Malcolm shivered then, as if a chill wind had blown over him. Or perhaps someone had walked across his grave. He felt goose flesh rise on his skin and his hair prickled on the back of his neck. He glanced back at the keep again, wondering if he took Catriona’s bravery for granted.
Do not repeat my error.
Catriona despised mercenaries, and his hall was filled with them. She had borne a child wrought in violence, and he had guessed that a rape was the root of her opinion of fighting men.
That wind blew in his ear and he could see the solar as it must be in this moment. He saw Catriona, restless in her sleep, and guessed that she would be fearful this night. Why had she chosen to tell that tale? How much had she guessed of his situation?
Then a whisper came in his ear again, a whisper in a voice so familiar that he started.
Catriona holds the key.
Of course. It was so evident to him now. A marriage could be made only if they two joined forces together, if he used Catriona’s wits to aid him and she used his power to see herself defended. He should be at his wife’s side on this night, and no where else.
Indeed, he should be at her side for every night. Malcolm pivoted and strode back to the keep with purpose.
He did not discern the ghost of Tynan, as insubstantial as mist rising from the fields. He did not see that specter nod approval, just as he had not seen the phantom blow into his ear then whisper counsel.
Malcolm did, however, glance back more than once, unable to suppress the sense that he was being observed.
* * *
The knock on the door of the solar was muffled and not of the correct pattern, but Catriona did not care.
Vera stirred but Catriona flung herself from the pallet, racing to open the portal to her husband. She fumbled with the bolt, her hands still shaking, but finally managed to shoot the bolt.
It was not Malcolm.
Indeed, she did not know this man. He wore a hood so she could not see his face fully, but the line of his lips was mean and his eyes shone with violence.
The sight of him sent terror through her.
He lunged through the portal, giving her no opportunity to cry out. Catriona struck at his eyes, recalling what Malcolm had taught her. She heard Vera gasp and knew that woman would defend Avery to her dying breath.
She jammed her fingers into the man’s eyes and he swore, flinging her bodily across the solar. He was cursed big and cursed strong, and Catriona was both shaken and frightened. In some way, she had to surprise him. She lay on the floor where she had been cast, as if she were sorely injured and awaited his approach. She recalled his garb as well as she could, seeking some point of weakness. He wore a boiled leather jerkin and a codpiece, heavy gloves and boots.
His throat was exposed where his cloak was pinned.
It took him half an eternity to cross the floor. She heard Vera’s muffled sob of dismay and hoped Avery did not awaken. She heard the attacker unsheath his knife and knew herself to be his target. She removed her own small knife from her belt and clutched it in her hand, keeping it hidden beneath herself.
Never assume you will have another opportunity.
Aye, Malcolm’s counsel was good. Catriona’s palm was slick but she held fast to the knife. Her heart raced, but she believed she could do this deed.
She had to do this deed.
When she saw the shadow of her assailant’s boots and heard the creak of the floor as he bent toward her, she leapt to her feet. She spun, saw the surprise in his eyes, then jabbed directly at his throat. He stepped backward, evading the blow, and her knife only grazed the skin. Catriona swore, and he struck her across the face with the back of his hand. She stumbled, tasting blood on her own lip, and he pursued her, fury in his eyes. He made to seize her knife but she moved it to her other hand.
He would expect her to attack his face again. She fixed her gaze upon his eyes, as if that was his plan, and he raised his arm slightly to defend himself. Catriona leapt forward and buried the blade into his thigh, just beside the codpiece. He roared in pain and would have snapped her in half but a shadow moved suddenly behind him.
Catriona bit back a scream, fearing that a second man from the hall joined the battle.
But it was Malcolm who appeared behind her attacker, Malcolm who grabbed that man’s head, Malcolm who snapped his neck with a single quick move. The crack was loud, then Malcolm released his foe, and the man fell to the floor.
He did not stir again.
“Just so, lady mine,” Malcolm said, his tone dark.
Catriona caught her breath, impressed by her husband’s efficiency and relieved that he had arrived in time. He hauled the man’s corpse toward the stairs and dropped it at the summit, sending it tumbling down to the hall with a kick of his boot.
“Is this how my hospitality is repaid?” he bellowed. “One of my own guests assaults my lady wife. What Nigel has attempted, none of you shall try in future!”
Silence reigned in the hall below, then some soul stirred.
Malcolm stood at the top of the stairs, and Catriona could feel his fury. Even though he had warned her against his fellows, she knew he felt betrayed. “You will all leave immediately,” he began.
“But he is not Nigel,” Ranulf said, interrupting Malcolm.
Catriona went to Malcolm’s side, even as he took a step down the stairs.
“He wears Nigel’s garb and this hood, but it is not Nigel.”
Malcolm caught his breath. “Who last saw Nigel?”
“He sought a latrine some time ago and left the hall,” Amaury replied. “He was sorely drunk.”
“Did you not keep the portal barred, as I instructed?”
“Aye, Malcolm. He returned just before you did and fell asleep in the corner.” Amaury pointed and Catriona could see that there was no man in that corner. “I paid little attention to him after that. Once you were returned, I saw the door bolted and slept as well.”
Malcolm descended the stairs and removed the man’s hood. Ranulf held a lantern over him to illuminate his features. Catriona watched Malcolm frown, then shake his head. The others shrugged, clearly not knowing this man’s identity. “Cast him outside,” Malcolm said. “He may be a warning to any fellows he might have. Admit no one else this night.”
“And none of us will sleep,” Ranulf said grimly. “’Tis a night for a man to sharpen his blade.”
“I do not understand,” Catriona said. “If you do not know who he is, how can you know his plan?”
“He cannot be alone, lady mine.” Malcolm seized her hand. “That he came to the solar means he sought to kill me, so his fellows, whoever they are, will attempt to complete his task.”
Catriona shivered. “And Nigel?” she asked, for no one seemed concerned about him.
The men shook their heads as one. “He will be found dead in the latrine, my lady,” Ranulf said grimly. “There is no other way his clothing could have been stolen. It is an old trick, and one we were fool enough to forget in our comfort this night.” He bowed low. “I give you my most sincere apology.”
Malcolm offered his hand to Catriona. “As I do give you my apology, lady mine. You have been poorly defended on this night.”
She put her hand within his just as the trembling started. Catriona could not be cool and strong, not with such an assault so recently made. She dared to hope that Malcolm might give her solace and felt her tears rise when he caught her close. She laid her cheek upon his chest, feeling how her tears wet his tabard, smelling the smoke from the fire in his garments, the wind on his skin, the beat of his heart beneath her ear. She realized only then that the sanctuary she had been seeking, with no real awareness of what she did, was here, with this man.
Without a word, Malcolm swept her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs to the solar. His fellows cheered, but Catriona did not care what they thought. Malcolm kicked the wooden door shut behind them and shot the bolt, securing them in the solar.
“Well done,” he said s
oftly, and as was his wont, bent to touch his lips to her brow. “I failed you with my absence.”
“You saved me with your tutelage,” she admitted, then looked up at him. “You spoke aright. That is a most effective way to kill a man.”
“I wish it had not been necessary.”
“I am glad you have such skill.”
“I would ask for your aid, Catriona,” Malcolm murmured, even as he settled on the pallet with her curled in his lap. There was no other place Catriona wished to be.
“It is yours, Malcolm.” At her first easy use of his name, Malcolm’s gaze swept over her features. He smiled ever so slightly, a man well pleased, then he bent to claim her lips with his own. Catriona wrapped her arms around his neck, welcoming his embrace as she had not before.
“I shall be in the nursery with Avery,” Vera said, but there was no reply.
Nay, Catriona was lost in her husband’s kiss and had no concern for anything else in all the world. It was time she shared her all with this man, the better to ensure their match survived.
* * *
Malcolm had been shocked by Catriona’s fear and vulnerability. It was unlike her to show her feelings so clearly, much less to be so terrified.
He owed her much for his error.
He could not think of her being alone in mere days, without him to defend her. He would ask for her assistance in defeating the Fae, but first he had to reassure her.
Indeed, he had to reassure himself. He could have lost her on this night. Malcolm was more than ready to lose himself in Catriona’s embrace. It was his intent to be cautious, to console her in her distress, and no more. Though he yearned for more, he knew passion was new to Catriona and trust elusive.
Catriona, though, returned his kiss with new urgency. She twined her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer, opening her mouth to him and demanding that he take yet more. She gave herself to him and would take from him, and that sign of her trust and desire was more than Malcolm could deny. He deepened his kiss and crushed her against his chest, his need echoed in her response. They nigh devoured each other with that kiss, their passion escalating with a speed that left him dizzy.
She was intoxicating, this wife of his, a madness in his veins and one he never wished to lose. He wanted to pleasure her and please her, to spend mornings and nights in her embrace and years in her company. He wanted to raise a dozen sons together and find silver in each other’s hair and feel her softness curled against him each night.
Her hands were beneath his tabard, her fingers on his bare skin, and he let her set the pace. She was impatient and he could only surrender. He was upon his back, his lady wife above him, tormenting him with the sweet fire of her kisses. He could smell her skin and his hands were full of her softness and he knew he was more fortunate than ever he could have believed possible.
“I would savor this pleasure again,” she said, her tone fierce with a longing that echoed his own.
Malcolm let her do as she would with him. She tugged off his tabard and untied his chemise, discarded his boots and kissed him all the while. Her hair eased out of her braid, falling golden around her shoulders and making her look as precious as any prize.
Catriona paused only when her hands were on the lace of his chausses and Malcolm knew she felt the sign of his arousal. Her breath came quickly and she looked troubled again, her hesitation out of character.
Malcolm raised a hand to her cheek, thinking he could guess the reason. “Who is Ian?” he whispered. “Do not mistake me for him, lady mine. I would have you welcome me as myself.”
“I do,” she replied, her tears welling. “Oh, Malcolm, I do. I wish I could forget that night.” Her tears spilled then and he gathered her into his embrace, pulling his cloak over them both. She nestled against him, more vulnerable than he had ever seen her, and he wished he could make all come aright.
In but moments, she straightened and held his gaze steadily. “It is time, my lord, that we banish all secrets between us, for I would have this match be a solid one.”
“I agree.” Malcolm knew this to be so, although he dreaded hearing how Ian had claimed her heart forever.
Catriona took a shaking breath, and he was glad that her trembling ceased. “That first night here at Ravensmuir, I dreamed of the night Avery was wrought.” She tightened her lips and swallowed, shaking her head. “You guessed aright that he was wrought in violence, but I would tell you the fullness of my shame.”
“There can be no shame, if you were abused.”
“There were three of them,” she admitted to Malcolm’s horror. “I did not know them, and I cannot know whose seed took root.”
“This is the vengeance you would take? Upon these men?” He wanted to take the quest himself but Catriona shook her head.
“Nay. They were but the tools of another, and it is upon him I would be avenged.”
“Who?”
She laid a hand upon his chest, and then her cheek beside it. “I must start at the beginning.”
Malcolm nodded and held her close, content to let her tell her tale as she saw fit. His determination to break the Fae spell redoubled, for he would see Catriona’s vengeance served by his own hand.
He dared to believe they could do as much together.
“My mother, as I told you, was a midwife who had a skill with herbs. She taught me much and I cannot remember a time that she did not summon me to be of aid to her. I loved to assist her, and I loved how she shared so much of what she knew. She was kind but practical, a calm woman upon whom others did rely. We had little coin and I cannot remember not being a little hungry each night. I also cannot remember a time that my father was ever good, or when my mother did not warn me against the deception men could practice to achieve their ends. I believe he courted her most graciously, but as soon as they were wed, his manner changed.”
“Or his truth emerged.”
Catriona nodded. “He was always in debt, usually to the brewster, sometimes to the tavern, oft with others for not paying his gambling debts. He was a wastrel and an extravagant one, a man who never earned a penny in his life. He blamed her for not bearing to him a son, so I knew early that I was a disappointment to him. He was seldom at home, and indeed, we preferred it that way, but he had an uncanny sense of when my mother had been paid for her services. He would drink his fill then and return home, bent upon claiming the coin for his own. If she denied him, he would beat her and compel me to watch, until she granted to him the coin.
“I remember when I was fifteen summers of age that matter changed between them. My father came home more often and he was more violent. My mother vowed to me one day that she had endured sufficient. When next he raised a hand against her, she struck him first. It was a terrible fight and frightening to witness, for he had a temper beyond all else. When he finally left that night, happy with the coin she had surrendered, I wished he would never return.
“But he did,” Malcolm guessed.
“He did. In but a week, he brought the man to whom he owed some debt. He paid the debt by selling my mother as a whore and told her that she had best learn to never defy him again. They bound her to the bed and silenced her with a cloth and I ran away to hide, lest they do the same to me. She and I never spoke of it, beyond her telling me I had been wise, and several months later, she rounded with child.
“They argued then, flinging words at each other like arrows, for he dared not strike her while she was with child and she knew it well. He was vexed that the child would make us yet more poor, and she blamed him bitterly for what he had inflicted upon her. And so it was one night when she was coming near her time, she told me that she could bear it no longer. She took the herbs, the ones she had warned me against, and she mixed a potion. When it was brewed, she begged God’s forgiveness and drank the potion down.
“I did not truly understand what she had done, not until her labor began in the night. The child came quickly, violently, as if expelled from her womb like a toxin. That was th
e first time I ever saw this cross, and she clutched it like a talisman. I asked her about it, but she was in too much anguish to share its history. She made me only vow to keep it safe, to hide it from my father, and to take it when she died. I told her she would not die, but we both feared otherwise. She bled as I had never seen a woman bleed before, and no matter what I did, no matter which of her herbs I tried, never did it stop.” Catriona swallowed. “Until she was dead, her skin as white as snow.”
“And the babe?”
“My brother. I named him Ian, after my mother’s father, and I had the raising of him. He was robust and born large, doubtless why he had survived that brew. He came screaming into the world and was the sole joy in my life for years.”
“Your father?”
“He came home when he heard Aileen was dead. I had thought he might be contrite, but he was not. Instead, he turned the house upside down, seeking some item he refused to tell me about, and I knew it was the gem. There was a tree with a hollow in it, a place where I used to hide, and I had stowed the gem there. And glad I was, for he could not find it, and when I professed ignorance of it, he believed me. He left and we were well rid of him. The neighbors were kind and looked out for me, and I continued my mother’s trade as best I could. There was some coin and there was much charity, and we survived well enough. My father had his uncanny instinct though—perhaps he could smell a penny, as a hound smells a rabbit—for whenever there was coin, he returned to claim it.
“And so it was that my secret was found out. I showed the gem to Ian one day, when he was crying out of hunger, and he was fascinated by it as I had guessed he would be. I let him play with it, then hid it anew, never showing him where it was.”
“The next time your father came for coin, Ian told him of it.”
“He did. He was but a child, and my father had struck me once in his demand for coin. Ian was afraid and sought to save me, never understanding the fullness of it. And so, my father demanded the gem of me, but I—recalling my mother’s advice—refused to surrender it or tell of its location. He beat me black and blue that night and left me bleeding on the floor with Ian weeping beside me. But that was naught compared to his vengeance.”
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