Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,54
to the maids. “Your brothers can be the noble knights. Brand can play the wizard. And I’m sure Ian can find a way to make the dragon breathe fire and smoke and—”
“Wait,” Hallie interrupted at the mention of Ian’s name. She dug in her satchel for the notebook. “Give this to Ian when you see him. And warn him if he’s careless with it again, I’ll have to hold onto it for safekeeping.”
She supposed it was a blessing that Isabel had decided to enlist her siblings for this entertainment of hers. That would make four less problems to deal with in the busy day ahead.
In a way, she was grateful for the myriad challenges that cropped up all day long. They kept her mind off an uncomfortable reality, a reality she didn’t want to face.
She was attracted to the Highlander. Not only was he a tempting feast for the eyes. He was brave. Loyal. Strong. Clever. All the things a champion should be.
Colban an Curaidh wielded some mysterious power over her senses. He took her breath away. Hastened her pulse. Sapped her strength. Weakened her resolve.
Indeed, she’d come dangerously close to yielding to that power.
And part of her didn’t find that abhorrent. Part of her felt a thrill of adventure at the prospect of surrendering in his arms.
It was a terrifying truth. One she dared not dwell on. So before she could allow herself to think too deeply, she threw back her shoulders and set out to face the responsibilities of the afternoon.
First, she helped to round up a trio of stray sheep. Then she settled a quibble between the blacksmith and the stable lad. A sickly old hound required her care after that. By mid-afternoon, she oversaw the repair of the quintain that had been splintered in the last practice. Afterwards, she took stock of the castle stores in preparation for winter, writing out orders for those who would need to procure goods. Then she had to punish wee Robbie, who’d stuck his thumb in all the pies, by making him serve as the baker’s apprentice for a week.
When she finally finished lending a hand in repairing the thatch of the dovecot and mulching the strawberries against frost, it was time for supper.
For several peaceful hours, she’d successfully forgotten about her handsome hostage.
Until Isabel plopped down beside her for supper in the great hall.
“Sorry we’re late.”
Her little sister was decked in her finest gown of rose velvet. Her hair was woven into a fantastic tangle of braids. And her face was powdered and painted in a way that made her look more like a woman than a lass.
Before Hallie could ask what the devil she was up to, Isabel drew her finely penciled brows together. “Did you send supper up to Sir Colban?”
To be honest, it had slipped her mind. “I was about to,” she said, summoning one of the maidservants to make up a platter. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“’Tis for the entertainment. Remember? After supper, we’re going to perform in the courtyard.”
Hallie frowned. “In the courtyard?”
“Aye,” she replied, stabbing a parsnip with her pearl-handled dagger and popping it into her mouth. “You don’t want a fire-breathing dragon in the great hall, do you?”
“Fire-breathing dragon?”
Brand slid onto the bench next to Isabel. “Aye, Hallie, wait till you see it! Leap a sheep! ’Tis brilliant.”
Hallie pointed her dagger in threat at the two of them. “If you burn the keep to the ground while our parents are away…”
“’Tis perfectly safe,” Ian told her as he seated himself beside her. “I wanted to use Greek fire, but Gellir thought ’twas too risky. So I’ve settled on peat fire in a great helm, with a bellows to—”
“Greek fire?” Hallie choked on a turnip.
Greek fire was a concoction so savage and dangerous that most civilized armies still refused to use it.
Gellir ruffled Ian’s hair as he joined them at the table. “I’ll get lads with full buckets of sand to stand by.”
At least Gellir had a cool head on his shoulders. He was taking the proper precautions.
Still, it was with a certain amount of trepidation that, an hour later, Hallie sat in her assigned spot in the courtyard to watch the spectacle.
Seated on a faldstool cushioned with sheepskins, she was surrounded by the entire clan. Some crowded together on benches dragged from the great hall. Some sat on plaids spread on the ground.
It didn’t escape her notice that Isabel had arranged the entertainment to take place directly below Colban’s bedchamber.