The Frost Maiden's Kiss

by Claire Delacroix

  “Because it was not merely a wolf,” Bertrand counseled the others, his voice carrying across the hall.

  “It came time for the king to parlay with his barons and knights, and he summoned them to gather at his castle. He kept the wolf by his side, for as mentioned, he had come to rely upon its perception. Among the knights gathered was the one who had married Bisclavret’s wife and taken his fortune for his own. That man had only set foot within the counsel chamber when the wolf attacked him, much to the surprise of every soul present. Indeed, the wolf tried to bite this knight twice more that day, though he had never bitten any person in the king’s household.”

  “Vengeance comes due,” muttered a man whose name Catriona could not recall.

  The company drank to that.

  “There were those who called for the wolf’s destruction, given his violence—and to be sure, the knight was first in that company—yet the king’s steward believed there was more to the tale. He had grown up listening to his grandmother’s tales and knew there was more in the world than most men knew. The steward reminded the king that for years, the wolf had been gentle and loyal, and indeed, it was considered to have the reasoning of a man. The steward suggested that this knight must have done some injury to the wolf, and that the wolf recalled it well, a view that the king thought most reasonable. The parlay ended without the king changing his view of the wolf, and the knight was one of the first to leave.”

  Rafael cleared his throat. “The king, upon the advice of his steward, then resolved to unearth the truth. He sent word to the knight who had claimed Bisclavret’s holding that he would visit with his court. It made most sense to travel there, in order to discover the dispute between knight and wolf. The wife and her husband could not deny the king, though the knight feared another exchange with the king’s favored wolf.”

  Ranulf rubbed his hands together with anticipation.

  “But when the king’s party arrived, the wolf attacked the wife of the knight, and did so with such savagery that he bit off her nose. The king knew then that this couple had somehow done injury to the wolf that had served him with such affection, and that the wolf blamed the wife most of all. At the steward’s suggestion, the king had them both imprisoned and the wife was tortured for the fullness of the tale. She was so frightened by the wolf that she confessed all she knew.” Rafael dropped his voice. “There were those who said that she never expected the tale to be believed. She had not relied upon the steward, much less the king’s regard for that man’s advice.”

  “But he could not remain a wolf!” protested another man.

  “Nay, he did not,” Rafael agreed. “Once the tale was told, the king called for Bisclavret’s clothes. The trunk in the solar was opened where the former lord’s garments had been locked away, and that garb was brought to the wolf. That beast sat regally before the king, making no move toward the garments, yet holding the king’s gaze. The steward cleared his throat, whispering to the king that the wolf could never change his form before another, and that he had to be left alone in a chamber with the garments. The king had the wolf locked into the solar with the clothing and waited impatiently.

  “He did not have long to wait before a knock was heard from the inside, a man’s voice demanding release. The door was unlocked and the king delighted to find Bisclavret restored to his company, a man again and dressed in his fine garb. Only then could he give testimony of his wife’s deception, and he did so before the king. His deceitful wife was banished by the king’s decree, along with the man she had wrongly taken to husband. It is said that they had no rest, that wretched pair, and that all the children they bore were born without noses. Bisclavret, in contrast, remained the king’s most loyal and trusted advisor, and welcome his liege lord frequently as his guest in the holding that was restored to him.”

  There was a moment of silence, then Ranulf began the applause. Catriona did not join in. Rafael smiled at her as he bowed to the head table. He tried to warn her of what he chose to see as Malcolm’s true nature, but Catriona knew better than he the manner of man she had wed.

  She would not be daunted that Malcolm had fought with these men to secure his future, no matter what deed he had done. He was no Hellhound in truth, but a man raised to be a good laird for Ravensmuir. He was home again, and returned to the man he had been raised to become.

  “I would share a tale, as well,” Catriona said, rising to her feet as if accepting a dare from Rafael. “It is a tale of two friends, two men who believed they knew all there was to be known of each other.”

  “Ha ha!” Ranulf said with glee, clapping his hands. “We know much of such men, do we not?” The men roared assent and drained the last of the eau-de-vie from their wineskins as Catriona chose how best to begin her tale.

  * * *

  Vera was torn.

  She wished to hear the tale that Catriona would tell, for she loved a tale more than most. She also had come to see that the woman Malcolm had taken to wife was no fool. Indeed, it seemed the old rumors about the Lairds of Ravensmuir might have a root in the truth, for Malcolm had discerned the merit of Catriona quickly.

  On the other hand, Avery was more than ready for the comfort of his own cradle. Though he was an affectionate child who tolerated a cuddle well enough, he showed some independence as well. ’Twas never long before he squirmed and fussed, wanting to be free of the touch and attention of others. He shared that trait with Malcolm, who had always been a child prepared to strike out upon his own, to explore the world unescorted and return at his own leisure.

  She supposed that had not changed. And though Avery was not of Malcolm’s seed, they would do well together.

  Had Malcolm seen that, as well?

  If Vera had possessed a third hand, she would have acknowledged Ruari as the main distraction for her on this night. She could have chosen well enough between the tale and the needs of the infant, but Ruari’s company was a temptation and one that was all too rarely offered. She could not leave the babe alone in the solar. She could not hand him over to his mother while she told a tale. Yet, she thought it inappropriate to sit amongst the company with the laird’s heir, given the nature of that company. She knew that Ruari had hoped she would sit with him, but she knew what was right for her charge, and her own yearnings were of less import than her duty.

  She took Avery to his bed, then sat at the summit of the stairs, where she could hear both child and tale. She had time to think it a meager compromise before Ruari himself climbed the stairs to bow before her.

  “You must know I came to see you,” he said, more gruff than ever. Vera was certain that was due to the gazes that had followed him, and the speculation erupting in the hall below. Indeed, the back of Ruari’s neck turned ruddy, though he held his ground.

  “I did not,” she said, for she knew it would muster his courage to be challenged. “Indeed, you scarce spoke to me at Kinfairlie before Lady Eleanor and I came here.”

  Ruari flung out his hands. “And what time was there, woman? We arrived, you departed, there were provisions to gather and horses to be saddled, plus my lord’s own beasts to be tended. You were gone in the twinkling of an eye!”

  “You might have followed. Or accompanied us.”

  “I follow you now.”

  “Aye and you find me now. Catriona means to tell a tale and I mean to hear it, so say what you will, Ruari, lest I miss it.”

  “I came to ask for your hand, Vera,” he said, fixing his gaze upon her.

  Vera was astonished. “I am no maiden and you are no youth. What madness is this?”

  “Marriage is not just for the young or the affluent. It is not solely for the getting of sons, Vera, but is also for companionship.” He frowned in the midst of this confession and knotted his sturdy hands together. “I enjoy your company, Vera. I would have more of it than a few days each year or two, as our situations allow.”

  “But marriage!” Vera had long ago abandoned the notion of marriage. She had comfort at Kinfairlie,
and affection, and though they were not her own children, she thought of the family as her own. Once she had hoped for a husband and a hearth of her own, but with the passing of her ability to bear an heir, she had abandoned any such expectation. Her life was good and she was blessed to have it.

  “Aye, marriage!” Ruari retorted, his tone becoming stubborn as it oft did when she defied his expectation. “I ask for your hand, Vera, and it would be a fine thing if you were not appalled by that.”

  Vera laughed despite herself, and felt remarkably younger than her years. “I am not appalled, merely surprised.”

  “And why is that? You know I seek your company whenever we are in the same region. You know that we tempt each other’s laughter, and I am not deceived that there has been affection between us.”

  “More than affection,” she noted, her smile prompting his own.

  “Aye, more than affection.” He sat on the step below her and took her hand in his rough one. “Wed me, Vera. I have spoken to Laird Erik and he has granted me a cottage in the village at Blackleith. We could…”

  “Blackleith!” Vera pulled her hand away. “I have no desire to live at Blackleith.”

  Ruari blinked. “But it is my home, and it is only fitting for a man to take his bride to his home.”

  “Nay,” Vera said, shaking her head. “It would be fitting for you and I to begin anew.” She leaned close to him. “I could not abandon my family, Ruari, for all the children born at Kinfairlie could be my own kin. I am fond of them and would be part of their lives, whether I wed or nay.”

  Ruari sat back. “I could speak to Laird Alexander…”

  “Nay, Ruari, I would begin anew here, at Ravensmuir.”

  He looked at her in horror. “Ravensmuir? The holding of sorcerers and fiendish birds and who knows what other trouble.”

  Vera smiled. “The holding of Laird Malcolm, who begins anew himself and does much right in this place. I like his wife, too, for she is both practical and kind. They mean to build a village, I heard them speak of it together…”

  “You listened when you should not have done,” Ruari teased with a smile.

  “I heard when I could do naught else. ’Tis the only way to know anything worth knowing in a keep.” Vera straightened. “The fields will be tilled, the horses will return and the smith will stay. She asked for a chapel and he pledged to see it done. She means to bear him sons and he means to rebuild Ravensmuir to new glory. I would see that, Ruari. Indeed, I would aid in it.”

  Ruari sighed and averted his gaze. “But Ravensmuir.” He glanced back up at her. “It must be Ravensmuir?”

  Vera nodded. “I think no other place would suit us as well.”

  “Ravensmuir.” Ruari shook his head. “I must speak to Laird Erik and also to Laird Malcolm before I can promise this, Vera. Though I am a free man, I would have their consent.”

  Vera smiled and bent to kiss Ruari’s cheek. “Of course, you must, but do not be too disappointed when the both of them agree.”

  At that, his smile appeared and he regarded her warmly. “’Tis true then that a man will show himself a fool for a lady’s love,” he muttered, but there was no ire in his complaint.

  Catriona raised her voice to begin her tale and Vera touched a finger to Ruari’s lips to silence him He kissed her fingertip, his hand then closing around her own, and she smiled herself, certain they would suit each other very well.

  * * *

  Malcolm was not pleased that Rafael tried to stir up trouble. He had known the other man long enough to understand that he was devious in ensuring his own advantage. Clearly, Rafael saw Catriona as a threat.

  And he should, as he was a man of sense. In wedding Catriona and making Avery his heir, Malcolm created a succession for whatever wealth remained in his treasury on Midsummer’s Eve. He did not believe that Rafael would injure a woman, much less his comrade’s wife, but he would try to frighten Catriona into leaving of her own volition.

  Malcolm wanted to defend his lady wife, but knew not how to do it. A tale was a sly way to introduce doubt, and another tale would be the best response to Rafael’s provocation. Sadly, he had little skill in the telling of tales, and less in the timely selection of one.

  But Catriona rose to the challenge immediately.

  “This is a tale of an Elfin Knight,” she said when she stood beside him. “But truly it is the tale of the two friends. Never have there been two men so bound in friendship yet each so different from the other. They shared the ability of drawing the eye of a maiden, and both were valiant warriors, too, but one was driven by reason and the other by passion. For years, each thought his own way best, but believed the other’s tendency harmless. This changed when they met the Elfin Knight.”

  She paused and considered the rapt company. “In the tale as I heard it, the men had no names, but let us give them names. Let us call the sober one by the name Malcolm, and the other by the name of Rafael.”

  Malcolm had to glance down to hide his smile. Truly, Catriona was bold in this, but the men laughed and nudged each other, taking it as a jest. Rafael sobered, doubtless disliking the suggestion that he was driven more by passion than sense.

  As before, Malcolm sat back and let the tale unfold, watching all the while.

  Catriona held up a hand for silence before she continued. “The man guided by reason had inherited a holding, one near a moor that was vast and lonely.”

  “Aye, that would be Malcolm!” cried one of the mercenaries. Malcolm glanced at his lady wife, wondering at the coincidence between her tale and his life.

  “And he had grown up near this keep,” she continued, as at ease with the attention of the company as she had been on her first night in Ravensmuir’s hall. “All his life Malcolm had heard of the Elfin Knight, who was only rarely seen upon the moor, but that every time he was seen, a man from a neighboring village would disappear. There were other incidences of people choosing to cross the moor alone, no matter the time or season, who never reached the other side. Indeed, they were never heard from again. By the time Malcolm inherited this holding, the moor was lonely indeed, for people feared to be upon it at any time. Wild creatures, though, did not share their concern, and they had multiplied so much that the moor was thick with game.”

  “It sounds a fine place,” said Louis and Amaury nodded.

  “And so, when the man’s friend Rafael came to visit, he saw only the game and dismissed this fanciful tale of the Elfin Knight. He insisted that they hunt upon the moor, for the wild creatures were nearly tame and bold as well. He said they could fill Malcolm’s larder to bursting in a day, then take their leisure in the hall. Even when warned of the tale, Rafael laughed and dared his friend to hunt with him.”

  “No man could resist such a taunt,” said Ranulf, folding his arms across his considerable bulk to watch Catriona with satisfaction.

  “The pair agreed, but Malcolm took a precaution before departing. He recalled his mother telling him that no wicked being could hold him in thrall if he carried the mark of the Trinity. He fetched a clover from the meadow and bound it to his arm, heeding his mother’s advice. He brought a second clover for his friend, but Rafael laughed at him. He said that a bit of clover would not defend him so well as his bow and arrow, and his knife, then mocked his friend’s whimsy. And so, different in yet another way, they rode out to hunt upon the moor.”

  Catriona took a breath before she continued. Malcolm could see that she enjoyed herself, for there was a sparkle in her eye. He noted also that Vera had come to sit at the top of the stairs, the better to listen. “The game was as varied and as bold as anticipated, and they hunted with great success throughout the morn and past midday. Malcolm was about to suggest they call a halt, when a horse and rider suddenly crossed their path. He was all in green, the knight they saw, his caparisons and tabard as verdant as new growth in springtime. His horse was white enough and bright enough to make a man squint, and there were silver bells bound in its flowing white mane.”


  “The Elfin Knight!” roared half the company with satisfaction.

  “They stared in awe, guessing that ’twas none other than the Elfin Knight himself. But there the similarity between them ended, for Rafael insisted he would pursue the Elfin Knight to see where he lived. He guessed that the Elfin Knight must have riches aplenty and that he could make some of them his own.”

  There was laughter at this, for it was utterly characteristic of Rafael to think thus.

  “Malcolm sternly advised against this, for he counted them fortunate that the Elfin Knight had passed them by. He believed the price of any such wealth would be too high. Rafael did not heed him, though, but spurred his steed and gave chase to the Elfin Knight. And so it was that Malcolm realized that the Elfin Knight had bewitched his friend with a glance, successfully tempting him because Rafael was not defended by clover bound against his arm. Malcolm vowed to do right by his friend and followed the fleeing horses.”

  Bertrand and Ranulf clinked their cups together, saluting this impulse of the Malcolm in the tale. Little did they know how close it came to the truth.

  “Rafael, for his part, could not believe how fleet the horse of the Elfin Knight proved to be. His own steed was fine and swift of foot, but he never could catch up to the beautiful white steed. Rafael might have imagined that the creature flew instead of galloping over land, but still he gave chase. The sun sank and the shadows lengthened and still the Elfin Knight raced on, and still Rafael gave chase. The wind turned chill and the stars came out, and still the Elfin Knight raced on, and still Rafael gave chase. The moor had long past disappeared, the hills risen beneath their feet and fallen away again, and an endless meadow surrounded them. Still the Elfin Knight raced on, and still Rafael gave chase. Just when he feared his horse would drop, the Elfin Knight halted his steed.

  “Rafael leapt from his horse where a company had gathered, right in the midst of the meadow. He saw that there was a circle on the ground, a circle of white flowers that might have been wrought of frost. This large company danced within the circle, singing and making such merry music that he longed to join their revels. The jig they played made his feet itch to dance.”