The Frost Maiden's Kiss (20 page)

“I am beyond glad that I was,” Malcolm replied firmly. He nodded to Catriona. “And gladdened yet more that Catriona was not afraid to ask for my help.”

Eleanor and Vera exchanged puzzled glances.

“Malcolm freed the child from the cord,” Vivienne supplied. “I could not do it.”

Vera crossed herself. If there had been a stool near her, she undoubtedly would have sat down. Instead, she wavered on her feet. “She
asked
for his aid?” she echoed.

“Indeed, Catriona is a woman of remarkable sense,” said Malcolm. “And one who thinks quickly in such moments.” He smiled at the woman in question, knowing she would suit him well as wife, for however long he might remain by her side. “Praise be.” He bowed, then left the women in the solar. There was silence behind him, then Vera began to organize matters as she best preferred.

Malcolm would have liked to have remained with Catriona—and not only to defend her from Vera’s edicts—but there were arrangements to be made for his newly arrived guests. He dispatched Rafael to hunt whatsoever he might catch and fought an almost forgotten urge to whistle. The masons had questions for him and the fire on the hearth had to be stoked, and for the first time since his return, he wished he did have some servants in the hall.

Catriona was right.

The time had come to add to his household.

Malcolm was debating the merit of asking the advice of Kinfairlie’s castellan, Anthony, in seeking some servants for the hall itself when Eleanor and Vivienne came downstairs together. He stood to greet them. “How is Catriona?” he asked and they exchanged a glance.

“She is asleep,” Eleanor said.

“And her rest well deserved,” agreed Vivienne. “Never have I seen a child born with such haste.”

“And he is not small, either,” Eleanor said.

“Praise be that Malcolm was with us, and all ended well.”

“Anthony sent supplies with us,” Eleanor said to Malcolm. “He could not bear the prospect of our subsisting at Ravensmuir without a hot meal, even for part of one day.”

“You must show Eleanor all that you have done,” Vivienne said. “The new Ravensmuir is magnificent and will be wondrous indeed when it is complete.”

“First I will make Catriona a posset,” Eleanor said, reaching into one of the satchels she had brought and removing some dried herbs. “It will also make her sleep.” She put a mortar and pestle on the table and began to grind herbs within it, their scent filling the hall. Whatever plants she had brought, Malcolm found the scent both soothing and invigorating.

“In truth, I have been thinking that it is time to have some servants in the hall,” Malcolm said to Eleanor. “Would Alexander be troubled if I asked Anthony’s aid in this task?”

She smiled. “They both would welcome the opportunity. They are beyond curious about what you have done here and what you plan, though pride has kept Alexander home.”

“I know he disapproves…”

“And I know that you are his brother.” Eleanor gave Malcolm a kiss on the cheek. “He needs solely an invitation to be your ally again, Malcolm. Do not imagine that it is otherwise. He nigh wept with relief that you were returned hale and whole.”

Malcolm did not think the matter between himself and Alexander that simple, but he would take the advice of his brother’s wife. “Then I shall send word to him immediately and request his aid.”

“Better, I shall take it for you and entreat him on your behalf.”

“I thank you, Eleanor.” Malcolm knew he could find no stronger ally than Alexander’s own wife.

Before Eleanor could say more, Vera appeared at the base of the stairs, the swaddled child in her arms. “She has a heart of stone,” she huffed and fixed Malcolm with a look, as if whatever she found unacceptable was his fault. “It is unnatural, my lord, that much is for certain.” The infant cried in her arms, seemingly inconsolable.

“What is amiss?” Malcolm asked.

“We have need of those goats,” Vera said grimly. “She spurns the child, my lord.”

“She will not nurse him?” Vivienne asked with surprise.

“Catriona means to surrender the child,” Eleanor said, her tone matter-of-fact. “She begged me to take him and raise him as my own.” She set a pot of water over the fire, then poured the contents of her mortar into a cup.

“Why would she do such a deed? He is so lovely!” Vivienne protested. She took the babe from Vera, who seized a bucket and hastened to the stables to milk the goats. Vivienne walked the hall, rocking the babe, who cried inconsolably.

“The boy reminds her of the father, I would guess,” Eleanor said.

“Now that I think of it, she spurned him from the first,” Vivienne said with a shake of her head.

“Not the very first,” Malcolm protested. He would never forget the joy that had suffused Catriona’s features when she had learned the babe was hale. “She fears to love him, for she believes it best that she surrender him for adoption.”

“You knew of this?” Vivienne asked in astonishment.

“She told me of her plan.” Malcolm said. “I was not certain if she were truly resolved.”

“It appears she is,” Eleanor said.

“But why?” Vivienne asked.

Eleanor shrugged as she poured hot water into the cup and stirred the posset she had made. The scent of the herbs was even stronger, both warm and savory. “I would wager that she thinks the boy better without her. What opportunity can she give him? What security? Without a husband, her resources are limited, yet few men will claim a wife who already has a child by another man.” Eleanor shook her head. “Catriona is young and fair. Perhaps she, too, will fare better without the child.”

Both women looked to Malcolm who could only nod his agreement. “I believe this is her reasoning.”

“Will you take him?” Vivienne asked Eleanor.

“If it comes to that, I suppose I will.” Eleanor frowned. “But I would prefer he stayed with his own mother.”

“Why did she not ask me?” Vivienne said. “If the child were at Blackleith village, she might see him more often.”

“Perhaps that is the point,” Malcolm interjected.

The women nodded sad agreement, then Eleanor spoke. “There are children aplenty at Kinfairlie, though I suppose there might be a childless couple in the village glad to add him to their family. If she remains adamant, I shall see what I can do.”

Malcolm could endure this discussion no longer. “That is for Catriona?” he asked, gesturing to the steaming cup and Eleanor nodded. “I will take it to her.” Vivienne parted her lips to protest, but Malcolm silenced her with a look. “Do not tell me that a man should not be in that chamber. If I had not been there, this tale would have ended most poorly.”

“It still may not end well,” Eleanor said softly.

“We shall see about that,” Malcolm said, his words clearly mystifying the women. He took the steaming posset and climbed the stairs to his own solar, knowing exactly what he must do.

* * *

Catriona awakened to find late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows of the solar. Then she spied the Laird of Ravensmuir, standing at the top of the stairs and watching her in silence. He stood much as he had during the night when she had awakened from her nightmare, but his hand was not on the hilt of his knife. There was a steaming cup in his hand and his expression was inscrutable, though she had no idea how long he had stood there.

“My lord,” she said and tried to sit up. “You should not wait upon me.”

“And you should not rise from that bed before the morning. If then.” Malcolm came to her side and offered the cup. “Eleanor says this will make you sleep. I did not ask her which herbs it contained.”

Catriona sniffed the aroma and smiled. “The same ones I would have chosen.”

“Would you prefer to sit?” At her nod, he helped her to sit up, then braced pillows against a sturdy stool behind her back. He coaxed the coals in the brazier to burn brighter, then sat upon another stool beside her.

Watching.

Catriona sipped at the posset, sneaking glances at him through her lashes, her curiosity slowly defeating her embarrassment. “You do not need to stay, my lord.”

“But I do, for I would speak to you of this choice you have made.”

“It is the sole good thing I can do for him…”

“Nay, Catriona, there is another choice, one I believe to be better.”

Catriona fell silent, unable to imagine what he meant. His eyes gleamed and she knew the laird found satisfaction with his idea.

Would he offer to take her son?

How could she tell him that she would find such an arrangement wrong? She wanted her son to not only have advantage but to have two parents.

It seemed she was more greedy for him than she might have expected.

“Wed me,” the laird invited, before she could think further. “Wed me, Catriona, and I will raise your son as the next Laird of Ravensmuir.”

Catriona was astounded.

She was half certain he made a jest, but the Laird of Ravensmuir held her gaze steadily. As was oft the way with him, only his eyes revealed any emotion: in this moment, their hue was vivid and he did not blink. She understood that his resolve was strong in this matter, although she could not imagine why.

And she would not wed him without knowing his motives. What manner of fool would she have to be to put herself under the command of any man, let alone one she knew so little?

How would he react when she spurned his offer?

Catriona chose her words with care. “You do me great honor, sir, though your reasoning is unclear to me.”

“Does it matter?”

“Aye!” She lifted her chin. “I would know the reason you have chosen me. I have no title, no wealth, no family connections that could bring you advantage…”

“You have a son.”

“Surely, my lord, you will also have sons, once you have a wife. You are not aged or foul to look upon.”

He seemed amused, although he did not smile. The humor was but a glimmer in his eyes, and one quickly dismissed. “I thank you for that endorsement, Catriona. I see merit, however, in having a son sooner rather than later.”

He would not be the first to think similarly.

He leaned closer and dropped his voice to a beguiling timbre. “Understand me, Catriona. This must be a marriage in truth.”

She swallowed even as her heart skipped. He would expect her to meet him abed. Could she willingly meet
any
man abed, given her past? Could she roll to her back and accept readily what had once been inflicted upon her? Catriona could not imagine that she could. Catriona forced her voice to remain calm. “I understand, my lord.” She swallowed. “What would happen to my son if you had sons of your own blood?”

“I swear to you, Catriona, that he will remain my heir.”

Although the laird seemed most determined, his offer was too generous to believe.

Did he deceive her? His very surety fed her doubts, as did her own conviction that he told the truth to her. If she could not discern a lie from the truth when it fell from his lips, how could she be sure of his truth?

Catriona looked around the solar, as yet simply furnished, knowing that he observed her as he waited for her reply. His offer was such a change from her own plans for her future, that she had to think for a moment. It was surprisingly tempting to accept such security, never mind the chance to keep her own child close. But how could she accept the Laird of Ravensmuir, knowing so little of his measure? How could she trust her instincts in a matter of such import? She could be so wrong and her situation much worse than before.

She would be putting herself completely under his control, a fearsome prospect no matter who the man. What would change after she put her hand in his?

And if she accepted the laird, how would she keep her vow to avenge Ian?

“I am not without advantage, Catriona,” he said, evidently mistaking the reason for her hesitation. “Ravensmuir will be fine when it is rebuilt, and there will be coin from the horses.”

“The horses?” Catriona would have seized upon any subject to delay the moment of her reply. Her thoughts were spinning, her questions multiplying with dizzying speed.

“My family has always bred horses, a proud lineage of destriers as black as midnight. They are sought for their strength and valor.”

Catriona recalled the fine steeds ridden by her lord and lady. She knew little of horses, but those two were uncommonly large and beautiful.

She thought of the goats and their calmness when he had milked them, then wished she had seen him with the steeds. “But there are no such horses here, sir,” she said, stalling for time in the hope that her uncertainty would diminish.

She should not have been tempted by his offer at all. Her reply should have been utterly clear.

But it was not.

“My brother took care of them at Kinfairlie while I was gone, along with the seal of Ravensmuir.” He lifted his hand, indicating the signet ring on his finger. “When all is repaired, they will be bred here once again.”

Catriona frowned. “But the stable is in good repair, my lord.”

His voice hardened. “Do you think I deceive you, Catriona?”

Catriona heard the change of tone and saw the glint in his eyes, a telling reminder of how he had earned his wealth—and of her own ignorance of his true nature. Her choice was made in that moment. “Nay, my lord. I simply do not understand.”

“And you do not need to, in order to give your reply.” Impatience flashed in his eyes, no doubt because he was not readily winning what he sought. It, too, was a warning, and one Catriona would heed.

She guessed that she had overstepped herself in questioning him. What would he do once they were wed, if she vexed him and all the power of the law was on his side?

Catriona spoke quickly, before she could consider the wisdom of what she needed to say. “My lord, you appear to be irked with me for asking questions of you. It is in my nature to ask after all I do not understand, and if this trait displeases you, it might be best that you reconsider your kind offer.”

He regarded her in silence for a long moment. “Do you reject me, Catriona?”

She spoke with care. “I would not have a man of your stature regret an impulsive choice.”