Page 139 of Bride of Ice
The man opened the bag, peered in, then blinked slowly in approval. “Sit. Please.”
He pulled up the bench before the table and sat across from Sir Geoffrey, purveyor of “special entertainments.”
The man’s lizard tongue flicked out as if tasting the air before he murmured, “The innkeeper says ye’re interested in what I provided for the laird’s son.”
Beneath the table, Colban clenched his fists in his lap. It would do no good to express the urgent dread he felt about the devil who was now sharing a bed with Hallie.
Instead, he feigned nonchalance, fixing a bland smile on his face. “Aye.”
“And are ye speakin’ of age? Gender? Appearance?”
“Everythin’.” He didn’t want to think about what that meant. About what Archibald Scott’s sexual perversions were. But the sooner he found out, the sooner he would know what kind of demon he was battling.
“Very well,” Sir Geoffrey. “If ye come back on the morrow—”
“Nay!” At Sir Geoffrey’s flinch, he softened his tone. “It has to be tonight.” He felt like he was already three months too late.
“Tonight?” The man shook his head. “Ye must realize these things take plannin’. I can’t just nab—”
“I’ll double that,” he said, nodding at the bag of coin, knowing full well he’d do no such thing. Since he didn’t plan to actually avail himself of the man’s services, he wouldn’t pay another farthing.
Sir Geoffrey’s eyes widened with greed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Come to my room in an hour,” Colban told him.
He spent the first part of the hour packing, the second pacing like a caged wolf, imagining the worst. What secret perversions did Hallie’s bridegroom enjoy? Was he rough? Cruel? Did he engage more than one lover at a time? Did he fornicate with animals?
He wished now he’d remained at Creagor. Perhaps then he’d be close enough to protect Hallie. Close enough to defend her against her villainous bridegroom.
At last, a knock came on the door.
Colban cracked it open a slit.
“Let me in,” Geoffrey said. “We need to be discreet.”
Though Colban had mostly recovered from his overindulgence in ale, his stomach turned when he ushered Sir Geoffrey in with his guest.
The lad could not have been five years old. He was dressed in rags, pale and shivering, as filthy as a rat.
“This was the best I could do on such short notice,” Sir Geoffrey explained. “But he’ll clean up nicely. I’ve ordered a bath brought to your room, and his mother won’t expect him home until morn.”
Colban could barely suppress his increasing horror and rage.
“In the meantime,” Sir Geoffrey continued, “why not get undressed, let the lad get familiar with ye?” He turned to the lad, who was biting his bottom lip. “Robbie, remember what I told ye,” he sternly warned. “Ye must do as I say, or I’ll have to hurt your ma.”
The lad’s lip quivered.
“That’s a good lad.” Sir Geoffrey smiled. “Do ye like toys, Robbie?”
The lad nodded.
“Why don’t ye go on and see what the nice man has for ye to play with?”
Colban thought he would be sick, listening to this fiend speaking in such dulcet tones about such sickening perversions.
Just then, a soft scratching at the door announced two maids, arriving with a small tub filled with steaming water.
But Colban had heard enough. When he glanced at wee, frightened Robbie, the sort of “special entertainment” Archibald Scott preferred, he made up his mind. He’d not let Geoffrey touch or threaten the lad again.
