The Frost Maiden's Kiss (24 page)

He held up a ring of gold, one set with a cluster of amethysts and garnets on one side.

“Every bride has need of a wedding ring,” he murmured, then took her hand in his again.

Vivienne laughed at his oversight and Eleanor smiled, but Catriona feared he told but half of the truth. He evaded her gaze a little too much for his explanation to be all of the tale. As relieved as he was that he was returned to her side and in good humor, she wished she might know the full truth.

But he took her right hand in his, and then her left hand in his, the strength of his grip making her mouth go dry. He stared into her eyes then spoke the vow she had come to fear she would never exchange with another.

Let alone a laird of a holding such as this, one who had once been a mercenary.

Catriona blinked back tears, wishing her mother could have witnessed this day.

* * *

After their vows were exchanged and congratulations were granted, Malcolm turned to his guests. “It is a poor feast we could lay for you this day to celebrate this match.”

“We must return to Kinfairlie before Alexander grows fearful of our fate,” Eleanor said, as gracious as ever.

“And since the match was quickly arranged, we could celebrate another day,” Vivienne suggested. “Before Erik and I return to Blackleith.”

Malcolm turned to Catriona, giving her the choice. “Let us meet a week hence,” she said. “For the masons leave this day, and we will have time to set all to rights.”

“Did you wish Anthony’s assistance?” Eleanor asked Malcolm.

“Aye, if he knew of a suitable castellan and a cook, I should be most indebted.”

“A wet nurse, my lady,” Vera contributed in a whisper that all heard.

Eleanor raised her hands. “I shall see what I can do, and Vera will remain this week to be of aid to you.”

“I thank you for your generosity,” Catriona said with a curtsey.

Malcolm regarded her with a smile. “And now you shall act as Lady of Ravensmuir for the first time. The masons are to be paid. I shall count the coin and you shall keep the ledger.”

“I cannot read, sir.” Catriona blushed at her confession.

“But you can make a mark. I will show you where and how, and perhaps you will learn something of reading even on this day.”

“If not the keeping of ledgers,” Eleanor said with amusement. “It is Alexander’s greatest woe.” Her expression turned playful. “Do not let him pass this task to you, Catriona.”

Catriona’s eyes danced in a most promising way as she looked between Malcolm and Eleanor. “Nay, I shall not.”

The party left for Kinfairlie with many good wishes, then the hall was arranged as Malcolm desired. He and Catriona sat at a single table, their backs to the fireplaces—and the sole wall that had no door. He built up the fires and left staves beside them both.

“If we are assaulted, lady mine, these make fine weapons.”

Catriona’s eyes widened a little, but she did not falter. “Hair burns,” she said.

“As does clothing.” Malcolm shrugged. “But directly into the face may be the most effective choice when confronting a villain.”

“Aye, my lord.”

He arched a brow and she smiled a little before correcting herself.

“Malcolm.”

He fetched the first trunk of gold coins and counted them into stacks. Catriona assisted him in that and followed his instruction in arranging the coin. He opened the ledger for her and gave her the quill and ink.

The treasury was locked. The key was hidden under his chemise. Rafael was at the portal, his hand on his blade. Vera was in the corner, watchful as she held the babe.

Malcolm gave a nod and the first of the masons entered alone, come to receive his due.

* * *

The Fae were gathering.

Elizabeth stood at the window of Alexander’s chamber at Kinfairlie, watching the movement across the land and through the air. From every direction, the Fae were moving toward Ravensmuir, converging on that place with increasing haste.

It was thus each year. Each Midsummer’s Eve, the Fae celebrated at Ravensmuir, and each Midsummer’s Eve, Elizabeth’s yearning to share in their festivities grew stronger. It was Finvarra’s invitation at root, and she knew it—she had been beguiled by the king of the Fae.

One day, beauteous Elizabeth, you will come to me.
I already grow impatient
.

Elizabeth bit her lip, watching the winged Fae fly to the north as she remembered Finvarra’s words. He was content to leave her to choose the moment herself. Elizabeth fought the urge, even as it grew more potent, knowing that she would never leave the Fae realm again once she entered it.

The flying Fae laughed and cavorted through the night air, jubilant in anticipation of their largest gathering of the year. Would it be worth the sacrifice to join them? She would lose contact with her family and those she loved, yet would taste immortality. Elizabeth sighed, feeling even more alone than she had the year before. Of all her kin, she was the only one who could see the Fae. Since Finvarra’s murmured words, she was also the only one who could see death in those around her.

It was, to say the least, disconcerting, to meet an eligible suitor and to know that he would be gone from the world within the year. The sorry truth was that most men of an age to wed were also of an age to ride to war—and most would not return home. The sight of rotten flesh hanging from the bones of those who were soon to die had a tendency to influence her behavior at court gatherings and festivities. The smell of festering corpses rising from the man who shared her trencher affected her appetite at the board. Over recent years, Elizabeth had gained a reputation as both a strange maiden and one easily displeased.

There were fewer suitors for her hand in these days, and though she longed for companionship and babes of her own, she could not think of inviting the attention of a mortal man, so tinged with pending death. She could tell none of her siblings of this, for they could not see what she did. When once she had tried to confide in Eleanor, that woman told her that she was too fretful of her future.

It was more than that, far more. In some moments, like on Midsummer’s Eve, the illusion grew stronger and all mortals looked to her as if they were dead already. It was horrific to be amongst even her own family, then, so Elizabeth had become more solitary. She knew she had lost weight and color, as well as the vigor for life that had long been her own. It seemed that only the Fae were truly alive and that their vitality was the only thing of merit in the world.

Perhaps she was dead so long as she did not answer Finvarra’s summons.

She watched and yearned to join the dance that would commence in just three days.

Behind her, her family gathered, sparing her little attention as Eleanor and Vivienne confided the news from Ravensmuir to their spouses. She might have been lost to them already, for all the desire she felt to join their conversation. Indeed, Elizabeth felt sometimes that she lived within a fog, one that chilled her to her very marrow.

“Malcolm wed Vivienne’s serving woman and claimed her bastard as his heir?” Alexander repeated Eleanor’s words, clearly incredulous. “I expected to hear of the birth of the serving woman’s child and its gender, I prayed for the good health of both mother and child, but I never imagined he would hear of
nuptials
.”

Eleanor nodded agreement, though. “I stood witness to the handfast, Alexander.”

“A wedding ceremony without a priest! What is in Malcolm’s mind?” Alexander shoved a hand through his hair and paced the width of his chamber, unable to contain his agitation. “I cannot believe he would so defy convention and expectation.”

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, tidings of Malcolm sparking her interest. She would never have anticipated he might do a deed so unpredictable.

Was there truly more to the Lairds of Ravensmuir than other men? There had long been rumors, and although she and Malcolm had never been as close as he and Vivienne, she wondered if he of all her siblings might know how to help her.

“I cannot imagine why not,” Erik replied, his manner dour. Vivienne’s husband leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. “All he has done is defy it since he inherited Ravensmuir.”

“Why?” Alexander demanded.

“Perhaps it is chivalry,” Eleanor suggested. “She asked me to take the child, for she knew she could give the boy no future.”

“Malcolm saw her heart’s desire,” Vivienne contributed.

“But a serving woman! The Lady of Ravensmuir should be a nobleman’s daughter, a woman of high birth, well prepared for her role.”

“And which noblemen would wed one of their daughters to the Laird of Ravensmuir?” Eleanor asked quietly. “Knowing as they do that he has spent these past years fighting as a mercenary?”

Alexander had to acknowledge the truth in that. “No man would let a woman beneath his care wed a mercenary. No man of merit at any rate.”

Elizabeth eyed her siblings, taking note of the bonds between them. She alone could see evidence of a love match, undoubtedly another facet of her ability to see the Fae. Those bonds appeared as ribbons to her. Eleanor and Alexander’s ribbons were tightly knotted together, while Vivienne’s and Erik’s were similarly entwined. She turned back to the window, but the distance was too great for her to discern whether Malcolm and the serving woman he took to wife had such ribbons.

Indeed, so many tangled ribbons emanated from the tower of Kinfairlie—for Elizabeth had oft aided tongue-tied lovers to make a start—that she felt caged by her life.

She might have hoped that her true love was a Fae prince, but Finvarra had broken her own ribbon, before her very eyes. She shivered at the recollection.

Vivienne cleared her throat. “I thought the Douglas clan had once hoped that Tynan would wed one of their daughters.”

“Indeed, but they have become quiet since their losses at Verneuil.”

“The earl, his son and his daughter’s spouse,” Erik agreed. “It is much for a family to lose in one battle.”

“Their influence and power are much diminished,” Alexander agreed. “Even more so, now that the king is returned to Scotland.”

“That may change once they hear of the new Ravensmuir,” Eleanor said. “No less how quickly it is being built. Malcolm shows his affluence in this, and there will be those who find his fortune appealing.”

“Is he prepared for attack?” Alexander asked. His wife shrugged and he paced with greater vigor. “He should have wed well, to make an alliance,” he muttered. “Why
not
a Douglas bride, if it were to bring security?”

“I think it is a wondrous tale!” Vivienne contributed. “Catriona has found a man to cherish her as she is, and Malcolm could not have found a more practical wife. The match will be blessed to be sure.”

Elizabeth turned to look as both men frowned at Vivienne, then exchanged a glance with each other.

“At least he has an heir this way, and the succession is assured,” Erik said, apparently trying to find the good in the situation.

“Another man’s bastard as his heir? It is unacceptable!” Alexander shook his head. “And a handfast instead of nuptials blessed by a priest. Why would he do such a deed?”

“I think it was merely expedient,” Eleanor contributed.

“Perhaps he means to put her aside after the year and a day,” Erik suggested.

“He would not!” Vivienne declared.

Elizabeth saw Alexander’s doubt. He met Eleanor’s gaze, as if believing that she knew more than she had admitted so far.

“A serving woman,” he muttered. “Do we know more than that of this Catriona?”

“She is loyal and practical, a woman who labors hard without complaint,” Vivienne said, her feelings as clear as ever. “She has only been with us these six months and already I wonder how I will manage without her.” She looked at Erik.

“She is competent,” he acknowledged. “If inclined to be outspoken.”

Elizabeth smiled. She thought she might like this Catriona.

“There is naught amiss with a passion for justice,” Vivienne noted. “She defended you from Malcolm’s assumption.”

Erik inclined his head in agreement. “I note only that if your brother thought he had found a biddable wife, he is likely mistaken.”

“No man has need of a biddable wife, regardless of his thoughts upon the matter,” Vivienne teased, and again the two men exchanged a look, this time one of camaraderie. “I believe she is from the north, for her accent is strong.”

“It is a hard country,” Eleanor said. “That might account for her pragmatism.”

Vivienne nodded. “Her mother was a midwife, Catriona said, and she knows much of women’s matters. She knew her son was tangled in the cord, which I feared to tell her, and also that I could not free it. I did not want to frighten her but she was most sensible. She was the one to ask Malcolm to assist.”

Alexander spun to face his sister with evident horror. “
Malcolm
assisted in the delivery of the child?”

“He saved it,” Vivienne replied.

“And at her request.” Eleanor confirmed. Vivienne nodded even as Alexander exchanged a look of wonder with his wife.

Elizabeth resolved in that moment that she had to go to Ravensmuir. She feared she made an excuse to go there now, when the Fae were gathering, and hoped she was not tempted to join their dance. But she wanted to see Malcolm and discover the reason for his unpredictable choices. Could he see more than met the eye, now, too?

What of his new wife? There were seers in the north, Elizabeth knew, and she wished to have someone in whom she could confide about the Fae, someone else who could see them.

“There is more to the tale, to be sure, Alexander, and more to this Catriona than we have guessed,” Eleanor said. “She declined Malcolm when first he asked for her hand, then accepted him on the condition that he teach her how to kill a man.”

Erik and Alexander straightened. “Nay?” they said as one, clearly fearing that it was so.

“Aye,” Eleanor cleared her throat as if to make a quote. “Quickly and without chance of his survival.” The men exchanged a more worried glance. “Vera heard it all and confided it to me. She has a growing fondness for the new bride, for whatever that is worth.” Eleanor held Alexander’s gaze. “That Malcolm agreed to her condition hints to me that he knows more of the lady he took to wife than we do.”