The Frost Maiden's Kiss (21 page)

“Then we are as one in that, for I would not have you regret yours.” He lifted a brow, again watching her with care. “Should you make one.”

It was a prompt and she knew it. Catriona took a deep breath. “Your generosity overwhelms me, my lord, but I cannot put my hand in yours. It would not be right.”

Something flickered in the depths of his eyes and once again she feared his reaction. “Is it because of Ian?” he asked and she was startled.

How could he know of her vow?

“Aye,” Catriona admitted, seeing no reason to lie. “It is.”

She thought he might have asked for more detail, but the Laird of Ravensmuir’s sole response was to push to his feet. The line of his lips was grim and his eyes narrowed slightly, so she knew he was displeased.

“Then you had best drink your posset,” he said, inclining his head as if she were a great lady. “I apologize for so troubling you with my proposal. It was honorably meant.”

Catriona watched in astonishment as the Laird of Ravensmuir turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her in his own solar.

She bit her lip, struck by the overwhelming sense that she had erred.

* * *

Vera had never heard such nonsense in all her days.

She was climbing the stairs to give the new mother a cup of warm goat milk, determined to encourage Catriona’s own milk no matter what that stubborn woman thought of the matter, when she overheard Malcolm’s proposal. She smiled and stopped her course, leaning against the wall with satisfaction as she eavesdropped.

Oh, Vera could read a man’s thoughts well enough, it was clear, and Malcolm had been honest and true from the first. Such a man he had become, and even though the Laird Alexander did not approve of his younger brother’s choices, Vera had not seen what other option Malcolm had had. And now he was returned, his fortune made, and rebuilding Ravensmuir as it should be. It was even better to see a babe born in this new hall, never mind a boy so hale as this one and with so pretty a mother. It was true that Catriona was not nobly born, but Vera worried less of such matters than others. To her eye, this pair were well matched in temper and character, and the way they eyed each other bode well for their future—regardless of their pasts. Though the boy was not Malcolm’s own son, he had the same dark thatch of hair that she recalled from Malcolm’s birth. Raised by him, the boy would be as good as his own blood.

And so the maid smiled with pleasure as she heard Malcolm argue his own case, and she was certain the result was inevitable.

She nigh dropped the cup when Catriona refused him.

Refused
the Laird of Ravensmuir!

Vera heard the tread of Malcolm’s boots and managed to look as if she were just climbing the stairs, composing her features into something like innocence. Malcolm barely spared her a glance, his dissatisfaction more than clear, and she stood back to let him pass. He did not pause in the hall but marched straight into the bailey, and she heard him shout a correction to the men building the keep.

He was vexed and no wonder. The girl was a fool, but Vera would set her straight.

This must have been God’s purpose in sending her here, though she had arrived too late to aid in the birth.

Vera strode into the solar and halted before the new mother calmly sipping her posset. She fairly dumped the cup of milk over her. “And how is it that you expect a better offer than that?” she demanded.

Catriona glanced up with surprise, but Vera did not give her a moment to argue.

“As fine a man as my lord Malcolm, and Laird of Ravensmuir besides. A young and handsome man, skilled with a blade and in need of a wife, treating you with every honor and courtesy and yet you,
you
, a mere serving woman—and one whose maidenhead is clearly gone might I add—dare to spurn what was so graciously offered! Do you hold out for the king himself?”

“Nay, not I.” Catriona’s lips set and a defiant gleam lit her eye.

Oh, she was a stubborn one!

“Who do you imagine will have you when you have borne a child and given it away?”

“No man, I would wager.” The girl was unrepentant, another sign that she had a heart of stone.

“And so where will you go? Do you choose to become a whore, or to starve in some corner of the world rather than honor the proposal of my lord Malcolm? What manner of fool are you, girl?”

The other woman visibly set her jaw, showing a mettle not unlike that of the man she had declined. “One who made a promise.”

“A promise,” Vera scoffed. “What promise of any merit would cause you to spurn your own son? What promise could not be better kept with a man and a warrior by your side? You are twice a fool if you think you can keep any promise better alone.”

Color burned in Catriona’s cheeks, but she did not lower her gaze. “I do not know his measure, Vera.”

“Then I shall tell you of it! Never has there been a man of such merit as my lord Malcolm.” She jabbed a finger toward the window. “Never was there a child so concerned with honor and duty and fairness. Never was there a boy who kept his word so faithfully as he, and treated those weaker than himself with such kindness.”

Catriona dropped her gaze to her cup, hiding her thoughts as her tone turned thoughtful. “Yet he became a mercenary.”

Vera sighed. “He had lost all he held dear, or so he thought. His uncle died. Ravensmuir was ruined. When the ravens left, he thought they found him lacking as laird.”

“The ravens,” Catriona echoed. “The ones said to speak with the laird himself?”

“The very same. They left all at once one day, circling the old keep before they disappeared forever. My lord’s heart was broken. He could not remain here without the ravens.”

“But he returned.” There was curiosity in the maid’s eyes now, and Vera took that as a good sign.

“Aye. And I would wager that he watches for
their
return.”

Catriona frowned. “That is whimsy for a hardened warrior.”

“But not for one of the Lammergeier. They are men who know that there is more to the world than meets the eye. Indeed, I would wager that my lord Malcolm saw more to
you
than you would have hoped.”

“Aye, he is perceptive.” Catriona nibbled her lip and seemed to consider this.

Vera dared to believe that she made progress. She seized a stool and sat down beside the younger woman. “I do not mean your secrets, Catriona. I mean your promise.” Catriona glanced up and Vera leaned closer, lowering her voice. “I mean that a man of Malcolm’s ilk does not offer a ring idly to any woman in need of a husband and defender. And I believe that you with your promise could find no better man to aid you in keeping your word than the one you have just spurned. A thousand women would have praised God for their good fortune to have that son and that proposal, never mind both in one day, but you have been fool enough to reject them both. I pity you for being so blind, and have only to wonder how soon you will regret your choices.”

She set the cup down beside the other woman with a thunk. “And there you have my counsel along with your milk. Get your rest, Catriona. There will be labor to be done on the morrow, and if you are to answer to me, you can be sure that I will show no good fortune to one who cannot even see the difference.”

With that, Vera left the astonished serving maid, content that her task was well done.

* * *

Catriona had refused him.

Malcolm was shocked.

And it was because of Ian, the man who haunted her dreams.

It was not reasonable for him to feel jealousy of another man, particularly one of whom he knew so little, but Malcolm disliked this Ian intensely even knowing little about him. If Catriona’s regard for him was returned, why was he not by her side?

Surely it was not Ian’s son she bore? Catriona had said the child had been conceived in violence, but Malcolm could not believe that she was the manner of woman who thought it acceptable for a man to mistreat her. Certainly she would not have had any fondness for a man who had raped her.

Perhaps she had become vulnerable to the violence of others because of Ian’s absence.

Or even his death.

Perhaps she would never love another, for she had loved Ian best.

Malcolm could not blame her for being honest in that, even if it meant his own disappointment. He could have offered to take the boy and adopted him, even without Catriona, but without a wife, much less a widow to defend the boy’s interest, there would be little point. Nay, Malcolm would wed Catriona
and
adopt her son.

Perhaps after Catriona slept, she would see the advantage to her son in accepting Malcolm.

Perhaps he might yet speak with her before she continued to Kinfairlie and argue his own case anew.

Malcolm hoped his suit was not destined to failure, for the more he knew of Catriona, the more convinced he was that his holding would be in good care in her hands.

But for the moment, he had guests and a final inspection of the masons’ work to do before their payments were granted on the morrow. Malcolm had more than sufficient labor to occupy him.

Though thoughts of the woman sleeping in his solar—and the memory of her sweet kiss—would triumph over them all.

* * *

Catriona was exhausted, yet she could not sleep.

Her son was crying in the hall below, the women trying to console him without success. The sound of his hunger tore at her heart and made her fear that she found reason to decline the laird when there was none.

He was called the Hellhound.

She bit her lip, indecisive as she seldom was.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, calling it a weakness that she strained for the sound of the laird’s voice.

Servants understood the true nature of those they served, and Catriona knew it well. There could be no secrets from those who lived intimately in one’s home, much less from those who oft passed unobserved. That Vera defended the Laird of Ravensmuir so vigorously could only mean that his nature was as honorable as the older woman insisted. She had known him all his life, after all. If he had turned against his own character to secure his future, then Catriona had to believe that he could choose to be honorable again.

Indeed, he treated her with unexpected courtesy.

Never mind that his experience could be of aid to her. Vera was more right in that than she could guess. Catriona had vowed to take vengeance for the sake of her brother, and she could think of no better vengeance than the death of the villain who had betrayed them both. A mercenary prepared to do violence on demand was precisely the man to best aid in that.

Even the man’s reaction to her rebuff spoke in his favor. She had declined him, in his own keep, nay, in his own solar. He could have taken her unwillingly or kept her captive at Ravensmuir, if lust was at root of his offer.

Instead, he accepted her refusal and evidently would let her continue on her way.

A man of honor.

Catriona rose from the pallet with some effort, her posset finished, and stood at the window. Her gaze fell, predictably, on the laird himself, who discussed some matter with the lead mason. The workers must be near the end of their day’s work, and it appeared some complication had arisen. The mason gesticulated, while the laird was utterly still. Catriona had no doubt that he listened with care, that he was considering all sides of the question, that his eyes were vivid green.

As they had been every time he had pledged her safety in his hall.

As they had been when he had argued the merit of his proposal.

The mason finished whatever he had to say and flung out his hands in frustration. The laird looked left and right, paced a distance, pointed to the new wing and asked a single question. Catriona had no doubt that his tone was reasoned and his judgment fair. The mason was skeptical of the suggestion, but the laird persisted and explained in greater detail. The mason looked, he walked, he considered, then he asked a question, his visible excitement making Catriona smile. In but moments, the pair shook hands, some new course decided upon, and the mason happily strode back to his men.

Here was a man who saw an issue resolved, and to his satisfaction, before he moved on.

She had simply to be bold and choose her course. Wedding this man could be dangerous, but it also looked the best opportunity to both fulfill her vow and to give her son a better future than she could have imagined.

Catriona would wed him.

As if he had guessed her resolution, the laird looked up at the window. Perhaps he had such powers that he knew her very thoughts. Catriona froze, her heart thundering with the audacity of what she meant to do. He did not look away, so she raised a hand and beckoned to him.

What cheek she had, a mere serving woman, to summon the laird to his own chamber—especially as she did not mean to surrender what many a man would assume she offered. He eyed her for a moment, as if considering her change of manner, and she feared he would decline her invitation.

Catriona did not dare to take a breath.

Then he strode toward the hall with his usual purpose.

He came! Catriona spun away from the window, feeling jubilant and excited. She seized her kirtle and donned it again, wanting to be as presentable a possible wife as she could be. Then she waited, hands clasped and heart thumping.

She did not have to wait long.

* * *

Malcolm glanced up after an exchange with the lead mason over one last detail to find Catriona at the window of the solar. He would have expected her to be asleep, but she stood there, openly surveying him. When she raised her hand and beckoned to him, he could not believe his good fortune. He would not be so foolish as to let this opportunity, whatever it might be, pass.

Catriona awaited him in the solar, on her feet and dressed in her kirtle again. She looked tired and pale, and her hair had worked itself free of its braid. Her feet were bare and there was a tremor in her hands. Malcolm halted on the threshold, uncertain how to proceed when she looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, but she raised her chin with that resolve he already came to recognize.