The Frost Maiden's Kiss (12 page)

“Midsummer’s Eve is less than a week away.”

“That it is, my friend, that it is. I will not jest with you. We labor from dawn to dusk, and oft beyond, but will be paid on Saturday. If you have the resolve, we welcome all hands at this point, for there is much yet to be done.”

Two days. Hamish seldom worked, but he believed he could survive the ordeal for two mere days. Especially if it saw his ambition met and some coin to his name for a change.

“Aye, I would be glad of the labor.” Hamish let the man gesture him into the tent, his gaze falling immediately on the steaming pot of stew. Rabbit, he would wager, the rich scent making his belly growl. “Perhaps the laird plans a celebration for Midsummer’s Eve.”

“I wager he does, for his kin have already begun to arrive.”

“His kin?”

“Laird and Lady of Blackleith arrived this very day, with their children and household, and remain in the hall this night.” The man gestured. “There has been singing and more merriment than we tend to hear from our patron.”

Singing. Hamish smiled with such satisfaction that the other man’s glance lit with suspicion.

“How fortunate a man he must be, this laird, to have the resource for a fine keep and his own family so close at hand.” Hamish pounded his fist on his chest. “It does a heart good to know that Dame Fortune can smile upon us, if she so chooses.”

“Indeed. Have you a name?”

“Hamish. No more than that.” When he was handed a bowl of the stew, Hamish feared he would slobber like a hound, so great was his hunger, but he managed to sit and eat it at a leisurely speed.

Catriona was
here
.

In this very hall.

Not a hundred steps away.

And the bastard had to be coming due. There would be some advantage Hamish could exploit, there had to be, and by Midsummer, he would have what he so richly—and had for so long—deserved.

* * *

As fascinating as the Laird of Ravensmuir was, Catriona forgot his mysteries and secrets for a moment when the Lady Vivienne drew her aside. In the corner of the solar, with a furtive glance at the children, the lady lifted the hem of her chemise so only Catriona could see.

There was a smear of blood on her pale thighs. “I am certain it is naught,” the lady said, in a tone that indicated she feared otherwise.

A cold hand might have clenched Catriona’s innards. She strove to reassure her lady. “It is not so much, my lady,” she insisted. “No doubt, you have simply done too much this day and have need of rest.”

The lady grimaced. “Just as Malcolm and Erik suggested. Oh, I do not wish to hear Erik when he learns that he was right.”

Catriona urged her lady to the pallet closest to the brazier. “I’m sure it will be fine, my lady. You have only to rest this night and all will be well on the morrow.”

“Do you think so, Catriona?”

“My mother was a midwife, my lady, and I saw much by her side.”

“Truly? Why did you never confess this before?” Vivienne smiled a little. “I knew only that you had some skill with herbs, for Ruari complained far less of his aching knee this winter thanks to your salve.”

Catriona shrugged, knowing she had deliberately revealed as little as possible about her past. “I did not think it of import, my lady,” she demurred, then spoke briskly. “I will make you a posset to ensure that you sleep, for that is the best choice now.” She always carried some herbs suited to ease women’s ailments, although at this time, she had thought that she might need them herself. She gave her lady a cloth to clean herself and reached for her satchel.

The lady seized her hand. “Promise me, Catriona, that you will say naught to my lord husband.”

“But…”

“If all goes awry, that will be one thing, but if you are right and this is naught, he has no need to know of it.” Lady Vivienne’s voice dropped to an entreaty. “Spare him this worry and pledge it, Catriona. Pledge to me now!”

Catriona glanced at the girls, then smiled at them, for they had noted their mother’s urgent tones. William was already sound asleep.

“I vow I shall tell him naught,” she whispered to her lady, knowing she would speak if the situation worsened. She then spoke to the girls. “Do any of you need a posset to sleep this night?” Catherine yawned mightily and curled up against her mother’s side, falling asleep so quickly that her reply was clear. Euphemia was also dozing, her mouth working as she dreamed of milk.

“Nay, Catriona,” said Astrid, leaping on to the pallet beside her mother.

“Nay, thank you, Catriona,” said Mairi. She seemed somehow aware of her mother’s state, for she slipped beneath the fur-lined cloaks to nestle against that lady with less than her usual boisterousness.

“But I should love one, if you would be so kind,” the lady said, her weariness more clear as she tucked the cloak around them all and kissed their brows.

“Then I shall make you one, my lady.” Catriona ensured the pallets were piled thick and the braziers were stoked. She shook a finger at Mairi and Astrid. “I expect you to be asleep when I return.”

“Yes, Catriona,” they replied in unison.

“I might well be asleep, as well,” the lady said with a yawn. “Perhaps you should not trouble yourself, Catriona.”

“But I will.” She smiled for her lady. “For once made, the posset can be reheated on the brazier in the night, if needed. I think it wise to have one at hand on this night.”

Catriona chose the herbs from her satchel, then considered how best to administer them. Wine was a poor choice, and water a worse one. Ale had its merits but milk would be best and goats had been brought from Kinfairlie. The children had drunk milk at the board, but perhaps some remained in the hall.

Of course, the laird was in the hall, as well. Catriona refused to consider what he might decide she sought in leaving the solar. She told herself not to let her past compromise her service to her lady and that this was a time to be courageous. All the same, her heart pounded as she descended and she hoped that Laird Erik was yet at the board.

Catriona paused at the base of the stairs when she heard her own name. The laird and his companion spoke so bluntly to each other that Laird Erik clearly was gone. She knew she should reveal herself immediately, but their words induced her to linger in the shadows a moment longer.

Catriona had long been told that eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves, and it was small consolation to learn that saying was correct.

* * *

“The first woman to cross this threshold in half a year, and she is bursting with child.” Rafael sighed and drank heartily of his wine. “It is cursed poor fortune, to be sure. Never mind that she is as cold as a winter night in this forsaken country. A man could lose his prick to frostbite in sampling her.”

The wine seemed to have loosened Rafael’s tongue even more than usual, though he had never been one to keep his opinions to himself.

“You are vulgar beyond belief,” Malcolm muttered.

Rafael eyed Malcolm. “Does she not remind you of another?”

“Nay,” Malcolm said flatly. It was a lie, and he knew Rafael heard as much in his tone. “But then, all women look the same to you.”

The other man scoffed. “’Tis more than that, and you know it.”

“I see little resemblance.”

“Ha!” Rafael laughed aloud. “But you do, else you would not know who I mean.”

Malcolm granted his companion a dour look and sipped his wine. He would not speak of Ursula, much less of his failure to keep his pledge. Like Tam Lin, he knew his soul would pay the tithe: unlike Tam Lin, he believed that was because his sins had put his soul beyond redemption.

Rafael had clearly imbibed sufficient wine to be fulsome. “Oh, the winsome beauty of Ursula. So soft and flushed, and beautiful, so oblivious to Franz’s true nature. Hair of gold and eyes of blue, like a veritable angel. You did not see how she watched you, Hellhound—” Malcolm winced at that title “—slyly through her lashes, like a hungry cat.”

“She did not,” Malcolm protested, though he wondered if it were true. If so, his failure to save her was even more horrific.

“You could have had her,” Rafael whispered. “She would have done any deed for you.”

“She was with Franz!” Malcolm rose to pour himself another cup of wine.

Rafael leaned back, his gaze falling to the ring Malcolm yet wore. “He believed the child was yours.”

“Liar!” Malcolm’s voice rose as seldom it did. “She was
his
, and I do not take what is not my own.”

“You could have this serving wench,” Rafael insisted. “Though she is haughty and cold, she watches you as intently as you watch her.”

“That is because she fears men.” Malcolm gave his companion a dark look. “She trusts neither of us.”

“And so she is wise in that.”

“How so?”

“A whore in the hall of a man with blood in his veins and a decided lack of female companionship is clever to be vigilant, lest she surrender her wares at too low a price.”

“You
are
vulgar!”

Rafael laughed, unrepentant. “Think of it: the Hellhound and the whore. Perhaps you would make a fine match.”

“You cannot know that is her trade. She said she was abandoned.”

“Are they all not abandoned when ripe?” Rafael accepted more wine himself. “She bears a child, but has no spouse or man. She spurns attentions now, only because she cannot supply what she might promise.” Rafael’s dark eyes glinted. “Tell me that it was coincidence she told this tale of a Fae knight courting his mortal lady and leaving her with child.” He rolled his eyes.

It was true that Catriona had seemed to have a purpose in telling that tale, but Malcolm could not guess what it was. “She never said her child was of the Fae.”

“Thank God! She never said she was not a whore, either.” Rafael leaned on the board. “I wager she watches you because you seem to have the most affluence.”

“You know naught of her nature.”

“I see that she is cold to her marrow, a woman with ice in her veins. A man could bleed from the lash of her tongue.” Rafael shook his head. “Perhaps you would be the Hellhound and the harridan.”

“You speak nonsense.”

His companion tapped a fingertip on the table. “Such a cold manner is a trait of whores hardened to their trade and you know it as well as I do.”

“Or mercenaries hardened to theirs?”

Rafael shrugged. “And she has no patroness, but is come recently to your sister’s household. Did she exploit the lady’s compassion? There is a familiar trick amongst those who would win confidence undeserved, then take advantage of such foolishly granted trust.”

“Vivienne showed her kindness.”

“And may well regret it, when she learns there is a thief in her household.”

Malcolm looked up from his wine at that. “A thief?”

A thief slept so close to his treasury?

“There is something beneath her chemise…”

“You are worse than vulgar.”

“A token that she keeps close, just as you similarly guard the key to your treasury.”

Malcolm was not at ease with his companion’s casual reference to his treasury, and spoke gruffly. “What difference if she does?”

“It is a gem!” Rafael declared. “She touches it when agitated. The chain is visible at her neck and whatever hangs upon it, it glitters even though her chemise and is of a fair size. It is a gem, I know it well.”

“For you have an eye for such trinkets and an affection for them, seeing as you have been a thief.”

“My tendencies are of no import.” Rafael leaned forward. “How would a whore or even a serving woman come by any such prize, unless she had stolen it from a patron?”

“It might have been given to her, for good service.”

His companion chuckled darkly, though Malcolm had not meant that kind of service. “I doubt she delivers so much satisfaction on her back. There is not a speck of passion in her.” Rafael shivered. “If her lover gave her a gem, he surely would have sheltered her while she bore his child.” He shook his head. “Nay, no man knows ’tis his child, and that gem was stolen, doubtless from some other noblewoman who showed her kindness. She flees justice and retribution, so she fears any connections you might have. Abandoned!” Rafael waved a hand in mockery. “We are all abandoned by someone somewhere.”

Malcolm could not let Rafael’s accusations pass unchallenged. “You do not know her tale. The father of her child might be dead.”

“I can only wish it to be so,” Catriona herself said coldly. Both men pivoted in surprise, Rafael nearly spilling his wine in the move.

The woman in question glared at them both, one hand on her belly, her posture stiff where she stood at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes flashed and color stained her cheeks, making her look like a statue brought to life. That coldness was banished with her anger, and Malcolm found her even more attractive than he had before.

“You will find no trade in this hall,” Rafael said, draining his cup. “I like my prick and my women warm, so you had best return to your slumber.”

If anything, Rafael’s casual comment only made Catriona more animated. “Then you are fortunate that I have no intention of rolling to my back for you.”

“I am not so particular about the position.”

“You will never touch me!”

“Not even for the right price?”

“There is not sufficient coin in Christendom for me to welcome you or your ilk,” she snapped. Malcolm noticed then that she touched her chest, as if brushing her fingertips across a hidden talisman.

Rafael was right, then.

And Catriona was more fearful than she would have them guess.

“Do you have need of something?” he asked, his tone more kindly than that of his companion. Rafael snorted, then took another measure of wine.

“I seek a cup of milk for my lady’s posset,” Catriona admitted. “I had hoped the children might have left some.”

“They did not, though the goats in the stables might have more.”

She glanced to the heavy portal, the glimpse of her uncertainty so fleeting that Malcolm might have missed it had he not been watching her closely. The bailey was full of men, he knew well, men who had drunk of ale and—like Rafael—yearned for the company of women.