Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,45

fine. He can stay. I’ll have the tarts for supper.” Salvaging Brand’s pride would serve Colban well when he wanted information out of the lad.

“Fine,” Isabel agreed. Anger smoldered deep in her eyes, but she kept a civil tongue for Colban’s sake.

Brand set the platter on the bed. “I brought cherry and apple. I wasn’t sure which you preferred.”

“I like both,” Colban said.

“Aye, right?” Brand enthused. “’Tis like choosing a weapon. Sometimes you like the reach and power of a full blade. And other times you want the speed and flexibility of a dagger.”

“What are you jabbering about, Brand?” Isabel said. “’Tis pastry filled with fruit.”

“Oh, Dizzy Izzy, you wouldn’t understand.” Brand smirked knowingly at Colban.

Isabel bristled. “You’d better guard your tongue, Braying Brand.”

When her fingers tightened on the dagger, Colban decided to intervene before a full-out battle could ensue.

“I wouldn’t mind tryin’ one o’ those cherry tarts right now.”

Brand brushed past Isabel, dangerously close to her bare blade. But he passed unharmed and offered the platter to Colban.

Colban took one of the jewel-red tarts.

“Did ye break your fast yet?” he asked Brand, who was eyeing his bountiful feast. “I have far more than I can eat. Here, have a bit o’ bacon and an oatcake.”

Colban could feel Isabel’s frosty glare from a yard away. She’d brought the food for him, not for her pesky brother.

Colban took a bite of the cherry tart and then cooed to her, “Oh, lass, ye must try one o’ these. They’re like a wee bite o’ heaven.”

Her feelings somewhat mollified, she put away her dagger and came forward to take a bite of the tart.

She closed her eyes, savoring the sweetness. “Cherry is my favorite,” she divulged, licking her lips.

“Which does your sister prefer?” he murmured. “Cherry or apple?”

Brand barked out a laugh. “Hallie? She wolfs down food so fast, I doubt she tastes it.”

Isabel jabbed the sharp point of her elbow into Brand’s belly, hard enough to make him cough out crumbs of oatcake.

“Don’t be an oaf,” she scolded. “’Tis only that she has no time to dawdle over dinner. She’s too busy training, protecting your worthless arse.”

“Trainin’. Indeed?” Colban interjected, heading off another skirmish. “What weapon does she prefer then?”

Brand straightened proudly. This was something he knew. “Oh, Hallie’s weapon of choice is definitely the longsword. She’s deft and strong. And none can match her for speed.”

“Aye,” Isabel admitted, adding carefully, “though she’s clever enough to avoid a fight when she can. She’s not a violent person by nature.”

Brand scoffed at her. “You didn’t see her lay the friar out flat when he dared to put a hand on her—”

They were startled by a sudden single pound on the door, as if someone had struck it with a battering ram.

“Stand back from the door!”

“Gellir?” Brand murmured.

Isabel nodded.

“Did you hear me?” Gellir added.

Colban realized the lad must be addressing him. “Aye. I’m well away.”

The door opened an inch, and Gellir spoke through the crack. “I’ve got a dagger at the ready. So don’t try anything.”

The three of them exchanged puzzled glances.

Colban replied, “I won’t. Ye have my word.”

Gellir must have used his boot to swing the door open. One hand gripped a small dagger. The other held aloft a platter draped with a napkin. He stopped with a scowl. “What the devil?”

“Don’t be an arse, Gellir,” Isabel scolded. “Poor Colban can hardly walk. He’s not going to wrestle you for that plate of…whatever you’ve brought.”

Gellir closed the door and lowered the dagger. “Why are you here?”

Isabel raised her chin. “Why are you here?”

“Even a hostage needs a proper breakfa-…” He glanced at the two trays. “What’s that you’re feeding him? Tarts?”

Brand took offense. “What’s wrong with tarts?”

“He’s a man of war. He needs something of more substance than tarts.”

Brand countered, “He likes tarts.”

“Besides,” Isabel chimed in, “he has all this as well.” She swept her arm toward the feast she’d brought. “So he doesn’t really need more of your…” She narrowed her eyes at his platter. “What is that?”

Gellir whipped off the napkin. An enormous slab of glistening meat sat on a flat trencher of bread. “A roast.”

“A roast?” Isabel snickered. “A whole roast?”

Gellir’s face clouded. “I’ll have you know it came at a great price. I had to promise the cook a new cleaver.”

To keep the peace, Colban said, “Thank ye for your generosity. Let me sample that roast then, since it came at such a cost.”

Gellir wasn’t about to let Colban have the dagger. So he cut several slices from the