The Frost Maiden's Kiss (46 page)

Catriona hoped it was not, for it would be uncommonly sad for the tale to end thus.

Malcolm returned moments later, though it felt much longer. He carried a small box, which he handed to Ulrik. Ulrik shook his head. “It is yours now, for it was freely given.”

Malcolm sat down beside Catriona. He opened the box and lifted the contents into his hand. Catriona saw the chain spill between his fingers, a chain much like the repaired one around her neck. Then he extended his hand to her, displaying a cross indistinguishable from her own upon his palm. Catriona reached into her chemise, thinking she had lost her gem, but it was yet there.

Exactly the same as the other.

“My daughter’s name was Ursula,” Ulrik said quietly, his gaze intent upon her. “My wife’s name was Gavina. She had distant kin in the north of Scotland, though I never considered that she would travel so far, not until I received Malcolm’s missive.” He moved as if he would put his hand over Catriona’s but hesitated before touching her. His voice was husky when he continued. “The girl she took was named Catriona.”

Catriona looked between the two talismans, then between the two men, in awe. “You knew!” she accused Malcolm.

He looked so pleased with himself that she could not find fault. “I suspected, but not until our nuptials, lady mine.”

“When I wore this openly.”

Catriona turned to Ulrik. “Then you are my father, and Avery is your grandson.”

“Indeed.” He was watchful, as if uncertain of her reaction.

Catriona could not believe her good fortune. She blinked back tears of joy, then took Ulrik’s hand in hers. “And you are most welcome, sir. This is a gift beyond comprehension.” She embraced Ulrik and kissed his cheeks, even as Malcolm clapped his hands and summoned the household. Ulrik lifted Avery from her arms, clearly intent upon spoiling the boy with all haste.

The tidings were shared and greeted with joy, Ranulf striding into the hall ahead of the other villagers to shake Ulrik’s hand. Within moments, the mulled wine was being shared and laughter was ringing in the hall, as all celebrated her good news.

Catriona spun, joyous, to find Malcolm watching her, that little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and his eyes gleaming vivid green. She flung herself at him and he caught her in his arms, swinging her around in his embrace as the others applauded.

“You are pleased?” he murmured and she laughed at him.

“How could I not be? You have given me everything, Malcolm, a home, a hearth, and a family. I have only my heart to offer in exchange.”

“It is a fair prize indeed, lady mine,” he declared, holding her close. “I would ask only that you keep mine in exchange.”

“We have a wager then, sir.” She shook a finger at him. “But be warned that I will never break it.”

And Malcolm laughed, a sound fit to make Catriona’s life complete. “I love you, Catriona,” he said ardently. He bent to kiss her, uncaring of the company’s watchful eyes, but glanced up at a sudden cry.

“What bird is this?” Catriona asked, surprised by the audacity of the sound.

“It is a raven!” Malcolm declared, his eyes alight. He seized her hand and they hastened to the bailey together. To Catriona’s amazement, two dozen large black birds circled around the tower of the new Ravensmuir. They croaked loadly, as if to announce their arrival, then Malcolm gave a distinctive whistle and raised his fist.

One bird turned, then swooped toward Malcolm with purpose. It landed on his fist, so large a bird that he took a step back at the force of its landing. It peered between him and Catriona, its eyes bright, flapped its wings and cried again. It had silver upon its brow, just like the one that had visited the hall before Ravensmuir had been attacked. Was it the same bird? Its second call was different from the first, and Catriona wondered if the bird spoke.

“Welcome home, Melusine,” Malcolm said. The raven tilted her head to regard him, almost as if she listened, then croaked what might have been a reply. Malcolm’s pleasure was more than clear.

“Is it true that you can speak to the ravens, and they understand?” she had to ask.

Malcolm smiled mysteriously and gave a second whistle. Melusine cawed in a way that seemed much like she was laughing, as if they shared a jest, then flapped her wings. She eyed the new Laird of Ravensmuir with what Catriona thought was approval, then took flight anew. When she landed on the high tower, choosing a point where she could look down the road, the other ravens descended as one to join her.

“They return to stay,” Malcolm said with pride and satisfaction. “Ravensmuir is reborn.”

Ready for more of Kinfairlie and Ravensmuir?

Read on for an excerpt from

The Warrior’s Prize

Book #4 in the True Love Brides Series

Chapter One

Kinfairlie – December 24, 1428

They all were gathered for the Yule, the hall of Kinfairlie filled with warmth and merriment. Elizabeth eyed her sisters and brothers in mingled envy and admiration. Though she was glad to see those she loved so happy, she had never felt so alone in all her days as she did in this festive company.

Her oldest brother, Alexander, had been Laird of Kinfairlie these past eight years. His wife Eleanor sat on his left him at the center of the high table, their sons Roland at six summers and Tynan at four summers, seated between them. Little Eloise dozed in her mother’s lap, while the babe Melissande was sleeping in the arms of her nurse where she sat at the table below.

To Alexander’s right was the oldest of Elizabeth’s sisters, Madeline, visiting with her husband Rhys, Lord of Caerwyn, for the Yule. They did not make the journey every year, so it was always a treat to have them visit. Madeline only looked more happy each time, and already, she had invited Elizabeth to return to Wales with them after the festivities. Dafydd was of an age with Roland and sat proudly by his father’s side, while Rhiannon, a year younger, sat between her parents. Owain, at three summers like Eloise, sat on his father’s knee, wide awake.

To Eleanor’s left was Erik, Laird of Blackleith, beside his wife Vivienne who was the next oldest of the sisters. Erik’s two daughters by his previous marriage, Mairi and Astrid, were the eldest of all the children and the ones most likely to instigate mischief. In addition, Vivienne had borne Erik three children: Catherine was six, William was four, while Euphemia was still in swaddling cloths. Vivienne was also ripe with child, the sixth of their family expected in the new year.

Elizabeth knew that Erik had not wished to travel in December with Vivienne so close to her time, and feared that Vivienne had convinced him because of some fear she did not share with the others.

Malcolm and Catriona, Laird and Lady of Ravensmuir, were seated beside Rhys. Catriona’s son, Avery, was being rocked by Vera at the table below and Elizabeth had not missed that even though the pair had only been wed since June—and Avery had been born in June—Catriona’s belly already showed a greater curve than it had just months before.

Beside Catriona sat Annelise, the next oldest of the sisters, with her husband Garrett MacLachlan, Laird of Killairig. They, too, had brought their young children, the twins Aileen and Eva sitting between them, while the babe Gavin was with his nurse.

Beside Vivienne was Isabella, the next of the sisters, with her husband Murdoch, Laird of Seton Manor. They, too had journeyed here for the Yule, and Isabella had regaled them with tales of the depth of the snow in the Highlands already this winter. Isabella, too, had given her husband sons. Duncan at four summers sat between the pair, with his younger brother Cameron. The infant Murdoch was being rocked by his nurse at the table below, though it seemed that babe never did sleep.

Elizabeth, the youngest of all the siblings, sat beside Isabella, keenly aware that there was no babe at her breast or in her belly.

Where was the man for her? Where was the knight for whom she saved her heart? Elizabeth knew that she grew older and less eligible. She had declined offers, and Alexander had not criticized her choice. How could he blame her for wishing to wed for love, when he had found such affection in his own marriage to Eleanor? He could not and he did not, but still she caught the glances of concern he cast her way.

It would take a more foolish woman than Elizabeth not to note that they had become more frequent of late. It would also take a less perceptive woman than Elizabeth to fail to guess the reason for Madeline’s invitation. She did not doubt that there were bachelors in Wales destined to make her acquaintance. It was nigh enough to make Elizabeth despair that true love had overlooked her, for no man tempted her eye.

At least no man who should tempt her eye had done so. Elizabeth’s gaze was drawn yet again to Rafael Rodriguez, the mercenary companion who had returned to Ravensmuir with her brother, Malcolm. Yet again, she found him watching her and yet again, she blushed with awareness. Aye, there was much about Rafael to make a maiden’s heart race. His eyes were so dark, his skin so golden, his hair as black as ebony. She had seen him laboring at Ravensmuir without his chemise and had surveyed him with more boldness than she should. He was finely wrought and powerful, as a man should be.

Even better, he had traveled far and wide. He not only hearkened from afar, but he had seen many foreign lands. His dark eyes seemed to be filled with forbidden knowledge and his smile hinted at secrets untold. Elizabeth knew him to be dangerous and her fascination inappropriate, but still she found herself thinking of Rafael in the night. It was all too easy to imagine how he might whisper in a lady’s ear, how he might do valiant deeds for her defense, how he might claim his reward with passion.

Elizabeth licked her lips and kept her gaze fixed upon her napkin. Aye, there was as much of Rafael to feed her allure as there was to warn her of his true merit. He was a mercenary and unapologetic about having sold his blade for coin. He was unrepentant, wicked, and all the more enticing for that.

And he watched her. Constantly. His gaze made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, even as she felt warm and aware of herself as she never had been before. She flicked a glance his way and he smiled slowly, his expression making her heart leap. She turned immediately to her sisters, pretending she had not noticed.

But she knew that Rafael was not fooled.

“Can we not have a tale on this night?” she asked, knowing her request would be fulfilled. There was naught more popular than a tale amongst the family at Kinfairlie, and they were blessed to have many in their hall with a talent for recounting one.

“A tale!” Mairi echoed, vigorous in her enthusiasm. “Since we are at Kinfairlie, I should like to hear the tale of the red, red rose.”

“Me, too!” Astrid, her sister cried. “Show us the mark upon the floor, Uncle Alexander.”

“And Alexander must tell the tale,” Vivienne said.

“You know it as well as I do,” that man protested, but a chorus of dissent greeted his words. Elizabeth’s eldest brother raised a hand for the company to fall silent, laughing as he did so. Alexander straightened his tabard and rose to his feet, taking a last sip of his wine before he began. “You must all be kind to me on this night, for I have not told this tale in years.”

“Not since you encouraged a certain maiden to sleep in the highest chamber of this tower,” Erik said, taking Vivienne’s hand in his own.

“The pair of you had a scheme,” Vivienne protested, though it seemed she did as much by rote and not real complaint.

“And it all ended well enough,” Alexander said in his own defense.

“As did our vengeance upon you,” Madeline reminded him. Eleanor blushed and smiled, even as her husband bent to kiss her.

“Indeed, your so-called vengeance brought me a wife beyond compare,” he said, then straightened anew. “And so a tale for this night of nights! First I must regale you with a bit of family history. Most of you are aware that Kinfairlie was razed to the ground in our great-grandmother’s youth.” He raised a glass to Elizabeth. “And the youngest of my sisters was named for that lady, Mary Elise of Kinfairlie.”

“In time, the holding was returned by the crown to Ysabella, the daughter of Mary Elise for she had wed Merlyn Lammergeier, Laird of Ravensmuir. Roland, our father, was the son of Merlyn and Ysabella, as was Tynan, later Laird of Ravensmuir himself. Our grandfather Merlyn rebuilt Kinfairlie from the very ground, so that Roland could become its laird when he was of age. And so it was that Roland and Catherine came to Kinfairlie newly wedded. There were already tales told about this holding and about that chamber.” He paused and surveyed the rapt company. “It was already whispered that Kinfairlie kissed the lips of the realm of the Fae.”

A ripple of delight passed through the company, and Elizabeth had to suppress a shiver.

“The first castellan of Kinfairlie had a daughter, a lovely maiden who was most curious. Since there were only servants in the keep before Roland’s arrival, this damsel was permitted to wander wheresoever she desired within the walls. And so it was that she explored the chamber at the top of the tower. There are three windows in that chamber and all of them look toward the sea.

“Though the view is fine, the chamber is cursed cold, for the openings were wrought too large for glass and the wooden shutters pose no barrier to the wind, especially when a storm is rising. That was why no one had spent much time in the room. This maiden, however, had done so and she had noted that one window did not grant the view that it should have done.

“Clouds crossed the sky in that window, but never were framed by the others. Uncommon birds could be spied only in the one window, and the sea never quite seemed to be the same viewed through that window as through the others. The difference was subtle, and a passing glance would not reveal any discrepancy, but the maiden became convinced that this third window was magical. She wondered whether it looked into the past, or into the future, or into the realm of the Fae, or into some other place altogether.” Alexander paused. “And so, like so many intrepid maidens of my acquaintance, she resolved that she would discover the truth.”