The Frost Maiden's Kiss

by Claire Delacroix

“A stone keep in half a year?” asked Laird Erik. “It is madness.”

  “Do you fear an assault?” Lady Vivienne asked.

  “Are you so rich as that?” Mairi asked, before she was hushed by her mother.

  “Ravensmuir has always been coveted by others,” the laird replied tersely. “I would not see it lost now.”

  Catriona sensed that this was but part of the truth. What did he suspect that he did not wish to share?

  “So you would build it to be a more enticing target,” Laird Erik said with a shrug.

  “I ensure that it can be defended,” the laird said, his eyes flashing.

  “By whom?” the lady asked, wiping her fingers and putting down her napkin. “You do not even have a castellan, Malcolm, nor even a squire! A keep cannot be defended by two men!”

  “Even with such experience as you must possess,” Laird Erik contributed.

  “I would admit that my experience is of aid in this,” the Laird of Ravensmuir replied. “And I have no need of a squire.”

  “No need!” Ruari protested, but fell silent with a glance from Laird Erik.

  “We are accustomed to sleeping only in the company of those we trust,” Rafael said, his voice hard. “I would rather saddle my own steed, than risk the loyalty of a youth.”

  There was a reminder that their trade was one in which men were assaulted and murdered in the night. Catriona risked a glance at the laird, only to find him watching her yet again. He saluted her with his cup, then drank deeply of the wine, his gaze so locked upon her that she could not look away. She felt a flush rise from her breasts and its heat suffuse her cheeks. When the laird lowered his cup, he smiled slightly at her, the first genuine smile she had seen upon his lips for all its subtlety.

  God in heaven, but he was an alluring man.

  She should pray that he never smile fully, for she might lose her wits. He looked kinder when he smiled, more like the man of honor she would have liked him to be.

  Yet, if the laird meant to reassure her, his smile did just the opposite. Catriona feared the notion that could prompt such a look. Night was falling and she was as good as chattel so long as she slept in the laird’s abode. There was a sinister feel about Ravensmuir, one that made her feel it had been wrought to conceal secrets.

  That was a whimsy borne of exhaustion. Catriona made to rise and gather the children, but the Laird of Ravensmuir halted her.

  “Catriona. You sang most beautifully for the children this day. Might we entice you to sing for us again this evening?”

  He was again so still that he might have been a hungry predator. Catriona recalled his reaction to the tale of True Thomas and wondered anew at it. He had initially appeared to be shocked at her suggestion that the Fae court must be nearby, and then had confirmed as much. She might have imagined that he had not expected her to know—but she had not expected him to believe the Fae were real. Catriona was not one to put much stock in old tales—they were entertainment for children—but the Laird of Ravensmuir was the last man she would have expected to insist otherwise.

  It tempted her to confirm that she had not imagined the sight of his discomfiture.

  “I could sing of Tam Lin,” she said and the girls clamored for the tale.

  Lady Vivienne settled back against her husband’s side, smiling with pleasure. “I adore that story, Catriona, and you tell it so well.”

  “There is no musician,” Laird Erik observed, evidently seeking to needle his host.

  Catriona raised her hands and the girls echoed her gesture. She clapped a beat and they mimicked her, giving her sufficient accompaniment. Unlike these nobles, Catriona was accustomed to making do with less. She stood tall, hands clapping the beat, and sang.

  “Janet has kilted her green kirtle,

  a little above her knee.

  And she has snooded her yellow hair,

  a little above her bree.

  And she is to her father’s hall,

  as fast as she can be.

  Four and twenty ladies fair

  were playing at the ball.

  And out then came the fair Janet,

  one flower among them all.

  Four and twenty ladies fair

  were playing at the chess.

  And out then came the fair Janet,

  as green as any glass.”

  The Laird of Ravensmuir leaned back, a gleam in his eye that made Catriona realize he had heard the tale. What amused him? That she sang of the Fae again? A bit too late, she recalled another detail of Janet that could not fail to draw attention to her own state. She lifted her chin, letting the laird see that she would not be embarrassed, and continued.

  “Out then spake her father dear,

  and he spake meek and mild.

  ‘And ever alas, sweet Janet,’ he says,

  ‘I think thou is with child.’”

  Catriona felt herself flush as the laird sipped his wine, but she continued with vigor.

  “‘If that I am with child, Father,

  I must myself bear the blame.

  There’s never a laird about your hand

  shall get the babe’s name.

  If my love were an earthly knight,

  as he’s an elfin gray,

  I would not give my own true love

  for any lord that you claim.

  The steed that my true love rides

  is lighter than the wind;

  With silver is he shod before,

  with burning gold behind.’”

  “Is that how they explain such situations in this land?” Rafael asked, laughter in his tone. “A babe with no evident father is the get of a Fae warrior in the night?”

  “It is but a tale,” Vivienne retorted. She fired a look at him that should have silenced any man, but Rafael simply chuckled. Catriona, cheeks aflame, was unable to even glance at the Laird of Ravensmuir, so she sang, continuing Tam Lin’s confession.

  “‘And once it fell upon a day,

  a day most cold and foul,

  when we were from hunting come,

  that from my horse I fell.

  The Queen of Faeries she caught me

  and took me to her domain to dwell.

  And pleasant is the Faerie land,

  but, an eerie tale to tell,

  Aye, at the end of seven years,

  we pay a tithe to Hell.

  I am so fair and full of flesh,

  I fear it will be myself.’”

  To Catriona’s surprise, the Laird of Ravensmuir jumped, dropping his cup and spilling his wine. He exchanged a glance with his comrade that was so quick she would not have seen it, had she not been standing before them. He excused himself and cleaned up the wine, his manner becoming grim afterward.

  Clearly she had startled him, for he was not so besotted as that. She had noted that he had consumed little of the wine—indeed, she had worried about the portent of that.

  Did he believe that this was more than a tale, as well?

  Or did he fear that he himself was destined to burn in Hell? Catriona could readily imagine that, given what he must have done. She continued her song with vigor, disliking that she had soured his mood but hoping that might diminish his interest in her.

  “‘But the night is Halloween, lady,

  the morn is Hallowday.

  Then win me, win me, as you will,

  for well I want you to.

  Just at the murk and midnight hour,

  the Faerie folk will ride.

  And they would their true love win,

  at Miles Cross they must bide.’

  ‘But how shall I know thee, Tam Lin,

  or how my true love know,

  among so many uncouth knights,

  the like I never saw?’”

  Catriona glanced between Rafael and their host, thinking that there were not simply uncouth knights in the Fae’s wild ride.

  Her disparaging glance appeared to improve the laird’s mood.

  The girls could never let the ne
xt verse pass without singing along, and this night was no different.

  “‘Oh, first let pass the black, lady,

  and then let pass the brown.

  But quickly run to the milk-white steed,

  and pull his rider down.

  For I will ride the milk-white steed,

  and always nearest the town.

  Because I was an earthly knight,

  they give me this renown.

  My right hand will be gloved, my lady,

  my left hand will be bare.

  Cocked up shall my bonnet be,

  and combed down shall be my hair.

  And there be the clues I give thee,

  no doubt I will be there.

  They will turn me in your arms, my lady,

  into an asp and adder.

  But hold me fast and fear me not.

  I am your babe’s father.

  They will turn me to a bear so grim,

  and then a lion bold.

  But hold me fast, and fear me not,

  as you shall love your child.

  Again they will turn me in your arms,

  to a red-hot rod of iron.

  But hold me fast and fear me not,

  I will do to you no harm.

  And last they will turn me in your arms,

  into the burning gleed.

  Then throw me into well water,

  Oh, throw me in with speed!

  And then I will be your true love,

  I will become a naked knight.

  Then cover me with your green mantle,

  and cover me out of sight.’”

  Mairi and Astrid shivered with delight, nigh bouncing at their places at the board. “I would do as much for my true love,” Mairi said.

  “As would I,” Astrid affirmed.

  Catherine sucked her fist, worried as always that matters might go awry.

  “What, if I might ask, is a gleed?” Rafael interjected.

  “A burning coal,” the laird replied, then gestured to Catriona to continue. “Do not delay matters, Rafael, when little Catherine is so fearful that Janet will lose her knight.”

  “Gloomy, gloomy was the night,

  and cold was the moon’s glow,

  As fair Janet in her green mantle

  to Miles Cross did she go.

  About the middle of the night,

  she heard the bridles ring.

  This lady was as glad at that

  as any earthly thing.

  First she let the black pass by,

  and then she let the brown.

  But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,

  and pulled the rider down.

  So well Janet minded what he said

  that young Tam Lin did win.

  She covered him with her green mantle,

  as blythe’s a bird in spring.

  Out then spake the Queen of Faeries,

  out of a bush of broom.

  ‘She who has gotten young Tam Lin,

  has stolen a stately groom.’

  Out then spake the Queen of Faeries,

  and an angry woman was she.

  ‘Shame betide her ill far’d face,

  and an ill death may she die,

  For she’s taken away the bonniest knight,

  in all my company.”

  ‘But had I known, Tam Lin,” she says,

  ‘what now this night I see,

  I would have taken out thy two gray eyes,

  and put in two eyes of tree.’”

  The Laird of Ravensmuir was the first to put down his cup and applaud, the others joining quickly. Catriona found herself uncommonly flustered and knew it was only because his gaze dropped to her belly before returning to her eyes. She would not be cowed by such a man as this.

  She straightened, holding his gaze with a boldness that seemed to surprise him. Indeed, she would show him that she was not his for the taking on this night of nights, even if she did sleep in his hall.

  “Look how dark it is,” she said, hearing her own words fall in an uncharacteristic rush. She gestured to Catherine’s meal. “Finish that last bite now that Tam Lin is saved forever, so we can all retire.”

  “Catriona!” said William, lifting his arms to her even as his eyelids drooped.

  She made to lift the sleepy child in her arms, but found the Laird of Ravensmuir beside her. “He is too heavy,” he said, flicking a hot look at her.

  Such protectiveness in a man could be alluring indeed, if it could be trusted. Catriona swallowed and stepped back, putting distance between herself and the laird’s warmth. She took Catherine by the hand, while the older girls fled up the stairs. She was well aware of the laird behind her, and Lady Vivienne’s cheerful chatter as she came to bed with Euphemia in her arms.

  There had been additional straw pallets brought into the solar, along with the satchels and bundles needed for the night. Catriona glanced at the end wall, and in the light of the lanterns—which was cast at a different angle than the sunlight earlier—thought she could discern a line in the masonry. She stared a moment too long, for she found the laird watching her.

  She turned with a flush and busied herself with lighting the braziers. She arranged the pallets so the family would be nestled together and piled them with cloaks. She took only one for herself and placed it at the top of the stairs, only to freeze at the touch of the laird’s fingertips on the back of her waist and his breath in her ear.

  “To defend the flock against wolves?” he asked, the low murmur of his voice making her heart leap.

  So he had noted where she would sleep.

  Catriona turned to find him close, that gaze so intent he might have read her very thoughts.

  “It is my place to see to their safety,” she said.

  “And what of yours?”

  Catriona took a steadying breath. “It is not at risk,” she said with all the resolve within her, as if stating as much boldly could make it true.

  “You trust readily in my word.”

  “I trust in my own ability to defend myself.”

  Those green eyes glimmered then, as if he fought a smile. “Is there anything else you require for this night?”

  Catriona shook her head, both wishing he would be gone and yearning for him to linger. Truly, this babe in her belly made her too tired to think clearly.

  His gaze roving over her face, feeding her impression that she had no secrets from him. “Then sleep well, Catriona.”

  Was that a warning?

  He strode across the room, kissing his sister’s cheek, then descended to the hall without another word to her. Catriona was unable to keep herself from watching him go, this man who both fascinated and frightened her.

  She had to admit that in his absence, the solar seemed both colder and much less interesting than it had. Her own exhaustion washed over her as she prepared the children for bed, though she could not push their host from her thoughts.

  Perhaps there was witchery at Ravensmuir, after all.

  Chapter Four

  “Fae, fae and more fae,” Rafael muttered in the hall when he and Malcolm were the last ones seated there. “You and the whore have thinking in common, that much is certain. Both of you talk of Fae instead of calling them the demons that they are.”

  The fire burned low in one fireplace, while the other had remained cold this day. The two comrades sat in the golden light at a trestle table drawn up before the fireplace, hounds sleeping in the rushes, the wind slipping its cool fingers through the shuttered windows. Malcolm inhaled deeply of the scent of the sea, a pervasive smell he forever associated with home, and sipped of the wine. There was a storm brewing, but truly, the weather suited his mood.

  Malcolm was agitated as he seldom was. Catriona’s tales of men lost to the Fae and Fae tithes paid to Hell struck a little too close to his own situation for comfort. He had thought at first that she had the Sight until she had nigh laughed at him for giving credence to mere tales recounted for children.

 
How strange it was that she told the tales without believing them, while he never recounted such stories yet knew the Fae to be real.

  Malcolm could have savored a moment’s reprieve both from his labor and from the torment awakened each night by the sound of the Fae music. It was as if they would haunt him with the memory of his vow, and their resolve to collect it. Worse, their music unfurled memories in his mind that kept him from sleeping, for he saw himself repeat every foul deed he had ever committed. It was relentless and merciless reminder of why he was the perfect choice to pay that tithe to Hell.

  Yet he knew Rafael was warming to a lament, perhaps nourished by the wine, and that he would have to calm his comrade.

  “Because they are Fae, Rafael,” he insisted yet again.

  The other man remained skeptical. “They live beneath the earth. They appear and disappear at will. They have unholy powers and demand immoral tithes. I say they are one and the same as demons.” He nodded. “And this place you call Ravensmuir is a very portal to Hell. Against all expectation, your moniker is come by honestly.”

  “Save the Fae are not condemned.”

  “Are they not? How can you believe we did not visit Hell?” Rafael shook a finger at Malcolm, who preferred to not recall the sights of that night. “Think of Franz.”

  “I avoid doing so.”

  Rafael scowled at his friend. “And if visiting that place were not folly enough, you made a bargain with them.”

  “You were the one who danced.”

  “You did not have to offer your soul in exchange for mine.”

  Malcolm was well and tired of this dispute. “What was I to do? Abandon you there? You had already danced holes in your best boots and were utterly entranced.” He pointed a finger back at his friend. “If you seek the fool, you need only a glass to know the truth.”

  “Who could expect harm from a pretty maid’s invitation to dance?” Rafael demanded in exasperation.