Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,24
so weak-willed that she couldn’t sup with the man without losing her power over him?
He was her prisoner. She was laird here. This was her castle. Her servants. Her food. Her domain.
“I’ll sup with you,” she agreed, closing the door behind her. “But only so I can keep an eye on you.”
Colban suppressed a smile. For a prisoner with whom no one was supposed to fraternize, he certainly had a lot of people keeping an eye on him.
But he didn’t mind having the Valkyrie as his guard. She was beautiful and fascinating. Even if they said nothing, she was a lovely sight to look upon, with her fair tresses, her crystal eyes, and lips that rivaled rose petals in their velvety perfection.
He cast about the chamber, looking for a place where they could share the dinner. Only the bed afforded enough room. So, ignoring the disconcerting detail that they’d be sharing a bed, he set the platter in its midst.
As wary as a wildcat, she took a seat across from him. Then she offered him the spoon while she poured the wine.
His hunger heightened the flavor of the pottage. The beef was tender. The herb-filled broth was thick and rich with cabbage, neeps, and onions. It was difficult not to eat the whole meal himself.
But when he’d finished half, he handed the spoon to Hallie and started on the salat. By this time in the Highlands, the greens were gone, grazed by beasts or buried under snow, so it was a rare treat to enjoy fresh fennel and parsley.
Only the wine was a disappointment. It was cloyingly sweet. But he was thirsty, so he gulped it down with a wince and a slight shudder.
When he put down the empty goblet, Hallie was regarding him with horror.
“You’re supposed to sip it,” she scolded, “not guzzle it down. Have you never had wine before?”
“I’ve had it once before. At Morgan’s weddin’. But it didn’t taste like this.”
She arched an indignant brow. “You probably can’t get good French wine in the Highlands.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing. To be honest, this is a wee bit hard to swallow.”
Hallie frowned and took a sip of her own wine. Then she made a face of such pure disgust that Colban couldn’t help but chuckle.
“What is this?” she asked, peering into her goblet as if the answer lay there. “Something’s wrong with it.”
Colban’s grin faded quickly as a terrible thought came to mind. “It hasn’t been poisoned, has it?” Bloody hell. He’d gulped down the whole goblet.
“Nay.” But he could see by her expression that she wasn’t certain of that. “Surely not.”
Colban suddenly felt sick, as if poison were already infiltrating his veins. “Your older brother—”
“Gellir? If he wanted you dead, he’d use a blade, not poison.” Her reassurances were less than reassuring. “Besides,” she reasoned, “there were two goblets. Who would want to poison both of us?”
She sniffed at the bottle, then filled his goblet with the rest of the wine. A sprig of something fell out.
“What’s that?” he asked.
She pinched it between her thumb and finger to examine it closely.
“Rosemary.” She took a sip from the goblet. “And honey.” Her sigh was like a breath of frost. “Isabel.”
Why sweet Isabel would want them dead, Colban couldn’t fathom. And as far as he knew, rosemary and honey couldn’t kill a person. “’Tisn’t poison.”
“Nay.”
“Then what is it?”
“’Tis a potion.”
“A potion?” His brows shot up. “What kind o’ potion?”
She muttered under her breath, “A love potion.”
Colban coughed. Or laughed. He wasn’t sure which. While he was deciding whether that was amusing or mortifying, a young voice floated up from outside the window.
“Colban!”
He and Hallie exchanged frowns.
“Colban!” the cry came again. It sounded like Ian. The lad must have gulped down his dinner. “Come quick!”
Hallie rounded on Colban with a chilling glare. “Did you put him up to something?”
“What?”
“Did you tell Ian to help you flee out the window?”
The idea was absurd. “Why would I—”
“Because if you endangered my brother in an attempt to flee…”
“I don’t intend to flee.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you intend to flee. Why wouldn’t you?”
“Colban!” Ian called insistently. “Come to the window!”
“If I wanted to flee,” he told her, “I certainly wouldn’t do it in the broad light o’ day. And not with a wee lad yellin’ loud enough to alert the whole keep.”
She bit the corner of her lip. Surely she could see he was right. But then her eyes narrowed to dubious slits. “Still, you don’t deny you’ll try to flee.”