Page 80 of Bride of Ice
Yet dominance was not what she felt when she looked at him. As she continued to stare—at the stray lock of golden hair dangling over one eye, at the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, at his bare toes peeping out from the bandage—her heart melted.
Not often, but more of late, Hallie had been thinking about the man she would eventually wed. Wondered what he would be like. Whether she would grow fond of him. How it would feel to wake up to the same face every day for the rest of her life.
She would have no choice in the selection of a husband, of course. The position of laird of Rivenloch was too valuable to king and country to be left to chance. Her marriage would be a carefully arranged alliance.
But once in a great while—when she was lying in bed at night or bathing in the loch on a lazy summer day or watching her parents gaze longingly into each other’s eyes—she indulged in a selfish dream that she would one day find a love match.
Looking at Colban now, she felt closer to that tantalizing dream than she’d ever felt before. She could easily imagine awakening with the Highlander beside her each morn, savoring the simple beauty of his face. The idle power of his body. The soothing sound of his breathing. She could even imagine growing to care for him.
She bit her lip, indulging in the fantasy.
The champion had much to recommend him as a husband.
He was a fine warrior. His skills with the claymore, his strength, and his spirit inspired admiration among her men.
His loyalty and chivalry were undeniable. Not only did he place his laird’s life above his own. He’d risked death to come toHallie’srescue, unwilling to leave her in the hands of attackers. Her parents would doubtless consider him a valuable addition to the Rivenloch army.
He would make an excellent father. He had a way with children. He knew how to listen to Ian. How to charm Isabel. How to make Brand worship him like a hero. Even how to impress dour Gellir.
Her husband’s most important duty, of course, would be giving her heirs. Whether Colban was capable of siring offspring she didn’t know. But she remembered the lust in his eyes. The heat of his kiss. The quickening in his braies.
The memory of touching him triggered a wave of molten desire. If Colban an Curaidh was unable to plant his seed, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying. Not only was he well-equipped for the task. He also seemed to have no qualms about a woman overstepping the bounds of propriety. Looking into his eyes. Kissing him. Caressing him.
Nor did he hesitate to return her affections. Claiming her lips with his enticing mouth. Grazing her bosom with his rough fingertips.
She was still adrift in a sea of sensual musings when Colban wakened with a gasp.
She gasped in response, almost spilling the frumenty.
“Hallie.”
Her name spilled out on a sigh, disrupting her thoughts the way a sudden breeze stirred the leaves. He rose on his elbows, and his leine slipped off one magnificent shoulder.
Her heart leaped. Her nostrils flared. She thrust the platter forward, as if it had the power to shield her from temptation. “I brought you breakfast. I thought you’d be up by now.”
Up? Colbanwasup, though not in the way Hallie imagined. He was still savoring the dregs of a delicious dream about silky blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, of tender lips and a velvety hand wrapped around…
“I hope you like apples,” she said.
Apples. That seemed somehow fitting. Hallie looked as tempting as Eve, radiant and breathless, offering him a feast for his eyes, as well as his belly.
“Love them,” he rasped out.
He wanted to fetch the platter from her. But not in his present condition. Clad only in his thin leine, he feared he’d look like he was coming at her with a lance. He bunched the coverlet over his lap.
She awkwardly cleared her throat and averted her gaze. Setting the platter on the edge of the bed, she walked stiffly toward the window, then threw open the shutters.
He grimaced as blinding light streamed in.
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Nay, ’tis late,” he said, shaking the sleep from his head and pulling the platter onto his lap. He took a bite of frumenty. It was warm and delicious, spiced with cinnamon and apples. “I hardly slept a wink, fightin’ for virgins half the night.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“In my dreams,” he clarified. “Isabel’s play? I must have battled a dozen fiery dragons.” He didn’t add that his defeat of the last dragon had won him the devoted affections of a certain beautiful Valkyrie.
“My sister is quite the storyteller,” Hallie said in mild irritation. She faced the window, frowning into the distance. “Her head is full of improbable tales. Magic. Miracles. Impossible creatures.” Her voice grew wistful. “Unlikely endings.”
