The Frost Maiden's Kiss (22 page)

“I would reconsider my reply, sir, if you would permit it.”

Malcolm was intrigued. He leaned in the portal, watching her. “Why should I not permit it?”

“You might be vexed with me,” she said. “You might think, as others do, that I should be compelled to live with the results of my folly.”

Others? Belatedly, Malcolm recalled passing Vera on the stairs and wondered what she might have said to Catriona. “Do you mean to tell me that Vera made a more compelling case than I did myself?”

“Servants know more of those they serve than most imagine, sir. I was uncertain of your nature, but Vera was eloquent that my knowledge of you this far was truth.”

“Indeed.”

Catriona took a shaking breath, but continued with a conviction he admired. “Should you still wish to wed, sir, I would be the best wife to you that I know how to be, and I would learn as much as I could to fulfill such obligations better. I would surrender my son to be your heir and I would strive to give you at least one blood son in short order.”

Her gaze was unswerving, fixed upon his own. Malcolm felt his pulse leap, for she was ensuring that he knew she accepted the fullness of his terms. He was awed that she would swear as much, given her history, and more than a little flattered.

“And what of Ian?” He had to ask.

She frowned and he noted the pain that flashed through her eyes. “Ian is why I would make one request of you, my lord.”

Malcolm wondered at this but before he could speak, another voice interjected.

“A request!”

It appeared that Vera was once again listening upon the stairs. Malcolm rubbed his brow with exasperation, then considered that the serving woman was being of aid in her indignation. He held his tongue, then, letting Vera have her say.

Vera stepped into the solar, her disapproval more than clear as she glowered at Catriona. “What right have you to make a request of the man who will raise your son, give you a home and a warm bed, an honorable marriage and security besides? You are an ungrateful wench, that much is most clear…”

Malcolm held up his hand and Vera sputtered to silence. “Tell me,” he urged with no small curiosity.

No matter what Malcolm had expected Catriona might say, he could never have prepared himself for what she did say.

Resolve lit in her eyes and her jaw clenched. “I wish to know how to kill a man, and how to do it so quickly and with such surety that there is no chance of his survival.”

There was silence in the solar, the silence of shock and astonishment.

Was Ian not Catriona’s beloved? Malcolm could not understand why Catriona would cry Ian’s name in such pain unless she had loved him.

Perhaps Ian had deceived her.

Perhaps he had done her injury.

Or perhaps she wanted his death avenged.

Either way, the request was one he would meet, but he would know the truth of it.

“You would kill this Ian who haunts your dreams?” Malcolm asked.

Catriona shook her head with vigor. “I would avenge his death, for it was undeserved and wicked.”

Malcolm knew he should not have been relieved that Ian was dead, for if Catriona held that man’s memory fast in her heart, his demise did not matter. He noted the determination in Catriona’s stance and guessed its root. She believed she would not survive this act of vengeance she meant to undertake.

But she knew it to be just.

Malcolm understood that perspective completely.

“You need not learn such a skill. I could do the task for you,” he offered to Catriona. “Any man of merit would do as much for his lady wife.”

Catriona’s surprise was evident, but then she shook her head. “I must do it myself, sir. It would only be right.”

He understood why she would not permit him to take her vengeance for her—though he was determined to see the matter resolved and her safety assured. Again, he felt time sliding through his fingers and knew he would have to either achieve this or prepare for it to be done.

As for her request, he was content to fulfill it. In truth, it would serve Catriona well in future to know how to defend herself and her interests.

“
Right?
” Vera cried. “How can murder ever be right? And murder by a woman’s hand? It is outrageous and scandalous and…”

“I accept your terms, lady mine,” Malcolm said, sensing an opportunity that he did not wish to lose. “We will wed in the morning, after you have slept.”

“Aye, sir, that would suit me well,” Catriona agreed.

“Madness!” Vera cried. “This is madness! My lady Eleanor and lady Vivienne, please come and halt your brother from his folly!”

Catriona wilted then, just a little, and Malcolm knew it to be relief. He caught her hand in his and squeezed her fingers, well pleased that he had understood her. That they thought similarly seemed to him to be a good portent for their shared future.

However long that future might be shared.

Malcolm kissed Catriona’s fingers, letting his lips linger on her skin until her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply. He then turned to the group now gathered at the top of the stairs, their expressions ranging from Vera’s dismay to Eleanor’s surprise and Vivienne’s satisfaction. Eleanor held the newborn boy and he cried even though she rocked him. Malcolm felt Catriona tremble at the sound of her son’s fretting.

“He will not take the goat’s milk,” Eleanor said, but Malcolm stepped forward.

“It is no longer of import, for he will have his mother’s own.” The babe hiccupped to silence as Malcolm lifted him from Eleanor’s arms. Malcolm had felt awe at the boy’s birth, but felt new wonder as he held his slight weight. He rocked him for a moment, then turned to Catriona, only to find her eyes alight. “He will need a name, lady mine.”

Catriona blushed, but Malcolm liked both the endearment and her response. “Only a family name will do, my lord,” she said, taking the boy and cradling him close. The babe’s mouth worked and Catriona untied her chemise.

“Not Ian?” he suggested, but Catriona shook her head.

“A Lammergeier name.”

“My father was Roland,” Malcolm said, pleased by her choice. “My brothers are Alexander and Ross.”

“What of the former Lairds of Ravensmuir?”

“My uncle and laird before me was Tynan.” He saw that none of the names struck her, so continued. “My grandfather was Merlyn, his brother Gawain and their father Avery. It was Avery who build the keep of Ravensmuir that I recall, for the first one had been razed to the ground. He was the first of the Lammergeier to claim the holding.”

“Avery,” Catriona echoed, trying the name upon her tongue. “I like it well.”

“Then Avery it shall be.”

“A fine name for a fine boy,” Vera interjected approvingly. “Now, my lady, Avery has need of his milk.”

But Catriona remained beside Malcolm for a moment, raising her gaze to his. He could never doubt that he had fulfilled her desire, not when there were such stars in her eyes. “I thank you, my lord,” she whispered, her voice husky. “For all you grant to me. I shall do my best to serve you well.”

“Malcolm,” he said quietly. “You must now call me Malcolm.”

“Malcolm,” she echoed and Malcolm liked the sound of his name on her lips well. “I thank you, again, sir.”

On impulse, Malcolm bent and kissed her cheek, letting his lips linger against her ear. “Lady mine,” he whispered and she shivered, giving him hope that hers was a reaction born of pleasure.

He could not tell for certain when he pulled back to regard her. Truly, she hastened to a stool and turned her back upon him, murmuring to the infant as she put him to her breast.

Malcolm left Catriona in the solar with the women and Avery, and descended to the hall, well pleased with all he had wrought. He ignored Rafael’s smirk, too pleased to ask after that man’s views. He had a son and heir, a new keep rising from the earth and an alluring wife to call his own. He would ensure that Catriona learned what she wished to know, and when he kept his vow on the Midsummer’s Eve, Ravensmuir would be in good hands.

She would be a tigress in defense of her son’s rights, Malcolm knew it well. Even so, in the days and nights he had remaining, Malcolm would stack as many odds in Catriona’s favor as he could.

Saturday, June 19, 1428

Feast Day of Saint Juliana Falconieri and Saint Romuald of Ravenna.

Feast of the Holy Martyrs Gervase and Prothasius.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Once again, it had rained during the night. On this morn, the air was still and the mist thick along the ground. Even the sound of the sea seemed hushed and Malcolm could only tell that morning had arrived because the fog brightened to the hue of a pearl.

The fire was slow to catch on the hearth and the wood smoked mightily once lit. He was damp and chilled to his bones, for he had spent too long in the ruins the night before.

He had not wanted to hear the music the night before his nuptials.

Much less recall all the deeds he had done.

Once he had shaved and dressed, Malcolm paced in the hall, impatient that the women took so long. He also smelled the wood fires from the camp as the men prepared their meals. The men were ceasing their labor early, for they would be paid at midday. For once, there was no hammering on the keep. Four young men in Alexander’s service had accompanied Eleanor and Vera from Kinfairlie the previous day and the brewster would be bringing the final allotment of ale in the early afternoon. The entire party could return to Kinfairlie with the brewster, arriving safely before dark.

Rafael lounged before the fire, watching Malcolm with amusement. “You have lost your wits.”

“I thank you for that.”

“’Tis not too late to change your mind.”

“I will not change my mind, but I hope Catriona has not changed hers.”

“She has had a taste of affluence, my friend. I am surprised she lingers at all in seizing the comfort offered to her.”

“One night is not lingering.”

“She could have wed you and bedded you last eve, lest the opportunity dissolve before her eyes.”

“She had a child!”

“Perhaps she tries to deceive you as to her true intentions.”

Malcolm granted a stern look to his comrade. “You will learn to speak more kindly of my lady wife.”

“When she
is
your lady wife,” Rafael said, his tone dour. “I still hold out hope for the correct ending to this tale.”

“I already said I would make the boy my heir.”

“Then keep him. She intended to give him away at any rate. No doubt she would be glad to surrender him fully to you.” Rafael winced. “I simply question the wisdom of taking such a woman to wife.”

“You continue to disparage her nature, with no evidence to support your allegations. You have seen too much wickedness, Rafael, to trust in what looks to be good.”

“While you see good in everyone.”

“Hardly that.”

The other man’s eyes narrowed. “Have you checked your treasury since she slumbered in your chambers this past day?”

Malcolm turned coldly on his friend, even as his pulse quickened. He knew Catriona had noted the location of the treasury, and Rafael’s words made him realize how long she had been alone in the solar. He trusted her, and he knew it, but Rafael had a gift for finding a slight doubt and making it seem greater. “You risk much with such words.”

“No good ever came of wedding outside one’s own kind.”

“At least you acknowledge that some good can come of wedding at all.”

Rafael laughed. “Although most of that good can be had without the exchange of vows.” That man flung out a hand. “Fair enough: she is pretty. Bed her. Keep her as your whore. Ride her nightly for all I care, but
wed
her?”

“What is the difference?”

“All the difference in the world and you know it well. A whore can be sent from the gates without explanation. It is much harder to dispose of a wife.”

“If I need only one woman, I will have no need to dispose of her.”

“Recall that you know naught of this one, except that she wishes to know how to kill a man.” When Malcolm spun to face him in surprise, Rafael smiled. “Aye, I know it. The plump maid could not hold her silence to save her soul, particularly when the tale vexes her.” Malcolm turned away, knowing this was true of Vera. “Your new wife might slaughter you in your bed,” Rafael drawled, doubtless seeing that he had found a concern.

“While she would be unable to do as much if simply my whore?”

“No man of sense sleeps with a whore. But a wife!” Rafael ran his hand through his hair. “I cannot believe you would be so impulsive.”

“I cannot believe you care so much as this.”

“You know that this is a travesty.”

“I know that the vast majority of marriages are arrangements very similar to this.”

“She has no advantage to bring to you!”

“She has a son. I need a son. She needs protection. I have a keep. The exchange is both simple and rational.” He turned his back on his friend and glanced toward the stairs, fighting the urge to pace.

“She looks too much like Ursula.” Rafael’s words were low, uttered with such conviction that Malcolm stiffened.

“I do not know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean. This whim is not rational at all. It is wrought of sentiment, and it will turn bad.”

“I did not know that you could see the future.”

“Any man of sense could predict this one,” Rafael retorted.

“And what difference whether I sleep with a wife or a whore for the few nights remaining to me?” Malcolm demanded in frustration then changed the subject for he could guess the answer. A wife could claim his belongings, and one who learned to defend herself could foil Rafael’s ambitions for the contents of Malcolm’s treasury. “The masons will be paid at midday,” he said sternly to his comrade. “Should you not wish to witness the exchange of my wedding vows, you might ensure that a line is formed outside the hall in an orderly fashion.”

Rafael snorted and left the hall, finally abandoning Malcolm to his own thoughts. Malcolm did pace the hall several times, until he heard the women on the stairs and turned to await the lady he would take to wife.