Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,34

shrug in defiance. “There’s naught else to do.”

Behind her, Rauve growled. “I could find him something to—”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, closing the door and shutting Rauve out of the conversation before she glided forward. “So what filth have you drawn there?”

She expected a lewd illustration of fornicators or a bawdy depiction of a cock and ballocks. It was the sort of scribbling her brothers loved to leave in the garderobes.

Instead, he’d written his name.

“Colban?” she read.

He blinked in surprise. “Ye can read that?”

“Of course.”

The Rivenloch children had all been taught to read. Reading empowered a person. And since Hallie was to inherit the lairdship, it was vital that she be able to understand contracts and documents.

But she realized it was a rare talent for a woman to possess. And the fact that he was staring at her with wonder and admiration secretly pleased her.

“I did it right then?” he asked.

“What?”

“I wrote the letters right?”

She realized his eyes were sparkling, not with amazement over her ability to read, but with pride over his ability to write. Indeed, he seemed so pleased, she decided she wouldn’t tell him the L was backwards. But before she could marvel at how a Highland warrior—an orphan and a bastard—could come by such knowledge, he gave her the answer.

“Ian was showin’ me a few words.”

She lowered her brows and scanned the room. “Ian is here?”

“Nay, just outside.”

She brushed past him and went to the window. Sure enough, the lad was in the courtyard, tossing rocks from the grass into the wheelbarrow. But she could clearly see the pattern of the remaining stones on the sod. They made an incriminating H.

“Ian!” she barked. “What are you doing?”

The lad jumped. “What you asked. Taking the stones to the herb garden. I just spilled a few.”

“Oh aye? Then what’s that?” She nodded to the letter.

“How did that happen?” he marveled. “’Tis a perfect H.”

“Ian,” she warned, “were you teaching the hostage to read?”

He kicked at the wheel of the wheelbarrow. “Maybe.” In his defense, he added, “’Tis so boring to cart stones back and forth, Hallie. Besides, Da says the gift of knowledge is the best gift of all.”

Hallie sighed. Ian was bright and well-intentioned, but sometimes his affections were misplaced. “I don’t think he meant for you to give gifts to hostages.”

“Sorry.”

“So what is the H for?”

He hesitated, and then gave her a wide-eyed smile. “Hostage.”

Colban coughed.

Ian was a quick thinker. That was certain. But Colban didn’t suppose Hallie was going to allow him to continue his lessons.

Sensing she might punish the lad for his efforts, he told her, “’Tis my fault. I was restless. I asked the lad to entertain me.”

She arched a fine brow. “You’re lucky he didn’t entertain you with the trebuchet again. He might have knocked out your teeth.”

He chuckled.

Her eyes glimmered in response.

Hallie of Rivenloch was not coldhearted at all. Though why Isabel thought so was understandable. Like a rampaging Valkyrie, Hallie could steel herself to look fierce and full of icy threat.

But behind that shield was a woman of subtle wit and warm humor. A woman who certainly commanded his respect. But also a woman he could grow to like.

He hoped he wouldn’t need to betray her.

“You must be hungry,” she said. “Supper is on its way. I’ve no idea what the cook has made. The turnbrochie burned the roast, and the maidservant cracked the basket of eggs meant to replace it. But—”

She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Rauve called out from the other side. “Supper for the hostage?”

“Come in,” she said.

It was Isabel who brought supper, though Colban was more interested in what was on the platter than who was carrying it. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d become. But he did notice the array had been made up for two again.

“I’ve come to apologize,” she told him with a meek bow of her head, “for our shameful behavior this morn. The words you heard were spoken in the heat of battle. I assure you ’tis not our normal manner of speech and—”

Hallie choked over that obvious falsehood, but let her continue.

“And I assure you, ’twill not happen again.”

Colban gave her a nod of acceptance. “We’ll speak no more of it, aye?” He reached eagerly for the platter.

Hallie grasped his forearm to stop him and narrowed her eyes at her sister. “You didn’t flavor the wine again, did you?”

Isabel shook her head.

“And are you finished with the lads’ stockings?”

“Aye.”

“Good,” she said, adding pointedly, “You’re free to go