The Frost Maiden's Kiss (18 page)

“I still would see the bogles,” Mairi said, bold in the morning’s light.

“We should leave you locked in the dungeon!” Astrid cried, prompting Mairi to poke her. Chaos might have erupted, but Vivienne summoned the children to the board. The girls curtseyed before Malcolm and made their thanks. Vivienne took Euphemia from Mairi’s arms and Malcolm glanced up to find Catriona once again at the bottom of the stairs, bending to pick up those last satchels.

Malcolm beat her to the bags, lifting them away.

“Ever gallant,” Vivienne teased on her way out the door with the children, and Catriona flushed.

“Catriona should not be working so hard,” he replied but Vivienne was gone.

“And you should not be toiling like a servant in your own hall, sir,” Catriona said, showing a propriety that Anthony, Kinfairlie’s castellan, would like well. “You should think of having servants, sir. In a hall this size, they will be necessary.”

“We prefer to be cautious about placing our trust,” Rafael interjected. As was so oft the case, that man had appeared silently, as if conjured from the very air.

“Not that your trust is my concern,” Catriona said hastily, then continued to the waiting cart.

Malcolm noted the hostility in Rafael’s expression. “They are leaving,” he reminded his comrade.

“I cannot fight the sense that she is assessing your worth,” Rafael replied, his gaze fixed upon Catriona’s departing figure.

Malcolm shrugged. “It is not hard to see that I have wealth now, but there will be little enough of it left once the masons are paid.”

“I do not trust her.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes and hefted the bags. “You do not trust anyone, Rafael.”

“Save you.”

“You did save me, but you cannot reserve your trust solely for those whose lives you have saved. You would put yourself in peril with too much frequency.”

Rafael was not reassured. He followed Malcolm into the bailey, but remained leaning on the wall beside the portal. He folded his arms across his chest, glaring at the small party while their belongings were arranged in the cart. “Do you think it happenstance that they arrived here now?” he muttered to Malcolm.

“They are on their way to Kinfairlie.”

“But why? Why now? And why linger overnight?”

“You see shadows where there are none,” Malcolm said, his tone dismissive as he carried the last of the bags toward the cart.

“While you hear music in the night.”

Malcolm glanced back in time to see Rafael shrug.

“I prefer my affliction to yours,” that man said, then flashed a grin.

Aware that Catriona watched from the bailey, Malcolm bit back a retort and carried on toward the cart. He wished with sudden vigor that he had not chosen to repay his debt to Rafael that winter night, for time seemed to be not just short but slipping away like quicksilver.

How would he contrive a moment to speak to Catriona?

Malcolm kissed his sister as her husband watched with a glower, and lifted the children into the cart, mostly to ensure that Catriona did not do as much. He then locked his hands together to give Vivienne a step up to her saddle. Of course, she would ride. He forced himself to accept that the choice was hers to make.

Malcolm then turned to offer Catriona his hand so she could get into the cart. No sooner had her cool fingers touched his outstretched hand, then little Catherine wailed.

“My doll! She is gone!”

“I will find her,” Catriona said immediately. She touched her fingertip to the little girl’s lips with a gentleness that immediately stilled Catherine’s cries. “Do not cry. I am certain I know where she is sleeping.” Then she hastened back to the hall at a pace that made Malcolm frown.

On the other hand, here was the opportunity he sought to speak to her alone.

* * *

Catriona found Catherine’s favored doll, abandoned on the bench before the fireplace in the hall. It was just out of sight there, which was why it had been missed. She picked it up and paused for a moment to catch her breath.

Within moments, they would be on their way, and given the Laird of Blackleith’s view of his wife’s brother, it was unlikely she would ever see the Laird of Ravensmuir again. Catriona told herself not to be disappointed in that. When he looked full upon her, as if he peered into the secrets of her heart, Catriona found her pulse fluttering and her palms damp. Her reaction to him was so conflicted, for he was both alluring and a terrifying reminder of what men of his ilk had done to her in the past.

Yet, he spoke of his own lost destiny with real yearning, and she guessed that his family’s condemnation of him was not as easily borne as he would have them believe. And when he had told of the loss of his comrade’s lady and her child, there had been raw pain in his voice. That must have been Ursula, and she saw that he did blame himself. Catriona could not imagine that a man with a heart of stone, or one concerned solely with his own advantage, would have troubled himself to care.

Even if the Laird of Ravensmuir was not the hardened mercenary he appeared to be, his nature did not matter: Catriona departed with her lady’s family, undoubtedly never to return again. It was a sobering thought, but no less true for all of that.

The cries of the children reminded her that she had lingered overmuch. Catriona turned to hasten to the cart, only to feel a spasm pass through her body. Her womb clenched and rippled, the contraction so vigorous that it left her stunned. She clutched the table, knowing it would pass but fearing otherwise.

This was but the first contraction, she reminded herself when finally it had subsided. There was naught unnatural about it. The distance was not far to Kinfairlie, and she was certain this labor would be long. First children always took at least a day and a night, many of them longer than that.

More, Kinfairlie would be a good place for the birth. Her lady Vivienne had confided that Eleanor, the Lady of Kinfairlie, was a skilled healer, and often spoke with fondness of the maid. Vera, the object of Ruari’s affections, had served with the family from the arrival of the first of Vivienne’s siblings, now Laird of Kinfairlie himself.

Even as she recounted the facts that should reassure her, Catriona felt a ripple of fear. Were first contractions always so violent? She had never imagined as much.

What would she have done to have had her mother by her side on this day! Catriona touched her mother’s cross and said a silent prayer that all would be well, and that the Lady of Kinfairlie would adopt her child.

She opened her eyes, only to find that the Laird of Ravensmuir stood a dozen feet away, watching her closely.

“I am sorry to be hold back the party. The doll was not where I saw it last,” she said, squaring her shoulders and taking a step toward the door. “I would thank you, sir, for not revealing that I told you of my lady’s state, and also for trying to keep her here longer. She was better this morn, so refused to confide in her spouse.”

“My sisters are all stubborn women, to be sure.” There was affection in the laird’s voice. His gaze roved over Catriona’s features as she drew closer to him and his eyes narrowed. “You are unwell,” he said softly. “Is it the babe?”

“Of course not!” Catriona tried to dismiss his concern. “I am simply tired on this morn, as you must also be. Why did you go to the ruins in the night?”

The laird did not reply but his expression turned impassive. He reached out to cup her elbow when she drew alongside him and she thrilled at the warmth of his hand. “I would ask that you send word to me of your child’s birth, Catriona.”

Catriona considered him, unable to understand why he would ask such a thing. “Indeed, sir?”

“Tell me of its gender.” His eyes glimmered as he arched a brow. “Confide in me that it was not born like its father, much less a monster.”

Catriona felt flustered at the reminder of her fears. “I thank you for your kindness, sir, but would not trouble you.”

“You would not be troubling me, Catriona,” the laird said with unexpected urgency. “I would like very much to know.”

Catriona realized suddenly that this was the legacy of his comrade’s lady, the demise of Ursula and her babe. Catriona felt herself soften yet more toward this laird, that he showed such concern for a virtual stranger.

Oh, it was seductive to have a man such as this look at her with such intensity. The appeal in his voice made her yearn to trust him with all her secrets.

No less to unearth all of his.

To be sure, the Laird of Ravensmuir had a thousand mysteries, and Catriona could only regret that she would not be the one to learn them all. “I thank you, sir. I will do so.” She spoke with false cheer, having no intention of sending him word of her fate. She held up the doll. “And now, my lady and laird await.”

Catriona might have managed to stride past him, her chin held high and her dignity intact, but her child intervened. She was but a step past the laird when another contraction tightened her womb.

God in heaven, how could they be so strong and so close together?

Something must be amiss.

Catriona bit her lip so she would not cry out, hoping she could manage to keep walking, but she felt the laird’s grip tighten on her arm. Of course, he had noticed. The man would note the smallest change in her posture. Catriona knew she swayed on her feet, and she cursed her own weakness even as she grasped at the steady strength of his hand.

“Catriona!” Her fear was echoed in the tone of his voice, and for a heady moment, she felt as if they shared some bond.

Then Catriona closed her eyes in shame as she felt her water break. She was mortified to have made such a mess in his new hall, although there was little she could have done about it.

“My lord, I am sorry,” she whispered, knowing there was no argument she could make with the child now. It would arrive in his hall, no matter what she thought of the matter. She looked up into the laird’s eyes, fearing his retribution for the mess or revulsion. He glanced down at the puddle around her feet and scowled so mightily that she closed her eyes.

Catriona told herself that he would not strike her, even as her heart raced. Another man might have done so in disgust, but Catriona willed herself to believe that this laird was not of that ilk. Still she could not look into his eyes and face his response, though this time, she did not flee from him.

To her astonishment, the laird swept her into his arms. Catriona opened her eyes to find him striding across the hall, carrying her toward the stairs as he shouted for his companion. It was a marvel indeed to have some soul show such care for her, and to ensure that she was treated well in this moment.

Her mother had only had praise for men who were practical at a birth.

Rafael appeared in the portal and understanding dawned quickly in his expression. “The babe comes,” he murmured, his dark gaze flicking to Catriona. “Did she provoke it to arrive now?”

Catriona gasped that he would suggest such a deed, but the laird did not slow his steps. “I doubt that any woman of sense would rush this moment,” he said, his tone terse.

“It is a trick of midwives,” Rafael retorted.

“Not of this one!” Catriona protested.

“Catriona will not go to Kinfairlie on this day,” the laird continued in a tone that allowed for no argument. “I beg of you to ask my sister to remain and assist in the delivery of the child. Perhaps Erik can send Eleanor and even Vera from Kinfairlie once he arrives there.”

“Of course,” Rafael agreed, more amenable than Catriona had ever heard him.

“We shall need hot water, blankets and a fire,” the laird said as he climbed the stairs, as if he made a list for himself.

“But my lord, I cannot have my child now,” Catriona protested. “I must accompany my lady to Kinfairlie and…”

“The child has no care for your schedule,” he countered. “He or she will enter the world at Ravensmuir, regardless of your feelings upon the matter.”

“But…” She protested because she felt she should, although she knew that he was right.

“Save your strength, Catriona,” he advised, tension running beneath his words. The line of his mouth was grim. “This day will be a long one for you, and perhaps the night as well.”

Catriona studied him, struck by the agitation he tried to hide. “I do not mean to die, my lord.”

“Nor I to let you,” he countered, his gaze locking with hers as he laid her on the thick pallet his sister had used the night before.

Catriona tried to rise to her feet. “I thank you, my lord, but it is not your responsibility to see my child delivered in your hall,” she began, then grit her teeth as the pain blossomed to a level that made her gasp.

The laird did not leave her, but held fast to her hand, letting her grip him in return. Her knuckles were white and she heard herself cry out, but he did not flinch. He was a rock she could rely upon, and she found herself clinging to his strength, even as the pain left her shaking. She opened her eyes to find him watching her, that compassion warm in his eyes.

“My lord, I am sorry…”

“You do me great honor in this, Catriona,” he said, interrupting her firmly. “Yours will be the first child born in the new hall of Ravensmuir,” he continued. “My own father was the last born in the old hall, and there can be no better portent for Ravensmuir’s future than the arrival of a healthy babe.”

Catriona appreciated that he tried to make her feel at ease with a situation she could not change. “I shall do my best, my lord.”

“As shall we all,” he said and smiled just a little. To her astonishment, he winked at her. “I suppose I should thank you for contriving a way to keep my sister from riding on this day, but I wish that could have been more readily achieved.”

His was a wary smile and all the sweeter for its rarity. Catriona felt the expression was dismissed all too soon.

For the laird’s sister came running up the stairs, her concern most clear. “Catriona! Do not be afraid. I have done this afore and you will do it well.”

“And what is in your mind that you run up the stairs?” the laird demanded.

The lady dismissed his concerns with a wave that made his eyes flash.