Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,104

let a single drop of blood well from the wound. Then she smeared it across the linen.

His mouth went round in awe.

“No one has to know,” she confided.

She gathered up the stained bedsheet, slipped from the bed, and left the bloodied linen in a pile outside the door as evidence of her claimed virginity.

When she returned to the bed, he was still gripping his crotch. He need not have worried. She had no interest in dealing with that part of him further this evening.

“’Tis been a long day,” she said, forcing an encouraging smile to her lips. “We’ll try again on the morrow.”

As it turned out, the morrow was no better. Nor was the next day. Or the next.

Despite his best efforts—in various positions, in broad daylight, in complete darkness, warm from a bath, shivering in the cold, fully clothed, completely nude—nothing could keep him interested long enough to endure coupling with her.

A lesser woman would have deemed herself inadequate. Indeed, Archie would have had her believe it was her fault. Though he stopped short of accusing her outright, there was an edge to his muttered curses of frustration. Not once did he blame himself for his shortcomings.

But she knew better. Archie’s incapacity stemmed from his overarching anxiety…about everything.

To his credit, over the span of the next several weeks, he overcame a few of his fears.

With Brand’s guidance, he was able to develop some skill with a bow.

Gellir reluctantly taught him how to throw a dagger, and Archie hit the target about a quarter of the time.

Isabel convinced him to fish, although she had to tie the worm on the line for him, since he had an aversion to dirty, wriggling things.

He was never able to fight properly. His lunges and spins looked more like carole dancing than battle moves. But Rauve at least showed him how to brandish a sword. Hallie supposed Archie could at least look fierce standing atop the castle wall.

He also developed an affinity for Ian, which somewhat softened her heart toward him. The fact that he could listen to her little brother’s philosophies with patience and examine his inventions for hours on end did much to mollify her frustration with him.

Archie happily helped Ian with his experiments. He clapped with glee when one of Ian’s parchment birds sailed successfully across the courtyard. He cooed over the geared pulley Ian fashioned by hand out of wood and rope. He nodded his approval of Ian’s sketches, ruffling the lad’s hair with almost fatherly pride.

If only he would do the one thing that would make him a real father, Hallie might be less aggravated by her situation.

Now, not only was she wed to a husband she didn’t love.

She was stuck with a man who couldn’t perform his one most critical task. Giving her children.

Chapter 35

Colban hadn’t found what he was seeking in Edinburgh.

Neither did he find it in Linlithgow or Falkirk or Bannockburn.

Wandering once again, he trudged through the silent fog and the last muddy slush of winter, feeling as empty as the black-branched ash looming over the road. Without direction. Without a clan.

Nearly three months ago, he’d set out to find his place in the world. Instead, his heart kept getting pulled back, again and again, toward the clan that had taken him in. The man who was like a brother to him. And the lass whose image had never faded from his dreams, not even after weeks away.

What he was looking for he couldn’t name. But perhaps he’d find it in Stirling.

Eventually, the mire beneath his feet hardened into well-traveled hardpack. The civilized smoke of peat fire mingled with the wild fog, filling the air with an acrid but welcoming stench. After three days on the road, he’d finally arrived at the town that served as the gateway to the Highlands. He felt like Stirling was his last chance to purge himself of a destiny he couldn’t have and to look toward a fresh future.

He secured lodging on the high street and asked the innkeeper for the names of the town’s best stews. He intended to plunge at once into freewheeling debauchery. Drink himself blind and forget Hallie between the thighs of a willing wench. Hell, a dozen willing wenches.

The first task he managed to accomplish. By the time he emptied his fourth cup of ale and staggered out of the inn, his head was spinning.

As for the stews, he didn’t make it past the first doorway.

He was full of excuses. The glaring excuse being none