Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,41
his weight to favor his right leg.
Hallie seized his elbow to give him balance. “You are hurt.”
One of the knights remarked, “He’s lucky he didn’t break his neck in the fall.”
Gellir, who’d apparently just arrived in the courtyard, said, “What? What fall? What happened?”
“’Twas no fall,” Isabel called down, adding in a sigh, “The Highlander leaped from the window to save Hallie.”
“The window? That window?” Gellir asked, nodding toward the laird’s bedchamber. “Impossible. ’Tis nigh thirty feet.”
“Thirty-two feet, eight inches,” said young Ian, trailing behind him.
Isabel sighed again. “A mere trifle for a hero.”
Brand gushed, “He took on the whole of the Rivenloch army, Gellir. You should have seen him.”
As the knights recounted the details, speaking in glowing terms, Colban became more and more discomfited by all the attention.
He was no hero. He was a fool. A misguided fool who had leaped before he looked. Humiliated himself in front of all of Rivenloch. And gained naught for his efforts but a twisted ankle.
“Is it broken?” Hallie murmured.
“Nay,” he said with a grimace, “just wrenched, I think.”
“’Twas a mad thing to do,” she muttered. But there was a curious tenderness in her gaze. As if she was moved by his gesture.
And then he said something undeniably mad. “Maybe. But I’d do it again.”
She glanced up in touched surprise.
Before he could regret his reckless words, Gellir came forward and ducked under his arm. “I’ll take him upstairs.”
Hallie nodded.
Ian said, “And I’ll fetch Burunild to see to his injuries.” He screwed up his young forehead. “’Tis likely just a sprain. ’Twill need a cool compress and wrapping to hold it in place.”
An hour later, Burunild crouched before Colban as he sat in the bedchamber chair, carefully tying off the cloth brace around his ankle. He still wasn’t dressed. As soon as she was finished, he intended to remedy that.
But before he could even throw on his leine, Hallie breezed into the room. Her gaze lowered to his bare chest. A faint, becoming blush rose in her cheeks. She averted her eyes and addressed the healer.
“How bad is it?”
“Not bad,” Burunild proclaimed. “A wee bit of rest, and he should be fine.” The maid winked at Colban. “No playing champion for a few days, aye?”
He gave her a sheepish smile.
“Good.” Hallie awkwardly cleared her throat. Then she ambled past, absentmindedly picking up his leine from the bed. She creased it between her fingers as she crossed to the window.
Meanwhile, Burunild gathered her things and bid them both farewell.
Once they were alone, Colban turned his attention toward Hallie, who gazed out through the shutters, biting her lip in restless silence. With the sun gilding her hair and illuminating her face, she looked more like an angel than a Valkyrie. She was beautiful. Breathtaking. Arousing.
How could he regret leaping from a window to save such a prize?
Of course, she wasn’t his prize. But it was hard to convince the beast betwixt his thighs that she wasn’t here for his pleasure. And that was becoming more painfully apparent with each passing moment.
Still avoiding his gaze, Hallie peered down over the window ledge. She shook her head, murmuring, “That fall could have killed you, you know.”
“’Twasn’t a fall,” Colban reflexively corrected. He’d made a reckless choice in leaping from such a great height. But he hadn’t fallen. He wasn’t clumsy.
“Right.”
Meanwhile, his eyes were on his leine, which he was beginning to need with a quiet sort of desperation. At the moment, her fists were clenched in it, twisting wrinkles into the linen.
When she finally faced him, she seemed to have forgotten his state of undress. Her eyes flared with a quick intake of breath.
“You should get dressed,” she muttered in distress.
“I would, but…” He gestured toward his leine.
She looked at the garment in her hands as if she had no idea how it had come to be there. “Oh!”
She thrust it toward him. When he reached for it, their fingers met. She recoiled as if she’d been burned.
He slipped the leine over his head and tugged it down over his lap, grateful to cover the rapid appearance of desire.
She cleared her throat. Then she picked up a poker and jabbed at the fire, which was already crackling with cheery flames. A curious conflict warred in her eyes. Something between worry and irritation.
Finally she replaced the poker. Faced him. Crossed her arms. Raised her chin.
“Listen,” she said with uneasy authority. “You must cease leaping from windows and…and fighting off wolves on my behalf. I command it.”