Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,99
to his lips to hide his breaking heart.
And then he saw Hallie.
If she’d resembled a Valkyrie before, today she appeared to have materialized straight out of the misty realm of Valhalla. She wore a rich gown of midnight blue velvet, embroidered with white and silver vines. Her fair hair was caught in a silver circlet and partially fashioned into a knot of intricate braids that draped the tresses falling to her waist. Her pale skin lent her an ethereal appearance, furthering the impression that she was not of this world.
She should have been happy. Her cousin was getting married today. Rivenloch was gaining an ally. Peace had been forged.
Yet her face reflected all the bleak despair he felt.
In the midst of a sea of cheering and merriment, the two of them floated like deserted ships. Forgotten. Forsaken. Forlorn.
It was a day for Morgan and Jenefer, with all the festivity that entailed. There was a kiss to seal their union. Honey mead to ensure their fertility. A feast to feed the masses. Entertainment to maintain the cheer long into the night.
No one spoke of Hallie’s impending nuptials.
Why would they?
But that fateful date—just ten days hence, by Ian’s reckoning—was burned like a brand on Colban’s heart.
He endured the celebration in the great hall with grace. But when the clans started calling for the bedding of the newly wedded couple, Colban made his escape. The last thing he needed to see was the newlyweds’ bedchamber decked with candles and their marriage bed strewn with flowers. It would be easier to leave unnoticed while the crowd made their way upstairs, ostensibly to witness the consummation.
Of course, that tradition had been long ago abandoned. Now it was but a token nod to a primitive practice. Morgan’s clansmen would feign to tear off the couple’s clothes. Jenefer’s maids would feign to protect her. And in the end, Morgan would defend his bride and chase them all out of the room.
Still, the rite provided good cover for Colban to slip away to the stairs on the opposite side of the hall.
He hadn’t counted on being followed.
He’d ascended the winding steps and opened the door to his bedchamber when he heard someone close behind him in the corridor.
He turned. His eyes widened. “Hallie?”
“Colban.”
She’d had too much to drink. That was immediately obvious. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyelids sagged. Her circlet was askew. And she weaved on her feet like a wheat stalk teased by the wind.
“What are ye doin’ here?” he asked gently.
“I wanted to see you.”
That was unwise.
“Shouldn’t ye be seein’ your cousin to her marriage bed?”
She waved away his concern. “She’s been there before.”
Before he could stop her, she pushed past him into the room, then half sank, half collapsed to perch on the edge of his bed.
He gripped the edge of the door in indecision, not sure which would be worse. Leaving it open or closed.
She sighed. “I wanted to tell you how much I’ve missed you.” She ran her fingers lovingly over the carved wooden post at the corner of the bed.
He wanted to tell her he missed her too. But he knew better. He wasn’t half-drunk.
“I think ye should go,” he decided. “The others will be lookin’ for ye.”
“Nah.” She shook her head. “I told them I had to piss.”
His mouth twitched. “Do ye?”
“Do I what?”
“Have to piss?”
She gave him a sloppy grin. “Nay.”
Hell, even drunk off her arse and stumbling on her feet, Hallie had the power to tug at his heart. It grieved him to think of leaving her. But remaining would be even worse. And every moment of delay only increased his pain.
“Let’s get ye back then,” he beckoned. “I’ll help ye.”
She smiled and came to her feet. Too fast. She took a dizzy few steps toward him and staggered.
He caught her upper arms to steady her.
She placed her hands against his chest for balance.
“That honey mead is strong,” she said, looking up at him with a sheepish grin.
He gulped. Her eyes were glazed with a dangerous combination of lust and liquor.
“Too strong,” he agreed.
Then her gaze slipped sideways. She frowned in dismay as she saw his armor and satchel beside the bed. “What’s this?”
He furrowed his brow. “I’m…goin’.” This was exactly the kind of confrontation he’d hoped to avoid by stealing away.
“Going? Where?”
He shrugged. “Away.”
“But you don’t have to go now. Your clan is staying at Creagor.”
“There’s naught for me here,” he said with a sniff. “Not now.”
“I see.” Though she tried to maintain her cool stoicism, the