Page 91 of Bride of Ice
As she held his elbow to swab his upper arm, he said, “Ye know, I’ve been mullin’ it o’er—this matter o’ the ownership o’ Creagor.”
She gave him a guarded, “Aye?”
“I think there may be a way to forge an alliance, no matter what the king decides.”
“An alliance? Why?” She lowered her eyes, and a slight crease appeared between them. “Once he decides in Rivenloch’s favor, you’ll return to the Highlands. Won’t you?” Was that hope or regret he heard?
“Ah, but what if he rules in the mac Giric’s favor?”
“He won’t do that,” Hallie was quick to say, though there was a scintilla of doubt in the wavering of her voice. “It makes no sense. Strategically. Logistically. Practically.”
She began scrubbing a bit too fiercely at his forearm. He stayed her hand before she could scrub the skin away.
“Just bear with me a moment.”
She dropped the sponge in the water and sat back on her heels. “Fine.”
He picked up the sponge, rolling it idly between his palms. “’Twouldn’t be the first time a king made an impractical decision. To curry favor. Or gain land. Or just on a whim.”
He could see by the grim set of her mouth that Hallie knew the truth of that all too well. In the Highlands, king and country were a vague concept. Laws were made by and for those who lived far away. But for Hallie, dwelling closer to the seat of Scotland’s power, royal edicts were real. They had immediate consequences.
“Go on,” she said.
“What if neither of us has to lose?” he suggested. “What if webothclaim Creagor?”
“Both?” She blinked.
He continued, gesturing with the sponge to emphasize his point. “What if we forge a different kind of alliance? One more bindin’ than that o’ the king. One made in the presence o’ God.”
She looked at him with skepticism. “A holy alliance?”
“Of a sort.” He racked his brain for a good example. “Consider Isabel. What if Isabel were betrothed to a mac Giric lad?”
“What mac Giric lad?” she demanded with a fierce scowl.
“I’m not sayin’ she is,” he clarified. “But what if she were?”
“Not Isabel. When my sister marries, ’twill be for love.”
“O’ course.” He smiled. The hardhearted warrior lass had a soft spot for her little sister. “Perhaps Abygail then or…”
“So you’re suggesting a marriage between our clans.”
He took a tenuous breath, hoping she wouldn’t reject the idea out of hand. “Aye.”
“To keep the peace.”
“Aye.”
She furrowed her brows and tapped thoughtfully at her lip.
She was silent so long, Colban began to fret she might reconsider.
“’Twouldn’t have to be Abygail,” he offered. “Maybe Gillian or—”
“My cousin.”
“What?”
