The Frost Maiden's Kiss (30 page)

Her eyes flashed and she pushed to her feet, pacing the room with an agitation that fascinated him. “It cannot be so! For you to be damned for certain, you would have to have a heart blacker than black, but you have shown kindness to me, and you have adopted my son as your own. You gave labor to these masons and paid them honestly, and you entrust this legacy to my son. These are not the deeds of a wicked man!”

She defended him. She believed good of him. It was enough to warm Malcolm to his toes.

All the same, he shook his head. “But I have done wicked deeds, Catriona. I have killed, and I have done it more than once.”

“And penance can be paid for every sin,” she countered quickly. “Redemption can be earned. I think you see your situation as more bleak than it is in truth.” She gestured at the window. “You do good here at Ravensmuir, and if you cannot see it yourself, I will tell you of it.”

“I leave a mark here at Ravensmuir, which is vanity. Is that not a sin?”

“How so?”

“I leave proof that I was here, that I was laird, that I accomplished something in all my days.”

“You are scarce dead yet, sir!”

Malcolm dropped his gaze to his blade and honed it steadily with the steel. There was no sound in the solar, save steel on blade, though Malcolm could have sworn he heard his wife’s swift thinking.

“You are not ill.”

“Nay.”

In a heartbeat, Catriona was falling to her knees before him. “Who hunts you?”

“No one who can be stopped.”

“I do not believe it.”

“You will.”

Her eyes narrowed and she leaned back, studying his features. “Someone arrives on Midsummer’s Eve. You prepare for a confrontation and one that you expect to lose. What of me? What of Avery? How will we fare in your absence?”

“When I am gone, you will be left with Ravensmuir to console you.”

She was horrified, Malcolm could see as much, but he dared not tell her more. “I would rather have a husband,” she huffed and marched to the window. He watched her fingers drumming on the sill and knew she would not forget the matter. Indeed, it was a pleasant sensation to have another care for his future and show such concern for him.

He regretted that he would not have more time with Catriona.

He wished there was some way he might fulfill his pledge without sacrificing his own soul.

“Why do your fields lie fallow?” she asked abruptly.

Malcolm glanced up. “They have always been so at Ravensmuir.”

“Nay, they have not,” she said, pointing as she corrected him. “The furrows can be discerned from here. This land was tilled once.”

Curious, Malcolm rose to stand behind her. He cupped her shoulders in his hands and drew her back against him, liking that it took her only a moment to relax and lean upon him. He did not want to argue with her, and in the way she leaned against him, he recognized that she did not want to fight either. He rested his chin against her head, seeing then what should long have been obvious to him. “You are right, but I have never seen crops tilled here.”

She glanced up at him. “How long have you come here?”

“All my life.”

“Then what was the source of Ravensmuir’s revenue?”

“A trade in religious relics, which was abandoned by Merlyn, my grandfather and the father of my uncle Tynan. Merlyn was the one who began the breeding of horses here. Merlyn’s brother Gawain continued the trade covertly, then Rosamunde after him, then my uncle Tynan sold them all.”

Catriona looked up at him again. “So, there was never a village?”

“Perhaps at one time, but not in my memory.”

“What about fodder for the horses?”

Malcolm shrugged. “Perhaps Merlyn saw the fields tilled for some years. He held Kinfairlie’s seal as well until my father came of age, so perhaps the men came from Kinfairlie village to till the fields. I confess I do not know.”

“There should be a village, and the fields should be tilled.” Catriona spoke as if this were an obvious conclusion and merely a problem to be resolved. “Regardless of the soil, there should at least be fodder for your horses grown here, if not grain for bread in the hall.”

“If people could be induced to reside here, there could be a village,” Malcolm ceded. “The smith in the camp has already asked about remaining at Ravensmuir and I could use his aid with the horses when they return.”

It was remarkable how clearly he could see the future of his holding, now that he would no longer been a part of it. Once, he had been overwhelmed by the duties to be done and responsibilities to be fulfilled. Now, with his treasury full and a practical woman by his side, all seemed possible and success inevitable.

Malcolm wished that he had met Catriona before arriving home at Ravensmuir. Perhaps then he might not have been so quick to save Rafael’s hide. Perhaps then, he might have thought his own life worth saving.

“If there were a chapel, they might be encouraged to do so,” Catriona said and Malcolm smiled at her determination. She turned in his embrace. “If there were a chapel, you could repent and pray before Midsummer’s Eve.”

“I cede another victory to you, lady mine. I will pray with you this day.”

Catriona kissed him with a satisfaction that made Malcolm’s chest clench.

Then he looked across the fields, his gaze snared by some small movement, and all within him clenched.

A small army was riding along the road, his hall its only possible destination.

Nay, it was a band of mercenaries and he could hear their coarse laughter even at this distance. A pair of bedraggled banners were held before the group and Malcolm’s heart sank at the familiarity of the insignia.

The Sable League.

His former comrades had ridden north to visit his abode. How had they known to find him in this place? Malcolm could readily guess.

He knew that company of mercenaries well enough to guess that they had only done as much because they had no contract to fulfill.

Which meant that they came in search of warfare, riches, women, food and shelter, not necessarily in that order, and not necessarily earned.

“Who arrives?” Catriona asked, following his gaze.

Malcolm did not answer her directly.

“Remain in the solar with Vera and Avery,” he bade her. “Bolt the door, and only open it when I tap this pattern upon it.” He rapped a rhythm on Catriona’s hand, choosing three short taps, two long ones and three short ones again. “Tap it back to me,” he instructed, offering his hand to her and nodding when she did as much.

“But who are they?”

“My former comrades,” he said, tugging on his boots then donning his belt. He put his sword into the scabbard on one side and his sharpened dagger in the one on the other.

“But if they are friends…”

“Comrades, Catriona,” Malcolm corrected as he strode across the room. He paused on the threshold to glance back at her. “They make Rafael look like an angel. Get Vera and the babe, then bolt the door and admit no one but me.”

He paused on the other side, waiting until he heard Catriona comply, then descended to greet his uninvited guests.

* * *

It was Catriona’s worst nightmare.

Ravensmuir’s hall was filled with mercenaries. There had to be two dozen of them, drinking and eating and singing, two dozen men with foul reputations. Having watched their approach from the solar window and noted their filthy state, she had no doubt that their personal habits were even more foul.

“I can smell them,” she complained to Vera, pacing the solar for the hundredth time.

“And I can hear them,” the older woman said with disfavor. “I am no meek maiden, but those songs are crude enough to shock me to my marrow.” She tickled Avery under the chin. “I do not wish to hear what they sing after they have had their fill of ale.”

Catriona paced more quickly, readily able to imagine how rowdy they would become later. “I suppose they will not leave before the morrow.”

“If then, should my lord show them hospitality.”

“I cannot believe he does as much, but they were his comrades.”

“I cannot believe he fought alongside the likes of such men,” Vera moaned. “Why, oh why, did he leave Ravensmuir to sell his blade?”

Catriona rounded on the older woman. “Because he tried to make the best choice from an array of poor ones. We are not all always in a position to do otherwise.” She flung out a hand. “Because he did so, he has been able to rebuild the hall, which is no small feat. What would his brother have had him do before?”

“Marry an heiress,” Vera suggested, doubt in her tone.

“Who would willingly come to a hall of dark repute, which had crumbled to ruins, to wed a man with an empty treasury? I think that an unlikely solution, Vera.”

The older woman nodded reluctant agreement. She glanced at the door again and grimaced. “I do not like them here, all the same. It is bad for Avery to learn so young that such men exist.”

Catriona’s concern was not wholly for Avery, but she was spared the opportunity to reply by a distinctive pattern of knocking upon the portal. “Malcolm?” she asked, but could not hear a reply over the chorus of the drinking song that rose from the hall below. She drew her knife, mindful of her lesson, and opened the door. Vera had backed away and clutched Avery so tightly that he began to fuss.

It was Malcolm, much to Catriona’s relief. He stepped into the solar and put down the tray he had brought before he barred the door again. Upon the tray was a meal: a pitcher of ale, two cups, some bread and stew, as well as a glass of goat’s milk.

While she appreciated that he remembered her presence and sought to ensure that she ate, this would not do. Catriona straightened and looked her husband in the eye. “Am I not the Lady of Ravensmuir now?”

He regarded her warily, as if sensing her fury but unable to name its cause. “Indeed.”

“And yet I am to be locked in the solar, like a prisoner, simply because your comrades of ill repute have chosen to visit?”

Malcolm frowned. “They are rough men, Catriona. You are safer here…”

“Did you invite them?” Had they brought the battle he had hinted was ahead?

Her husband shook his head. “Nay. They have no patron, so they travel in search of one. It was always thus. Rafael, it seems wrote to one of them to share the tidings of my legacy once he and I arrived at Ravensmuir. They did not believe it, so came to see for themselves.” Malcolm pushed his hand through his hair, looking as vexed as she had ever seen him. “And now they are arrived, and I do not know when they will leave.” He grimaced. “Doubtless they hope I will pay them to leave, but I will not.”

“Then they must be encouraged to leave. We have no food for them.”

“They brought their own.” Malcolm met her gaze and she knew there was more to that detail than he confessed. “They are ever enterprising, Catriona.”

“And like Rafael, they have earned your goodwill enough that you cannot cast them from the door.”

“We fought together, Catriona. I lost count of how many times each of them came to my aid, and how many times I aided each of them.”

“Then it is up to me.”

“Catriona! I know your opinion of mercenaries…”

Catriona knew what she had to do, although the prospect terrified her. “But I will not be a prisoner in my own home. As Lady of Ravensmuir, I must set the tone.”

“Hear, hear,” Vera said, her gaze bright as she watched the exchange.

“It is not unlikely that such men will find my tone unwelcoming.” Catriona met Malcolm’s gaze. “You will take me to the hall, if you please, and introduce me to our guests.”

“You jest,” he said, apparently shocked.

“I do not.”

Vera nodded approval when Malcolm glanced at her. “It is only right. Any lady of merit would do the same.”

“Nay, I will not let them glimpse you…”

Catriona admired that he was protective of her, but he would not always be at home in the hall. There would be times when she would need to confront others, and she had best begin. “You will not always be present to defend me, Malcolm,” Catriona chided, surprised when he blanched at a most reasonable acknowledgement. “You will have to parlay with neighbors and visit the king’s court, and ride to hunt. It is the way of a nobleman’s life, so I hear.”

“Indeed, it is,” Vera agreed with gusto.

Malcolm folded his arms across his chest. “Even so, I would have you remain hidden, lady mine.”

Catriona smiled, trying to appear more brave than she felt. “Then bid them leave immediately.” She gestured to the tray. “I will eat this meal in the hall or not at all.”

“And if the lady of the keep is home but not present, no one should eat in the hall,” Vera contributed. “I will eat in the hall as well, sir.”

Malcolm looked between the two of them as if he could not believe his ears, then surrendered the argument, much to Catriona’s surprise.

“Perhaps you will have a good influence,” he said, before escorting her to the door at the summit of the stairs. He looked down at her, his expression grim. “But I will have your back, lady mine, just in case.”

Catriona stretched up and kissed his cheek, grateful for that beyond all else.

* * *

Malcolm had been certain that his wife would retreat.

One glance of his former comrades would have been sufficient to make any of his sisters faint, so he had expected that a single glance would show Catriona the wisdom of his advice. But Catriona had not been reared as gently as his sisters, and she was determined to defend what she now saw as her own.

In truth, he would be glad to see her do this, for it would be all too soon that he could not defend her.

He watched her pause partway down the stairs to survey the chaos that had erupted in his hall, and knew this was the moment in which she would choose.

Truly, the sight was horrific. In a mere hour, his hall had become a disreputable tavern or whorehouse, as filthy as any he had been compelled to patronize while at war. Two dozen rough men in various states of dirt ate and drank with gusto at his board. They looked disreputable and were more dangerous than even they appeared, always ready to resolve a conflict with a knife or a sword. Their blades were perfectly maintained, their armor a hodgepodge of styles, their skills fiercely honed. These were men who had survived by their wits and their blades, men who were fearless in battle and without remorse.