The Frost Maiden's Kiss

by Claire Delacroix

  It was true that Catriona had seemed to have a purpose in telling that tale, but Malcolm could not guess what it was. “She never said her child was of the Fae.”

  “Thank God! She never said she was not a whore, either.” Rafael leaned on the board. “I wager she watches you because you seem to have the most affluence.”

  “You know naught of her nature.”

  “I see that she is cold to her marrow, a woman with ice in her veins. A man could bleed from the lash of her tongue.” Rafael shook his head. “Perhaps you would be the Hellhound and the harridan.”

  “You speak nonsense.”

  His companion tapped a fingertip on the table. “Such a cold manner is a trait of whores hardened to their trade and you know it as well as I do.”

  “Or mercenaries hardened to theirs?”

  Rafael shrugged. “And she has no patroness, but is come recently to your sister’s household. Did she exploit the lady’s compassion? There is a familiar trick amongst those who would win confidence undeserved, then take advantage of such foolishly granted trust.”

  “Vivienne showed her kindness.”

  “And may well regret it, when she learns there is a thief in her household.”

  Malcolm looked up from his wine at that. “A thief?”

  A thief slept so close to his treasury?

  “There is something beneath her chemise…”

  “You are worse than vulgar.”

  “A token that she keeps close, just as you similarly guard the key to your treasury.”

  Malcolm was not at ease with his companion’s casual reference to his treasury, and spoke gruffly. “What difference if she does?”

  “It is a gem!” Rafael declared. “She touches it when agitated. The chain is visible at her neck and whatever hangs upon it, it glitters even though her chemise and is of a fair size. It is a gem, I know it well.”

  “For you have an eye for such trinkets and an affection for them, seeing as you have been a thief.”

  “My tendencies are of no import.” Rafael leaned forward. “How would a whore or even a serving woman come by any such prize, unless she had stolen it from a patron?”

  “It might have been given to her, for good service.”

  His companion chuckled darkly, though Malcolm had not meant that kind of service. “I doubt she delivers so much satisfaction on her back. There is not a speck of passion in her.” Rafael shivered. “If her lover gave her a gem, he surely would have sheltered her while she bore his child.” He shook his head. “Nay, no man knows ’tis his child, and that gem was stolen, doubtless from some other noblewoman who showed her kindness. She flees justice and retribution, so she fears any connections you might have. Abandoned!” Rafael waved a hand in mockery. “We are all abandoned by someone somewhere.”

  Malcolm could not let Rafael’s accusations pass unchallenged. “You do not know her tale. The father of her child might be dead.”

  “I can only wish it to be so,” Catriona herself said coldly. Both men pivoted in surprise, Rafael nearly spilling his wine in the move.

  The woman in question glared at them both, one hand on her belly, her posture stiff where she stood at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes flashed and color stained her cheeks, making her look like a statue brought to life. That coldness was banished with her anger, and Malcolm found her even more attractive than he had before.

  “You will find no trade in this hall,” Rafael said, draining his cup. “I like my prick and my women warm, so you had best return to your slumber.”

  If anything, Rafael’s casual comment only made Catriona more animated. “Then you are fortunate that I have no intention of rolling to my back for you.”

  “I am not so particular about the position.”

  “You will never touch me!”

  “Not even for the right price?”

  “There is not sufficient coin in Christendom for me to welcome you or your ilk,” she snapped. Malcolm noticed then that she touched her chest, as if brushing her fingertips across a hidden talisman.

  Rafael was right, then.

  And Catriona was more fearful than she would have them guess.

  “Do you have need of something?” he asked, his tone more kindly than that of his companion. Rafael snorted, then took another measure of wine.

  “I seek a cup of milk for my lady’s posset,” Catriona admitted. “I had hoped the children might have left some.”

  “They did not, though the goats in the stables might have more.”

  She glanced to the heavy portal, the glimpse of her uncertainty so fleeting that Malcolm might have missed it had he not been watching her closely. The bailey was full of men, he knew well, men who had drunk of ale and—like Rafael—yearned for the company of women.

  Others might not be so particular as his comrade.

  And they might not heed his earlier command.

  Malcolm rose to his feet without another thought. “I will accompany you there.” He took a lantern and lit it, glad of the excuse to leave Rafael’s company.

  “My lord, you do not need to do as much…” Catriona took a step back, her trepidation clear. Indeed, she flinched when he drew alongside her.

  Violence, then. She had known a man’s violence, which was why she was fearful. He immediately felt a desire to repair what damage another man had done.

  “Indeed, you might interfere with her trade,” Rafael declared. “It would surely be brisk, given the number of men abiding here.”

  Catriona’s eyes flashed. “You are a barbarian!”

  Rafael bowed mockingly in her direction. “And I make no excuses for that. There is something of merit to be said for a person who acknowledges his or her own truth.” He saluted her with his cup. “You might try it one day.”

  Catriona’s lips tightened, then she turned a seething glance upon Malcolm. “I offer naught to any man, my lord, just so we understand each other.”

  “I know,” Malcolm said as he opened the portal. The night was cool, the bailey dark. Clouds roiled overhead, but he did not think the rain would fall soon.

  He lifted the lantern, then took her arm with his free hand. She tore herself away from him, marching ahead, and Malcolm frowned. Considering what he suspected to be true of her past, he kept his tone moderate. “I mean no insult, Catriona. You might fall in the bailey, for there is much to stumble upon.”

  She turned to survey him, those eyes bright with fire. “Why would a man such as you be kind to me, sir?”

  Malcolm told her the truth before he thought twice. “Because you remind me of the man I was once destined to become.”

  She froze then, wary but curious all the same. “How so?”

  Malcolm surveyed the bailey and chose to confess more than he would under normal circumstances. “There was a time, when I was destined to be an honorable knight. Indeed I trained at this holding. And once I earned my spurs, I was to wed a noblewoman, assume the suzerainty of Ravensmuir, raise children, defend women and only ride to war when my holding was assaulted.”

  “But?”

  “But that man and that destiny never came to be.”

  “We all make our choices, sir.”

  “Indeed. And I have made mine. Whether I have regrets does not mean that I can change what I have done.”

  She squared her shoulders. “But you can change the future, sir. We all can change our own futures, by choosing differently than we have before.”

  Malcolm was surprised that she would speak so bluntly and fearlessly to him, but then he saw her hand rise to that hidden talisman as if she sought reassurance. She pivoted suddenly, as if fearful she had said too much, and strode toward the stables, intent upon putting distance between them. Malcolm caught up to her easily, again claiming her arm.

  She stiffened, but he spoke softly. “If I meant to have you by force, it could have been done twice over by now. We are agreed in the power of choice, Catriona. You are safe in my company, perhaps safer than otherwise.” He heard her sha
rp intake of breath, and then her posture relaxed slightly.

  “I am not accustomed to chivalry, sir,” she said stiffly. “I did not mean to give offense.”

  “And none is taken.”

  The wind swirled around them as they crossed the bailey, and Malcolm took a welcome breath of its salt tinge. There was, as yet, no music to torment him. Indeed, he felt a strange compulsion to speak more with this bold serving woman, a woman with as many secrets as he. “Why would you wish the father of your child dead?” he asked.

  Catriona started and glanced up at him, then shrugged. “Why not? He has done naught to earn my good will.”

  “Indeed, he has left you to fend for yourself, in a most trying time,” Malcolm agreed. “Is that why you spare so little concern for your own state?”

  Her spine seemed to straighten at that, and he admired anew that she was not readily intimidated. “I do not understand your meaning, sir.”

  Malcolm did not believe that. “I mean that you could lose the child with exertion, yet you labor as if indifferent to its fate.”

  She glanced up at him, her expression stony again.

  “Is your view of the father tainting your concern for the child?”

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  “You are unaccustomed to chivalry and wish the father of your child dead. I would wager he raised a hand against you, and perhaps you fear the child will share its father’s temperament.”

  There was but one glimmer of surprise in her eyes before she hid her reaction from him, and Malcolm felt satisfaction that he had unearthed at least part of her truth.

  * * *

  The Laird of Ravensmuir was cursed perceptive, to be sure. Catriona knew she had confessed too much, for she felt his attention upon her sharpen. He had discerned a great deal of her history already and she had to protect her secrets. All the same, his compassionate manner and intensity seemed to encourage her to speak her mind, a most dangerous combination.

  She could not understand why he was curious about her. It made more sense that he meant only to disarm her, to encourage her trust so he might take advantage of her. Yet, Catriona had a strange desire to believe him and to trust him. She sensed that he was tormented by his own choice. There had been a yearning in his manner when he spoke of the man he had been expected to become.

  Was it possible that a man could change so much, from knight to mercenary?

  Could he change back?

  In truth, it made more sense to her that his nature had never changed, that he had been raised to be a man of honor and principle, yet had been compelled to take labor as a mercenary to secure his holding. It would explain his family’s disdain of his choice of employ, and might be an indication that he sought to return to his true nature. Being a mercenary would have been a choice, even a necessary evil, not an expression of his true character.

  She glanced at his stern visage and wondered if she was trying to see merit where there was none. He was waiting for her reply, a reply she did not wish to give him.

  She could distract him by changing the subject, but to what?

  The solution was evident.

  The Laird of Ravensmuir might well be the best person to tell of Lady Vivienne’s state. Catriona had vowed only to keep the tidings from her lady’s spouse, but had said naught about the lady’s brother.

  “I do not know what you mean, sir,” she said crisply. “But your concern for the unborn prompts me to confide in you.”

  “Indeed?” He leaned closer, as if to will the words from her lips. God in heaven, but the man could make her tingle when he turned his attention so thoroughly upon her.

  Catriona felt herself flush a little. “You must understand, sir, that I promised my lady to keep her truth from her lord husband.”

  “What truth?” the laird demanded with a new urgency that Catriona found reassuring. “What is wrong with Vivienne?”

  Catriona stopped to face him, dropping her voice to a whisper. “She bleeds, sir.” His concern was visible and immediate. “Not much, but more than there should be at this time.”

  His brow darkened. “And your posset?”

  “The herbs should be of aid to her. Certainly, they will make her sleep.”

  He seemed uncertain of this, and Catriona respected that he would know the fullness of whatever she would brew, before his sister drank it. He was protective of Lady Vivienne, which was to his credit.

  “My mother was a midwife, sir. I learned long ago about the herbs that are best for women’s woes.” When he waited, she continued. “I would give your sister raspberry leaf and sweet woodruff. You are welcome to observe, my lord, and to smell the herbs yourself if you are familiar with them.”

  “I am.” The laird’s gaze dropped to her belly, as if he had a sudden fear of how she might have tried to use her knowledge, and she found herself turning away from his piercing gaze. She might have continued to the stables, but he was cursed quick. His hand landed on her arm again and he pulled her to a halt.

  “Do you know those herbs, Catriona?” he asked with a heat that revealed his disapproval.

  Catriona did not pretend to misunderstand his reference, though she bristled that a mercenary would take issue with the possibility that she might willingly take a life. “Of course,” she replied, not troubling to hide her scorn. “My mother was known to aid even those women who did not wish their child.”

  His eyes narrowed and he did not seem to breathe. “And you?”

  Catriona shook her head. Bile rose in her throat as a dark memory stirred and she shook her head with greater vigor. “Never that,” she said with rare passion. “I have seen what they do, and never will I use them.”

  She should have known that he would take note of her agitation.

  She raised her gaze to his, letting him see her consternation in the hope it would convince him. “A person of any sense has only to witness the results of such a potion once to know the fullness of how wicked it is.”

  He surveyed her and she knew he saw more than she would have liked, but the tension eased from the line of his lips and his grip loosened on her elbow. He was close before her, but strangely she felt more sheltered than cornered. “Is your child unwanted, Catriona?” His voice was low with urgency, his gaze searching.

  “I believe you know it is, sir.” Catriona swallowed and dared to hold his gaze. “It might be born a monster, or it might not live to see light at all. Whatever happens, it is God’s will to decide how that babe comes into the world and when.”

  His dark brow lifted. “Even if you refuse to rest.”

  She made a wave of acknowledgment and tried to explain. “Lady Vivienne has been good to me. I would repay her kindness in every way I can, although it is true that I may forget my own state in my determination to serve her well. It would be a great tragedy if she were to lose her child.”

  “But not if you lost yours?”

  “I imagine I am more robust than your sister, sir.”

  “Because you have had to be.”

  The compassion in his tone shook Catriona, and she made the mistake of looking into his eyes.

  “How will you manage with a child?”

  Catriona swallowed. She had been so certain of her course, but standing alone in the night with this man awakened her emotions and filled her with doubts. She stated the facts, certain he would be convinced of the merit of her plan, even of its inevitability. “I cannot keep my child, sir. It would be wrong to so hamper its future with my situation.”

  “I say it would be wrong for your child not to know its mother,” he countered gently.

  Catriona shook her head, realizing she should have expected him to have a nobleman’s easy confidence that every challenge could be solved. “It is not so simple as that, sir. I have no home and no husband. I have no coin, no family, and my employ is more precarious than would be ideal.”

  “My sister is not so stern as that.”

  “How could I serve your sister well, with a babe
on my hip?” Catriona heard her own frustration in her voice. “It cannot be done, I know better than most, thanks to my mother’s trade. My lady would be compelled to make the choice that I will make first.” Catriona stood as tall as she could. “However the child comes into the world, it must find a home with another. I am resigned to that, for it is fact.”

  “I do not see the surrender of your child as the sole choice…”

  “There is no reason to debate the matter, sir,” Catriona interrupted him with impatience. “Indeed, my child’s fate is hardly your concern.”

  She hated how her heart yearned to agree with him, but she knew the reality of her own life. The child would know no advantage in her care, much as she might have wished otherwise. He took a step back and released her, surely appalled by her pragmatism. Catriona’s throat was tight, but she blamed her emotional response on exhaustion.

  “Is this why you labor overmuch? Because it would be simpler to lose the child?”

  “Nay! I simply forget myself!” Catriona confessed, feeling like a fool for admitting the truth. At that, she could not bear to be provoked or questioned by him any longer—no matter how kindly his intent.

  His concern made her wish that some other choice was possible, and that would do little to aid her resolve to do what was right.

  “My lady has need of her posset,” she said, hearing a new crossness in her tone. “Where are the goats?” Without awaiting his reply, she continued to the stable, which was only a dozen strides away.

  The laird waited only a moment before he followed her, though Catriona could well guess that she had not changed his thinking.

  Indeed, she had to wonder what he was thinking, for the Laird of Ravensmuir seemed preoccupied indeed.

  Chapter Five

  It was madness.

  Yet Malcolm could not refute the elegance of the idea that had suddenly come to him as Catriona confessed her predicament. He saw in her eyes that this was no easy choice for her to surrender her child, though he respected that she was trying to do what was best.