The Frost Maiden's Kiss by Claire Delacroix Read Free Book Online Page A

They shared a fond look, one which nearly made this ordeal worthwhile.
    “I am delighted to meet you all,” Malcolm said, bowing to the girls formally. They giggled and the youngest ducked behind her mother’s skirts.
    “William is but three,” Vivienne continued gesturing to the toddler. “Erik finally has the heir he so desired,” she added with a laugh that did not cover her husband’s silence. “And thanks be to heaven that Euphemia is weaned, for it would have been difficult to compel our wet nurse Fiona to leave her own children to come with us.”
    “And naturally, we could not have delayed our visit to Kinfairlie,” Erik said, his tone implying he would have done just that. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, tolerating the interval less well even than Malcolm.
    Vivienne spun upon him, and Malcolm guessed this was an old argument. “’Tis you, my lord, who insists I not climb into the saddle in the last three months before a babe is due to arrive, and I will not ride in a cart like an old woman. We must visit Kinfairlie now, as it is unlikely we will be able to be here for the Yule this year.” She rapped a finger on his chest. “I will not be kept from my family and you know it well.”
    Erik smiled just a little at his wife. “And you will not take my counsel.”
    Vivienne’s smile was impish. “Not in women’s matters, nay, my love, although in all other things, I cede to you.” She stretched up to kiss Erik’s cheek, and he appeared resigned—and not entirely unhappy—with his situation.
    “Sweet Jesus,” Rafael whispered.
    Malcolm glanced at his friend, who looked as if he had been struck to stone. He then followed Rafael’s gaze to the serving woman and felt a similar shock.
    It could not be Ursula!
    Malcolm could not help but stare himself. The woman drew closer, carrying the youngest child of Blackleith, and he realized to his relief that he was mistaken. To be sure, she was taller than most women and had long fair hair, but this woman’s expression was cold and judgmental, while Ursula’s manner had been feminine and sweet. Malcolm felt Rafael’s tension ease along with his own.
    This woman was strikingly beautiful, younger than both he and Vivienne, with hair like spun gold and lips that were both rosy and full. She was a beauty, but not the beauty he had mistaken her to be. Ursula was dead, and he knew it well: this woman but shared her coloring. Malcolm was startled not only that her eyes were such a clear blue, but that they were filled with suspicion. Beyond that, she stood regal and tall, a queen wrought of ice rather than a meek serving maid with the poor luck to bear a bastard child.
    For she was fairly bursting with the burden of her unborn child. Her uncovered hair indicated that she was unwed, and her hair was plaited into a long fair braid down her back. Her lack of a veil should have meant that she was a maiden, but there had only ever been one maiden to find herself in such a state and yet untouched.
    All Malcolm’s old ire rose again, kindled by the memory of Ursula and her vulnerability.
    For truly, it was obvious who the father of this woman’s child had to be! Why else would she be sheltered in this household and given so intimate a role as to care for the Laird of Blackleith’s own children? It was evident that she carried another of the laird’s seed in her belly, and that Erik had not truly changed his ways.
    Which insulted not just this serving woman but Vivienne.
    There was naught Malcolm despised more than to see a woman ill-used. Though he should have bitten his tongue before a guest, this indignity and insult to his sister could not be allowed to pass.
    No matter who took exception to his words.
    He would give Erik but one chance to explain himself, though Malcolm knew that man would not succeed.
    * * *
    Catriona had been disconcerted enough that they approached the home of a warrior and mercenary, never mind one said to be a sorcerer as