Page 61 of Bride of Ice
But these Lowlanders fought shoulder to shoulder, battling as a single force. They operated as smoothly as the gears of a gristmill. When one man fell back, another would take his place. Without a word, they sensed when and where to fill gaps in the line, maintaining an unrelenting and impenetrable advance.
If that army attacked Creagor now, the castle would fall. Good mac Giric men would die. And what was left of the clan would be sent hobbling back to the Highlands in disgrace.
Colban couldn’t let that happen. He had to learn all he could about Rivenloch. Her defenses. Her weaponry. Her strengths and weaknesses. Which ramparts were unassailable. And where the chinks in her armor were.
He knew just where he could unearth that kind of information.
Hallie’s siblings.
Hallie might have turned a cold shoulder to him. But Brand admired him. And Gellir was growing to respect him. They could teach him all about Rivenloch’s fighting style and tactics.
Young Ian hungered for Colban’s company. Studying that detailed notebook of his would tell Colban all he needed to know about the castle defenses.
As for Isabel, she’d hand him her heart if he asked. It would be child’s play, coaxing her to reveal Hallie’s vulnerabilities.
Indeed, he’d just begun to consider who he would question first when the lovesick lass knocked at his door.
“Sir Colban? Are you dressed? May I come in?”
“Aye, come in.”
She pushed through the door with a platter of food. “I’ve brought you brea—”
He figured his leine was long enough for decency. Until the lass’s eyes dropped immediately to his bare legs—and her platter almost followed.
Perhaps he should have put on his trews before he let her in. These Lowlanders didn’t seem to run about bare-legged the way they did in the north.
To close her jaw and break the awkward silence, he donned his trews and nodded toward the platter. “Did Hallie send ye?”
“Nay. I mean, aye!” She closed the door behind her. “She insisted you have a hero’s breakfast, since you saved her life and all.”
Colban smirked. He didn’t believe that for an instant.
The platter was piled high with oatcakes, butter, bacon, bread, frumenty, cheese, sweetmeats, and ale. It appeared the lass had raided the pantry and brought him a feast fit for an army.
He took the tray from her, setting it on his lap. “Hallie agreed to this?”
Isabel nodded, insisting, “She said ’twas the least she could do.”
He doubted that. He suspected Hallie would just as soon feed him gruel.
Isabel clasped her hands meekly before her, almost as if in prayer. “I know my sister seems hard and heartless. But I beseech you, don’t judge her in haste. You’ll see. She’s not as unfeeling as she seems.”
“Hmm.” He buttered half an oatcake and offered it to the lass.
She shook her head. “I’ve already eaten.”
He popped the oatcake into his mouth.
She began to pace, wringing her hands. “’Tis only that Hallie is going to be Laird of Rivenloch one day. She’ll have to manage the lands and command the army. So she has to prove her worth. And sometimes that means she has to black an eye. Or break a nose. Or lop off a finger.”
Colban nearly choked on the oatcake.
“But I’ll tell you a secret,” she confided in a murmur, stopping before him. “She’s never actually killed a man before.”
“That’s…comfortin’.” Of course, Hallie had already assured him he was no use to her dead. He took a sip of ale.
“And…” She glanced left and right as if she feared someone might be listening. Then she lifted her brows to impart the grave significance of what she whispered. “I don’t think she’s ever kissed a man either.”
