The Frost Maiden's Kiss (36 page)

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 softly, 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 the 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.”

Malcolm’s fury grew with every morsel of this tale and he strove to hide his reaction from his lady wife. It was no wonder that she feared the violence in men, and he was glad she had had the strength and the wits to survive. “I guessed before that you conceived when Inverness was sacked.”

“And my father made a silver penny by selling a virgin to three mercenaries.”

“Catriona!”

“Ian tried to intervene, my brave little brother, but he was too small to be any match for them. They were drunk and raucous. They bound him to the bed to compel him to watch. They said it would make a man of him.” She spoke quickly, and it was more horrific to hear the tale recounted with dispassionate speed. “Then they claimed what they had bought, one after the other, two holding me down while one took his pleasure. I do not even know how many times they spilled their seed. I do remember that Ian cried out and one took exception to the noise.” Catriona’s throat worked. “He slit my brother’s throat, for he disliked the sound and there was naught I could do to save him.”

“And I showed you to kill a man thus. I am sorry, Catriona.” Malcolm found himself shaking with rage as he held his wife close. “I would avenge you and gladly.”

“I know. I feared all men were of my father’s ilk, but you have taught me that ’tis not so.” Catriona looked up at him, a trust in her gaze that humbled him. She sighed, then finished her tale. “I saw Ian buried as was right and good, and then I left home forever. I took only the garments upon my back and the token my mother had given to me. I wanted only to be as far from my father as could be, for I had no doubt he would return again.”

“And glad I am that you came to Blackleith,” Malcolm said, bending to brush her lips across his.

“As am I.” Catriona leaned closer, inviting his caress.

“We could have named him Ian,” Malcolm said gently. “Indeed, his name could yet be changed.” He respected anew all that Catriona had endured and her strength in surviving it. He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his fingertips, then tipped her chin that she looked into his eyes.

“Not yet,” she said. “It is too raw. I could not say his name a hundred times a day, not yet.” She smiled at him, resilient and beautiful. “Perhaps our next son might be named Ian.”

Malcolm bent to kiss her sweetly. It was time to ensure the future they both desired. “Now, lady mine, I will tell you why I believe I will die and soon.”

Catriona’s eyes shone with pleasure. “I like that you never forget a wager, Malcolm.”

“My father said a kept vow was the mark of a man of honor.”

“I think I would have liked your father well.”

Malcolm kissed her fingertips. “I know he would have been most pleased to see me wedded to you, lady mine,” he said and knew that it was true.

Monday, June 21, 1428

Feast Day of Saint Maine and Saint Eusebius, Bishop of Caesaria.