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Right now, Callum’s best course of action was to remain at Ember Hall; to gather information and plot a course forwards.

Whether Tristan had plundered Kielder Castle or not, Callum could not abandon Frida.

Releasing his fists, Callum tuned back into the present moment. He had dallied overly long. The last thing he wanted, despite Frida’s assurances, was to be apprehended by a disapproving housemaid.

The gallery was lit with soft light from a circular window.

He found the door to Frida’s chamber and turned the handle easily.

The fragrance of lavender spilled out as he opened the panel, soothing his troubled thoughts.

This was Frida’s private sanctuary. He felt as if he were somewhere almost sacred.

His family chapel at Kielder evoked less reverence in his heart than her neatly-made bed, heaped high with cushions and topped with a practical nightrail of pale green.

Closing his eyes against a vision of Frida wearing that very garment, Callum walked softly into the chamber, noting the rugs on the floor and the highly-polished, if modest, wooden furniture.

A round table flanked by two chairs waited by an unlit fire and a long trunk rested by the foot of the bed.

The window seat was also piled high with cushions.

It was impossible for him to approach without first admiring the view, and second picturing Frida curled up here, gazing out into a darkening sky—perhaps with him joining her.

Callum had long since closed his heart to notions of love and marriage. But the domestic scene unfolding in his mind’s eye was so compelling, he felt a short stab of grief that it could never be.

The medicine box was, as Frida had said, laying upon one of the square cushions on the window seat. Before his imagination could betray him further, Callum snatched it up and left.

*

The morn had not gone according to plan.

Forsooth, it had gone terribly wrong. But Frida could not help from smiling as she recalled Callum’s chivalry.

Against all odds, he had broken her fall from the fruit tree and carried her home like some gallant knight clutching a fainting maiden.

And then, most importantly of all, he had allowed her to stand tall and walk inside on her own, just as the lady of the house should.

Her heart, long hardened, was beginning to open up. Something about Callum’s arrival here, at Tristan’s bequest, still nagged at her. But she had to admit that the knight had been naught but helpful.

Helpful and apparently sincere, especially when he recalled the detail of their last meeting.

Mayhap his tale has the ring of truth , she pondered, gazing out of the long window towards the sun-dappled gardens. In such serene surroundings, breathing in the heady scent of roses, anything seemed possible.

Frida pinched her hand, frowning at her fancies. She must not allow herself to become carried away. Once before she had believed Sir Callum Baine to be her future. That had ended in disaster. Though ’twas not his fault her horse had slipped on the ice.

“I have grieved you,” he’d said, as they stood outside in the clinging mist.

She had not allowed herself to be moved, thinking only of how he had abandoned her. But if he believed her to have perished…

She was jolted from her thoughts by the man himself returning. In his hands he carried the slender wooden box in which she kept her balms, salves and bandages. A gust of wind caused the door to slam behind him and they both startled.

Callum recovered first. “Would you like me to reopen it?” He nodded towards the door.

Propriety dictated they should.

Frida shook her head. “It is no matter. No one is likely to come upon us.”

“And you trust me, Lady Frida?” He came closer, placing the box gently upon a side table by her chair.

She tilted her head to look up at him, noting the intensity of his brown eyes and the rasp of stubble on his suntanned cheek.

“I do.”

Perchance she should have demurred, or made some fancy speech about the honour and integrity of Lindum-trained knights. But Frida merely spoke what was in her heart. When last she met Callum, she had still enjoyed the gifts of her Sight. And she’d known instinctively that he was trustworthy.

More than that. She’d known instinctively that he was the man for her.

But then he had abandoned her.

Callum held her gaze as if he was reading these secrets of her soul. It was too much. Too intense and too bewildering. Frida snatched her eyes away, focusing instead on the crackling fire.

Callum cleared his throat, the sound echoing through the square-shaped room. “Shall I remove the tourniquet?”

Her wound. She had almost forgotten about it. Mayhap that was why her thoughts wandered so. She had lost too much blood to be of rational mind.

Frida sat up straighter in the chair and forced herself to concentrate. “Please do. I think the bleeding has stopped.”

But his proximity, when he crouched beside her and began unwinding his makeshift bandage, was almost too much to bear. His hands were large but his touch was gentle.

“Aye, it has stopped.” He looked up at her, his eyes reflecting the orange sparks of the fire. “Though it should be cleaned before we apply any salve.”

Frida smiled, although her heart thudded with embarrassment for of course he was correct. How could she call herself a healer and forget something so basic?

It was because of Callum. His presence made her near enough forget her own name.

“You can fetch a basin from the kitchen.” She paused. “Tell Agnes I sent you.”

He nodded wordlessly, rose up and strode from the chamber, leaving her to press a hand over her heart and reach for her faltering composure. By the time Callum returned, Frida was more herself.

He squatted again by her side, placing a basin of water on the table beside the box. “’Tis warm water; Agnes had some heated on the stove,” he said. “Miss Mirabel was there as well. She asked if we needed assistance.”

Frida held her breath. Was this surreal interlude already over? “And what did you say?”

He flashed her a smile and her insides turned over. “I said I had treated many a battle wound and could manage well enough. But of course, if you would prefer to have her tend you?”

Frida shook her head. She wanted Callum’s touch. Callum’s company.

“She is busy,” she said, by way of an excuse. “There is work enough for this household without Mirrie or the other servants tending to me as well.”

He nodded, soaking a cloth in the warm water and dabbing gently at her arm.

She flinched at the first stab of pain, then gritted her teeth together, determined to show no further weakness.

After a while, there was something soothing in the warmth of the water coupled with the dexterity of his fingers.

The only sound in the solar was the crackling of the logs in the fire.

“Which is the salve?” he asked.

“In the box, the largest of the round jars.”

He found it quickly and returned to her, twisting open the jar and scooping out the thick salve. Frida closed her eyes and turned away, readying herself.

“What is it?” His voice was alarmed.

She kept her head turned towards the plastered wall. “It stings at first.”

“Should I continue?”

“Aye.” She nodded quickly, sucking in her breath when sharp pain clamped around her arm. Callum worked competently, wrapping a bandage snugly over the wound and then repositioning the sleeve of her dress.

“’Tis done,” he said.

She opened her eyes to find his face hovering inches from hers. He had not moved from the floor, though it must be uncomfortable to sit so long on his heels.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His hand crept over her good one. “I would do all of that and more for you, Frida.”

Sincerity shone from his nut-brown eyes. She found her fingers linking with his. It was impossible to look away.

“Do you really not remember me?”

She could not hold up the pretence any longer. She no longer remembered why she had started it in the first place.

“Frida, are you hurt?”

It took several seconds for her to realise that Jonah had entered the solar and it was he who asked the question. Callum did not shift his position, but instead of gazing into her eyes, he busied himself with rolling up bandages and screwing the lid back onto her jar of salve.

“’Tis nothing but a scratch,” she replied, as evenly as she could.

Jonah stood by the open doorway, his blue eyes swinging from his sister to the kneeling knight.

“You tended her?” he asked.

Callum swivelled his head around. “It was my honour to do so.”

Jonah took a few steps forwards. “Allow me to see?”

“There is nothing to see.” She lifted her bandaged arm closer to him.

But Jonah nodded as if satisfied. “I give you my thanks,” he said, a note of joviality creeping into his voice. “I admit, when I saw the fastened door, I suspected the worst.”

“’Twas the wind that closed it,” Frida interjected.

Jonah clasped his hands together. “I should have known my sister would be safe with any friend of Tristan’s.”

Something changed in the atmosphere. Something Frida didn’t understand.

Callum stood up slowly. “Entirely safe, I assure you.”

“Good.” Jonah gazed at Callum for all the world as if he were about to challenge him to a duel. Frida gave her head a slight shake, wanting to signal to her younger brother that he had no reason to act so.

What a time for Jonah to become concerned with her wellbeing.

“There is no cause for vigilance on your part, brother.” She made her voice deliberately light, smiling brightly at them both.

Callum seemed to relax. He placed her jar and roll of bandages neatly in the box and fastened the lid. “There is always a cause for vigilance,” he replied, his tone equally cordial. “Jonah is right to be concerned.”

“Thank you, Callum.” Jonah clapped him on the shoulder, having to reach up a little to do so. “As we are all friends here, let us sit awhile.”

“Very well, but I must return to my men before long,” Callum replied, following Jonah’s lead and sinking down onto the settle.

Frida couldn’t help bristling, at the interruption as much as the inference that as a mere woman she could not look after herself. “I maintain that Jonah had no need to be alarmed,” she stated. “You do not need to guard me, brother.”

Jonah’s laugh sounded genuine enough. “Forsooth, Frida, I have no wish to face Tristan’s wrath should anything happen to his favourite sister.”

Frida only just resisted the urge to throw a cushion at him. “Naught is going to happen to me. Besides, who says I am his favourite sister?”

“’Tis a well-known family secret.” Jonah turned to Callum. “What say you, as Tristan’s friend? Is Frida here his favourite sister?”

Callum appeared uneasy, and Frida could well guess why. To what end was Jonah asking such awkward questions? She opened her mouth to excuse the need for a response, but Callum was already speaking.

“I am sure that Frida would be anyone’s favourite sister.

Just as, if I were his brother, I would no doubt wish to avoid Tristan’s wrath.

” He smiled genially at them both, so genially that she thought she must have misinterpreted his earlier discomfort.

“At Lindum, we all feared being drawn against him in the joust.”

Jonah nodded, his eyes still fixed on Callum. “Ah yes. You trained together at Lindum.” He paused. “And did you fight alongside Tristan more recently?”

Callum’s response came instantaneously. “I have been in France this last year.” He angled his body so that Frida could no longer see his face, addressing his next question entirely to Jonah. “And where did you say Tristan had been?”

“Scotland.”

This time there was a pause. “Aye, that was what I thought you had said.” His voice was strained.

Perchance with the effort of making so much light conversation.

Frida got to her feet. “I have been idle here long enough.” She looked expectantly at the two men, hoping that Jonah would melt away and that Callum would mayhap offer to return to the orchard.

But even as the traitorous thought formed in her mind, she knew that propriety had stretched thin enough between herself and the handsome knight.

He would take his leave. As he must.

As would undoubtedly be for the best. When she next saw him, she must ensure her thoughts ran more evenly.

As expected, Callum rose to his feet and bowed. “I shall bid you good day and find my men.” His voice was short and it seemed he was deliberately avoiding her eye.

Frida swallowed down her disappointment and curtsied as gracefully as her ankle would allow.

“Thank you again, for everything.”

She hoped for a smile, even a small one, but Callum’s face was dark as he turned to leave.

She waited until his heavy footsteps had passed through the great hall before turning on her brother.

“Jonah, must you always spoil everything?”

He scowled in response. “Take care, sister,” he said quietly, his long fingers drumming a pattern on his knees. “That man is not all that he seems.”