“So you said.” Catriona’s gaze was so cool a blue that Malcolm knew her to be resolute. “I fear, my lord, that experience makes me skeptical of such a claim.”
“Then you shall have to linger at Ravensmuir to replace your understanding with mine.”
The notion clearly troubled her, for she shook her head and abruptly turned away.
“Please await me in the hall, Catriona. I would speak to the lead mason.”
She looked back, a query in her expression. “Why tell me this, sir?”
“I would discourage the curiosity in the men that you and I both noticed, and I wish you to know that it will be done.”
“How, my lord?”
Malcolm spoke with resolve. “I shall make it clear to him that the rations of ale will be halved if any woman or maid or girl in my household sustains so much injury as a broken fingernail.”
Catriona’s lips parted as she stared at him in surprise. “And does this edict apply to your comrade, as well?”
“It applies to all men in my holding,” Malcolm insisted quietly, guessing that she feared a surprise in the night while in his abode. “You are safe here, Catriona. I pledge it to you.”
She was enticing enough when she was bold, but when her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise, Malcolm found her alluring indeed.
He let his voice drop to a confidential tone. “For if you do not believe that a man of merit defends those weaker than himself, then I am compelled to prove it to you, Catriona. It is a matter of principle.”
With that, Malcolm turned away to keep his word, knowing she watched him go. Indeed, he felt new purpose in his own step, for there was good he could do in this world. He would destroy Catriona’s fear of him before she left his abode, no matter the price.
* * *
The Laird of Ravensmuir defied her every expectation.
He would defend the chastity of the women in his household. He would ensure the safety of the children, and he anticipated the needs of his guests. He was neither so proud as to avoid making an apology or to refuse to ask for assistance from the brother who disapproved of his choices.
Was it possible that he was a man of principle?
Or was this all a deceit?
He did, after all, confess to believing in the Fae, which was a strange sign of whimsy in such as he.
The combination was nigh enough to make him intriguing.
The laird was an alluring man, to be sure. If Catriona had not endured all she had, she might well have been more receptive to him. The way he said her name like a caress, the way he watched her with that fixed attention, the way his eyes had glimmered as if he might smile when she told the girls of bogles.
On the other hand, the laird’s perusal of her was so intense that she was put in mind of a hawk choosing its next prey.
Catriona could not imagine why he should seek her good opinion, and she distrusted how readily he conjured it. Perhaps he was a sorcerer as Ruari had suggested. Or perhaps he understood that she was not accustomed to attentions from men of power. In her state, she hardly offered any temptation. Her back ached even now after that ride in the cart, and she felt so large and ungainly that she could not believe he had noticed her at all.
Did he perceive her to be vulnerable? It was all too reasonable a thought. Catriona bit her lip even as she watched him speak with the lead mason. If his interest had the simplest reason, it did not bode well for her night at Ravensmuir.
She turned away from him, feigning disinterest, and strode toward the keep. It would be folly to encourage him in any way.
For just one night, she had to be vigilant. In the morning, they would be away, off to Kinfairlie, away from Ravensmuir and its beguiling laird. Catriona would find her child a home, then return to keep her vow alone. She doubted she would survive that deed, but she had pledged to see it done.
She owed Ian no less.
The hair prickled on the back of Catriona’s neck when she was in the shadow of the keep and she glanced back to find the laird striding ever closer. He moved with such power and purpose that a treacherous corner of her heart wished she might have been in a position to hope for more than she dared. His gaze fixed upon her and she fancied that his eyes brightened.
Again, she was put in mind of a hawk on the hunt.
Catriona stepped through the portal to his hall so quickly that she stumbled, only to find the cursed warmth of his fingertips beneath her elbow. The laird’s touch nigh burned the flesh, making her aware of him in a most unwelcome way. She clutched the cross hidden beneath her chemise, praying for aid even as she hastened onward. With the sun sinking and the shadows stretching longer, she could not help but wish she had not snared the attention of this most intriguing man.
By the morn they would be gone. She had only to defend against his apparent charms for a single night.
It could be done.
It would be done, even if she had to remain awake all the night long.
* * *
Malcolm was a changed man.
Vivienne found herself watching her brother, seeking to identify precisely how he was different. He certainly was more taciturn than ever he had been, and he was better at hiding his thoughts. Indeed, she had no idea what was in his mind—at least beyond his disapproval of Erik. If his judgment had not been rooted in a protectiveness toward her, she knew Erik would have made more of an issue of it. As it was, she feared the rift of distrust between the men would not be readily bridged.
She could not fight her sense that Malcolm hid some secret from her, one that would trouble her deeply if she knew of it. He had always been protective of those he loved, after all. There was a coolness in his gaze and a distance in his manner that only buttressed her concern.
Or was his changed manner due to what he had done these past years? It could not be easy to be a mercenary, to take any cause for pay, to slaughter on command. She had a hard time imagining Malcolm, who had always been so principled, finding any satisfaction in such labor. That he had succeeded at it, and succeeded so well as to be able to afford to rebuild Ravensmuir like this, made her wonder whether she knew him at all.
His comrade, in contrast, was assessing in a way that made Vivienne believe his loyalty could be easily bought.
There was no doubt that the new Ravensmuir was fine and would be finer than the last. There was also no mistaking Malcolm’s pride in the new keep.
At least his affection for his legacy had not changed.
The new building was square in shape and of no mean size. The roofline was crenellated, that of the front tower slightly higher than the main roof line. The great hall took all of the main level of the central structure, a great square chamber set diagonally. One corner jutted toward the sea, the other toward the hedge and ditch that cordoned off the point. Massive fireplaces graced the walls of the hall that were seaward. The ceiling was high and the wooden beams richly carved.
On the inner point, a square tower with a vestibule at the ground level secured the entry, a flight of stairs secreted into the wall between tower and hall. The girls peered down into the darkness of the dungeon below the vestibule. There were false fronts in this vestibule, so that admission to the hall could be better controlled and the keep defended by fewer men.
A wing stretched to the north, extending toward the stables, with kitchens and pantries filling the ground floor. Above would be chambers, although this was the roof still being completed. The kitchens were yet pristine and the hearths untouched by fire. Vivienne could not help noting that Malcolm and his companion lived within the new keep as if they made camp and were prepared to move at a moment’s notice. There were a pair of straw pallets on the floor in the great hall and only one trestle table set up, only one hearth darkened with soot. Their provisions hung in one corner, a pair of hounds sleeping beneath them, ever vigilant.
They climbed the stairs, the girls racing ahead. On the second floor of the tower was a sentinel’s chamber, with a ladder to the roof abov
e. Vivienne had to climb it to look over Ravensmuir from the summit. From this vantage, she could see how the kitchen wing terminated near the stables, which had also been extended. Malcolm indicated where the kitchen garden could be, within a walled space of fieldstone and beyond the kitchens. She looked to Kinfairlie, just a few miles to the south, and knew that she had to ensure Malcolm had a banner with Ravensmuir’s insignia to fly from this tower before the Yule.
Indeed, she had to find the greater good in this. Alexander might disapprove of their brother’s choices, but Malcolm was home and he was not maimed, and Vivienne would celebrate that. He might be scarred in his heart, but she saw his old love of Ravensmuir in his eyes when he showed her the new keep, and she dared to believe that being home could see him healed. She also could not regret that Ravensmuir had risen in majesty again.
The ravens would return. She knew it well. She scanned the sky herself before descending the ladder again and said a silent prayer for Malcolm.
The solar was above the hall and would be the laird’s chambers. That ample space was divided, with a small chamber at the summit of the stairs. The wall dividing the chamber from the solar proper was stone with a doughty door. Windows punctured the walls of the solar, giving a fine view of the sea, and Vivienne took a deep breath of the cool wind. There were wooden shutters on the windows and several braziers on the floor along with a pair of straw pallets. The girls ran around the room, stretching to their toes to peer out the windows, even as Catriona watched them with care.
Vivienne stared down at the pile of rubble on the lip of the cliffs that had been the old Ravensmuir. She could see that there were hollows, almost like portals into the ruins, but the entire tumble of stone had to be unstable. She glanced at Malcolm. “Tell me that you never go into it,” she said.
He averted his gaze, casting a shadow over her heart. “I will, if that is what you wish to hear.”
“Is it not dangerous?”
“Danger is relative, Vivienne.” His gaze hardened when he said as much and Vivienne wondered anew what he had seen.
“Have you found anything there?”
He shrugged. “Some trinkets.”
With that, she wondered if he sought a specific prize. If so, it could only be one thing. “You know that Isabella has the ring, do you not?”
His gaze locked upon her, his interest clear. “Nay, I did not. It is good to know as much.”
The silver ring in question had first been given by their grandfather Merlyn to his wife Ysabella, and later by Tynan to Rosamunde. It had been lost in the collapse of the keep, along with Tynan.
Malcolm frowned. “How did she get it?”
Vivienne leaned closer to him and dropped her voice even more, well aware of small listening ears. “Five years past, when Isabella sought to save Murdoch from the Fae. They confronted the Elphine Queen in the ruins, for ’twas said to be a portal to their realm.”
Malcolm again looked away. Once he would have insisted that the Fae were but whimsy and Vivienne noticed the change.
Given that, he might as well know the worst of it. “You should also know that Isabella saw Tynan’s ghost there, and that he gave Murdoch the ring to seal their wedding vows.”
“So, it is restored to us,” Malcolm murmured, accepting this tale more readily than she had expected. It was true, but her brother had once been more skeptical.
“And you need not venture into the ruins again, for the ring is found,” Vivienne concluded.
But Malcolm only turned away from her warning, summoning the small party to take refreshment in his hall.
If it had not been the missing ring that tempted Malcolm to take such a risk, why had he done so? Vivienne watched her brother worriedly, all the old tales about Ravensmuir spinning in her thoughts. She knew him well enough to understand he had a reason for doing whatsoever he did—and that her warning had changed naught.
Malcolm might be home, but Vivienne could not believe he was safe, even so.
* * *
The Laird of Ravensmuir had secrets, to be sure, and that only made him more worthy of Catriona’s attention.
Why would any man build with such haste?
And with such fortification?
Did Ravensmuir have enemies or aggressive neighbors?
Did the laird himself have enemies?
It also was clear from the conversation she had overheard that the laird ventured into the crumbled old keep, a choice Catriona could only see as foolhardy. She never would have expected him to be reckless. How much would he risk to gain more wealth?
Did he pursue riches at any price?
Or did he place no value on his own life? That would be a strange choice for a man so affluent, never mind one so determined to make his mark on the land.
Most intriguingly, Catriona had not missed the fact that the solar, even with the addition of the laird’s administrative area at the top of the stairs, was far too small to account for the space. To be sure, there was a corridor along the west side to lead to the north wing, but still, the solar was too small.
There were tricks played upon the eye, particularly by the placement of the windows, but Catriona loved a riddle too much not to look more closely. From inside the solar, the windows appeared to be in the middle of each wall. When she walked in the bailey with the girls, it was clear that those windows were slightly offset. There was a space the width of the solar, at least two paces in depth, that appeared to be missing.
Could his treasury be secured there? To need so large a space, he must have had wealth aplenty, or at least sufficient wealth not to risk his own hide in pursuit of more.
That he had stiffened at his sister’s assumption that her entire family should sleep in the solar told Catriona that there were valuables of some kind in proximity, and she doubted that the crates held the sum of it. Nay, there was a hidden treasury and it was accessed from the solar: he did not trust the Laird of Blackleith and would not have that man so close to his riches.
Especially if it was the means of funding this keep.
Even so, Catriona could not make sense of his clear desire for haste. Perhaps it was simply to make best use of the masons who had traveled to the holding, but Catriona sensed there was more at work than that.
The Laird of Ravensmuir struck her as a man who planned with care.
He must have a reason.
Which left her wishing to know what it was—and wondering how she might find out.
* * *
The evening meal was simple but plentiful, possibly thanks to the generosity of Kinfairlie. There was only a single trestle table before the fire with benches on either side, and a roaring blaze on one massive hearth. A large vessel of venison stew had been sent from the other keep, along with more bread and a cask of wine, and all of these were most welcome. Catriona sat below the salt with Ruari and kept her attention upon the girls, although she felt the laird’s eye upon her more than once.
The Laird of Ravensmuir presided over the simple table as if lording over a greater feast than it was. Catriona found him no less imposing in his attire for the evening than he had been with his skin bared to the afternoon sunlight. His dark tabard contrasted with his white chemise, and the sleeves were pushed up to reveal his tanned forearms. His garments hid nothing of his muscled strength, and certainly he looked no less vital. She thought perhaps he had shaved, for the stubble that had graced his chin earlier was gone. The firelight played over his face like a caress, making him look both mysterious and alluring. She could not keep herself from stealing glances at him, tormenting herself with the notion of him being a man of honor.
It was impossible and she knew it, but she had heard enough tales in her time to wish that it might be truth. Catriona would have liked to have seen a progression in the nature of men as she traveled southward, one that gave her hope for the lady’s other brother, the Laird of Kinfairlie. That man had disapproved of this brother unsheathing his blade for coin, which was yet another step in the right d
irection.
Catriona fingered her hidden cross and prayed that the Laird of Kinfairlie might take pity upon her child and raise the babe within his household. She would be glad for her child to learn that brutality did not have to be anyone’s expectation.
Even if she feared she would never shake it.
The Laird of Ravensmuir and his companion ate of the venison stew with such enthusiasm that it was clear they had been subsisting on simpler fare. It was delicious, but Catriona’s uncertainty affected her appetite. The ache in her back did not help, either. She avoided the wine, knowing it would cloud her wits when she had need of them most.
“You look to be a man who has not had eaten so well of late,” Lady Vivienne said to Rafael, who granted her a wolfish smile.
“Well enough, but simply,” replied the laird.
His companion grimaced. “Well enough for a soldier,” he corrected. “Hard sausage, cheese and apples have been our fare this year,” Rafael said, flicking a glance at the laird. “Along with bread and ale from Kinfairlie. I nigh forgot the pleasure of a hot meal, much less the leisure to enjoy it.”
“Surely, Malcolm, you do not abuse your friend when he assists you?” The lady feigned a horror that put an appealing twinkle in the laird’s eye.
Catriona looked down with haste, lest he take encouragement from a glance.
“We shall say that Rafael is in my debt,” the laird said with a significant look at his companion. Rafael grimaced at the reminder. “And he fares well enough, especially after the times we have seen together. There has been no time to hunt, Vivienne, much less to cook, not if the keep was to be completed by Midsummer.”
“Why such haste?” Laird Erik asked, giving voice to Catriona’s own question. “Mine own keep was built over years and continues to grow as necessary.”
“The masons will leave in but two days, on Saturday, and they have fared most well.”
“Because you drove them to it and paid more for them to work longer each day,” Rafael noted.
Catriona’s laird and lady exchanged a glance.
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