Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,94
oblivious delight, a conniving wolf could snatch away their hope—with the snap of its jaws in the blink of an eye.
It was unwise to hope.
Hope led to disappointment.
And no matter how much he cared for Hallie, he had to admit, when it came to kings and politics and arranged marriages, he was out of his depth.
He supposed he should have recognized that from the start. All Scots were pawns of the crown. But the closer one was to the king, the more critical the royal control of property and alliances and marriages became.
Creagor was a key border holding.
The warriors of Rivenloch were powerful weapons.
And Hallidis of Rivenloch was valuable currency.
Colban was trafficking with issues out of his realm of understanding.
And truthfully, when he thought about it, he realized he was actually freer than any of them.
No one dictated who a bastard took to wife. No one cared how many children an orphan sired. In a general sense, Colban might have to obey the king. But when it came to life choices, he answered to no one.
Instead of grieving his loss, he should be celebrating his freedom.
He didn’t know how this argument would be resolved—whether Creagor would go to Morgan by default or Laird Deirdre would insist her niece follow the king’s will to the letter.
But it didn’t matter. And the sooner he accepted that, the better.
Either way, he intended to leave Creagor.
He’d stay long enough to stand up with Morgan if he was compelled to marry Jenefer. He’d defend Morgan, if need be, from her violent temper if she went unwillingly to the altar.
But he wasn’t going to linger to endure the torture of watching Hallie exchange vows with a man she didn’t love. It would kill him.
In the end, Laird Deirdre decreed that Jenefer could not refuse the gift of Creagor. But that didn’t diminish the glacial fury that Hallie felt as she gazed upon her ungrateful cousin.
Much to her amazement, however, not a word was spoken of the price demanded by the king. Of Jenefer’s betrothal. Or her own. Indeed, it wasn’t until the clan was marching home that Hallie began to understand her mother’s strategy.
Jenefer was a stubborn lass. She resisted commands like a young ox resisting the yoke. The best way to manipulate her was to make her think an action was her own idea.
No one was allowed to reveal the fact that Jenefer had to wed Laird Morgan in order to win Creagor, because they knew she’d refuse on impulse.
Instead, her Aunt Miriel had slyly suggested that Morgan’s people remain for a while to help Jenefer settle in. They no doubt imagined that familiarity would soften the blow of the betrothal.
As if she’d read Hallie’s thoughts, Feiyan caught up with her as she was crossing over one of the silver ribbons of a burn that wound through the glen. She nudged Hallie with her elbow.
“She loves him, you know,” she said.
“What?”
“Jenefer,” Feiyan said. “She loves Morgan.”
Hallie scoffed. “Impossible.”
“I was as surprised as you are. But ’tis true.”
“He’s a Highlander. She hates Highlanders.”
“Not any more. And she adores his wee babe.”
“Jenefer? Our Jenefer?”
Jenefer had about as much use for babes as she did for a boar on a leash. She’d risked death, climbing to Creagor’s nursery window to silence the squalling infant.
“Aye,” Feiyan said, “and until that whole affair with his wife…”
“His what?” Hallie stopped in her tracks.
The knight behind her collided with her, muttered an apology, and continued on.
“’Tis a long tale,” Feiyan said. “Suffice it to say it wouldn’t surprise me if she asked to wed Morgan mac Giric within a sennight.”
Hallie shook her head. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I told your mother. We’re all wagering on it.”
“You’re wagering?”
Hallie’s mother stole up beside them to chime in, “We’re giving them a sennight. If they haven’t settled their differences, confessed their love, and figured out that marriage is the best answer by then, we’ll tell them about the betrothal.”
Hallie had to admit the deception was a clever ploy. Flies were more easily lured with honey than vinegar.
Then she let out a silent sigh of self-pity. It was a shame her mother couldn’t dream up a way to make her fall in love with Archibald Scott.
Chapter 32
Archibald Scott was inconsolable.
He should never have answered the knock on his bedchamber door. Normally, he let nothing interrupt his nocturnal entertainment. But the servant had said it was a missive from the king. And Archie had mistakenly assumed it was good news.