Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,95
Archie to wed against his will. He was being required to marry a woman who carried a sword. Rumor said Hallidis Cameliard of Rivenloch was as tall as a Viking berserker, kept wolves as pets, and had a reputation as a callous, cruel, coldhearted bitch. Nothing like the sweet, pure, compliant lovers Archie preferred.
He chewed his thumbnail as he paced his bedchamber, past the comely young initiate Geoffrey had secured for them this evening.
Though at eleven years of age, the lad was a bit older than Archie liked, he was suitable for their purposes.
Pale. Blond. Naked and pure as the day he was born. Freshly bathed, then slathered in wool grease for Archie’s pleasure, smelling like the innocent wee lamb he was.
The lad shivered despite the fire roaring on the hearth and stared at Archie with eyes as blue and wide as robin’s eggs.
Normally, Archie relished a quiver of trepidation in the lads they deflowered. But this damned edict from the king had completely ruined his mood and chilled his libido.
Tonight the lad’s terror was mildly annoying. After all, Archie’s fears were far more real and debilitating.
The lad was lucky. At the end of the night, if he’d performed well and could be trusted to hold his tongue, he might return to service them again. If not, Geoffrey would be merciful and dispatch him with painless efficiency.
But for Archie, the torture would be ongoing. For the rest of his life, he’d be trapped in a household where no one understood his needs. Pressured to perform sexually with someone he despised and feared in order to continue the Rivenloch line and please the king.
He suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. Rushing to the window, he cracked open the shutters to get a breath of fresh air. His vision blurred as he gazed in frustration at the stars taunting him from the black heavens.
He stamped a velvet-shod foot. “God’s hooks, Geoffrey!” he snarled toward the night sky. “’Tisn’t fair.”
Geoffrey was the only one who understood him. Who shared his hunger. Who catered to his special requirements. What would he do without him?
Coming up behind him, Geoffrey massaged the tension from Archie’s shoulders.
“We’ve always known this day might come,” he murmured.
Archie didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to believe that life would go on as it had for the last seven years. That his frequent explorations with Geoffrey, indulging their deepest, darkest fantasies together, would go on forever.
But the new king had destroyed those dreams. His royal parchment with its purple ribbon and blood-red seal, condemning Archie to a life of misery, seemed to smirk at him in mockery from the table beside the bed.
How he longed to cast the thing into the fire. To forget he’d ever read the horrifying words. To go on savoring this secret, fulfilling existence.
Archie’s face crumpled as he turned to his friend. “Oh, Geoffrey, how will I ever live without you?” he despaired, picking at the ties of Geoffrey’s brocade cotehardie. “Rivenloch is so far away.”
“We’ll find a way,” Geoffrey promised, cupping his cheek. “I promise. Even if ’tis only once a year—”
Archie gasped. “Once a year? ’Tisn’t nearly enough.”
Geoffrey tipped his head forward till their brows touched. “’Twill have to be enough.”
Archie managed to squeeze a tear from his eye. “I shall be miserable,” he mourned.
“As will I.” Then Geoffrey cleared his throat and lifted a brave chin. “But we shall make the most of it, be grateful for what we have.”
Archie nodded. But he didn’t feel grateful. Not at all.
The new whelp of a king who couldn’t even grow a proper beard had condemned him to a loveless marriage with one of the most ferocious and feral warrior maids in Scotland.
Archie had met Hallidis of Rivenloch once before, though he didn’t remember her well. She’d been a child then—pale, quiet, serious, cold. She and her cousins had snickered at him with the uncouth transparency of the young, mocking his reluctance to engage in what they termed sword play and what he perceived as dangerous bloodsport.
Now she was old enough to have earned a reputation for violence. And nothing could terrify him more than to be anchored to a woman with ice in her veins who wouldn’t hesitate to lop off his head at the slightest provocation.
“Come now,” Geoffrey urged, his eyes lowering to Archie’s trembling lips, his tongue flicking out as if he longed to taste them. “We can’t let a bit of bad news ruin our evening.”