Page 49 of Bride of Ice
“And are you finished with the lads’ stockings?”
“Aye.”
“Good,” she said, adding pointedly, “You’re free to go now.”
A twinkle emerged in Isabel’s eyes as she whispered to him. “’Twas so brave of you to come to Hallie’s rescue.”
“Isabel,” Hallie warned.
“He did, Hallie. You’re just too stubborn to see it.”
“Off with you,” Hallie ordered, “ere I find more stockings for you to mend.”
The lass scurried out the door, sidling past a gray-haired man with his cap in his hands and a worried frown on his face.
“Sorry to trouble you, Hallie,” he said, “but the stallion’s loose in the lists again.”
Hallie gave a last longing look at the platter of food. “Enjoy your supper.” Then she followed the man out the door.
Despite his hunger, Colban was sorry to see her go.
Meanwhile, Rauve still stood in the doorway, scratching at his beard and glancing at the supper. The man must be hungry as well. Like Colban, he’d had no relief all day. He supposed it would be rude not to share.
“Come join me,” he said. “There’s enough for two.” To be honest, Colban was hungry enough to finish off both coffyns, the entire trencher of pottage, the two tankards of ale, and the pair of berry-topped custards winking at him from the tray.
Rauve tried and failed to look reluctant. “Perhaps I will,” he grumbled. “I’d go down to the great hall to sup, but no one’s here to relieve me. And Hallie’s got her hands full today.”
“So it seems. Come in.”
The coffyns were flaky, stuffed with smoky bacon and onions. Thick vegetable pottage filled a pair of trenchers. The tankards brimmed with cool, foamy ale. And the cream-colored custard was drizzled generously with honey and chopped rosemary.
Honey and rosemary. Colban shook his head. It seemed the scheming Isabel had done it again. He wondered if Rauve would fall prey to the lass’s love potion.
He didn’t. After wolfing down his portion, Rauve smacked his lips, wiped his beard, gave Colban a nod, and returned to his post.
And Colban returned to practicing letters, drawing them on the hearth with a piece of coal, then wiping them away with the sleeve of his shirt.
The shadows had grown long and his saffron sleeve was black with ash when he heard the sound of swordplay outside his window.
In the courtyard below, by the afternoon light, a well-rested Gellir battled with Brand. This time it was no wild and angry fight, but a controlled practice. The brothers moved slowly, studying each angle of attack, working out new defenses.
He watched them for several moments as they repeated the same movement over and over. Gellir slashed at Brand’s head. Brand deflected the blow with his shield. Then Gellir wheeled away, returning to lunge forward with a thrust to Brand’s heart.
Each time, Brand had difficulty crossing his shield quickly enough from high on one side to counter the strike on the opposite side.
“Brand,” Colban finally called down. “Instead o’ blockin’ his second thrust head-on with your shield, turn sideways. That way ye can dodge the blow and divert it with your blade.”
“What?” Brand asked, squinting up toward the window.
“No one asked you, hostage,” Gellir sneered.
Colban shrugged. “Just tryin’ to help the lad.”
“He doesn’t need the help of a Highlander.”
“Wait,” Brand said. “What did you say?”
“Don’t listen to him, Brand,” Gellir growled.
