The Frost Maiden's Kiss (7 page)

The laird studied her and she remembered a bit too late that she should be demure in his place. She dropped her gaze, but still he addressed her. “So I stand corrected in my error, and I thank you for your bold speech.” There was an enticing amusement in his tone. “Have you a name?”

“Catriona, sir.”

“No more than that?”

“No more and no man.” She lifted her gaze to his, unable to remain demure, and saw a dangerous awareness in his eyes, one that sent a prickle of warning through her. Catriona stepped back, unable to stop herself, and lifted her chin.

The laird’s lips tightened, just slightly, and she knew he had noticed her fear. He said naught about it but turned to her laird, then, offering his hand. “Erik, I have erred and would put this dispute behind us. Will you enter my hall as ally and accept my hospitality?”

When had Catriona ever heard a laird apologize? And this man did so twice in rapid succession. There were those who insisted an apology was a confession of weakness, but this laird looked no weaker to her than he had moments before.

The Laird of Blackleith hesitated only a moment before shaking hands with his wife’s brother. Catriona knew she did not imagine that her lady exhaled with relief.

Nor did she imagine that the weight of the Laird of Ravensmuir’s gaze returned to her again, his manner thoughtful. She told herself that she was a fool and then some to have snared his attention.

All the same, the way he eyed her made her feel alluring and feminine, qualities that had vanished from her life on the night of her child’s conception. Surely, it was harmless to savor a measure of appreciation, especially when they would be away within moments. She would never see him again, most likely, given Laird Erik’s view of him.

There were worse things than a man determined to defend the dignity of women—never mind one protective of an unknown serving woman near her time. The outrage shown by the Laird of Ravensmuir had been misplaced, to be sure, but the fire that had lit his eyes when he had challenged his sister’s husband had made Catriona’s heart thunder. Few men of honor would have spared any concern for an unwedded servant carrying a bastard child.

She could think of no warriors or mercenaries who would have troubled themselves to do so.

And that made the Laird of Ravensmuir a fascinating man, indeed.

Her gaze lifted to his companion, only to find him watching her intently. This Rafael was another warrior to Catriona’s thinking, but one more dangerous even than their host.

Or perhaps they were two of a kind, these comrades, and it was only Rafael whose truth was clear to be seen. The Laird of Ravensmuir was a mercenary, and that by choice, and this detail she would do well to recall.

The laird turned away to escort his sister toward the hall, taking her elbow with a courtesy Catriona might have found attractive in another man. Perhaps he took the guise of a gentleman, the better to be underestimated in his dark intent.

Aye, that could be it.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the Laird of Ravensmuir spoke, his words sending a chill through her heart. “Perhaps you should stay one night,” he proposed to his sister, his tone firm. “You have journeyed far this day, and a rest might be best for both you and the babe.”

Was he truly concerned for his sister?

Or would Catriona be compelled to pay a price for having drawn his eye?

* * *

She was cool, this serving woman of Vivienne’s, and as proud as a queen. Her bold manner did not suit her status, and Malcolm was far more intrigued by her than he knew he should be. Catriona had snared his gaze because of her similarity in coloring to Ursula, but the two women could not have been more different. While Ursula had been gentle and sweet, Catriona was a woman with steel in her spine. She was both fearless and bold, and alluring for all of that.

Who was the father of her child? Though she had no husband now, that did not mean that she had never had one. Was she widowed? Was that what had left her so destitute that she had been forced to work as a servant? Or had she always been a servant, and had been cast out of a hall when she conceived that laird’s child? Though that made the most sense, Malcolm had a difficult time believing that a woman of such beauty and grace was a common peasant. She showed the same mix of resolve and reason, as well as the same tendency to be outspoken, that he associated with his sisters.

He would wager she was a widow. He had seen many a woman left to fend for herself and her children, after a noble husband lost his life, his fortune, or both.

Malcolm found himself not only wanting to know Catriona’s tale, but wanting to aid her. Even if she had not resembled Ursula, he would quickly have been intrigued by her. She was both fearful of him and determined to challenge him. Though it troubled her to draw his attention, she did not fail to step forward and correct his assumptions, on the matter of principle alone. Her vulnerable state only brought out his most noble impulses, for he had been taught young to defend women when they came close to their time.

Ursula had shown him the price that women could pay, all too easily, in bringing a child into the world.

Malcolm did not doubt that once Erik and Vivienne left Ravensmuir, they would not return, and he was not prepared to see the last of Catriona just yet.

Fortunately, it was clear that Vivienne was both intrigued by the changes in his abode and tired. He turned away from Catriona with an effort and bent his attention upon his sister. He suggested that they linger and as he had anticipated, Vivienne seemed to find the prospect a tempting one.

As Malcolm might have expected, her spouse did not.

“You can see the new Ravensmuir, Vivienne, and we can still arrive at Kinfairlie for the evening meal,” Erik said.

“But Malcolm is right. I do find myself too tired to continue on this day,” Vivienne said, then smiled at her brother. “We shall plague you with our company this night before taking all of your news to Kinfairlie.”

“Hardly all of it,” he said, suspecting that Catriona listened. “A man must be allowed to keep a few secrets of his own.”

“Like where you have been, and who you have fought,” Vivienne countered.

“Events of these years are not worth recounting,” Malcolm replied. He would not speak of what he had witnessed, let alone confess his own deeds, even if the Fae music compelled him to remember both each night.

“Then why you are returned now—”

“Because my days of battle are done.”

“And why to Ravensmuir—”

“Because it is my legacy.”

“And why you rebuild with such enthusiasm.”

“Because Rafael refuses to pass another winter in the stables.” Malcolm dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I believe I should like to keep the horses there, at any rate.” Vivienne laughed at that, though Rafael merely snorted.

“And what of your nose?”

“Broken and healed anew. There is no tale there.”

“You vex me apurpose, Malcolm,” Vivienne charged with laughter in her voice.

Malcolm was aware that Catriona trailed behind the small party as he showed the new construction to his sister and her husband. He might have been speaking to the serving maid, so keenly was he attuned to her response. He had a curious desire for her to think well of what he had done.

It would be a feat to drive the suspicion from her eyes and the fear from her reactions.

“You should be warned that the fare is simple and the bed simpler yet,” he said to Vivienne, all the while thinking of what might be changed to better accommodate them. “I have only straw pallets in the solar, though you are welcome to that chamber’s comparative comfort. The roof is not quite completed on the north side, and there may be rain this night.”

“Ah, Erik, you see that we shall experience Ravensmuir at its best,” Vivienne said, clearly trying to heal the breach between the two men. Malcolm stiffened slightly at her assumption that the entire family would use the solar.

It was one matter to leave his own sister alone near the locked door of his treasury, quite another for her spouse to be there.

His gaze locked with Erik’s and he knew that man had noted his reaction.

“I will sleep in the stables,” Erik said with some pride. “And leave the hall to you. Ruari will have need of some companionship.”

Malcolm was relieved at this suggestion and nodded agreement to Erik, letting his relief show. He had already insulted his sister’s spouse and compelled himself to recall that these were his first guests.

Ruari nodded at his laird’s glance and led the destriers toward the stables. The palfreys grazed contentedly, showing no intent to pull the cart farther than already they had.

“Ruari?” Vivienne echoed, her tone teasing. “You would abandon me for
Ruari
?”

“He had much foreboding about Ravensmuir,” Mairi confided from Malcolm’s side. “And nigh frightened Catriona with his tales of ghosts and the laird’s ability to talk with ravens.”

“The ravens are at Ravensmuir no longer,” Malcolm said quickly. “They left as one after the keep collapsed and Tynan died.” He pointed to the sky. “They circled where the tower had been, as if to say farewell, then departed in unison.”

“Did they not tell you why they left?” Mairi asked.

“They did not have to,” Malcolm replied. “The laird had died, the keep collapsed, and they chose not to remain.”

“But you became laird,” Vivienne insisted quietly. “I would have thought Melusine would have returned to greet you,” she added, referring to one of the oldest ravens.

Malcolm shrugged. “Perhaps they did not approve.” Erik sniffed at that, and Malcolm knew that Alexander would have shared his view.

Vivienne squeezed his arm. “When the new keep is completed, they will return.”

“Perhaps.” Malcolm could not keep himself from flicking a glance skyward and knew his sister noticed.

“I should ensure Ruari’s welfare,” Erik said then, his manner impatient, and strode toward the stables.

Vivienne watched him go, her concern clear. She touched her fingertips to Malcolm’s arm, excused herself, then went after her spouse. She caught up to him outside the stables, and Malcolm could find naught to criticize in the way Erik turned to her and supported her arm as they continued.

Rafael and Malcolm exchanged a glance, then Rafael went after the guests. Without exchanging a word, both knew that the new arrivals must be kept away from the endmost stall.

“Is it true that there is a ghost?” Astrid demanded shyly of Malcolm.

“And what of the ruins?” asked Mairi without waiting for a reply to her sister’s query. “I would wager that they are filled with secret passages and treasure.”

“Treasure!” echoed Catherine with awe.

“And danger,” Catriona interjected firmly from behind him. “Did you not note the hedge of thorns when we arrived? Such plants are tended by the Fae.” Malcolm glanced back at the serving woman, startled by her words. She surveyed Ravensmuir with her hands braced on her hips. “I must wonder if the Unseelie Court can be found near here.”

“Not the Unseelie Court!” Astrid squealed, clearly delighted by the horrors of the tales she had heard of this wicked group of Fae. “They will eat you up!”

“Worse, they will make you aid them in their mischief,” Mairi contributed. Catherine’s eyes were round and her fist returned to her mouth. “They will snatch you up and drag you behind them on their wild ride, then scratch you and bite you.” She reached for her youngest sister to demonstrate, and Catherine squealed.

“And never let you go home again,” Astrid concluded.

Catherine whimpered and eased close to Catriona at her sisters’ teasing.

“If you stay close to me, I will keep you safe,” Catriona told the youngest girl, who took her hand. She spared a glance at the older two, who looked inclined to run and seek out this Fae court, simply for the sake of curiosity. She surveyed the countryside as if seeking her bearings, and Malcolm wondered if she had been in these lands before. “Are we at all near Huntlie bank, sir?”

Malcolm understood her reference immediately. “Where True Thomas met the Fae queen?” he asked, recalling that this tale was one of Vivienne’s favorites. It appeared she had told it to her daughters, for their eyes lit. “Indeed. It is not far at all.” He stood and pointed south. “Just over the moor, past Kinfairlie.”

“Then there is peril indeed,” Catriona concluded, her tone dark.

Mairi began to sing, apparently not feeling imperiled at all.

“True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,

when he espied a fairy lady;

This lady she was brisk and bold,

and she rode to the Eildon Tree.

Her skirt was of the grass-green silk;

her bridle of gold most fine;

and woven into her horse’s mane,

were fifty silver bells and nine.”

Astrid seized Mairi’s hands and the girls danced in a circle as they sang the words together. Catherine smiled shyly, her fist coming out of her mouth again, and the boy clapped his hands.

“True Thomas he took off his hat,

and bowed him low down till his knee.

‘All hail, Mary, mighty Queen of Heaven!

Your peer on earth I ne’er did see.’

‘Oh no, oh no, True Thomas,’ she said,

‘That name does not belong to me.

I am the queen of the fairy realm,

come to hunt with greyhounds three’.

‘Now you must ride with me,’ she said;

True Thomas, you must come with me;

For you must serve me seven years,

through well or woe as chance to be.’

She mounted then her milk-white steed,

and took True Thomas up behind;

With every ring of her bridle,

her horse ran faster than the wind.”

Catriona stepped forward, raising her own voice in the song. Malcolm found himself startled by the words, which he had long forgotten.