The Frost Maiden's Kiss

by Claire Delacroix

  Malcolm did not think the matter between himself and Alexander that simple, but he would take the advice of his brother’s wife. “Then I shall send word to him immediately and request his aid.”

  “Better, I shall take it for you and entreat him on your behalf.”

  “I thank you, Eleanor.” Malcolm knew he could find no stronger ally than Alexander’s own wife.

  Before Eleanor could say more, Vera appeared at the base of the stairs, the swaddled child in her arms. “She has a heart of stone,” she huffed and fixed Malcolm with a look, as if whatever she found unacceptable was his fault. “It is unnatural, my lord, that much is for certain.” The infant cried in her arms, seemingly inconsolable.

  “What is amiss?” Malcolm asked.

  “We have need of those goats,” Vera said grimly. “She spurns the child, my lord.”

  “She will not nurse him?” Vivienne asked with surprise.

  “Catriona means to surrender the child,” Eleanor said, her tone matter-of-fact. “She begged me to take him and raise him as my own.” She set a pot of water over the fire, then poured the contents of her mortar into a cup.

  “Why would she do such a deed? He is so lovely!” Vivienne protested. She took the babe from Vera, who seized a bucket and hastened to the stables to milk the goats. Vivienne walked the hall, rocking the babe, who cried inconsolably.

  “The boy reminds her of the father, I would guess,” Eleanor said.

  “Now that I think of it, she spurned him from the first,” Vivienne said with a shake of her head.

  “Not the very first,” Malcolm protested. He would never forget the joy that had suffused Catriona’s features when she had learned the babe was hale. “She fears to love him, for she believes it best that she surrender him for adoption.”

  “You knew of this?” Vivienne asked in astonishment.

  “She told me of her plan.” Malcolm said. “I was not certain if she were truly resolved.”

  “It appears she is,” Eleanor said.

  “But why?” Vivienne asked.

  Eleanor shrugged as she poured hot water into the cup and stirred the posset she had made. The scent of the herbs was even stronger, both warm and savory. “I would wager that she thinks the boy better without her. What opportunity can she give him? What security? Without a husband, her resources are limited, yet few men will claim a wife who already has a child by another man.” Eleanor shook her head. “Catriona is young and fair. Perhaps she, too, will fare better without the child.”

  Both women looked to Malcolm who could only nod his agreement. “I believe this is her reasoning.”

  “Will you take him?” Vivienne asked Eleanor.

  “If it comes to that, I suppose I will.” Eleanor frowned. “But I would prefer he stayed with his own mother.”

  “Why did she not ask me?” Vivienne said. “If the child were at Blackleith village, she might see him more often.”

  “Perhaps that is the point,” Malcolm interjected.

  The women nodded sad agreement, then Eleanor spoke. “There are children aplenty at Kinfairlie, though I suppose there might be a childless couple in the village glad to add him to their family. If she remains adamant, I shall see what I can do.”

  Malcolm could endure this discussion no longer. “That is for Catriona?” he asked, gesturing to the steaming cup and Eleanor nodded. “I will take it to her.” Vivienne parted her lips to protest, but Malcolm silenced her with a look. “Do not tell me that a man should not be in that chamber. If I had not been there, this tale would have ended most poorly.”

  “It still may not end well,” Eleanor said softly.

  “We shall see about that,” Malcolm said, his words clearly mystifying the women. He took the steaming posset and climbed the stairs to his own solar, knowing exactly what he must do.

  * * *

  Catriona awakened to find late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows of the solar. Then she spied the Laird of Ravensmuir, standing at the top of the stairs and watching her in silence. He stood much as he had during the night when she had awakened from her nightmare, but his hand was not on the hilt of his knife. There was a steaming cup in his hand and his expression was inscrutable, though she had no idea how long he had stood there.

  “My lord,” she said and tried to sit up. “You should not wait upon me.”

  “And you should not rise from that bed before the morning. If then.” Malcolm came to her side and offered the cup. “Eleanor says this will make you sleep. I did not ask her which herbs it contained.”

  Catriona sniffed the aroma and smiled. “The same ones I would have chosen.”

  “Would you prefer to sit?” At her nod, he helped her to sit up, then braced pillows against a sturdy stool behind her back. He coaxed the coals in the brazier to burn brighter, then sat upon another stool beside her.

  Watching.

  Catriona sipped at the posset, sneaking glances at him through her lashes, her curiosity slowly defeating her embarrassment. “You do not need to stay, my lord.”

  “But I do, for I would speak to you of this choice you have made.”

  “It is the sole good thing I can do for him…”

  “Nay, Catriona, there is another choice, one I believe to be better.”

  Catriona fell silent, unable to imagine what he meant. His eyes gleamed and she knew the laird found satisfaction with his idea.

  Would he offer to take her son?

  How could she tell him that she would find such an arrangement wrong? She wanted her son to not only have advantage but to have two parents.

  It seemed she was more greedy for him than she might have expected.

  “Wed me,” the laird invited, before she could think further. “Wed me, Catriona, and I will raise your son as the next Laird of Ravensmuir.”

  Catriona was astounded.

  She was half certain he made a jest, but the Laird of Ravensmuir held her gaze steadily. As was oft the way with him, only his eyes revealed any emotion: in this moment, their hue was vivid and he did not blink. She understood that his resolve was strong in this matter, although she could not imagine why.

  And she would not wed him without knowing his motives. What manner of fool would she have to be to put herself under the command of any man, let alone one she knew so little?

  How would he react when she spurned his offer?

  Catriona chose her words with care. “You do me great honor, sir, though your reasoning is unclear to me.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Aye!” She lifted her chin. “I would know the reason you have chosen me. I have no title, no wealth, no family connections that could bring you advantage…”

  “You have a son.”

  “Surely, my lord, you will also have sons, once you have a wife. You are not aged or foul to look upon.”

  He seemed amused, although he did not smile. The humor was but a glimmer in his eyes, and one quickly dismissed. “I thank you for that endorsement, Catriona. I see merit, however, in having a son sooner rather than later.”

  He would not be the first to think similarly.

  He leaned closer and dropped his voice to a beguiling timbre. “Understand me, Catriona. This must be a marriage in truth.”

  She swallowed even as her heart skipped. He would expect her to meet him abed. Could she willingly meet any man abed, given her past? Could she roll to her back and accept readily what had once been inflicted upon her? Catriona could not imagine that she could. Catriona forced her voice to remain calm. “I understand, my lord.” She swallowed. “What would happen to my son if you had sons of your own blood?”

  “I swear to you, Catriona, that he will remain my heir.”

  Although the laird seemed most determined, his offer was too generous to believe.

  Did he deceive her? His very surety fed her doubts, as did her own conviction that he told the truth to her. If she could not discern a lie from the truth when it fell from his lips, how could she be sure of hi
s truth?

  Catriona looked around the solar, as yet simply furnished, knowing that he observed her as he waited for her reply. His offer was such a change from her own plans for her future, that she had to think for a moment. It was surprisingly tempting to accept such security, never mind the chance to keep her own child close. But how could she accept the Laird of Ravensmuir, knowing so little of his measure? How could she trust her instincts in a matter of such import? She could be so wrong and her situation much worse than before.

  She would be putting herself completely under his control, a fearsome prospect no matter who the man. What would change after she put her hand in his?

  And if she accepted the laird, how would she keep her vow to avenge Ian?

  “I am not without advantage, Catriona,” he said, evidently mistaking the reason for her hesitation. “Ravensmuir will be fine when it is rebuilt, and there will be coin from the horses.”

  “The horses?” Catriona would have seized upon any subject to delay the moment of her reply. Her thoughts were spinning, her questions multiplying with dizzying speed.

  “My family has always bred horses, a proud lineage of destriers as black as midnight. They are sought for their strength and valor.”

  Catriona recalled the fine steeds ridden by her lord and lady. She knew little of horses, but those two were uncommonly large and beautiful.

  She thought of the goats and their calmness when he had milked them, then wished she had seen him with the steeds. “But there are no such horses here, sir,” she said, stalling for time in the hope that her uncertainty would diminish.

  She should not have been tempted by his offer at all. Her reply should have been utterly clear.

  But it was not.

  “My brother took care of them at Kinfairlie while I was gone, along with the seal of Ravensmuir.” He lifted his hand, indicating the signet ring on his finger. “When all is repaired, they will be bred here once again.”

  Catriona frowned. “But the stable is in good repair, my lord.”

  His voice hardened. “Do you think I deceive you, Catriona?”

  Catriona heard the change of tone and saw the glint in his eyes, a telling reminder of how he had earned his wealth—and of her own ignorance of his true nature. Her choice was made in that moment. “Nay, my lord. I simply do not understand.”

  “And you do not need to, in order to give your reply.” Impatience flashed in his eyes, no doubt because he was not readily winning what he sought. It, too, was a warning, and one Catriona would heed.

  She guessed that she had overstepped herself in questioning him. What would he do once they were wed, if she vexed him and all the power of the law was on his side?

  Catriona spoke quickly, before she could consider the wisdom of what she needed to say. “My lord, you appear to be irked with me for asking questions of you. It is in my nature to ask after all I do not understand, and if this trait displeases you, it might be best that you reconsider your kind offer.”

  He regarded her in silence for a long moment. “Do you reject me, Catriona?”

  She spoke with care. “I would not have a man of your stature regret an impulsive choice.”

  “Then we are as one in that, for I would not have you regret yours.” He lifted a brow, again watching her with care. “Should you make one.”

  It was a prompt and she knew it. Catriona took a deep breath. “Your generosity overwhelms me, my lord, but I cannot put my hand in yours. It would not be right.”

  Something flickered in the depths of his eyes and once again she feared his reaction. “Is it because of Ian?” he asked and she was startled.

  How could he know of her vow?

  “Aye,” Catriona admitted, seeing no reason to lie. “It is.”

  She thought he might have asked for more detail, but the Laird of Ravensmuir’s sole response was to push to his feet. The line of his lips was grim and his eyes narrowed slightly, so she knew he was displeased.

  “Then you had best drink your posset,” he said, inclining his head as if she were a great lady. “I apologize for so troubling you with my proposal. It was honorably meant.”

  Catriona watched in astonishment as the Laird of Ravensmuir turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her in his own solar.

  She bit her lip, struck by the overwhelming sense that she had erred.

  * * *

  Vera had never heard such nonsense in all her days.

  She was climbing the stairs to give the new mother a cup of warm goat milk, determined to encourage Catriona’s own milk no matter what that stubborn woman thought of the matter, when she overheard Malcolm’s proposal. She smiled and stopped her course, leaning against the wall with satisfaction as she eavesdropped.

  Oh, Vera could read a man’s thoughts well enough, it was clear, and Malcolm had been honest and true from the first. Such a man he had become, and even though the Laird Alexander did not approve of his younger brother’s choices, Vera had not seen what other option Malcolm had had. And now he was returned, his fortune made, and rebuilding Ravensmuir as it should be. It was even better to see a babe born in this new hall, never mind a boy so hale as this one and with so pretty a mother. It was true that Catriona was not nobly born, but Vera worried less of such matters than others. To her eye, this pair were well matched in temper and character, and the way they eyed each other bode well for their future—regardless of their pasts. Though the boy was not Malcolm’s own son, he had the same dark thatch of hair that she recalled from Malcolm’s birth. Raised by him, the boy would be as good as his own blood.

  And so the maid smiled with pleasure as she heard Malcolm argue his own case, and she was certain the result was inevitable.

  She nigh dropped the cup when Catriona refused him.

  Refused the Laird of Ravensmuir!

  Vera heard the tread of Malcolm’s boots and managed to look as if she were just climbing the stairs, composing her features into something like innocence. Malcolm barely spared her a glance, his dissatisfaction more than clear, and she stood back to let him pass. He did not pause in the hall but marched straight into the bailey, and she heard him shout a correction to the men building the keep.

  He was vexed and no wonder. The girl was a fool, but Vera would set her straight.

  This must have been God’s purpose in sending her here, though she had arrived too late to aid in the birth.

  Vera strode into the solar and halted before the new mother calmly sipping her posset. She fairly dumped the cup of milk over her. “And how is it that you expect a better offer than that?” she demanded.

  Catriona glanced up with surprise, but Vera did not give her a moment to argue.

  “As fine a man as my lord Malcolm, and Laird of Ravensmuir besides. A young and handsome man, skilled with a blade and in need of a wife, treating you with every honor and courtesy and yet you, you, a mere serving woman—and one whose maidenhead is clearly gone might I add—dare to spurn what was so graciously offered! Do you hold out for the king himself?”

  “Nay, not I.” Catriona’s lips set and a defiant gleam lit her eye.

  Oh, she was a stubborn one!

  “Who do you imagine will have you when you have borne a child and given it away?”

  “No man, I would wager.” The girl was unrepentant, another sign that she had a heart of stone.

  “And so where will you go? Do you choose to become a whore, or to starve in some corner of the world rather than honor the proposal of my lord Malcolm? What manner of fool are you, girl?”

  The other woman visibly set her jaw, showing a mettle not unlike that of the man she had declined. “One who made a promise.”

  “A promise,” Vera scoffed. “What promise of any merit would cause you to spurn your own son? What promise could not be better kept with a man and a warrior by your side? You are twice a fool if you think you can keep any promise better alone.”

  Color burned in Catriona’s cheeks, but she did not lower her gaze. “I do not know his mea
sure, Vera.”

  “Then I shall tell you of it! Never has there been a man of such merit as my lord Malcolm.” She jabbed a finger toward the window. “Never was there a child so concerned with honor and duty and fairness. Never was there a boy who kept his word so faithfully as he, and treated those weaker than himself with such kindness.”

  Catriona dropped her gaze to her cup, hiding her thoughts as her tone turned thoughtful. “Yet he became a mercenary.”

  Vera sighed. “He had lost all he held dear, or so he thought. His uncle died. Ravensmuir was ruined. When the ravens left, he thought they found him lacking as laird.”

  “The ravens,” Catriona echoed. “The ones said to speak with the laird himself?”

  “The very same. They left all at once one day, circling the old keep before they disappeared forever. My lord’s heart was broken. He could not remain here without the ravens.”

  “But he returned.” There was curiosity in the maid’s eyes now, and Vera took that as a good sign.

  “Aye. And I would wager that he watches for their return.”

  Catriona frowned. “That is whimsy for a hardened warrior.”

  “But not for one of the Lammergeier. They are men who know that there is more to the world than meets the eye. Indeed, I would wager that my lord Malcolm saw more to you than you would have hoped.”

  “Aye, he is perceptive.” Catriona nibbled her lip and seemed to consider this.

  Vera dared to believe that she made progress. She seized a stool and sat down beside the younger woman. “I do not mean your secrets, Catriona. I mean your promise.” Catriona glanced up and Vera leaned closer, lowering her voice. “I mean that a man of Malcolm’s ilk does not offer a ring idly to any woman in need of a husband and defender. And I believe that you with your promise could find no better man to aid you in keeping your word than the one you have just spurned. A thousand women would have praised God for their good fortune to have that son and that proposal, never mind both in one day, but you have been fool enough to reject them both. I pity you for being so blind, and have only to wonder how soon you will regret your choices.”

  She set the cup down beside the other woman with a thunk. “And there you have my counsel along with your milk. Get your rest, Catriona. There will be labor to be done on the morrow, and if you are to answer to me, you can be sure that I will show no good fortune to one who cannot even see the difference.”