The Frost Maiden's Kiss (39 page)

Vera might have commented, probably on his vigor, but there was a sound of hoof beats in the bailey. Both women went to the window to look and Vera caught her breath.

The party was not small, all of them garbed with a richness that made Catriona blink. Two maidens who must be of an age with herself rode with the earl, one on either side. They looked to have brought enough servants and trunks to stay for some time. Malcolm bowed to the older man who rode at the fore, who must have been the earl himself, then lifted down one of the two women. She had dark hair and was dressed in crimson and gold. The other woman had red hair and was dressed in blue. She was handed down by the older man. Their steeds were fine, the black one ridden by the younger maiden as glossy and large as those ridden by Lady Vivienne and her husband.

“The Earl of Douglas,” Vera said with no pleasure and Catriona’s blood ran cold.

That man arrived with two unwed maidens.

Surely, Rafael could not be right.

Vera’s features brightened. “And Lady Elizabeth, Laird Malcolm’s youngest sister. That is her in red with the dark hair.”

Catriona could not make a reply. The other must be the earl’s niece. She watched with a heavy heart as Malcolm greeted both ladies, bending over the hand of the red-headed one before escorting both to the hall.

The earl did not immediately follow Malcolm, much to Catriona’s surprise. He walked back to the corpse of the man who had invaded the solar the night before and who had been cast into the bailey, as if curious. Catriona could not see his face clearly as such a distance, but she did see how quickly he straightened.

As if dismayed.

As if he recognized the fallen man.

There was no disputing the imperious gesture the earl made to two of the men who had arrived in his party. They turned their horses immediately and galloped back through the gates, and down the road toward the west. Malcolm turned at the sound of their departure and the earl smiled at him, no doubt summoning a lie to his lips.

Catriona held her son close. The earl knew the assailant.

That could not be good.

* * *

An angel had set foot on the earth.

Rafael could conceive of no other explanation for the beauty who walked toward Ravensmuir’s hall on Malcolm’s hand. She was looking up at Malcolm, as yet unaware of Rafael, which gave him time to stare.

Rafael had never believed that angels were beings of perfect beauty. He had always assumed that having witnessed both good and evil would leave a mark upon them, and this angel looked haunted by a sorrow that had scorched her soul. The combination of beauty and devastation was more alluring to him than he could have believed possible.

It made him think they had seen much of the same in this world.

She moved so smoothly across the ground that she seemed to float above it and he was certain a creature so lovely could not tread upon the earth like any other mortal. She wore a kirtle of crimson as red as blood, its hems embroidered with the gold of the sun. A silver circlet graced her brow, her ebony hair bound beneath a veil of finest gold. Her skin was as fair as ivory and Rafael stared, like a man struck to a pillar of salt for daring to gaze upon such magnificence.

In the presence of an angel, Catriona’s barb seemed sharper and more resonant. He was a poor comrade and a poorer friend.

He watched the angel approach and wondered if he could change.

He scarce could take a breath when she came closer.

“Malcolm, you must not keep your oath,” the angel whispered, her voice as sweet as the honey of Rafael’s homeland. Her eyes were green, he saw, a green as clear as the ocean’s curl, and her lips both full and rosy. “They cannot claim your soul!”

Malcolm glanced down at her, as if he would silence her, then gestured to Rafael. “Rafael, this is my sister, Elizabeth.”

Rafael nigh swooned with relief that she was not the earl’s niece.

“Is Catriona in the hall?”

“She tends to Avery,” Rafael confessed, his heart leaping when the angel looked fully upon him. Her gaze brightened and he dared to be encouraged.

“Would you escort my sister into the hall while I make Lady Jeanne and the earl welcome?” Malcolm asked and Rafael could only comply dumbly. The weight of Elizabeth’s hand on his arm was like a feather, her touch as cool as a river. He was smitten with no more than a glance, just as his father had foretold, and he had nary a regret.

“Are you the one my brother replaces on Midsummer’s Eve?” she asked.

Rafael welcomed that she had any curiosity about him, though he did not wish to confirm her guess. He felt ashamed of his own weakness and could not meet her gaze. “I am, for he is a better man than I.”

“Indeed,” she said softly, though her condemnation was less than he had expected. Rafael dared to glance up and the lady smiled ever so slightly. “I understand that when a man is given a chance, he is a fool not to seize it.”

Suddenly, the land Rafael had come to despise showed such uncommon appeal that he doubted he would leave Scotland any time soon.

No matter how much it snowed, it was worth enduring any physical discomfort to remain in the presence of an angel such as Elizabeth.

Indeed, she might take pity upon his condemned soul.

* * *

It was worse luck than Malcolm could have believed possible.

That the earl had realized the keep of Ravensmuir was completed in time to arrive before his doom with the Fae was a complication Malcolm could have lived without. He would have liked to have spent the time with Catriona, using her knowledge of the Fae to create a plan, instead of ensuring the entertainment of his noble guest.

Never mind evading the exchange of vows with the earl’s niece.

In truth, Malcolm had never thought to lay eyes upon Jeanne, for when he had agreed to wed her, he had assumed he would be dead before it came due.

Could naught in his life go aright?

He left the newly arrived party in the hall with Elizabeth and Rafael. Jeanne was openly assessing all she believed would soon be her own and planning her changes as Malcolm climbed to the solar.

Catriona awaited him there, fire in her eyes and hands on her hips. Vera waited behind her, rocking Avery but watching avidly.

“My sister comes to visit,” he began, only to be interrupted.

“Along with the Earl of Douglas and another maiden,” Catriona said, her voice chilly. “And this other lady, I must assume to be your betrothed?”

Malcolm blinked. He felt the back of his neck heat. “It is Jeanne Douglas,” he admitted quietly. “And I did agree to wed her once Ravensmuir was completed.”

“Did you mean to tell me?” Catriona demanded.

“Who did tell you?”

“I thought Rafael merely tried to annoy me when he said you were betrothed.” Her eyes flashed. “But it turned out that it was not Rafael who would deceive me.”

“It would not have been out of character for him to do as much,” Malcolm acknowledged.

“When did you mean to tell me?” she demanded, her words low and hot.

He looked up then, his expression turning wary. “I did not. It is not relevant.”

“Not relevant!” Catriona echoed in dismay. “How could it not be relevant that you already had a betrothed when you wed me? How could you expect that I would not think this a detail worthy of knowing?”

“I do not think it worthy of knowing.”

“Yet you are the man who challenged the Laird of Blackleith for treating women with disdain!” Catriona said, her fury with him clear. Malcolm admired the sight of it. She was no longer afraid of him and spoke her mind eloquently. Even better, she was vexed at the possibility of their union being broken. “You pledge yourself to me, but not before a priest, then would put me aside for another woman whose birthright grants her better connections.”

Malcolm watched her keenly, knowing she would not be so angry if her feelings were not much as his own. “This vexes you,” he said softly and was encouraged by the passion of her reaction. He found himself smiling, though that did little to improve his wife’s mood, and teased her a little. “Could it be that you think me a man of merit after all, my Catriona?”

“I am not your Catriona, not if you have any intent of keeping that pledge!”

Malcolm went to her and framed her face in his hands, smiling down at her. “You are my Catriona,” he murmured, bending to brush his lips across her brow. “And I hope that you always will be.”

She braced her hands on his shoulders and held him at arm’s length, fixing him with a glare. “I hope you will not be over-tired this night, my lord. I would continue my studies before we slumber.”

“Studies?” Malcolm lifted a brow.

“Aye. I would learn more of the art of killing a man.”

Malcolm could not keep himself from smiling.

Catriona cared for him.

Those were the best possible tidings, in Malcolm’s opinion, and more than enough reason for him to try to outwit the Fae. He was not sure it could be done, but he had new desire to try. He would not leave Catriona mourning him as she mourned Ian, so would not confess his own feelings until he was sure of his survival.

But Catriona cared.

Malcolm had never expected such a gift.

It was almost worth dealing with the earl to learn as much. “I will not spurn you, Catriona. I would introduce you as my wife to our guests.” Malcolm winced. “The matter remains that a betrothal can legally be argued to as binding as a nuptial vow, and my agreement with the earl was made before our wedding.”

Catriona nibbled her lip, evidently reassured. “Could such an agreement not be broken legally if there was dissent between the two parties?” She looked up at him. “If, for example, the earl had sent a man to invade your keep and kill me so the nuptials with his niece could proceed?”

Malcolm stared at her.

“He recognized the corpse,” she confided. “I saw him look upon the man. And then he dispatched two of his men, back in the direction he had come.”

“He said he had forgotten a gift.”

Vera snorted, reminding them of her presence.

Catriona brought him the detail he needed to resolve one matter. Malcolm took Catriona’s hand within his own, uncommonly proud that she was his wife. “I cannot accuse him on that alone, but let us see what results when I refuse to keep that pledge.”

She smiled at him, a light kindling in her eyes. “You would not put me aside, despite my low birth?”

“Never,” Malcolm vowed. “If we can outwit the Fae, I will be yours evermore.”

Catriona averted her gaze at that and he recalled that she did not believe the Fae to be real. He had to convince her, but first he had to evade the earl’s plans for his future.

Chapter Fourteen

Jeanne Douglas was beautiful.

She was nobly born, gently reared, blessed with powerful family, endowed with a rich dowry and a virgin yet.

She was everything Catriona was not.

She was everything Catriona would never be.

Worse, she had come to take Catriona’s place by Malcolm’s side. So confident was Jeanne of her position that her gaze swept over Catriona with disdain, as if she were no more consequential than a fly. Was Rafael right that the lack of a priest could make her wedding vows easy to dismiss? Her match with Malcolm was not consummated, and Catriona knew that put her in a position of weakness.

Even if Malcolm led her to the hall with pride.

Indeed, she could not help but feel fully aware of her inadequacies, measured against a woman who had known so much advantage. She took strength from Malcolm, though, and feigned a confidence she did not feel. Malcolm’s comrades stood in the hall, their expressions indicating that they, too, supported her.

Save, of course, Rafael, who watched from beside Elizabeth.

Malcolm bowed before the earl. “I am delighted to introduce my wife, Catriona, to you, sir.”

“Welcome, sir, to Ravensmuir,” Catriona said, curtseying in her turn.

The earl stared at her in dismay. He might have recovered himself and hidden his reaction, but his niece was no diplomat.

“She was supposed to be dead!” Jeanne cried, crossing the hall with vigor. She poked the earl in the shoulder. “You promised me that she would be removed!”

The earl glanced between his niece and Malcolm, who waited in silence. Catriona knew this trick, as well, that silence would oft be filled by the other, so she also held her tongue.

“Jeanne, I do not understand your meaning,” the earl said, his tone hinting that he lied. He glared at his niece and she clamped her lips tightly together, her expression turning mutinous.

“I fear I do,” Malcolm said smoothly. “For an intruder tried to kill my wife last night.”

The earl blanched. “How trying for you. I thought Ravensmuir better defended than this.” He forced a laugh. “Should I fear for my niece’s future within these walls?”

“I think not, for I suspect you know the man in question.” Malcolm’s voice dropped low. “Perhaps you dispatched him on that errand.”

“Nonsense!” The earl was dismissive in his reply and Catriona saw his confidence restoring.

“My wife saw you look upon him and believes you recognized him.”

The earl glared at Catriona. “Nonsense, and nonsense to serve her own ends, to be sure.”

Catriona might have bristled, but Malcolm only shook his head with apparent regret. “Then he is as anonymous as I feared.” He raised his voice. “There will be no decent burial for that villain, then. Cast his corpse into the sea, and let his soul be damned forever.”

Jeanne gasped. “You would not do that to Stephen!” she cried and the earl closed his eyes, as if in pain. She turned on her uncle. “You would not let that happen to him, not after all he has done in service to you!”

“Jeanne, hold your tongue. You do not help the matter,” the earl said though gritted teeth.

“Nor do you, uncle!” Jeanne advanced on Malcolm. “Will you put her aside to keep your pledge?”

“That I might wed into a family who embraces murder to see their ends achieved?” Malcolm shook his head. “I think not.”

Catriona’s heart leapt at his firm refusal. She watched in amazement at the change in Jeanne’s manner. Her eyes narrowed and her lips turned downward, her lovely features contorting in her anger. Catriona braced herself, thinking the maiden would assault her or Malcolm, but instead she turned upon her uncle.