The Frost Maiden's Kiss (35 page)

“’Tis Ravensmuir,” he whispered. “Rebuilt by the laird when he returned but six months ago. They say it might have been built by the Fae, so quickly was it cast up from naught.”

One man eyed the keep, the other watching Hamish so closely that he might have feared trickery.

Hamish continued. “But there were masons, hundreds of them, paid and dispatched but yesterday.”

“So the keep is completed?” asked the first.

“As complete as it is like to be,” Hamish said. He watched the men exchange a nod. They looked as if they might leave then, but Hamish wanted that coin. “He has taken a wife to his bed, as well.”

“A wife?” Both men turned searching gazes upon Hamish.

“Who is she?” demanded the second. “A noblewoman?”

“A whore,” Hamish said with satisfaction. “A whore of no lineage whatsoever.”

“He weds a whore,” the first man said with evident disgust, then spat at the ground. “That tells the merit of a mercenary’s word.”

“She is pretty,” Hamish acknowledged. “For a coin, I could ensure she welcomed you…”

“We have no need of your aid in such negotiations,” said the first man with disdain.

“If indeed there should be any,” added the second, and Hamish knew they planned no good for Catriona. That suited him well enough, but he had not come all this way to leave without his due.

“She owes to me a debt,” Hamish began but the men silenced him with stern looks.

“And so you choose,” said the first, his voice dark and dangerous. “A coin now for your aid, or a promise that we shall recall the whore’s debt to you, if it can be done.”

Hamish knew better than to tell them of the jewel and also recognized that such a promise could be easily forgotten. He put out his hand. “The coin.”

A half a silver penny was dropped into his palm, but when Hamish would have protested, he found the point of a knife at his throat.

“The other half will be yours on Midsummer’s Day, should you keep your silence about us so long as that.”

It was a poor bargain but the only one he was likely to have. Hamish watched the other half of the silver coin disappear into the second man’s purse and could not hide his displeasure.

The first man laughed and lifted the hem of his cloak. “I will need this no longer this night,” he said. “Tell me of the keep’s defenses and it shall be yours.”

Oh, it would be a sweet victory if these men led an assault on the keep Catriona chose to make her home. Hamish hoped it would be burned to naught, and she would pay a price at their hands.

“Formidable,” he said. “The masons said the laird was a mercenary, and it seems he learned from that trade. They say it can be defended with half a dozen men.”

“Indeed,” the second man murmured.

“Portals barred each night, codes for entry.” Hamish warmed to his tale. “And a company of mercenaries arrived on this day, at least two dozen of them.”

“The wife shall be removed,” said the first softly, then cast his cloak at Hamish.

While he marveled at his good fortune, the pair nodded grimly at each other. The one crept toward the keep of Ravensmuir, and the other moved silently toward the distant forest of Kinfairlie.

Hamish wrapped himself in the cloak and watched until he could discern neither man any longer. Clouds gathered with new vigor and he had no desire to be rained upon.

The squires laughed within the stables, clearly having savored some ale themselves. He would not be able to pass unobserved if they were awake. He eased down the length of the building, noting where it fell silent. The horses were all in stalls closest to the hall, but the building was so extensive that it continued a fair distance.

At the farthest end of that darkened building, there was another door. Hamish managed to open it silently and slip inside, just before the first rain drops began to fall. It was dark and quiet within, the boys a good distance away. He crept into the last stall, noting that the wall had a curious barricade across it. Hamish cared little for such details, but curled up in the hay in his new prize of a cloak. He cursed his ungrateful daughter once again for denying him his rightful due, for he would blame her if the jewel evaded him even now, then fell asleep.

* * *

Catriona hoped Malcolm would come to the solar. She wanted to ask him why he had looked so startled by her tale. It had been just a tale, but it seemed that he believed the Fae to be real. She knew he meant to linger in the hall until the men fell asleep, but she waited abed, her heart filled with hope.

Avery slept.

Vera slept.

The hall below quieted as the men slept.

But Malcolm did not rap at the portal as she hoped he would. The moments passed and Catriona wondered that he believed he needed to remain in the hall. She rose from the bed to stir the coals in the brazier, then paced the cold floor. She glanced out to the sea, then froze in place when she saw the man striding toward the ruins of old Ravensmuir. She caught her breath, for his stride and his silhouette were both familiar.

Malcolm.

He went into the tumbled stone wreckage again.

Why did he risk his welfare so? Did he not have sufficient wealth to satisfy him? What did he hope to find there? Catriona lingered at the window, her mind filled with questions, but Malcolm did not reappear.

* * *

Something had changed.

Usually, Malcolm found reprieve from the memories awakened by the Fae when he sat within the ruins of Ravensmuir. He oft felt as if Tynan was there, perhaps because his uncle had died there, and had wondered if it was his uncle’s protective influence that gave him relief. Malcolm missed Tynan, his steady presence and his advice, his patience and his wisdom, and would have been glad to have spoken with his uncle again.

On this night, though, Malcolm found himself assaulted by Tynan’s memories, or perhaps his own memories of his uncle’s last days.

Malcolm remembered when Tynan and Rosamunde had decided to sell the relics that had been stored in these caverns, choosing to begin anew. He remembered Rosamunde’s audacity and Tynan’s watchful manner, the desire between them so ardent that a person would have to be dead to miss it.

He recalled Rosamunde’s rage when Tynan admitted he had no intent to wed her, for he felt compelled to take a Douglas bride to keep peace in the land.

He remembered Tynan’s devastation when Rosamunde left him, declaring it to be forever. That had been the only time Malcolm had seen his uncle abandon his temperance. He had found him, drunk in the hall, in the middle of the night. Though Tynan had looked the same and sounded the same, there had been something broken within him from that day forward.

Malcolm closed his eyes and heard his uncle’s voice again. “There is naught so precious as the love of your one desire, Malcolm,” he had said, his words slurring. He had held the silver ring then, turning it in the light from the lantern, and the names of the three kings etched upon it seemed to glow with inner fire. “Yet I was fool enough to cast away the finest prize. I thought I could not lose her, but I was wrong.” He had looked up then. “Do not repeat my error, Malcolm. Do not take for granted that love needs no nourishment once found.”

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.”