Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,57
the pile. The second maiden was consumed in a cloud of smoke.
On the third and final night, the maiden who allowed herself to be tied to the post was Isabel. She smiled with calm confidence as the youth dressed like a Highlander stepped forward on her behalf, completely unarmed.
“Fear not!” he cried. “My heart will defeat the beast!”
The dragon chortled. “Your heart? That soft and tender thing that tastes so lovely going down my gullet? I shall dine on yours after I eat this virgin.”
With that, the dragon turned toward Isabel, blowing out a thick, smoky cloud.
But when the air cleared, Isabel was still there, grinning in victory.
The dragon snarled in rage, sending out another billow of roiling smoke.
Again, Isabel emerged triumphant.
“Nay!” the dragon howled. Exhaling with the last of his strength, he expelled a pathetic gray puff. “How can this be?” he despaired. “How can I be defeated by a weak human heart?”
“Because you don’t understand the power of love,” the youth declared, rushing to untie Isabel. “This day, while your belly was craving virgin flesh, my heart stole it from you.” He turned to the crowd to announce, “We were wed this morn. She is no longer a maiden.”
Colban almost choked on surprise. He had not foreseen that twist in the tale.
As for the crowd, their reaction was mixed. Some crowed at the clever ruse. Some gasped in outrage. Some silenced. Some erupted with laughter.
Hallie slowly rose, stone-faced and pale, as if she feared the young lad’s claim upon Isabel might be more than just a part of their performance.
But Colban sensed there was more behind Isabel’s story. There was a reason Isabel had dressed the hero like a Highlander. She was sending a message to her sister about the man she persisted in calling The One. It was a clumsy attempt at making a love match between the two of them, made clumsier by the fact that Isabel had performed the play for all the clan to see.
Hallie’s frown made it clear she saw the parallel too and did not approve.
Before Hallie could order a halt to the play, Isabel sent a panicked glare toward Brand the wizard. He raised his arms and hastily intervened.
“Because the champion was true of heart,” he cried by way of explanation, “the castle was saved! The dragon returned no more! And thus were born the immortal words, the rallying cry of Rivenloch—Amor vincit omnia! Love conquers all!”
The clan cheered, and the performers immediately launched into a celebratory dance. In the aftermath of the revelry, the details of the play were forgotten.
But not by Colban.
Love conquers all?
Surely the Lowlanders didn’t really believe that. Aye, civility was useful in negotiations. And diplomacy was helpful when seeking peace. But when it came to war, a sturdy claymore served a man better than Cupid’s arrows.
Still, as he watched Hallie rise and turn to leave the courtyard, he felt a bolt of longing pierce his heart. Remembering the silken threads of her hair between his fingers. The sparkling crystal of her melting eyes. The spicy-sweet taste of her warm mouth.
“Did you like the play, Sir Colban?” Isabel called up to him.
“What? Oh, aye.”
“I’ll bring up your boot when I’m finished here.”
He gave her a preoccupied nod.
“Did you know ’twas me?” Brand yelled out, removing his hat. “’Tis a good disguise, aye?”
“Brilliant,” Colban replied, distracted as he sought Hallie, who had disappeared into the crowd.
“What did you think of the dragon?” Ian called out from atop the curtain wall. His arm was wrapped companionably around one of the dragon’s legs. “I used a bellows to make the smoke. I wanted to use Greek fire, but—”
“I told him ’twas too dangerous,” Gellir chimed in beside Ian.
“Impressive,” Colban said vaguely, unable to locate the Valkyrie.
Gellir spoke to his brother. “I don’t think he knows about Greek fire, Ian. I don’t think they have it in the Highlands.”
Suddenly their words sank in, and Colban gave the lads his full attention. “Hold on. Greek fire? Ye know how to make Greek fire?”
“’Twas a bit tricky figuring it out,” Ian said, “since the formula is a secret.”
Gellir was right. They’d never encountered it in the Highlands. Foreign armies had never invaded that far north. But the horrors of Greek fire were legendary. Unable to be extinguished, the vile substance clung to whatever it contacted—stone walls, armored men, even the surface of water—and burned for hours. If Rivenloch truly held the secret to Greek fire, they were a formidable foe indeed.