Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,83

Scotland against the English.

“Creagor…Creagor has been awarded to Rivenloch.”

He blinked in astonishment. He’d been so certain the king would respect tradition and the passing of property from father to son. But perhaps the new king was more malleable than the last.

“I see.” He let out a sigh, but it was hard to be angry about the decision, not when it was what Hallie had wanted all along. “Well, I suppose congratulations are in order.” Still, he couldn’t help but feel a wee bit bitter on Morgan’s behalf. “Your parents must wield great influence indeed.”

Morgan would be disappointed by the decision. Not for his own sake. But for the sake of his clan, who had made the long journey to the Lowlands for naught and would now have to return in defeat.

But Colban also felt sorry for Morgan as a friend. Life had been particularly cruel to him of late. This would be yet another tragedy for him to bear.

Hallie, however, seemed to be as upset about the outcome as he was. Why should she be upset when she’d gotten what she wanted?

Was it possible she didn’t understand his promise? Did she fear he might return to the Highlands with his clan?

“I gave ye my word, Hallie,” he assured her. “I said I’d wed ye, and I meant it. Even if the mac Girics are no longer welcome here, I intend to do what’s right by ye. I promise.”

That only made tears well again in her eyes. “I know,” she choked out. “But you should know that winning Creagor for Jenefer came at a cost.”

“A cost?”

Her face had grown as pale and still as a chalk cliff. Her quiet manner chilled him to the bone.

“The king has arranged a marriage for me.”

The world stood suddenly still.

As still as her face.

Colban felt frozen in time, unable to move. Or speak. Or breathe.

His thoughts, however, careened onward, racing through incomprehension and disbelief. He was unable to grasp the impossibility of her words. Unwilling to accept what she’d just told him.

“Nay,” he decided. “’Tisn’t possible.”

“’Tis.”

“But we’ve made our vows. Bloody hell, we’ve already—” He broke off, letting his eyes finish the sentence with a look of longing that swept from the top of her sun-kissed hair to her velvet-slippered toes.

“We mustn’t speak of that,” she said, panic flaring in her eyes.

Of course he wouldn’t speak of it. He was hurt that she could believe he would.

“I’ll find a way to fix this,” he vowed.

“There is no way.”

“Who is this betrothed?” Colban fought a sudden violent urge to slay the unnamed villain.

“I don’t know.”

“Ye don’t know?” Colban clenched and unclenched his fists in outrage. “How can they marry ye to someone ye don’t even…”

Yet even as he said the words, he knew that was the way of nobles. So it had been with Morgan. So it was with any firstborn of a powerful clan.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.

But Colban saw the bleak emptiness behind her cold acceptance of her fate.

“O’ course it does,” he insisted. “Ye can’t just trust your future to someone who doesn’t appreciate your strength. Someone who doesn’t respect ye. Someone who doesn’t love ye.”

Her eyes filled at his words.

His throat burned with frustration as he realized the futility of his argument. Part of him wanted to grab Hallie right this moment and run away with her into the night. But he knew no matter what he said or did, Colban couldn’t change Hallie’s destiny. He was only a lowly bastard shaking his fist at a king.

He wanted to rail against the injustice of nobility, the travesty of arranged marriages and forced alliances. But he could see that would only prolong Hallie’s suffering and make things worse.

The best thing to do—the noble thing, the kind thing—was to forget what had happened between them. To tuck away his one precious, private memory of what they’d shared and forget he’d ever known Hallie.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done to raise his targe against Hallie’s broken heart. But he managed to swallow his pain, steel his features, and say what he had to say.

“I won’t speak of it again,” he promised. “None of it. Ye must put me someplace else for the night. In the stable or the dovecot.”

“I won’t let you sleep—”

He held up his hand to stop her protest. “I’m a hostage. Ye must treat me as such. On the morrow, ye’ll return me to Creagor, aye?”

“Aye,” she choked out.

“Then ye’ll get your cousins back, none the worse for wear. And