The Frost Maiden's Kiss (11 page)

“Catriona!” said William, lifting his arms to her even as his eyelids drooped.

She made to lift the sleepy child in her arms, but found the Laird of Ravensmuir beside her. “He is too heavy,” he said, flicking a hot look at her.

Such protectiveness in a man could be alluring indeed, if it could be trusted. Catriona swallowed and stepped back, putting distance between herself and the laird’s warmth. She took Catherine by the hand, while the older girls fled up the stairs. She was well aware of the laird behind her, and Lady Vivienne’s cheerful chatter as she came to bed with Euphemia in her arms.

There had been additional straw pallets brought into the solar, along with the satchels and bundles needed for the night. Catriona glanced at the end wall, and in the light of the lanterns—which was cast at a different angle than the sunlight earlier—thought she could discern a line in the masonry. She stared a moment too long, for she found the laird watching her.

She turned with a flush and busied herself with lighting the braziers. She arranged the pallets so the family would be nestled together and piled them with cloaks. She took only one for herself and placed it at the top of the stairs, only to freeze at the touch of the laird’s fingertips on the back of her waist and his breath in her ear.

“To defend the flock against wolves?” he asked, the low murmur of his voice making her heart leap.

So he had noted where she would sleep.

Catriona turned to find him close, that gaze so intent he might have read her very thoughts.

“It is my place to see to their safety,” she said.

“And what of yours?”

Catriona took a steadying breath. “It is not at risk,” she said with all the resolve within her, as if stating as much boldly could make it true.

“You trust readily in my word.”

“I trust in my own ability to defend myself.”

Those green eyes glimmered then, as if he fought a smile. “Is there anything else you require for this night?”

Catriona shook her head, both wishing he would be gone and yearning for him to linger. Truly, this babe in her belly made her too tired to think clearly.

His gaze roving over her face, feeding her impression that she had no secrets from him. “Then sleep well, Catriona.”

Was that a warning?

He strode across the room, kissing his sister’s cheek, then descended to the hall without another word to her. Catriona was unable to keep herself from watching him go, this man who both fascinated and frightened her.

She had to admit that in his absence, the solar seemed both colder and much less interesting than it had. Her own exhaustion washed over her as she prepared the children for bed, though she could not push their host from her thoughts.

Perhaps there was witchery at Ravensmuir, after all.

Chapter Four

“Fae, fae and more fae,” Rafael muttered in the hall when he and Malcolm were the last ones seated there. “You and the whore have thinking in common, that much is certain. Both of you talk of Fae instead of calling them the demons that they are.”

The fire burned low in one fireplace, while the other had remained cold this day. The two comrades sat in the golden light at a trestle table drawn up before the fireplace, hounds sleeping in the rushes, the wind slipping its cool fingers through the shuttered windows. Malcolm inhaled deeply of the scent of the sea, a pervasive smell he forever associated with home, and sipped of the wine. There was a storm brewing, but truly, the weather suited his mood.

Malcolm was agitated as he seldom was. Catriona’s tales of men lost to the Fae and Fae tithes paid to Hell struck a little too close to his own situation for comfort. He had thought at first that she had the Sight until she had nigh laughed at him for giving credence to mere tales recounted for children.

How strange it was that she told the tales without believing them, while he never recounted such stories yet knew the Fae to be real.

Malcolm could have savored a moment’s reprieve both from his labor and from the torment awakened each night by the sound of the Fae music. It was as if they would haunt him with the memory of his vow, and their resolve to collect it. Worse, their music unfurled memories in his mind that kept him from sleeping, for he saw himself repeat every foul deed he had ever committed. It was relentless and merciless reminder of why he was the perfect choice to pay that tithe to Hell.

Yet he knew Rafael was warming to a lament, perhaps nourished by the wine, and that he would have to calm his comrade.

“Because they
are
Fae, Rafael,” he insisted yet again.

The other man remained skeptical. “They live beneath the earth. They appear and disappear at will. They have unholy powers and demand immoral tithes. I say they are one and the same as demons.” He nodded. “And this place you call Ravensmuir is a very portal to Hell. Against all expectation, your moniker is come by honestly.”

“Save the Fae are not condemned.”

“Are they not? How can you believe we did not visit Hell?” Rafael shook a finger at Malcolm, who preferred to not recall the sights of that night. “Think of Franz.”

“I avoid doing so.”

Rafael scowled at his friend. “And if visiting that place were not folly enough, you made a bargain with them.”

“You were the one who danced.”

“You did not have to offer your soul in exchange for mine.”

Malcolm was well and tired of this dispute. “What was I to do? Abandon you there? You had already danced holes in your best boots and were utterly entranced.” He pointed a finger back at his friend. “If you seek the fool, you need only a glass to know the truth.”

“Who could expect harm from a pretty maid’s invitation to dance?” Rafael demanded in exasperation.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Anyone who ever heard a tale at his nursemaid’s knee.”

“Not where I was raised,” Rafael retorted. “It is this wretched country of yours. First fearsome cold, then spellbinding music, then demons gathering souls.” He shook his head. “We should have remained in France.”

“You thought little enough of France when we were there.”

“They would have finished the killing by now.”

Malcolm shook his head at his companion’s misplaced confidence. “They will never finish the killing, not in any place.”

“There is that,” Rafael acknowledged quietly.

“Why do you stay if you dislike it so much?” Malcolm asked. He was quite certain of the answer, but he would have liked Rafael to admit it aloud. “You are not beholden to me. Take your steed and ride south whenever you so choose.”

Rafael gave him a dark look. “You know I stay to try to save you from that fiendish wager. We have fought back to back long enough that I would not see you lose your soul.”

“Perhaps it was lost already,” Malcolm replied.

Rafael rolled his eyes at that. “You think too much of matters. Our labor was a simple exchange, expertise for coin. Each contract fulfilled and paid and done.” He put his cup down on the board heavily. “So, you have traded your soul for mine and we both escaped Hell for that. They, whether they be Fae or demons, mean to claim your soul for a tithe to Hell on Midsummer’s Eve. Where is it writ that you must surrender it?”

“The Fae cannot be cheated.” Malcolm shook his head. “The agreement is made.”

“Simply stay out of the caverns!”

Malcolm gave him a dark look. “They will collect me, no matter where I hide myself.”

“Then leave Ravensmuir.”

“Never!”

“You are cursed stubborn.” Rafael helped himself to another cup of wine.

“Where should I go?” Malcolm demanded. “This is my holding. This is where I always knew I should die. If it must be sooner than later, so be it.”

The other man’s eyes glinted. “I say there should be a way to sever the agreement.”

“Then I invite you to find it.”

Rafael looked even more grim, but he did not fall silent. “Ask the whore. She seems to think they can be outwitted, as you do not.”

“Those are but tales!” While Catriona told of mortals triumphing over the Fae, Malcolm knew that to be a whimsy. He recalled Vivienne’s assertion that that Isabella had saved Murdoch from the Fae, but dismissed it, for he did not know the details of what had happened. Either of those sisters, with their fondness for tales, might shape the truth to fit their expectation of a better ending.

“And the sole source of detail about these fiends I have,” Rafael said, his tone grumpy.

“The bargain must be kept. Either I keep it, or you keep it. The Fae suffer none to break their word.” Malcolm knew how Rafael would respond to that.

“I say ask her counsel.”

Malcolm was not disappointed that his friend did not offer his own soul in exchange, for he had not expected it of him. “I say drink your wine and be glad of it.”

“Aye, glad of it I am. The first wine I have had since riding north and most welcome it is. Frigid in winter, and now, this land is hotter than Hades itself in the day and so dry that we could be in the deserts of Araby.”

“You can leave at any time.”

“And leave your soul undefended? Not I!”

“My soul.” Malcolm had heard enough of his comrade’s protests of innocence. “My soul has naught to do with your decision to remain.”

“We are comrades!”

“You will wait until the Midsummer’s Eve,” Malcolm predicted with confidence. “Like a hound awaiting scraps from the board, you will see what you can claim when I pay your debt.”

“This hall you build could scarce be called scraps!” Rafael turned upon him with disgust. “That is a fine accusation to make of a man who saved your sorry hide…”

“I know you, Rafael,” Malcolm said, interrupting him. “You will remain until Midsummer’s Eve, and if it is possible, you will defend my life and my soul.” He shook his head. “If it is not possible, and it will not be, you will claim whatsoever remains in my treasury, as your spoils of war, and head south.”

Rafael appeared to consider the merit of denying this, then his smile flashed in concession. “It does appear that you know me well,” he said and Malcolm shook his head. “But even though you believe it to be futile, I
will
defend you to my last.”

“And so you should, for it is you who both saved me years past and condemned me on the night of our arrival here.”

Rafael sobered. “You did not need to offer yourself in exchange for me.”

Malcolm fixed his companion with a hard look. “I owed you.” He lifted a brow. “Tell me you would not have done the same.”

Again, Rafael smiled. “I hope I would have, but we know otherwise. Yours was an honorable choice.”

“And they say there is no honor amongst thieves.”

“We are not thieves, Malcolm,” Rafael said, his brow darkening. “Every coin in our possession was earned with blood.”

“And now its price will be paid in blood,” Malcolm concluded, draining his cup. For that was the sorry truth of it. He would keep his word. He had no choice. And one of Alexander’s sons would step into a fine legacy.

It should have consoled Malcolm that Ravensmuir was rebuilt, but he was not truly surprised that it did not.

* * *

Hamish Sewell was footsore by the time he reached Ravensmuir. Never mind that his belly was empty and his mouth so dry he might have been a hound returned from the hunt. Only Catriona would travel with those so fine as to ride horses, and she would do it to vex his pursuit—whether she had any notion of his presence or not. He had finally tracked her to Blackleith, only to learn that the laird, his lady and household had ridden south. There had been no sign of Catriona at Blackleith, so Hamish had guessed.

It was her nature to flee.

He had stolen a nag, which had served him poorly enough and finally thrown him that morn. He had left it behind, continuing on foot, and had never been so tired in all his days and nights. The prize would be worth it, though. Catriona had been a thorn in his side since her birth, and he would be gladdened to see her debt to him finally paid.

She had cheated him, and he would see it made right.

Hamish would have liked to have remained in the home he knew, to have had Catriona serve him as Aileen before her had served him. That situation had not lasted after Aileen’s death, as if she would vex him by dying before he did. Was it not writ that a woman should be her husband’s helpmate? But Aileen had died and left him with no woman to see his needs met. Catriona had cooked his soup and cleaned the simple hut, but she had not satisfied his other needs.

He would never have suffered her to remain, but she had stolen from him and he meant to retrieve his rightful property. It was owed to him, that gem, whether she called it her legacy or not.

He had tried to break Catriona a thousand times over the years, but the girl was wrought of ice. From the time she was small, when he raised his hand, she simply stared back at him. She was as defiant and cold as a wolf, no matter what he did to her. She neither wept nor begged for mercy, but accepted what he decreed to be her due.

She had a heart of ice, to be sure.

Indeed, her manner stole the satisfaction that could be gained from such exchanges.

It cheated him in yet another way.

This time, though, Hamish did not care if he had to follow Catriona to the ends of the earth to receive his due.

He stumbled into the encampment of tents around this keep on the cliffs, hoping with all his heart that he had followed her course true. It was too dark and too late to travel any farther.

“Aye? Who goes there?” demanded a gruff and burly man, who stepped forward with a hand on the hilt of his blade.

“An honest man,” Hamish lied. “In search of honest labor, a meal and a place to sleep.”

The man leaned closer to peer at him, then tugged Hamish into the light spilling from his tent. “You do not look so hale, my friend.”

“I am stronger than I appear.” Hamish grinned. “Cursed stubborn, my wife used to say.”

The man smiled a little in return. “There is labor aplenty here at Ravensmuir, but only for two more days.”

“How so?”

“We build a keep with undue haste for a laird with a fat purse and a will of iron,” the man confided. “He would send us on our way on Saturday, for he will be alone in his new keep on Midsummer’s Eve. ’Tis a whim but a well paid one. I should be so fortunate once in my days to be able to afford such a whim.”