Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,20

and take him hostage. Even without a weapon.

Anyone could see how easily he could break the lad’s scrawny neck. In the blink of an eye. With his bare hands.

Using the son of the laird as a shield, he could get past Rauve. Once all of Rivenloch understood the threat Colban posed, he’d be granted free passage back to Creagor.

Once at Creagor, he would not only provide Morgan with a third hostage, but he could give the laird useful information about Rivenloch’s defenses if war came to pass.

Colban wouldn’t even be breaking his word. He’d made no specific promises about taking hostages.

“Well?” Ian had made his move. Now he looked up at Colban with wide blue eyes.

But Colban couldn’t do it. It was a matter of chivalry. No matter how desperate the situation was, threatening to harm a helpless lad went against his sense of honor. Honor he’d cultivated all his life.

In a few days, he told himself, things would work themselves out, and he’d be returned to Creagor. There was no need for bloodshed. Or violence. Or carrying off wee Viking lads.

He slid another pawn forward.

“Have you e’er watched a lightning storm?” Ian asked.

Colban grinned. The lad was an endless font of questions. “Aye.”

“’Tis curious, isn’t it, how the branches of lightning form like the branches of a tree.”

“I suppose so.”

“I was almost struck by lightning once.” He lowered his voice to confide, “I was watching a storm atop the tower. My grandfather told me not to go up there. But ’twas too exciting to resist.”

“What happened?”

“My skin started to tingle. And my hair stood on end. All at once, with a loud crack, the lightning struck the tower wall right next to me.” His eyes widened with the memory, then lowered to the chessboard. “Your move.”

To Colban, the lad’s mind moved like lightning, darting about in seemingly random patterns.

While Colban was choosing which piece to move, Ian volunteered, “I’ve built a siege engine.”

“Is that so?”

“Well. A model of a siege engine. Da won’t let me have the timbers to build an actual engine. At least not until the model proves its worth. Would you like to see it?”

“Is it in here?”

“Nay. I keep it in the stable. But I can show it to you from the window later.”

“I’d like that.”

As strange as it was, Colban was enjoying Ian’s company. The lad was bright and fearless and full of curiosity. For someone who’d claimed to need peace and quiet, he chattered endlessly. And he played chess with a skill far beyond his years. Indeed, Colban might well lose this match.

But there was something Colban could win from his encounter with Ian. Something that would serve him well in the critical days ahead. He could win the lad’s trust.

“What are ye writin’ there?” Colban asked, nodding at the ledger the lad had set aside.

“Everything.”

“Everythin’?”

“Would you like to see?”

He nodded. What Colban saw in the ledger left him speechless. Crowded onto each page were dozens of drawings and hundreds of words, written in tiny letters. On one page was a sketch of a mill, a v-shaped flock of birds, and what looked like a design for a knight’s helm. Another was filled with lines of text. A third featured a detailed cart and several depictions of flowers. A branching tree took up one entire page. Squeezed between the branches were hundreds of words, written in tiny letters. Colban wished he could read them.

“Ye made these?”

“Aye.”

“They’re wondrous indeed.” He turned the page and narrowed his eyes. “And this?”

“’Tis Rivenloch. I’m working on the defenses.” He pointed out the various features. “Here’s the courtyard. And the great hall. And the armory. Here’s where we are right now.”

Colban had to temper his excitement as he scanned the illustration. It was a detailed map of the castle. Nothing could be more valuable to the mac Girics, should they need to lay siege to Rivenloch.

“I think ’tis your play,” Ian reminded him.

Colban returned the ledger to him with a wink. “And I think ye’re eager to pummel me.”

Ian grinned.

Colban studied the board and finally slid a bishop forward.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Ian asked.

Colban wasn’t sure. But he’d already made his move. “Aye. Once a man makes up his mind, I believe he should commit to that choice and follow through with—”

“Checkmate.”

How the imp had infiltrated his ranks so quickly, he couldn’t fathom.

But before he could recover from the shock, there was a sound at the door. Ian gasped, upsetting the chessboard and scattering