Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,61

he loved. To take her by the hand and run laughing with her across the moors, through the woods, past the lochs, into the mountains.

“Och, lass, ye’d love the mac Giric land.” For the moment, his lust was at bay and his breakfast forgotten. “There’s not a bonnier spot in all o’ Scotland.” He set the platter aside and rose with the aid of his crutch.

“Despite the dragons?” she quipped.

“Despite the dragons.” He grinned.

She smirked. “It can’t be as beautiful as Rivenloch.”

“’Tis…different.” He hobbled toward the window to join her. “The mac Giric property is bordered by majestic peaks o’ stark stone,” he said, waxing poetic. “In winter, they’re covered in snow, whiter than sheep’s fleece. But in spring, they weep waterfalls as tall as a castle.” He gazed out toward the rolling hills and thick forest, painting a different landscape in his imagination. “Under the summer sun, the lochs gleam like a fierce blue blade. And at this time o’ year, the hills are cloaked in brilliant purple heather. Burns flow through the glens, silvery and bright, like…” He hesitated and let his gaze roam down her fair tresses. “Like your hair.”

Only then did he realize how close he was standing to her. Close enough he could have twined a lock of her bright hair around his finger. Close enough to feel her warm breath upon his face. To smell the womanly fragrance of her skin. To gaze into her eyes and glimpse the sparkle of reflected enthusiasm. Shared joy. And the tiniest glimmer of hope.

“Ye should come sometime,” he whispered.

His gaze fell to her tempting lips, which parted in longing.

In another moment, he would kiss those lips. He was sure of it. He felt drawn by an irresistible force. Compelled to her like steel to a lodestone.

She felt it too. He was sure of it. He could see desire misting her eyes as they dipped to his mouth.

But he hesitated an instant too long. And in that instant, something shifted.

Her gaze faded into dismay, then sorrow, and finally frosted over with solemn duty.

She turned away, fixing her eyes on the horizon.

“I can’t just dash off any time I like,” she told him, though her voice cracked with regret. She cleared her throat to regain her composure. When she spoke again, it was with the cool authority of a leader. “And if your clan remains here, you won’t be able to either. Defending the border requires constant vigilance. ’Tis a position of great responsibility. There’s no time for jaunts off to the Highlands. You’ll have to forget all about your idyllic home.”

He frowned. The tempting lass he’d nearly kissed was gone. In her place was a woman who issued orders and commanded armies. A woman who was used to putting country before clan. And clan before self.

Morgan Mor mac Giric had been like that…before his wife died and his world went awry. Colban had always been there for him when the demands of being a laird’s son became too great and Morgan needed to get away. Whether that meant taking a bracing hike up to the snowy brae. Or casting a line into the trout-choked river. Hazarding a refreshing dip in the loch. Or a relieving plunge into one of the willing wenches of the neighboring clan. Colban covered for him.

“Surely someone can give ye a reprieve?” he said.

She straightened defensively. “The enemy never sleeps. So I can’t afford to.”

“The enemy?”

“Those who threaten Scotland.”

“So ye are defendin’ the keep against dragons?” he asked, hoping to return the smile to her face.

He failed.

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m defending it against something more insidious than dragons.”

“Ah. So ye mean the English.”

“The English. Turncoat clans.” Her gaze sharpened like a pointed dagger. “Anyone who threatens our claim to the land.”

Her unspoken warning was clear. Highlanders were on her list of enemies.

“I would think ye’d be glad of allies in your fight,” he countered.

“Allies?” she scoffed. “Is that what you are?”

“Why not? We’re both Scots, aye?”

By her furrowed brows, she didn’t quite believe that.

“We share a common foe, at least,” he said. “I don’t like the English any more than ye do.”

“I doubt you’ve ever seen an Englishman.”

“True,” he admitted. “But I can tell ye this.” He sobered, pinning her with eyes as grim as the grave. “I too will fight anyone who tries to take away what’s mine.”

Chapter 22

Hallie’s breath caught.

The intensity of Colban’s stare magnified the gravity of his threat. But she sensed he was talking about more than just battling

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