Catriona’s resolve redoubled. As soon as he released her, she launched herself at him, slamming the palm of her hand into the base of his nose. He staggered backward as his nose began to bleed, a line of crimson working toward his mouth.
Catriona was aghast at what she had done, and froze, certain he would retaliate. Indeed, she was poised to flee when he spoke.
“Excellent!” Malcolm declared with a grin, as if the triumph had been hers. He moved like lightning again, catching her wrists in his hands and trapped her between his body and the wall. She thrashed and made to bite him, but he gathered her wrists in one hand and closed the other over her mouth. “But you paused to savor your victory,” he murmured into her ear. “You must finish the deed before you halt.”
A tinder lit in Catriona’s mind. She was trapped again, held captive by a man who overpowered her with sheer strength. She would be abused again, taught a lesson that she did not deserve.
“Never hesitate,” Malcolm instructed firmly. “Never step back before you are certain of your triumph. And never assume that you will have another chance.”
He released her then, stepping away and holding his hands open in invitation. Catriona spun to face him, furious and frightened and determined to succeed in this.
“Again,” he commanded with a snap of his fingers, and Catriona gave him no opportunity to say more.
She attacked her husband with all she had, fueled by the terror he had reawakened. She aimed another kick at his genitals, but he stepped away and her heel grazed his thigh. While she was off balance, he seized her ankle and twisted it, as if to force her to the ground. “Too obvious,” he criticized, his calm manner only making her more livid.
Catriona roared with frustration and a new desperation to win. She spun with a shout, writhing free of his grip, and glimpsed his surprise. She kicked him in the stomach with her other foot before he expected as much, not checking her blow in the least. He had asked for it, after all!
Though his belly was rock-hard, he faltered slightly after the blow. Then his eyes flashed and he lunged for her, clearly expecting that she would retreat. Catriona leapt forward instead of back. She slashed at his face with her outstretched fingers and drove her knee upward with all her might. Her nails dragged down his cheek, he muttered an oath as her knee slammed into him. Then he caught her around the waist and snatched her up, holding her captive against his chest even as she thrashed anew.
“Well done, lady mine,” he murmured into her ear and she heard unexpected humor in his tone. “You planned ahead, then fought with your all.”
He was not angry with her. The breath left Catriona in a rush, leaving her knees weak.
Indeed, Malcolm kissed her as a reward. It was a quick kiss, a light brush of his lips across hers, a token of admiration that made her heart pound and her anger melt.
And she felt a strange new sense of power. Her husband was no weak man, readily overcome, but a warrior larger than herself. She doubted that he had fought with his all, but she had surprised him.
Catriona released a shuddering breath, then saw blood drip on to her white chemise. His nose still bled, as did the three long scratches she had made from his left eye to his jaw.
But Malcolm smiled at her, such pleasure in his eyes that her heart thumped. “You learn with speed, lady mine.” He lifted a brow, his expression wicked. “But after this day, I believe I will wear my helm when you are training.” He released her and stepped back, pinching the front of his throat between his finger and thumb. “Again. This time, you must seize here when you can.”
Catriona pushed up her sleeves and tossed her braid over her shoulder. Anticipation flooded through her as she considered how best to surprise her husband again.
* * *
Malcolm could have been content, if he had not known that he had mere days to live with Catriona like this. As it was, the situation irked him mightily for the same reason that it pleased him.
He enjoyed being with his lady wife.
Malcolm polished his boots in the solar as she nursed Avery. It rained, a gentle patter upon the roof. Ravensmuir was quiet as it had not been thus far.
Malcolm savored the change, not just in his keep but in his wife. She had fought well, once she had overcome her fear that he would abuse her. Her eyes shone with new confidence and he was glad to have encouraged that light. Rafael would call him a fool for having given her his best knife, but Malcolm knew it was in good hands.
He wished he might have had more time in her company, at least that he could avenge her against the man she sought to kill. Malcolm had to guess it was the father of her child, and as he polished, he wondered how he might see her vengeance assured in his absence.
At least he knew, by the way Catriona repeatedly touched the hilt with gentle fingers, that she was awed by his trust. “It is too fine for you to give away,” she said again, glancing down in admiration once more.
“You should always have the best weapons you can afford,” he countered. “And you should always give them good care.”
Her gaze fell to his boots and she nodded.
“Will you tell me the name of the man you wish to kill?”
Catriona shook her head. “The vengeance must be mine.” She looked up at him, her eyes bright. “Do not offer to do it for me, Malcolm. I swore vengeance, and I will take it.”
“I would see you safe.”
She smiled. “You do so with your lessons,” she said with a confidence Malcolm did not feel, then bent over her son with such pleasure that he did not wish to raise the subject again.
At least not yet.
“Do you know how to hone a blade?” Malcolm asked when Avery was burping on her shoulder.
“A kitchen knife,” Catriona replied, her fingers falling to the sheathed blade that now hung from her belt. “An eating knife. Not a weapon like this. I would like to know best how to tend it.”
“Then I will teach you.” The simplest deeds gave his wife great pleasure, Malcolm had noticed, and her features lit at this small promise from him. He retrieved his steel from his belongings and perched on a stool beside her as he took his own knife in hand.
“Yours is not so fine as the one you gave me,” she noted, watching him.
“You have but one knife, lady mine. It should be my best.”
“Why?”
He smiled at her, doubting she would believe his words even though he knew them to be the truth. “Because it will defend my greatest treasure.”
Catriona blushed crimson and dropped her gaze, fussing with the infant to cover her discomfiture. Avery belched so mightily that they both smiled and Malcolm caught her gaze again. When she looked at him as she did in this moment, her eyes wide and luminous, her lips slightly parted, he could think of naught but having her close. He reached out a hand and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, gladdened by the fact that she did not flinch at all this time.
She came to trust him, which was the most precious gift of all.
“I hear my lord Avery’s summons!” Vera said, coming into the solar to lift the boy from Catriona’s arms. She bounced him and compelled him to burp again, cuddled him, then frowned at Malcolm as if he were five summers of age again. “What is this? You labor on the Lord’s day?”
“Labor does not do itself, Vera, no matter what the day.”
She braced a hand on her hip, the babe on the other, and tapped her toe. “And when is it that you plan to build a new chapel at Ravensmuir? You should be there, upon your knees on this day.”
Malcolm found Catriona watching him, her curiosity clear. “But there has not been a chapel at Ravensmuir since the caverns collapsed and the old chapel fell into the sea. Even so, when I trained here with Uncle Tynan, we went to Kinfairlie’s chapel for services.”
Vera glanced back and forth. “And yet I see no indication that you mean to ride there on this day.”
“I cannot leave the hall undefended, Vera. You know that surely.”
“But
should you not fall upon your knees one day soon and beg the Lord for mercy, you might well miss the chance,” she replied. Avery squirmed and she wrinkled her nose, carrying him from the solar as she spoke to him. “And you, sir, have need of a wash…”
“Perhaps there is a connection between the reputation of Ravensmuir and its lack of a chapel,” Catriona suggested. She spoke with care, as if uncertain whether he would be angered.
That she spoke at all and with such concern told Malcolm that he helped to remove her preconceptions.
Would he lay the foundation for another man to earn Catriona’s love, once Malcolm was dead and gone? The very notion was troubling.
Malcolm forced himself to consider her suggestion. “Perhaps there is a connection.” And perhaps that was why the Fae gathered on this holding in such numbers. “Where would you build a chapel? Within the hall itself?”
“Nay, it should stand apart. That gives the best indication that the laird does not meddle in matters he should leave alone.” Catriona rose and went to the window. “There, upon that point. I think that would be a most fitting site.”
Malcolm nodded. “The old one was upon that same jut of land, but farther from the keep, where the cliff now tumbles to the sea. A new one would be defended from attack there, and there is no good access from the sea. The chapel could truly be a sanctuary.”
Catriona glanced back at him. “Perhaps the masons could have remained long enough to at least set a foundation. They might not have traveled far in just a day.”
Malcolm shook his head. “They were contracted until yesterday only, with the intent that the keep should be complete for Midsummer’s Eve. Such were the terms of our agreement.”
“I am certain that some would return if asked and paid to do so.”
“Yet I will not ask them.”
Catriona pivoted to face him fully, and folded her arms across her chest. For the first time, Malcolm saw the disadvantage of her newfound confidence in his presence—she did not intend to let this be. “Why did you rebuild with such haste? Most men would take a decade to construct what you have built thus far, and most would keep the masons for the entire season, instead of dispatching them so soon.”
“I am not most men.”
“Clearly. And neither are you whimsical.” Although Malcolm had turned his attention back to his blade and steel, Catriona did not abandon the matter. She sat beside him, compelling him to meet her gaze. “You have a reason, Malcolm. I ask only that you share it with me.”
Malcolm, though tempted, shook his head. “I will not.”
“What is the import of Midsummer’s Eve?”
“You will learn soon enough, for it is but days away. Unsheath your knife and let us examine the blade.”
Her lips tightened in displeasure but she did as he asked, holding the hilt in one hand and balancing the blade on the other. “It has an elegant hilt.”
“It was wrought by a master. See here is his mark, at the base of the blade. It is Toledo steel, the best that coin can buy, and will need to be honed less often than most.”
“Yet you give it to me.”
“I would ensure your welfare as best I can, lady mine, and every warrior strikes more sure with the best weapons.” She was pleased by that, he saw, but still curious. She watched him, though, and listened to his instruction, learning quickly how to do this task.
Once he had set her to honing the blade, she spared him a glance. “Why do you polish your boots and hone your blades this day? What do you anticipate?”
“Naught more than usual.”
“It is a habit, then?”
Malcolm nodded. “The only day upon which it is unlawful to fight is Sunday, and so it is the only day upon which a man can be certain to not be attacked.”
“And that makes it a good day to tend your weapons.”
“Exactly thus.”
“How long has it been since you have gone to chapel?”
“I cannot remember.”
She looked up at him, but it was curiosity in her eyes not condemnation. “Do you not fear for your immortal soul?”
Malcolm shook his head and spoke without thinking. “Nay, for I know it lost.”
“Nay!” Catriona covered his hands with hers. “It cannot be.”
He hesitated, then knew he should prepare her for the truth. “It will be, Catriona. I know it well.”
Her eyes flashed and she pushed to her feet, pacing the room with an agitation that fascinated him. “It cannot be so! For you to be damned for certain, you would have to have a heart blacker than black, but you have shown kindness to me, and you have adopted my son as your own. You gave labor to these masons and paid them honestly, and you entrust this legacy to my son. These are not the deeds of a wicked man!”
She defended him. She believed good of him. It was enough to warm Malcolm to his toes.
All the same, he shook his head. “But I have done wicked deeds, Catriona. I have killed, and I have done it more than once.”
“And penance can be paid for every sin,” she countered quickly. “Redemption can be earned. I think you see your situation as more bleak than it is in truth.” She gestured at the window. “You do good here at Ravensmuir, and if you cannot see it yourself, I will tell you of it.”
“I leave a mark here at Ravensmuir, which is vanity. Is that not a sin?”
“How so?”
“I leave proof that I was here, that I was laird, that I accomplished something in all my days.”
“You are scarce dead yet, sir!”
Malcolm dropped his gaze to his blade and honed it steadily with the steel. There was no sound in the solar, save steel on blade, though Malcolm could have sworn he heard his wife’s swift thinking.
“You are not ill.”
“Nay.”
In a heartbeat, Catriona was falling to her knees before him. “Who hunts you?”
“No one who can be stopped.”
“I do not believe it.”
“You will.”
Her eyes narrowed and she leaned back, studying his features. “Someone arrives on Midsummer’s Eve. You prepare for a confrontation and one that you expect to lose. What of me? What of Avery? How will we fare in your absence?”
“When I am gone, you will be left with Ravensmuir to console you.”
She was horrified, Malcolm could see as much, but he dared not tell her more. “I would rather have a husband,” she huffed and marched to the window. He watched her fingers drumming on the sill and knew she would not forget the matter. Indeed, it was a pleasant sensation to have another care for his future and show such concern for him.
He regretted that he would not have more time with Catriona.
He wished there was some way he might fulfill his pledge without sacrificing his own soul.
“Why do your fields lie fallow?” she asked abruptly.
Malcolm glanced up. “They have always been so at Ravensmuir.”
“Nay, they have not,” she said, pointing as she corrected him. “The furrows can be discerned from here. This land was tilled once.”
Curious, Malcolm rose to stand behind her. He cupped her shoulders in his hands and drew her back against him, liking that it took her only a moment to relax and lean upon him. He did not want to argue with her, and in the way she leaned against him, he recognized that she did not want to fight either. He rested his chin against her head, seeing then what should long have been obvious to him. “You are right, but I have never seen crops tilled here.”
She glanced up at him. “How long have you come here?”
“All my life.”
“Then what was the source of Ravensmuir’s revenue?”
“A trade in religious relics, which was abandoned by Merlyn, my grandfather and the father of my uncle Tynan. Merlyn was the one who began the breeding of horses here. Merlyn’s brother Gawain continued the trade covertly, then Rosamunde after him, then my uncle Tynan sold them all.”
Catriona looked up at him again
. “So, there was never a village?”
“Perhaps at one time, but not in my memory.”
“What about fodder for the horses?”
Malcolm shrugged. “Perhaps Merlyn saw the fields tilled for some years. He held Kinfairlie’s seal as well until my father came of age, so perhaps the men came from Kinfairlie village to till the fields. I confess I do not know.”
“There should be a village, and the fields should be tilled.” Catriona spoke as if this were an obvious conclusion and merely a problem to be resolved. “Regardless of the soil, there should at least be fodder for your horses grown here, if not grain for bread in the hall.”
“If people could be induced to reside here, there could be a village,” Malcolm ceded. “The smith in the camp has already asked about remaining at Ravensmuir and I could use his aid with the horses when they return.”
It was remarkable how clearly he could see the future of his holding, now that he would no longer been a part of it. Once, he had been overwhelmed by the duties to be done and responsibilities to be fulfilled. Now, with his treasury full and a practical woman by his side, all seemed possible and success inevitable.
Malcolm wished that he had met Catriona before arriving home at Ravensmuir. Perhaps then he might not have been so quick to save Rafael’s hide. Perhaps then, he might have thought his own life worth saving.
“If there were a chapel, they might be encouraged to do so,” Catriona said and Malcolm smiled at her determination. She turned in his embrace. “If there were a chapel, you could repent and pray before Midsummer’s Eve.”
“I cede another victory to you, lady mine. I will pray with you this day.”
Catriona kissed him with a satisfaction that made Malcolm’s chest clench.
Then he looked across the fields, his gaze snared by some small movement, and all within him clenched.
A small army was riding along the road, his hall its only possible destination.
Nay, it was a band of mercenaries and he could hear their coarse laughter even at this distance. A pair of bedraggled banners were held before the group and Malcolm’s heart sank at the familiarity of the insignia.
The Frost Maiden's Kiss Page 23
