Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,103

stopper, and quickly glugged down the entire contents.

She raised a brow, but said nothing.

The drink didn’t fortify him at once, but it gave him the courage to at least take off his clothing. Taking his time, he draped his garments, one by one, neatly over the chest at the foot of the bed. By the time he got down to his undergarments, his head was buzzing with warm intoxication.

He closed his eyes and dropped his braies, trying to imagine he was standing, not before the stern and menacing warrior lass, but before her far more tempting little brother.

If Hallie hadn’t been ogled and admired by men all her life, she would have felt completely humiliated by her new husband’s behavior.

Fortunately, she’d never lacked self-confidence. She knew, being tall and imposing, she wasn’t always to a man’s liking. But she never failed to turn a man’s head.

What was wrong with Archie, she didn’t know. Perhaps he was shy. Or inexperienced. Or afraid.

But just as they’d been compelled to wed, regardless of their continuing lack of any common ground whatsoever, they were expected to consummate their marriage, to procreate and continue the Rivenloch line.

There didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him. His body was clean. True, he had very little hair and a bit of softness around the edges. But he looked healthy enough, with no noticeable scars or deformities. She supposed she should be thankful for that.

When Archie dropped his braies, however, her gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to the stunted member protruding from his curly brown thatch. And though she gave less credence to the size of a man’s sword than the skill with which he wielded it, she wondered if such a short appendage could even breach her gates to give her a child.

With his eyes still shut, he floundered his way along the bed until he contacted her ankle. She shuddered at the clamminess of his palm. But as in warfare, she knew to give away nothing by her expression—neither fear nor revulsion.

He groped his clumsy way up her leg, still with squeezed eyes, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her.

For one sharply painful instant, she imagined how different this night would have been with Colban in her bed.

Then she forced herself to be present, in the moment, for her husband. It was the least she owed him.

He eventually clambered on top of her and fumbled between her legs, though the way his mouth was working with concentration, it must have been as difficult for him as hitting the quintain in the lists.

She took mercy on him and found his wrist, guiding his hand. “Here.”

But he seemed to take sudden offense at this. “I’ve got it!” he snarled.

She released him. But already he was withering. In frustration, he mashed himself against her with all the grace of a walrus thrashing at a rival.

“Bloody hell!” he shrieked.

So sudden and violent was his outburst, she instinctively reached beneath her bolster, where her dagger resided, stopping just short of drawing it out.

“Now you’ve done it!” he continued, spitting the words like an epithet. “Why couldn’t you just be silent?”

Anger stirred in her like a dark eel slithering beneath the still surface of a pond. But she wouldn’t confront him now. Not on their wedding night.

One day soon she would explain respect to him. Respect. And honor. And duty.

Anyone else would have felt the point of her blade by now. She only held her tongue and her weapon out of courtesy—for him and for their guests who waited below for proof of their successful coupling.

He had failed. Humiliated himself. And blamed it on her.

But to admit that would shame them both. So it was up to Hallie to make things right.

Archie sat back on his haunches, clamping his shriveled member between his thighs. “We’ll have to try again.”

She didn’t want to try again. Not when he’d been so unchivalrous. Besides, things would work out better this way.

Earlier, waiting for him to return from the garderobe, she’d worried he’d discover she wasn’t a virgin. She’d planned to deceive him. Now there was no need.

“That won’t be necessary.”

She drew the dagger.

He tumbled back with an exaggerated gasp, his hands cupping his crotch. His reaction might have been comical if she weren’t so utterly disappointed at the thought of being saddled with a simpering coward for the rest of her life.

Wincing only slightly, she pricked the tip of her middle finger with the point of the dagger, just enough to