound intruding upon their battle.
Mirth.
She stole a glance at the Highlander at the window.
He was laughing.
While the fierce campaign raged below, he chuckled at each new insult.
Hallie arched a brow of disapproval. She was trying to rein in the youths’ misbehavior, not encourage it. Was he laughing at her expense? Or did he only find their bickering entertaining?
Of course, itwasentertaining. No one was more creative with insults than her siblings. The education of the children of Rivenloch had been rich and ribald. She supposed to a stranger’s ear that wealth of words must be a source of great hilarity.
When Brand called Isabel a fustilugs fopdoodle, Colban burst out with laughter that was so full of delight, Hallie couldn’t help but feel the tug of a smile at her own lips.
His laugh was as warm and delicious as honey, pouring out to soften and sweeten the bitter conflict.
It was also contagious. A giggle bubbled up in her own throat as she realized how ridiculous their name-calling had become.
When one of the vexed but less clever maids of Isabel’s retinue branded Brand a pricky pudding prick, the ensuing gasps of shock caused an immediate ceasefire.
But when Colban’s howls filled the silence, Hallie could no longer hold back. Her peals of laughter joined his, rolling out like church bells.
This naturally earned them the scorn of both factions. Now united in their fury, the lads and lasses turned on them.
“You’re in charge, Hallie,” Isabel pouted. “You’re supposed to be defending us.”
“You seem to have matters well in hand,” Hallie said, fighting back a giggle as she thought again of that pudding prick remark.
“As for you, hostage,” Gellir snarled at Colban. “’Tisn’t your affair.”
“’Tisn’t?” Colban replied with an innocent grin. “Wasn’t it me ye were fightin’ o’er?”
As her siblings frowned in consternation, Hallie shook her head. “You don’t actually remember what you’re fighting about, do you?”
No one could answer, which made Colban snicker.
Hallie straightened. “Sheathe your weapons, all of you. Gellir, off to bed. Send Erik to stand guard.”
“But I’m not—”
“Isabel, you and your lasses will spend the day mending the lads’ stockings.”
The lasses erupted in gasps of disgust while Brand grinned.
But Isabel’s lips and eyes narrowed with scheming. “Of course. We’d be glad to.”
