Page 10

F rida loved early mornings at Ember Hall.

There was a sort of magic in the slanting sunlight and melodic birdsong, a feeling of peace and wonder that was further enhanced by their solitude in the northern hills.

Having grown up amidst the constant hubbub of Wolvesley Castle, tranquillity was something that Frida cherished.

But the events of yesterday had threatened all the solitude and tranquillity that she held dear.

Frida tugged at the branch of a fruit tree, ignoring the dew soaking through the hem of her dark blue dress.

Why did I allow it to happen?

Six rosy red apples winked up at her, as if they knew the answer well enough. The apples were a thing of beauty, glistening in the dawn light. On rare occasions like this, Frida envied her brother Jonah his drawing talent. How lovely it would be to capture this fleeting moment forever.

But Frida had always been of a more practical mindset. With one hand holding the branch steady, she plucked off the apples one by one and placed them carefully in her basket.

She should have brought gloves, but they would have grown damp with dew within minutes. Besides, what did propriety matter when she was alone? No one knew she was here, aside from Mirrie.

Frida had escaped from the house at first light, desperate to be distracted from the endless circling of her thoughts.

Winter was coming, and the surprise arrival of Callum Baine would do nothing to mitigate that fact.

The orchard harvest must be brought in with all possible speed.

She had declared her intentions of starting the job today, as she and Mirrie broke their fast in the cosy solar behind the great hall.

“On your own?” Mirrie’s brow creased with concern.

“I work best alone.” Frida chewed her bread as quickly as good manners allowed. She wanted to leave the house before Callum—or any of his men—set foot inside it.

Mirrie pursed her lips. “I would join you, but I promised Agnes that I would help her with brewing the ale for winter.”

“It is no matter.” Frida shook her head emphatically.

“But you will scarcely be finished before dark.”

Frida stood, brushing crumbs from her heavy skirts. “A good day’s work never hurt anyone.” She patted Mirrie’s shoulder to take the sting from her words. “I shall see you at supper.”

Frida had hastily pinned up her hair and pulled on an old straw hat. The day was dry and the sun had strength to it, so she was quite warm enough in her usual grey-green cloak. This may be the last nice day of the year , she reflected. It was quite sensible to spend it usefully in the orchard.

And if the high surrounding walls offered her privacy and concealment, so much the better.

Still, the scale of the task was a little overwhelming. Ember Hall was blessed with more than a dozen apple trees as well as several mixed plum and pear trees. All of which were groaning with fruit.

It would take days to gather it all; days they did not necessarily have. But ’twould be a shame, mayhap even a sin, to see any of it go to waste.

Frida sighed, rising onto her tiptoes to grasp the next branch.

Their long-anticipated move to Ember Hall had been delayed by her father insisting on building a high fortified wall all around the property.

When she and Mirrie had finally arrived, they discovered that the building works had interrupted harvest by some weeks.

All local labourers were immediately deployed to the fields, and happily the main crops had been brought in safely.

But the orchard harvest had been left until now.

Unfamiliar with the scale of the task, Frida had blithely dismissed the locals, thinking she could gather the crop herself over time. But time was in short supply for their hard-working household.

We will be better organised next year , she promised herself, straining to reach the apples furthest along the branch.

Alas, her booted feet slipped on the damp grass and the branch sprang upwards, showering her with raindrops. She winced as several apples thudded to the ground. They would be spoiled now, good only for the animals.

“May I offer assistance?”

The familiar deep voice sent shivers scooting up her spine, but Frida remained where she was; facing the tree whilst awareness of his close proximity caused her flesh to tingle. At least she had managed to remain standing.

“I can manage, thank you,” she said, primly.

“I have brought you a ladder.” Callum’s voice came closer this time; he must be standing just feet away from her.

Frida closed her eyes, reaching for her composure. “That was thoughtful,” she conceded.

“And a crooked stick I found in the store. It will be useful for reaching the higher branches.”

There was nothing for it but to turn around. As she expected, Callum stood almost within touching distance. He had propped a wooden ladder by a wide plum tree and was proffering a long stick with a curved top, shaped almost like a sceptre, towards her.

Like an offering.

Her heart thudded as she took him in. In two years he had grown older; the boyish glint she remembered in his brown eyes was all but gone.

Now his expression was serious, solemn even.

Stubble coated his strong jaw and tousled hair hung almost to his shoulders, but nothing could mask the raw, male beauty of him.

His crumpled tunic only emphasised the hard lines of muscle across his chest.

“Thank you.” She managed a small smile as she reached out for the stick.

He folded his arms, his nut-brown eyes following her every move. “Better yet, I have brought you an extra pair of hands. Mine.”

Nay , she could not handle that.

“You are kind, Callum.” With difficulty, she avoided adding the Sir . “But this is not difficult work. I am well able to pick apples unaided.”

“There are a lot of apples to pick.” His tone was dry.

“And I am a fast worker.” She held his gaze for as long as she was able before the traitorous flush again began creeping up her neck towards her cheeks.

“As am I.” He gave a low bow. “Frida, you accepted my presence here in return for work on the land. You e’en made explicit mention of bringing in the orchard crop. Was that job not meant for me?” His dark eyebrows raised in question, making her body tingle with awareness once again.

Frida shook her head, aware of her hair coming loose beneath her bonnet.

“I should not have mentioned the orchard crop.” He had her at a disadvantage now.

“The barn roof is in most grievous need of attention. This, I can manage alone.” She waved her arms to encompass the laden fruit trees.

Every fibre of her body was willing him to turn and leave.

His presence brought back thoughts, memories, feelings that she had worked so hard to lock away.

“The barn roof will be mended before nightfall. I understand Mirabel is setting my men onto the task as we speak.”

“I am sure they would benefit from your assistance,” she interrupted.

“I assure you, my men will not tarry.”

An edge came to his voice and she looked at him more closely. “Have they served you long?” She had but dim memories of the soldiers who had waited behind the gates while she conversed with Callum yesterday. All of her attention had been fixed on the man in front of her.

His expression became guarded. “They do not serve me, not exactly. ’Tis more that we all serve the same lord.” He cleared his throat. “And he has put me in charge of this mission.”

She gave her head a little shake, puzzled by his words. “But I thought you were here at Tristan’s bequest?”

“Aye, that is correct. My lord was happy to release us upon the request of Tristan de Neville.”

“I see.” Frida shaded her eyes from the morning sunlight and forced a smile. “I am sure your lord would not like to think of you, a skilled knight, picking apples.”

He met her smile with one of his own. A smile which cut straight through all her defences. “He knows I like to be busy. And helpful.” He swept up an empty basket and hooked it over his elbow where it dangled incongruously against his muscular body. “Especially when there is a lady in need.”

“But I am not in need.” How she wished she could drive away the genuine smile which was now tugging at the corners of her mouth.

’Twas as if part of her body worked against her, wanting, even longing for his company—even as the sensible, rational part of her knew that it would be safest to step away.

She had not spent two long years rebuilding her life, only for Sir Callum Baine to bring it crashing down once again.

“Are you not, Frida?” he asked in little more than a whisper. The air between them became charged as his brown eyes met hers. “Are you not in need of anything at all?”

This would not do. In another moment she would be blushing like her sister Esme at her first ball.

“Indeed, I have all I need,” she replied airily, looking down to brush an imaginary speck from her cloak.

“At least I did, before my peace was disturbed.” She raised her eyebrows in what she intended to be a reprimand, but she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her when she encountered his face creased in mock penitence.

“All the more reason for me to help you, to atone for my most grievous fault.”

Before she could think of a response, Callum had walked towards an apple tree and started efficiently divesting it of fruit. He worked quickly, his long arms easily reaching the heights of the tree. Frida had to force her eyes away.

There was nothing to it but to join him.

Frida went back to the first tree, discovering that the long, crooked stick did indeed come in handy for pulling down the tallest branches.

She soon got into a rhythm and her awkwardness dissolved.

It was difficult to be annoyed whilst surrounded by nature’s bounty, her ears filled with birdsong and her skin warmed by the morning sun.