Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,27

an instant, he glimpsed the weight of duty reflected in her face.

“They must be a handful,” he murmured in sympathy.

Then her mask of icy indifference returned. “I can handle them.”

He had no doubt of that. His ballocks still throbbed from her handling of him.

“Ye won’t destroy his toy, though?” he prodded. “’Tis impressive.” He let the shine of humor creep into his eyes. “If ye can reload it fast enough, ye could lay low an entire army. One by one. In a day or so.”

There was a subtle, reluctant twitch of amusement in Hallie’s lips. But it vanished when a knock sounded at the door.

Before Hallie could give her permission to enter, Isabel rushed in.

“Did you finish dinner?” the lass eagerly asked.

Then her gaze lowered to the floor, littered with greens, overturned trenchers, and smashed apple coffyns.

She gasped, and her brow furrowed. “What happened?”

“You,” Hallie accused, starting toward the lass. Isabel inched backward in retreat. She might have fled. But Hallie closed the door behind her, sealing her escape and cornering her. “What did you put in the wine?”

“N-nothing.”

“Isabel?”

She bit her lip and glanced nervously at Colban. “I only…flavored it a wee bit.”

“Flavored it. With rosemary and honey?”

“Fine,” Isabel admitted. “’Twas a love potion. But ’twas perfectly harmless. Besides, you needed something to smooth o’er your…hostilities.”

“Smooth o’er…” Hallie said in disbelief. “There’s a reason to be hostile. The Highlander is a hostage. A foe. A usurper.”

Colban took issue with the last term. Creagor rightfully belonged to the mac Girics. “Now just a moment. I’m not a usur—”

“You have no right to stick your nose into my affairs, Isabel,” Hallie scolded.

Isabel thrust out her chin. “I do when you’re too blind to see what’s right in front of you, Hallie.”

“And what’s that?”

They stood nose-to-nose now, and Isabel gave Colban one quick glance before she whispered, “He is The One.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but ’tis the truth.”

“Go, Isabel,” Hallie said, opening the door.

“You’ll see,” she promised. Then she turned to Colban with a sympathetic smile, fluttering her fingers and her eyelashes. “Farewell.”

Hallie closed the door on her conniving sister. Then she busied herself, cleaning up the mess on the floor.

She’d never been so humiliated.

Keeping a hostage required a firm hand. A show of strength. The capacity for violence and the willingness to use it.

In the space of half a day, her unruly siblings had completely undermined her authority.

How would she maintain the Highlander’s respect when she couldn’t even control her own clan?

“Let me help,” he offered, hunkering down beside her. “I made the mess. I should clean it up.”

She sighed in spite of herself. Now he was offering to do her a kindness? For a savage from the Highlands, he was certainly well-mannered, more so than her own family.

She nodded. Together they made quick work of the scattered dinner.

All was going well until they reached for the same overturned goblet.

Their contact was brief. But in that instant, with his hand enveloping hers, she felt the gentle warmth of his flesh. The potent strength of his grip. The calluses of a man seasoned in battle. A determined man who’d battled his way up through the ranks.

In that fleeting moment, she realized he was the most dangerous foe she’d ever met.

Not because of his size. He was no bigger than some of the clansmen she’d handily tossed to the ground.

Not because of his strength. Strength was a double-edged weapon she could turn on a man in the blink of an eye.

Not because he was clever. Hallie was clever. Growing up in a warrior clan, she’d learned, while men could not always be overpowered, they could usually be outwitted.

Nay, he was dangerous because he was persistent.

The bruises marring his face? The pain in the depth of his eyes? The rough calluses lining his palms?

They were proof of unflagging determination. This foundling Highlander was seasoned by struggle. He’d had to fight for everything he possessed.

She could see that now.

Born a bastard, abandoned as an orphan, he must have fought to earn his place with a respected clan. He must have battled long and hard to become the laird’s trusted right hand man. Worthiness couldn’t have come easy for him.

Colban an Curaidh wasn’t dangerous because he’d been given the title of The Champion.

He was dangerous because he’d earned it.

Chapter 12

Colban was beginning to wonder if there was something to that love potion.

With their fingers tangling awkwardly on the goblet, an invisible current coursed between them. Powerful as lightning, it