The Frost Maiden's Kiss

by Claire Delacroix

  “A ghost and secret passages,” Mairi whispered to her sisters.

  “We shall play hide and seek and no one will find us,” Astrid agreed with a giggle.

  “Save the ghost!” Mairi raised her hands and made a face at her sister, who screamed then giggled even more.

  “You will do no such deed,” Catriona said sternly, though she feared she fought a losing battle. “You just vowed to heed my instruction and remain by my side.”

  “Aye, Catriona,” they agreed, but she saw the quiver of excitement in them both and wagered she would be running after both of them shortly.

  “The lady said Malcolm must be returned. Who is that?” Catriona asked Ruari, deliberately trying to change the subject.

  “The Lady Vivienne’s brother and second son of Kinfairlie. The uncle, Tynan, had no children of his own, so named Laird Malcolm as his heir. Laird Tynan was killed when the keep collapsed into the sea.”

  “The ghost!” Mairi whispered in delight and Astrid nodded.

  “How unfortunate,” Catriona said flatly, attempting yet again to diminish the allure of the ruins.

  “It was wickedness set loose!” Ruari insisted. “This was Tynan’s reward for trying to undo the sins of the past, for it was he who sold the last of the relics in the treasury. The forces that held that keep to the cliff were dark indeed, for they would not be cast aside. Whether it was the Fae or the Devil himself who destroyed Ravensmuir forever, there was wickedness at work, and wickedness that doubtless is still in residence. No good will come of this foray, upon that you can rely.”

  Catriona eyed the girls and could only agree. “Upon your influence, we can depend,” she said beneath her breath. Ruari flicked a glance at her and the back of his neck colored, as if he just realized what he had done.

  “You must stay with Catriona,” he said as gruffly as ever. “This keep is no safe place for children.”

  It was a bit late for such advice.

  The cart passed over a wooden bridge that spanned a deep defensive ditch, and Catriona saw that two roads did converge there, one from the north and a larger one from the south. The children’s eyes were wide as the cart passed through the opening in the massive hedge, which proved to be denser and taller than she had first realized. Catriona saw the enormous dark thorns that grew upon the shrubbery and could only think of ancient tales.

  Both moat and hedge formed a large half circle, sealing off this point of land from attack. That barrier had been strengthened by the addition of a gatehouse that spanned the gap in the hedge and looked to be newly constructed. Catriona glanced up and shivered as they rode beneath a portcullis that ended with gleaming spikes. When they entered the bailey, she could see ruins on the cliffs before the sea. There was a point to the right that still jutted into the sea and looked wild indeed. Smoke rose from a number of fires in the encampment of tents and there was a steady sound of chisel on stone.

  The keep itself looked forbidding, a large square tower rising from the earth. It had at least two stories and a wing to the north was being completed with all haste. Beyond that was a structure that could have been a stable, save it was too large for the few horses grazing outside of it.

  Catriona stared with no small wonder. Here was a keep that would not be easily besieged. Whoever built it intended to defend it.

  And to sleep well within its walls, confident of his safety.

  Lady Vivienne and Laird Erik had dismounted and left their steeds stamping outside the newly constructed hall. Two men who might have been laborers greeted them there. Both wore only chausses and boots, both were tanned and muscled. It was their boots that revealed their status, for even at a distance, Catriona could see that they were tall boots, wrought of fine leather, as favored by noblemen.

  The one whom the lady embraced must be her brother.

  Malcolm.

  Ruari harrumphed. “Returned Malcolm is to reclaim his legacy, it is clear. He must have a fat purse to be rebuilding the hall in stone and to pay all these masons, never mind to build at such speed.”

  “Is it all newly built?”

  “Aye, save the far end of the stables.”

  Catriona was astonished.

  The older man gave her a grim look. “Do you wager his wealth is honestly gained?”

  “Where did this brother go when he left his lands?”

  “To seek his fortune.” Ruari flicked her a look. “Which is fair enough, save he chose to do so as a mercenary, on the continent.”

  “A mercenary?” A shiver slipped through Catriona at that. She knew more than enough about mercenaries and would have been glad to never cross paths with another. No wonder he understood the art of defensive construction.

  “What is a mercenary, Ruari?” Mairi asked.

  “A man who offers his blade for hire. A man with no honor in his soul, who will do whatever needs be done for a price. They are murderers and thieves, and worse besides.”

  “I should like to meet one,” Mairi declared.

  “You should be fortunate never to do so,” Catriona snapped, her tone sufficiently harsh that even Mairi was silenced—for the moment.

  “Never was there greater truth spoken.” Ruari slowed the horses, then spat into the dirt. “They do not speak of Malcolm at Kinfairlie, for Laird Alexander did not approve of his choice.”

  “And so he should not,” Catriona agreed with vigor. “I suppose such a man would understand how to best build defenses.”

  “And wicked quick,” Ruari said. “He was not home at the Yule, I know this well.”

  Catriona eyed the building with even more wonder. “All this in mere months. Why such haste?”

  “It may be ill-gotten gold, not sorcery at work,” Ruari commented grimly. “But either way, the wickedness continues, you mark my words.”

  “But where are the ravens?” Mairi demanded. “I want to see the laird speak with them.”

  “I want to see the ghost,” Catherine insisted.

  “And we need to hide in the secret passages!” Astrid added.

  “If Fortune is with you, you will see none of this,” Ruari said firmly. “For we shall be away to Kinfairlie within moments.”

  But when Lady Vivienne turned to the cart beaming with pleasure, Catriona feared it would not be so. If her brother’s nature was so dark, how could she be so glad to see him returned? Or was she blind to his true nature? Catriona had only to recall her own mother and father to remember that women could sorely misjudge men.

  Lady Vivienne beckoned to the children, and the older girls needed no more encouragement to spill from the cart. They ran ahead, completely forgetting the promises they’d made to Catriona.

  Malcolm, Laird of Ravensmuir, might be her lady’s brother, but Catriona could guess all too well the ilk of man he was. She knew best how to face such a man, lest she become another of the casualties he left in his path. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and descended from the cart like a queen instead of a servant.

  They could not leave for Kinfairlie soon enough for her taste.

  Chapter Two

  Malcolm left Rafael behind as he strode forward to meet his sister.

  “Malcolm!” Vivienne’s delight was more than clear. “You are returned!” She flung herself into Malcolm’s embrace with characteristic abandon, and he could only catch her.

  He felt the curve of her belly immediately and once again, he was vexed with Erik of Blackleith. How dare that man treat Malcolm’s gem of a sister with such disregard? Instead of swinging Vivienne around and returning her greeting, Malcolm put her down on her feet and stepped back, his hands resting on her shoulders.

  “You ride like this when you carry a child?” he demanded sternly.

  “Oh, you have become dour,” Vivienne protested, utterly unrepentant. “Look at these lines upon your brow! And what has happened to your beautiful nose?” She did not wait for his reply. “I am months from my time and well enough to ride.” His skepticism must have shown, because she le
aned closer and widened her eyes. “I know, Malcolm. I have borne a child before, while you, I wager, have not.”

  Malcolm could not dismiss the sense that Erik took his wife for granted and did not show Vivienne the courtesy she deserved. It was the same tale as their courtship and he was displeased to see it continue. “But still…”

  “But still, it is wondrous to see you.” Vivienne surveyed him with a sunny smile. “You are taller and stronger, more of a man than when you left. And you look most fierce. Oh Malcolm, I am so glad to see you returned!” She kissed his cheeks in succession, her relief so tangible that it warmed his heart.

  Erik drew his steed to a halt before them in that moment and he dismounted in less good temper than his wife. “You should not ride so hard,” he chided her. Malcolm could have been reassured by his manner, but he feared it was for the sake of appearance alone.

  He made no effort to hide his displeasure.

  Perhaps he could make a change in Vivienne’s circumstance.

  Vivienne only smiled at her spouse. “You fret overmuch. Look, Malcolm is home!”

  The other man spared a glance to Malcolm. “And so the mercenary returns with the spoils of war,” he said, his disapproval as clear as Alexander’s had been. Malcolm’s joy at seeing his sister again was quickly dispelled. Erik eyed the keep. “I see you use your ill-gained fortune to some good purpose, at least.”

  “Erik!” Vivienne appeared to be shocked, but Malcolm was not. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at the other laird.

  Erik held fast to the reins of both horses as he considered Malcolm. “Welcome home.”

  Malcolm regarded him coolly. “I hardly think it your place to welcome me to my own holding.”

  If Erik was surprised, he hid his reaction well. “I meant to Scotland, of course.”

  Malcolm inclined his head slightly, noting Vivienne’s quick intake of breath. “I apologize for any misunderstanding.” Malcolm held Erik’s gaze, satisfied when the other man blinked first.

  “Aye,” Rafael said, clapping a hand on Malcolm’s back. “The Hellhound made his fortune and then some with the ferocity of his blade. They say it dripped red blood for seven years, and never will the stain be removed.” Malcolm watched Erik flinch, and the pair of them survey his companion with uncertainty. “There was not a one who could stand against such savage conviction.” Even Vivienne averted her gaze at that.

  “My comrade in arms, Rafael,” Malcolm said, and heads were inclined in greeting. The air was thick for a moment, for the merest glance at Rafael revealed what he was, then Vivienne broke the tension by turning to Malcolm again.

  “Oh, you have been laboring like a peasant and you smell like one,” she chided, as if Malcolm were but a boy still. She wrinkled her nose. “As soon as I saw a new structure on the site of Ravensmuir, I knew it had to be you, returned. I knew it! I am so glad to have you back!” She gave him another quick hug, as if to prove to herself that he truly stood beside her, then regarded him with shining eyes. “You must have such tales to tell!”

  And there was the root of it, at least for Vivienne.

  “You should not have leapt from the saddle,” Malcolm said again, but with more affection. “Not in your condition.”

  “I should like to see if your advice to my lady wife makes any difference,” Erik said, his gaze sliding to the lady in question. “My own warnings are ignored.”

  Malcolm refused to take sides with this man against his sister.

  “The babe is months away,” Vivienne said with a dismissive wave. “You all fret like old women.”

  There was another awkward silence. To Malcolm’s thinking, this party could not continue to Kinfairlie soon enough. He was well and tired of his family’s judgment of his choice, when there had been little other option.

  Vivienne gripped Malcolm’s hands. “Come along. Show me what you have done!”

  “I thought you meant to show me what you had done,” Malcolm said, nodding toward the cart that was coming to a halt behind the destriers.

  Vivienne laughed and beckoned to the girls who were watching from the cart. “Perhaps you remember Mairi and Astrid, although they have both grown tall.” The two girls fairly leapt from the cart and ran forward with a confidence that made Rafael lift his brows. They held hands and curtsied before Malcolm, the older one eyeing him with open curiosity.

  “Are you truly a mercenary?” she demanded pertly and Erik caught his breath.

  “A man who will do any deed for coin?” demanded the second.

  Vivienne and Erik exchanged a worried glance.

  “I have been, but no longer,” Malcolm replied.

  The taller girl, who must be Mairi, was evidently disappointed. “Why?”

  “Because I tired of the killing.”

  Vivienne winced.

  The younger girl looked Malcolm up and down. “And what are you now?”

  “Laird of Ravensmuir.”

  Rafael stepped forward. “I am yet a mercenary, if that will console either of you.”

  Erik inhaled sharply even as Rafael grinned. Mairi surveyed Rafael with mingled fear and awe, an expression that did not bode well for her future. Her father’s hand dropped to the hilt of his blade and Malcolm was glad to see the gesture.

  “Although I have the wits to choose my prizes wisely,” Rafael added and bowed to Erik. He plucked his discarded shirt from the stone where he had abandoned it and tugged it on, reminding Malcolm of their state. Malcolm followed suit, wondering how much of a visit he would be compelled to endure.

  “Catherine is five now,” Vivienne said as if to make conversation. She held out her hand in invitation. Malcolm followed the gesture to see the serving woman who had been riding in the cart now standing alongside it. She made to lift out a little girl with fair hair, but the older man who had been driving the cart interceded. It was indeed Ruari, though there was more silver in his hair and he was thicker about the middle. Doubtless he was still loyal and opinionated.

  But clearly his gruff manner did not frighten his lord’s daughters. Little Catherine smiled up at him, unafraid of his scowl as he set her on her own feet. She ran toward Vivienne, followed quickly by a toddler. The serving woman, who was blond herself, had lifted down the boy and now turned back to the cart to lift out a swaddled infant.

  “You named your first born for Maman?” Malcolm asked softly and Vivienne nodded. They shared a fond look, one which nearly made this ordeal worthwhile.

  “I am delighted to meet you all,” Malcolm said, bowing to the girls formally. They giggled and the youngest ducked behind her mother’s skirts.

  “William is but three,” Vivienne continued gesturing to the toddler. “Erik finally has the heir he so desired,” she added with a laugh that did not cover her husband’s silence. “And thanks be to heaven that Euphemia is weaned, for it would have been difficult to compel our wet nurse Fiona to leave her own children to come with us.”

  “And naturally, we could not have delayed our visit to Kinfairlie,” Erik said, his tone implying he would have done just that. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, tolerating the interval less well even than Malcolm.

  Vivienne spun upon him, and Malcolm guessed this was an old argument. “’Tis you, my lord, who insists I not climb into the saddle in the last three months before a babe is due to arrive, and I will not ride in a cart like an old woman. We must visit Kinfairlie now, as it is unlikely we will be able to be here for the Yule this year.” She rapped a finger on his chest. “I will not be kept from my family and you know it well.”

  Erik smiled just a little at his wife. “And you will not take my counsel.”

  Vivienne’s smile was impish. “Not in women’s matters, nay, my love, although in all other things, I cede to you.” She stretched up to kiss Erik’s cheek, and he appeared resigned—and not entirely unhappy—with his situation.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Rafael whispered.

  Malcolm glanced at his friend, who looked as i
f he had been struck to stone. He then followed Rafael’s gaze to the serving woman and felt a similar shock.

  It could not be Ursula!

  Malcolm could not help but stare himself. The woman drew closer, carrying the youngest child of Blackleith, and he realized to his relief that he was mistaken. To be sure, she was taller than most women and had long fair hair, but this woman’s expression was cold and judgmental, while Ursula’s manner had been feminine and sweet. Malcolm felt Rafael’s tension ease along with his own.

  This woman was strikingly beautiful, younger than both he and Vivienne, with hair like spun gold and lips that were both rosy and full. She was a beauty, but not the beauty he had mistaken her to be. Ursula was dead, and he knew it well: this woman but shared her coloring. Malcolm was startled not only that her eyes were such a clear blue, but that they were filled with suspicion. Beyond that, she stood regal and tall, a queen wrought of ice rather than a meek serving maid with the poor luck to bear a bastard child.

  For she was fairly bursting with the burden of her unborn child. Her uncovered hair indicated that she was unwed, and her hair was plaited into a long fair braid down her back. Her lack of a veil should have meant that she was a maiden, but there had only ever been one maiden to find herself in such a state and yet untouched.

  All Malcolm’s old ire rose again, kindled by the memory of Ursula and her vulnerability.

  For truly, it was obvious who the father of this woman’s child had to be! Why else would she be sheltered in this household and given so intimate a role as to care for the Laird of Blackleith’s own children? It was evident that she carried another of the laird’s seed in her belly, and that Erik had not truly changed his ways.

  Which insulted not just this serving woman but Vivienne.

  There was naught Malcolm despised more than to see a woman ill-used. Though he should have bitten his tongue before a guest, this indignity and insult to his sister could not be allowed to pass.

  No matter who took exception to his words.

  He would give Erik but one chance to explain himself, though Malcolm knew that man would not succeed.