The Frost Maiden's Kiss (45 page)

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Malcolm had a scheme and Catriona knew it well. Who had he invited, and why? When had he invited guests? She had no inkling of it and had to admit that he was better at planning a surprise than she. She did trust him, though, and with all her heart, so she hastened to the hall and spoke to Roger. Between the two of them, they had the servants soon bustling with preparations for a feast that evening.

Since the hall was so well maintained, being swept daily and the floor laid with new rushes twice weekly, it was in such good order that there was little to do before the guests arrived to make them welcome. Roger had more tables set up in the hall, for their numbers were as yet unknown. Catriona requested that the fire be stoked, in case the arrivals were chilled from the sea wind, and had a blaze lit on the second hearth. At Roger’s suggestion, another cask of the wine that had come from Kinfairlie as a wedding gift brought up to the pantry. Catriona opened her spice stores so that a measure of the wine could be mulled in preparation for their guests. It was a long cold climb from the sea to the hall.

Then she straightened her kirtle and adjusted her circlet and veil, taking a stance at the portal just as Malcolm strode back toward the hall. The household gathered behind her and more than a few from Ravensmuir village appeared in the bailey, clearly drawn by curiosity. Ranulf, as always, took the fore of that party.

An older man accompanied Malcolm, his hair as white as snow, a single golden ring on his finger catching the sunlight. He was tall, this man, and walked with the surety of one who had fought in his youth. When he drew near, she saw that his eyes were blue, his gaze as quick and perceptive as Malcolm’s own.

A comrade then, or old friend, and one who had seen success for his garb was most fine. She heard Ranulf’s slight exclamation and guessed that he had known this man as well.

“Lady mine, this is Ulrik of Gandevaan. Ulrik, my lady wife, Catriona.”

Catriona curtseyed before Ulrik, even as he bowed deeply. “I welcome you, sir, to our hall. There is wine mulled for you, for I expect the wind on the sea was chill.”

“Indeed it was,” the man agreed heartily. “I thank you for this kindness.” He offered his hand to her and Catriona glanced up for Malcolm’s nod before she placed her hand upon his. Ulrik led her into the hall, his step sure and his approval clear. “Most fine,” he said, pausing to turn back to Malcolm. “You have ensured the future most well, Malcolm. And you have a son?”

“Aye. Avery.”

“I should like to see the boy, when it best suits his mother.”

Perhaps they were distant kin, for it was uncommon for a man to show such interest in an infant. Catriona, though, was aware of Malcolm’s pleasure and trusted that he knew best. She invited Ulrik to take the best seat, the one closest to the fire, and ensured that both men had mulled wine. She then summoned Greta and had her fetch Avery from the solar. He was sleepy but as even-tempered as ever when she carried him to their guest.

Ulrik showed a remarkable interest in the boy, putting aside his wine to admire Avery’s vigor and his size, tickling his cheek and letting Avery seize his finger. He chuckled when Avery kicked, as indulgent as a grandparent with the son his friend had adopted. Catriona could only conclude that he had a kindly nature, particularly when he insisted that she sit with them and keep Avery, as well.

“There is a tale I would tell, Lady Catriona, and your son should know it as well as you.”

“He is very young, sir.”

“But a child hears and understands before we even know as much, and this is a tale I would never see forgotten.”

Catriona glanced at Malcolm but he only smiled at her, so at ease that she knew he had planned this very thing, Perhaps he had invited Ulrik in order that he might share this tale, though Catriona could not imagine why that should be so.

“Once there was a man,” Ulrik began. “Born as big and strong as your Avery there. His mother, though, died in the birthing of him and his father was so mournful that he could never look at a woman again. The household became one of men, of warriors and fighting men. Worse, with the lord dissatisfied, his focus changed from that of ensuring the security and safety of a family to acquiring wealth. It was in the amassing of coin alone that the father found pleasure, and he gathered it, no matter what the cost, so diligently that he became richer than Croesus himself. And so it was that the boy grew up learning only the art of war and battle, of annexation and appropriation, as his father preferred to call it, and he too found pleasure in material goods alone.”

Ulrik sipped of his wine. “Until one day, his entire life changed. He had been dispatched by his father to lead an army, to attack and claim a town. This town was known as a halting place for pilgrims, and it was located just beyond the boundaries of the father’s holding—which in truth grew in size with every passing day. It was during Lent, and the father knew that the pilgrims would be passing through this village as they began their journey to Compostela. He knew that they would place coin in the coffers of the church as they prayed for protection on their journey. He knew that their purses would be full, for they would have just embarked upon their pilgrimages. And he knew that they would not be well-armed, much less prepared to defend themselves.”

“But they were pilgrims, protected under God’s grace!” Catriona protested.

“Indeed they were, but the father cared little for such detail. He thought only of the coin and riches he could claim for his own.” Ulrik shrugged. “And the son knew only his father’s thinking, for none in that holding dared protest against a lord. The son did not realize that his father was considered to be violent and greedy, for he had never known a man to be otherwise.” Ulrik turned his cup on the board. “And so the son did as he had been bidden. He led his army into the town, sealed the gates, and began to claim what he perceived to be his father’s due.” Ulrik smiled. “But there was a woman who challenged him.”

“Good,” Catriona murmured beneath her breath, winning a glance of approval from Ulrik.

“Indeed, it was good. She was a beauty, and a resolute one. She stepped out of the crowd, unarmed and undefended, and shouted at him. She called him a wretch and a scoundrel, she told him that he had no right to steal from others, no matter who had bidden him to do so. She spat on the ground in front of his horse, her eyes flashing and her disdain clear, and then she turned her back upon him and walked away.”

“He did not injure her!” Catriona whispered when Ulrik paused.

“Nay, not he! He had never seen such a beauty and never had a woman speak to him thus. He was touched and he was changed. He wanted to know more of this woman, who was both bold and foolish, and so he dismounted and dropped to one knee, calling after her. He said he would lead his army away in exchange for a single kiss from her. She called him a liar and they argued his merit. Though the son knew he would lose this battle, he did not care. He wanted only to speak with her, even if she was disparaging of him. In the end, he coaxed her smile in admitting his shortcomings, blamed his instruction and asked for her tutelage. She gave him that kiss, and it set his heart afire with a desire for more than gold.” Ulrik smiled. “It was a fortnight before he returned to his father’s home, and he only did as much because the woman, who had become his wife by mutual consent, sent him away.”

Malcolm refilled the cups of mulled wine, his gaze so warm upon Catriona that she smiled at him. She noted how Ulrik glanced between them, and she imagined that he was so pleased because Malcolm, his friend, was happily wed. She guessed already that Ulrik’s marriage had not fared so well as that.

“When the son returned home, he felt that scales had been lifted from his eyes, and truly, they had. He saw that his father’s life was empty and not worth the living, for there was no love or solace in it. He could not see the point of his father’s gathering of wealth, for it brought him far less joy than a mere moment in his lady’s company had brought to the son. And so, inevitably, the son challenged the father, hoping to provoke a change. Instead, they fought, bitterly, for the father perceived that the son rejected all that he had gathered in order to pass to the son’s hand. The son was exiled from his father’s hall, such words exchanged that he did not regret it. He returned to his lady, intent upon beginning anew. And so they did.”

Ulrik smiled. “They were happy in their own way, though they had little to their name. I suppose another might have anticipated that this lack of coin in their lives would come to trouble the son, especially when his lady wife rounded with child. He began to see the reasoning behind his father’s choice, for he feared the future. He feared to lose his wife, and he feared that his child would be hungry. And so it was that he returned to his old trade, for fighting was all he knew to do, though he did not speak to his wife of it. She was not a fool and he feared she had her suspicions but as her time was drawing near, he did not wish to fight with her. He was leery of provoking any dissent that might affect either her survival or the health of the child.” Ulrik clicked his teeth. “One might say that he was deceptive.”

That last word hung in the air, uttered as it had been with such regret. Catriona watched Ulrik stare into the depths of his wine and had a very good idea just who this son had been in truth.

“Did she die?” she asked when he remained silent. She feared that he thought to trouble her with such tidings, but he stirred himself as if he had been lost in thought.

“Nay. She bore him twins, twin girls, and they were as perfect as babes ever could be. As fair and blue of eye as your Avery, and as vigorous as he likely was, as well. They were fine children, and the son was so relieved that he erred. His lady wife had feared he would be disappointed to have no son, but he would not have changed a single detail. He had his wife, he had two children, and he had small bit of wealth gathered to his hand. In his determination to show his pleasure and reassure his wife, he had two talismans fashioned, one for each girl. They were identical and richly adorned and of a form that surely would earn his wife’s delight.”

Ulrik shook his head. “To his dismay, the sight of his gifts infuriated his wife. She declared he could not have paid for such riches unless he had returned to his old ways, and demanded that he confess to her the truth. When he had done as much, she demanded that he abandon his life as a warrior, and they argued for the first time ever. He was certain that these two fine children would starve without his efforts to provide for them, just as certain as his wife was that his labor as a mercenary would see his soul condemned to Hell.

“He agreed to his wife’s demand with reluctance, but the winter was a harsh one. When the pantry grew bare and the coin dwindled and there was no honest work to be had, he could not ignore that he had the power to see things made right. He said he would choose Hell over the death of those girls, and they argued again. This time, she did not change her husband’s mind. He left their humble abode to resume his trade. When he returned home a week later with a sack of coin, his wife was gone. He knew that she had left forever, with no intent of being found, for her few goods were gone. She had taken one daughter and left him the other, in the care of a neighbor. She confided in the neighbor that she still loved him too much to take away his every joy.”

“Oh!” Catriona whispered.

Ulrik sighed. “He never found her. He never ceased to seek her. He never caught word of her. She vanished as surely as if she had never been, and like his father before him, there could be no other woman lay claim to his heart. He knew little of children, so he returned to his father’s abode to ask for aid. Of course, the price was that he became his father’s warlord again, but he paid it to ensure his daughter’s welfare. She had every manner of tutor, every privilege and every gift, and she grew into a sweet, resolute echo of her mother. He adored her, though the sight of her reminded him of what he had lost. His own father died while the girl was young, and the son found himself stepping into his father’s place, just as that old man had intended, expanding borders and building his treasury with vigor to guarantee his daughter’s future.”

Ulrik paused, drumming his fingers on the table as he sipped his wine. He spared a glance at Catriona. “I suppose you can guess what happened to the daughter.”

“Perhaps she defied her father’s choices of possible spouses and loved a man of war?”

Ulrik chuckled. “Of course she did. And of course, they fought over her choice, but she, as determined as her mother, would let no man dictate to her. She fled with her lover, but this time, her father was too angry to give chase. He called her a fool and vowed that she would have naught from his hand.”

He fell silent then, and Catriona saw a tear glimmer in his eye. His voice was husky when he continued. “Almost a year later, a warrior who had been a comrade of daughter’s chosen lover came to the father’s abode, regret in his eyes. He carried only the talisman that the man had given his daughter and brought the tidings of her death in childbirth. And so it was that the man recognized his folly, for he had become his father’s echo, and his last words with every soul he loved had been words of anger. In that moment, he resolved to change, as his lady wife had tried to change him once before. He gave the talisman to the man who had been messenger, and then he began to give away the wealth he had gathered. He endowed churches and chapels, he funded schools and gave generously to the poor.”

“He hoped to save his soul,” Catriona suggested quietly.

Ulrik nodded and met her gaze. “He hoped that his penitence might return his lady wife to his side. He kept his wedding band.” He held up one hand, the hand with the golden ring. “He also kept some of the coin, enough to provide for his lady when he found her, and even grant a dowry to his missing daughter.”

“And did he find them?” Catriona could not help but ask.

Ulrik, though, gestured to Malcolm instead of replying. Malcolm left the board and climbed to the solar. Catriona looked between the two of them without understanding, but Ulrik merely sipped his wine and stared into the flames on the hearth, as if his tale were done.