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F rida’s ankle twinged as she walked with Mirrie through the main gates and down the path towards the village.

It was some distance from Ember Hall to the local place of worship, so much so that Frida had contemplated inviting the priest to lead a weekly service at their own chapel when they first took up residence.

But she also knew it was important that she and Mirrie be known and accepted by the locals. If they were to not only survive, but thrive, in this remote locale, then they would need the support of those who lived nearby. This summer’s delayed harvest had already proven that.

Which was why, every sabbath, Frida and Mirrie donned their most respectable attire and made the halting journey down the hill to the small wattle-and-daub chapel which nestled above the river in a copse of trees.

It was a pretty, peaceful place. Despite the effort involved, Frida usually found the services deeply soothing.

But not today.

Today, she hardly noticed the rolling fields and ancient woodlands revealed by the gentle turns of the narrow lane. When Mirrie pointed out the glorious golden canopy of autumn leaves in the distance, Frida nodded without e’en a glance in that direction.

Mirrie swung around to face her, taking hold of both her hands. Frida found herself drawn into her friend’s inquisitive gaze.

“Aren’t we going to talk about it?”

“About what?” Frida hedged.

Mirrie looked behind them, checking they were all alone. But the only other creature nearby was a shy woodpigeon who fluttered away into a tall tree. “I saw you,” she declared.

Frida’s heart began to pound all over again. From the way Mirrie’s eyes danced, she knew there was no point trying to deny anything.

Frida exhaled in a rush, her breath hanging in the cold air between them. “You saw?”

Mirrie nodded. “I did not intend to spy upon you, but nonetheless, I saw.”

Part of Frida wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. It had been like a scene from a dream. The handsome knight, the warmth of his arms, the searing heat of his kiss. She had pressed her palms against the hard ridge of muscles on his chest and his stubble had rasped against her cheek.

She tightened her grip on her friend’s gloved fingers. “Then you can tell me it was real?”

“Aye.” Mirrie smiled. “What I saw was real enough.”

Frida’s strength threatened to desert her. “Oh Mirrie,” she whispered.

Acting with insight born from familiarity, Mirrie fastened her arm supportively around Frida’s waist, allowing her to lean her weight against her. The slope of the lane combined with the coolness of the morn and Frida’s near feverish excitement did not create a steady situation for her ankle.

“There is no cause for distress, Frida. None that I bore witness to.” She giggled, like a peal of church bells. “Unless you are swooning with happiness?”

“I hardly know what to think,” Frida whispered. They were approaching the top end of the village and she did not want to be overheard. “Save that I have acted in a way my parents would disapprove of.”

She recalled her father’s uncommonly stern gaze as he helped her into the carriage that would bear her from Wolvesley Castle to an as-yet-unknown life at Ember Hall.

“Take heed, child,” he’d said, “I only permit this due to your proven sensibility. Retain that wisdom, whatever the days ahead may bring. Do not be lured into decadence simply for want of my supervision.”

She had clicked her tongue and reminded him of her deep desire to put distance between herself and decadence.

But was her behaviour this morn not decadent?

She had been lured into… something! By the passion stirring in Callum’s wondrous brown eyes.

She swallowed awkwardly, feeling heat rising to her cheeks. It would not be proper to enter chapel whilst remembering how it had felt to stand in his arms with his hands running over her body. But those memories—sharper and more vivid than the chill wind at her back—would not be easily quashed.

Mirrie steered them both safely around a muddy puddle which had opened in the rutted path.

“The Earl and Countess of Wolvesley always seemed very approving of happiness to me.” Mirrie paused, glancing sideways at her friend. “Is that not what you are feeling right now, Frida? Happiness?”

A smile tugged her lips as she pondered the question. She was undoubtably light of heart. A frothy, giddy sort of feeling bubbled up inside her, as if all problems were surmountable and all good things were possible.

She had not felt like this since her fall from the horse.

“I think you’re right,” she whispered. They were passing beneath the wooden arch which marked entry to the church yard. “I am happy.”

Mirrie’s answering smile was even larger than Frida’s own. They squeezed each other’s hands and then, of one accord, moved apart so they could properly greet the small group of waiting villagers.

Frida nodded and smiled and passed comments about the inclement weather, all the while thinking of one thing.

Callum.

Mirrie was right, he made her happy.

More than that, he made her feel whole.

Whole, after being broken for over two long years. Broken because of her ankle. Broken because of her altered appearance and altered spirit. But mostly, broken because she had lost her Sight; that connection with the natural world that had always helped her feel strong and complete.

But now Callum filled up the emptiness inside of her.

Frida sat beside Mirrie on the narrow wooden pew at the front of the chapel, bowing her head respectfully as the ageing priest delivered his sermon, but she hardly heard a word.

Part of her was reliving every moment of that extraordinary kiss.

The first time she had e’er been embraced with such passion.

And the other part was asking herself an important question.

Can I break down my barriers and confess the love in my heart?

Callum had made his feelings clear. He remembered her from Wolvesley.

He had grieved her. Although she couldn’t allow herself to feel guilty about that.

’Twas not her doing that the man left Wolvesley before she recovered consciousness.

And ’twas not her fault that Tristan had never thought to send word to him in France.

Men are funny creatures , she mused. So preoccupied with battles and warfare that they rarely attended to what was really important.

Tristan, for example, was apparently blind to the fact that beautiful Mirrie, sitting on this uncomfortable pew beside her, had held a torch for him since they were in the school room together.

What if her instincts had been correct during the Twelfth tide revels at Wolvesley? What if Callum was the man meant for her?

Frida took a deep, rattling breath, drawing curious stares from the genteel family seated on the opposite pew across the stone-flagged aisle. Mirrie nudged her sharply and Frida dragged her attention back to the service. People were kneeling to pray.

Frida shuffled forwards and carefully lowered herself onto a hand-stitched cushion positioned beneath the pew. She pressed her palms together and closed her eyes, allowing the priests’ lilting entreaties to wash over her.

Frida prayed for a sign.

Should she stay true to her vow and live a life free of men?

Or should she open her heart to the possibility of love?

*

The rest of the service passed in a haze. She followed Mirrie back down the aisle and out of the chapel, shaking hands with the priest and wrapping her heavy cloak around her as protection from the brisk wind which caused the shutters to bang and children to shriek.

The long walk home was made longer by the unprepossessing grey cloud and a creeping chill which even the noontime sun could not banish.

Mirrie talked of pressing apples and preserving berries, but Frida could not properly concentrate.

When they were in sight of the stone gateposts of Ember Hall, Mirrie tugged on her elbow until she paused.

“What is it?” Frida shifted her weight onto her right leg, rotating her left ankle as far as she could inside her restrictive boots in an attempt to ease the aching.

“I know you didn’t want to talk about it at chapel.” Mirrie jerked her head back towards the village. “And most likely you don’t want to talk about it now. But I must say this.” She took a breath. “I think it’s good, what’s happening between you and Callum.”

Frida pressed her lips together. “Truly, I do not know what is happening.”

Mirrie continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “He’s brought a light back to your eyes that I feared was gone forever.”

“But what of my promise to you, to live in Ember Hall for the rest of our lives, just the two of us?” The words burst from Frida’s lips before she could hold them back.

“I don’t hear wedding bells ringing just yet,” Mirrie answered wryly.

Frida looked away, mortified. “Of course not.”

“But if that’s where things are headed, if that is what is meant to be, then I will be truly happy for you,” Mirrie said, sincerity shining from her face. “And I would certainly not stand in your way.”

“I am not saying that is what the future holds.” Frida folded her arms to hide her discomfort. Tiny droplets of rain began to fall around them.

“We none of us know what the future holds.”

“True enough.” The rain cast a sheen on Mirrie’s hood. Frida took hold of her arm and beckoned her forward. “Let us both get inside before we freeze.”

“But you should fight for your happiness,” Mirrie persisted, seemingly determined to drive this point home.

By now they were within earshot of the guards. Frida nodded to the man on the gate and waited until they were closer to the walls of the house before saying more.

“When did you become such an expert on matters of the heart, Mirabel Duval?”

She had meant the question lightly, but Mirrie flinched as if she had wounded her.

“Forsooth, I am no expert. Truly.” Her voice wobbled, betraying her emotions.