The Frost Maiden's Kiss

by Claire Delacroix

  “Are you the one my brother replaces on Midsummer’s Eve?” she asked.

  Rafael welcomed that she had any curiosity about him, though he did not wish to confirm her guess. He felt ashamed of his own weakness and could not meet her gaze. “I am, for he is a better man than I.”

  “Indeed,” she said softly, though her condemnation was less than he had expected. Rafael dared to glance up and the lady smiled ever so slightly. “I understand that when a man is given a chance, he is a fool not to seize it.”

  Suddenly, the land Rafael had come to despise showed such uncommon appeal that he doubted he would leave Scotland any time soon.

  No matter how much it snowed, it was worth enduring any physical discomfort to remain in the presence of an angel such as Elizabeth.

  Indeed, she might take pity upon his condemned soul.

  * * *

  It was worse luck than Malcolm could have believed possible.

  That the earl had realized the keep of Ravensmuir was completed in time to arrive before his doom with the Fae was a complication Malcolm could have lived without. He would have liked to have spent the time with Catriona, using her knowledge of the Fae to create a plan, instead of ensuring the entertainment of his noble guest.

  Never mind evading the exchange of vows with the earl’s niece.

  In truth, Malcolm had never thought to lay eyes upon Jeanne, for when he had agreed to wed her, he had assumed he would be dead before it came due.

  Could naught in his life go aright?

  He left the newly arrived party in the hall with Elizabeth and Rafael. Jeanne was openly assessing all she believed would soon be her own and planning her changes as Malcolm climbed to the solar.

  Catriona awaited him there, fire in her eyes and hands on her hips. Vera waited behind her, rocking Avery but watching avidly.

  “My sister comes to visit,” he began, only to be interrupted.

  “Along with the Earl of Douglas and another maiden,” Catriona said, her voice chilly. “And this other lady, I must assume to be your betrothed?”

  Malcolm blinked. He felt the back of his neck heat. “It is Jeanne Douglas,” he admitted quietly. “And I did agree to wed her once Ravensmuir was completed.”

  “Did you mean to tell me?” Catriona demanded.

  “Who did tell you?”

  “I thought Rafael merely tried to annoy me when he said you were betrothed.” Her eyes flashed. “But it turned out that it was not Rafael who would deceive me.”

  “It would not have been out of character for him to do as much,” Malcolm acknowledged.

  “When did you mean to tell me?” she demanded, her words low and hot.

  He looked up then, his expression turning wary. “I did not. It is not relevant.”

  “Not relevant!” Catriona echoed in dismay. “How could it not be relevant that you already had a betrothed when you wed me? How could you expect that I would not think this a detail worthy of knowing?”

  “I do not think it worthy of knowing.”

  “Yet you are the man who challenged the Laird of Blackleith for treating women with disdain!” Catriona said, her fury with him clear. Malcolm admired the sight of it. She was no longer afraid of him and spoke her mind eloquently. Even better, she was vexed at the possibility of their union being broken. “You pledge yourself to me, but not before a priest, then would put me aside for another woman whose birthright grants her better connections.”

  Malcolm watched her keenly, knowing she would not be so angry if her feelings were not much as his own. “This vexes you,” he said softly and was encouraged by the passion of her reaction. He found himself smiling, though that did little to improve his wife’s mood, and teased her a little. “Could it be that you think me a man of merit after all, my Catriona?”

  “I am not your Catriona, not if you have any intent of keeping that pledge!”

  Malcolm went to her and framed her face in his hands, smiling down at her. “You are my Catriona,” he murmured, bending to brush his lips across her brow. “And I hope that you always will be.”

  She braced her hands on his shoulders and held him at arm’s length, fixing him with a glare. “I hope you will not be over-tired this night, my lord. I would continue my studies before we slumber.”

  “Studies?” Malcolm lifted a brow.

  “Aye. I would learn more of the art of killing a man.”

  Malcolm could not keep himself from smiling.

  Catriona cared for him.

  Those were the best possible tidings, in Malcolm’s opinion, and more than enough reason for him to try to outwit the Fae. He was not sure it could be done, but he had new desire to try. He would not leave Catriona mourning him as she mourned Ian, so would not confess his own feelings until he was sure of his survival.

  But Catriona cared.

  Malcolm had never expected such a gift.

  It was almost worth dealing with the earl to learn as much. “I will not spurn you, Catriona. I would introduce you as my wife to our guests.” Malcolm winced. “The matter remains that a betrothal can legally be argued to as binding as a nuptial vow, and my agreement with the earl was made before our wedding.”

  Catriona nibbled her lip, evidently reassured. “Could such an agreement not be broken legally if there was dissent between the two parties?” She looked up at him. “If, for example, the earl had sent a man to invade your keep and kill me so the nuptials with his niece could proceed?”

  Malcolm stared at her.

  “He recognized the corpse,” she confided. “I saw him look upon the man. And then he dispatched two of his men, back in the direction he had come.”

  “He said he had forgotten a gift.”

  Vera snorted, reminding them of her presence.

  Catriona brought him the detail he needed to resolve one matter. Malcolm took Catriona’s hand within his own, uncommonly proud that she was his wife. “I cannot accuse him on that alone, but let us see what results when I refuse to keep that pledge.”

  She smiled at him, a light kindling in her eyes. “You would not put me aside, despite my low birth?”

  “Never,” Malcolm vowed. “If we can outwit the Fae, I will be yours evermore.”

  Catriona averted her gaze at that and he recalled that she did not believe the Fae to be real. He had to convince her, but first he had to evade the earl’s plans for his future.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jeanne Douglas was beautiful.

  She was nobly born, gently reared, blessed with powerful family, endowed with a rich dowry and a virgin yet.

  She was everything Catriona was not.

  She was everything Catriona would never be.

  Worse, she had come to take Catriona’s place by Malcolm’s side. So confident was Jeanne of her position that her gaze swept over Catriona with disdain, as if she were no more consequential than a fly. Was Rafael right that the lack of a priest could make her wedding vows easy to dismiss? Her match with Malcolm was not consummated, and Catriona knew that put her in a position of weakness.

  Even if Malcolm led her to the hall with pride.

  Indeed, she could not help but feel fully aware of her inadequacies, measured against a woman who had known so much advantage. She took strength from Malcolm, though, and feigned a confidence she did not feel. Malcolm’s comrades stood in the hall, their expressions indicating that they, too, supported her.

  Save, of course, Rafael, who watched from beside Elizabeth.

  Malcolm bowed before the earl. “I am delighted to introduce my wife, Catriona, to you, sir.”

  “Welcome, sir, to Ravensmuir,” Catriona said, curtseying in her turn.

  The earl stared at her in dismay. He might have recovered himself and hidden his reaction, but his niece was no diplomat.

  “She was supposed to be dead!” Jeanne cried, crossing the hall with vigor. She poked the earl in the shoulder. “You promised me that she would be removed!”

  The earl glanced between his niece and Malcolm,
who waited in silence. Catriona knew this trick, as well, that silence would oft be filled by the other, so she also held her tongue.

  “Jeanne, I do not understand your meaning,” the earl said, his tone hinting that he lied. He glared at his niece and she clamped her lips tightly together, her expression turning mutinous.

  “I fear I do,” Malcolm said smoothly. “For an intruder tried to kill my wife last night.”

  The earl blanched. “How trying for you. I thought Ravensmuir better defended than this.” He forced a laugh. “Should I fear for my niece’s future within these walls?”

  “I think not, for I suspect you know the man in question.” Malcolm’s voice dropped low. “Perhaps you dispatched him on that errand.”

  “Nonsense!” The earl was dismissive in his reply and Catriona saw his confidence restoring.

  “My wife saw you look upon him and believes you recognized him.”

  The earl glared at Catriona. “Nonsense, and nonsense to serve her own ends, to be sure.”

  Catriona might have bristled, but Malcolm only shook his head with apparent regret. “Then he is as anonymous as I feared.” He raised his voice. “There will be no decent burial for that villain, then. Cast his corpse into the sea, and let his soul be damned forever.”

  Jeanne gasped. “You would not do that to Stephen!” she cried and the earl closed his eyes, as if in pain. She turned on her uncle. “You would not let that happen to him, not after all he has done in service to you!”

  “Jeanne, hold your tongue. You do not help the matter,” the earl said though gritted teeth.

  “Nor do you, uncle!” Jeanne advanced on Malcolm. “Will you put her aside to keep your pledge?”

  “That I might wed into a family who embraces murder to see their ends achieved?” Malcolm shook his head. “I think not.”

  Catriona’s heart leapt at his firm refusal. She watched in amazement at the change in Jeanne’s manner. Her eyes narrowed and her lips turned downward, her lovely features contorting in her anger. Catriona braced herself, thinking the maiden would assault her or Malcolm, but instead she turned upon her uncle.

  “You promised me!” Jeanne swatted her uncle’s arm. “You said I would be Lady of Ravensmuir. You said this keep would be mine to manage. You said I would be wedded this very day! I rose from bed when it was still dark to do your will. I rode all this way, but it was for naught!” She punctuated this last with a stamp of her foot and a covetous glare around the hall. “I want it,” she insisted, as if sheer will could make it so, and folded her arms across her chest.

  “Yet it shall not be yours,” Malcolm said softly.

  Jeanne exhaled, then spun to confront his sister. “Give it to me.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “I do not understand…”

  “Give me the herb that will let me see the Fae. I will drink sweet mead from a golden cup and live in finery and wealth. If my family cannot see that it will be so, then I have no qualms in abandoning them for a better life.”

  Catriona felt her eyes widen. Here was another who believed the Fae to be real!

  She watched as Elizabeth pulled a fresh herb from her purse. She asked for a cup of mulled wine and Catriona fetched one for her, heating it over the fire though she doubted the results. The herb was wild thyme, Catriona could smell its distinctive pungent scent when it was plunged into the wine.

  She vaguely recalled hearing that it gave this gift, though she had never put much credence in it.

  Until Jeanne drained the potion. The maiden swallowed it down, she looked around, and her eyes widened with horror. “They are everywhere!” she cried with disgust. “It is as if the hall is full of vermin!” She glanced down at her feet, dancing backward as if pursued by some invisible creature. She squealed and snatched at the hem of her skirts. “It bit me!”

  Elizabeth seemed to swallow a smile, her gaze following the same path that Jeanne’s did. Malcolm, Catriona saw, was also watching the floor of the hall, as if he followed the progress of a small creature. Jeanne screamed and retreated, then fled to the bailey and her steed.

  Her uncle followed, but Catriona did not care for his choices, not now.

  If the Fae were real, if this potion gave a mortal the power to see them, then Catriona knew what had to be done.

  She curtseyed before Malcolm’s sister. “I welcome you to Ravensmuir, as well, Elizabeth, but must ask of you a favor. Would you make such a potion for me, as well?”

  Elizabeth smiled, her eyes lighting. “Of course. ’Tis why I brought it.”

  * * *

  The raven came first.

  It landed on the window sill of the great hall in the late afternoon, with a cry that made all within that chamber jump.

  The men were gathered in the hall, planning for the earl’s reaction to the morning’s events. Malcolm did not doubt that he would respond in some way: his desire for alliance with Ravensmuir or even Malcolm’s subjugation was clear. Also, Catriona had seen those men in the earl’s party dispatched on some errand.

  Malcolm hoped it did not mean war, and that he would not be leaving his holding in disarray. With every passing day, his yearning to survive grew stronger, thanks to Catriona. Yet again, she might hold the key. Catriona conferred with Elizabeth about the Fae, comparing the tales she had learned with what Elizabeth had witnessed. Malcolm had been savoring a wondrous sense that all things came together to make his keep a home, when the bird cried out.

  The raven had to be a portent of good. He was on his feet immediately, approaching the bird with care and trying to identify it.

  “God in Heaven!” Vera cried as the creature bobbed its head.

  It seemed to survey the room with its beady eyes. It had a streak of silver on its brow that Malcolm recognized.

  “Welcome, Melusine,” Malcolm said, then made a distinctive whistle. The bird cried out, as if in reply, then took flight anew.

  “Trust a Hellhound to have a pet raven,” Tristan jested and the others laughed.

  “More than one,” Elizabeth contributed. “Once there were dozens of them living here.” The men were discomfited by these tidings, but Malcolm hastened to the window and peered at the sky.

  “Gone,” he murmured, knowing his disappointment would be clear to all. He followed the bird’s course, then stilled as he noticed movement on the far fields of Ravensmuir.

  Melusine had come to warn him.

  “Are the gates secured?” he asked, his words bringing the others to their feet.

  “Aye, and Louis stands sentinel,” Amaury supplied. “Why?”

  “Who arrives?” Ranulf asked, going to Malcolm’s side.

  In that same moment, Louis appeared at the portal. “A large party approaches,” he said. “A party riding to war. I have locked the portcullis, but we should be prepared.”

  “Is it the earl?” Reynaud asked.

  Malcolm said naught but climbed the stairs, Catriona fast on his heels, to look out the tower window. The rain had stopped earlier in the morning, and this party kicked up a plume of dust in their haste to arrive. The horses were so numerous that he could not count them. Sunlight glinted on armor and banners waved over the party, indicating that their visit might not be a friendly one.

  “Douglas returns,” Malcolm murmured, noting the insignia. His gaze danced over the company spreading across his fields, pitching tents, creating a barricade that would seal Ravensmuir on the land side. “He will have the reception he deserves.”

  “I would not have our nuptials cost so much as this,” Catriona said beside him.

  Malcolm seized her hand. “I agreed to the betrothal he suggested, for I had little choice, and I believed I would never have to make the match. Later, though, I feared he would simply march upon Ravensmuir when I was gone and seize it for his own.”

  She looked up at him. “Who would defend it, then?”

  “I feared that my brother would try to defend it and our family would lose much more than one sorry soul.” Malcolm smiled at the woma
n he was coming to love. “I confess I thought your arrival and situation timely, but the notion would not have come to me if I had not thought yours a fine hand to have in mine.” He brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Never doubt it, Catriona.”

  She smiled at him, a gift richer than any prize in his treasury.

  He gestured to the women’s kirtles. “You cannot dress thus, for it will make you targets. Let us ensure that they cannot readily identify the women.”

  Let them be unable to find Catriona and kill her now.

  Malcolm strode to his gear and offered Catriona a pair of his chausses, as well as a leather jerkin. He laced it himself as she braided her hair. “Amaury’s feet are smaller than mine. Perhaps he has a second pair of boots.” Malcolm knotted the lace then tucked Catriona’s braid into her chemise. He found another chemise for his sister, who dressed quickly. “And we shall see Vera outfitted as well.”

  “We can fight,” Elizabeth said.

  “I pray you will not have to.”

  “Should we send word to Kinfairlie?” Catriona asked.

  “It is too late,” Malcolm said. “They mean to seal us from assistance. See the way the troops are arrayed? Any messenger would be lost before he made the road.” He braced his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “This battle is ours alone.”

  “I pray that we shall triumph.”

  Malcolm smiled. “Come, lady mine, we go to parlay with the army at our gates.”

  “Me, as well?”

  “There is a form to such encounters, Catriona. I would have you learn it.”

  He left the rest unsaid but had no doubt his astute wife heard his underlying concern.

  She might have to defend this holding without him. Until his dying breath, Malcolm would teach her what he knew.

  “Elizabeth, I would have you remain with Vera and Avery, locked into the chamber before the solar.” His sister nodded with a meekness unexpected, but Malcolm would take advantage where he found it.

  He led the way to the gatehouse newly constructed to close the gap in the thorned hedge, his lady wife beside him. The portcullis was dropped and Ranulf stood at the base of the stairs, arms folded across his chest. Rafael was in the staircase in the tower. Georgio with his horned helm stood on the top of the wall surveying the army. The rest of Malcolm’s comrades flowed behind him, two carrying a trunk at his command. He pointed and they moved to fill it with a particular gift, then hurried to the gatehouse.