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H oly hell , it felt good to hold her.

For the smallest moment, Callum allowed himself to concentrate fully on the press of Frida’s body against his and the lavender scent of her hair. When she had tumbled from the plum tree, something more than the honed reactions of a warrior had propelled him into position to catch her.

Aye. He had sprinted to her aid with the instincts of a lover. E’en before she cried out, he had known she was in trouble. So it had been for him back in Wolvesley; as if he and Frida were not two people who had recently met, but a couple long attuned to the subtle workings of one another’s hearts.

They had reached the inner courtyard, within eyesight of the guards and servants of Ember Hall. Plus his own band of men, working on the roof of the barn. He must release her. Gregor’s temper was turbulent enough without witnessing his enemy in his leader’s arms.

Besides, Frida would hate to be seen by the others as weak and vulnerable. ’Twas one thing to hold her close when they were alone, quite another to make a public display.

Regretfully, Callum paused and placed her gently back on the ground.

“Are you well enough to walk from here?” he asked, quietly enough not to be overheard.

“Perfectly.” Her arch reply was softened by a smile.

She is pleased I was sensitive enough to put her down , thought Callum.

The tourniquet he had wrapped around her arm had staunched the flow of blood, but Frida’s usually healthy colour was still a shade too pale for his liking.

“We must go inside,” he urged. “Is there a healer I can summon?”

“I am the healer in this house,” she reminded him, taking his arm and leaning against him. “Once we are inside, I shall tell you what to fetch and where to find it.”

They made halting progress up the stone steps and through the arched doorway. Callum grew conscious of her limp, which he had not noticed the day before.

“My ankle was all but shattered,” she had said.

He winced for her pain, and for the incident that had struck her down in her prime.

Although Frida de Neville was still very much in her prime, as far as Callum was concerned.

Inside, all was calm and peaceful. Woodsmoke drifted into the panelled hall, together with the smell of roasting meat from the kitchens. It was a relief to be away from the bright glare of the sun.

He paused awkwardly. “Where should we go?”

Yesterday he had only been so far as the great hall, but he sensed instinctively that Frida would not want to go there. Not until her wound was treated and she had regained some of her customary strength.

Frida inclined her head to the side. “Let us walk through the great hall to the solar beyond,” she said. “It should be empty at this time of day.”

The great hall was also empty, aside from a brown-coloured hound stretched out by the fire. The dog bounded to its feet at first sight of Callum and approached with its teeth barred.

“Sit down, Samson,” Frida commanded. “Callum is a friend, not a foe.”

The hound sat obediently, though he pricked his ears as if considering his next move. Callum had always been fond of dogs and horses. He threw him a smile.

“Good boy,” he tried.

The dog’s tail thumped on the floor as Callum and Frida passed him.

The day before, Callum had been struck by the warmth and welcome of Ember Hall.

As he nudged open the door to the solar and helped Frida into a high-backed cushioned chair, he thought he had never seen a room so inviting.

It was the light, he realised, which blazed through a high arched window to cast pretty patterns onto the plastered walls.

And the scent of late roses from the garden beyond.

Through the open shutters, he glimpsed a green vista of rolling hills, topped with trees and dappled with autumn sunlight.

It was a room one could settle into and forget all about the perils of the world.

“Thank you,” Frida said.

He realised he was standing, hands on hips, gazing about. “Tell me how to help.” He nodded towards her arm.

Frida’s blue eyes met his own. “Are you brave enough, Sir Callum, to enter a lady’s chamber?”

He blanched. “Aye, if the lady grants me permission.” He paused. “And if her brother does not run me through with his sword.”

Frida’s laugh was a balm. “I doubt Jonah will even notice. I have healing herbs in the store outside, but what I would like is a special salve and that, I’m afraid, is up in my chamber.”

They both paused as heavy footsteps sounded in the great hall.

For a moment, Callum felt as if he might be caught in an act of wrongdoing.

He would never have dared spend time alone behind a closed door with Lady Frida at Wolvesley Castle.

But here at Ember Hall, the usual rules seemed not to apply.

The footsteps turned towards the kitchen, and he shook away his fears with a mock salute. “I believe I am equal to the task.”

She smiled, leaning her head back against the cushions. “Very well. You must climb the stairs and cross the gallery. My chamber is at the very end. You will find the salve within a wooden box which I believe rests upon the window seat.” She sighed. “I left it there after treating Jonah last night.”

“Am I likely to encounter your maid, mayhap wielding some sharp implement to chase me away?” he asked lightly.

But Frida’s face was serious. “Nay. Mirrie and I did not make the move here to continue our lives as pampered misses. We have only a few servants and there are no ladies’ maids at Ember Hall.

” She indicated her unadorned hair. “We fend for ourselves. ’Tis small payment for living amidst such beauty and peace. ”

Her quiet words touched him. “That is the kind of life you seek? A peaceful one?”

“Aye. Anyone who doesn’t is a fool.”

Frida’s tone had turned sharp and Callum’s eyes widened with surprise. But a red bloom of blood on the fabric wrapped around her arm reminded him of the task ahead.

“I will fetch your salve.” He bowed his head in farewell and slipped from the chamber, his heart beating more normally as he put distance between himself and Frida.

God’s bones. She affected him just as much now as she had two years previous. More, mayhap, for her girlish gaiety had been replaced by a calm resolve which reached out to his troubled soul.

Aye , his soul was troubled because of the war wreaked upon his home and family by English nobles exactly like the de Nevilles. Whenever Callum closed his eyes, he saw again the bloody devastation of Kielder Castle. Heard the crying of children blend with the impotent raging of his father.

“Curse the English,” the old man had raged, forgetting in his delirium that he had wedded an English bride; that his only son was half English, born and raised south of the border. “Curse them all.”

And gazing upon the horrors around him, Callum had agreed.

Which was why he had come to Ember Hall. To take his revenge on a powerful English knight. Not to fetch and carry for an English lady, however enticing her cornflower blue eyes.

However much she had become lodged in his mind.

Callum paused on the gallery, his elbows resting on the smooth oak banister overlooking the great hall below.

The fire flickered in the grate, the dog snoring gently beside it.

He thought again how this was a place of peace.

’Twas impossible to reconcile the mission he had embarked upon with the reality of life in Ember Hall.

His thoughts circled back to their usual place—the fact that there was no powerful knight currently in residence.

Though he had pledged to his men that they would await the return of Tristan de Neville, Callum had no idea if his former friend had any plans to visit.

He must ascertain the facts. Gregor would not be fooled for long.

And what if Tristan was on his way? What then?

Callum breathed deeply. He had been in this position once before, and subsequently failed in his duties to the Bruce.

But those times had been different. Back then, Kielder Castle had stood strong and proud.

Children played happily in the lanes. Villagers worked the fields and fed their families, little realising the fate awaiting them.

He had not been so angry then. Nor had so much to avenge.

His hands clenched into fists when he recalled what Jonah had said as he sat by the fire below.

At the time, Callum’s attention had been mostly on Frida.

He could scarce continue with the act of normality for want of celebrating her presence; her very life .

But e’en so, Jonah’s words had pierced his haze.

Tristan had just returned from Scotland.

Did that mean that Tristan de Neville, the man he had once spared, had played a part in the storming of Kielder Castle?

Wouldn’t he have recognised him, if that were the case?

Callum had fought long and hard on the battlements during that terrible siege, his blade slicing into his enemies as he gave his all to protect his home and his father’s people.

But once it was clear they were over-powered, he had given the order to retreat.

Instead of greeting the invaders with his sword, Callum’s attentions had turned to protecting those who still lived.

Boys like Arlo. Men and women, some older than his father, who had lost everything.

Nay, Tristan de Neville could have ridden through the main gates and hung his standard from the battlements without drawing Callum’s eye to him.

Callum had been occupied with leading his people to sanctuary in a cave by the river by then. He would not have known.

His throat constricted at the idea; his pulse pounding harder than it had in the orchard when Frida fell upon him, her long skirts entwined in his legs. But even as the familiar swell of rage ascended, Callum worked to dispel it.

Scotland was a big country.

And lives had been lost on both sides of the border when wiser men than he jumped to false conclusions.