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“F rida, what ails you?”

Never before in her life had she been so pleased to recognise Jonah’s voice. She glanced up to see him hobbling down the front steps.

“Jonah,” she gasped, sniffing away her tears. “My ankle is weak. Can you help me?”

He gave a small chuckle as he splashed towards her. “’Twill be the lame leading the lame, but I will do what I can.”

Her ankle burned as if a knife was twisting inside it. Relief flooded through her as she took Jonah’s arm, even though he had to shuffle his feet and brace his knees to support her weight.

“We must make a comical pair,” she grimaced.

He dropped his mouth to just above her ear. “I do not believe anyone is watching.”

She looked up into his laughing blue eyes, so similar to her own. Rain had already darkened his golden hair and was running in rivulets over his richly decorated tunic.

“You do not have a cloak.”

“Nay indeed.” He began walking them both slowly towards the front door. “I was looking out from the solar and saw you staggering. Does a gentleman hunt for a cloak before helping a lady in distress?”

His jovial tone helped to lessen the weight of grief in her heart. But she could not repress her sisterly retort. “Chivalry has not always been your strong suit.”

They both made heavy work of side-stepping a puddle. Water had found a path beneath the neckline of her cloak and the cold trickle made her long to be beside a roaring fire in the great hall.

Jonah waited until they had re-established their balance before replying. “Mayhap your steady influence is bringing out the nobler side of my character.”

“Pah.”

“You do not think so?”

He was making an effort to be charming, she realised. A trait she would usually associate more with her brother Tristan than the boy they had christened the Scowler .

“’Tis more likely to be the absence of strong liquor and inappropriate companions,” she retorted.

“Perchance,” he agreed with surprising equanimity.

They had reached the arched porchway leading to the heavy oak front door. It was a strong relief to be out of the rain and Frida paused, leaning against the plastered stone to catch her breath.

“Thank you,” she said.

Jonah gave a mock bow, his club foot ahead of him so that his weight rested on his good leg. He was an attractive man, Frida thought, when he was not scowling.

“The pleasure is mine,” he said solemnly. “Though my quest shall not be complete till you are settled before a fire with a rug over your knees. Let us proceed.”

He offered her a rather soggy elbow, which Frida accepted. Heat enveloped them as soon as they were through the front door. She inhaled the scents of lavender and woodsmoke, more than grateful to be home.

Although her gratitude brought her a step closer to weepiness and she sniffed once again, remembering what she had found in Callum’s loft.

“I vowed to ask you no questions until we were both ensconced in the warmth. Forsooth, sister, do not make me break my word.”

She summoned a smile. “I shall not.”

Walking side by side, they traversed the stone-flagged entrance hall and turned left into the great hall, which had never looked more welcoming.

Flames flickered in both grates and the tapestried chairs seemed to be waiting just for them.

Jennifer appeared, as if by magic, and Jonah politely requested she fetch them some warmed wine.

Frida felt a traitorous stab of relief that Mirrie had not come out to greet them. Her friend would have divined the distress in her eyes within moments. And Frida could not quite bring herself to divulge her recent findings so soon after confessing her indiscretion with Callum.

At least Jonah does not know about that.

Jonah helped her into the nearest chair and solicitously pulled a rug over her knees before taking his own seat with a sigh of relief. His head rolled against the cushioned back of the chair for a moment, before he shuffled forwards and held his hands out towards the blaze.

“So, Frida, will you tell me what ails you?”

“Naught but the damp and cold,” she said staunchly, reaching down to stroke her favourite hound who was slumbering by the fire.

“Do you think me a doddypoll?” He raised an eyebrow quizzically, prompting a low chuckle from her. “I spy my unflappable older sister weeping in the rain and I am to believe this is simply because she grew chilled?”

“Nay.” She shook her hands at him, silently asking for a reprieve while Jennifer set down her tray and handed each of them a goblet of wine. “I will tell you,” she sighed, once the servant had departed.

She didn’t want to, but she had to confide in someone.

But where to start?

She sipped her wine, wrapping her cold hands about the goblet and enjoying the rush of warmth through her body. The wine was rich, sweet and fragrant with spices. It occurred to her that she could gulp it down and drown her sorrows, the way Jonah had so often behaved back at Wolvesley.

But overindulgence in liquor would not achieve anything beyond a sore head. She had witnessed this often enough with Jonah and his ill-chosen friends at the numerous Wolvesley balls.

“I am waiting,” Jonah chided.

“I will speak.” Frida set down her goblet and linked her fingers together. “It concerns the men we have staying with us.” She pursed her lips as she recalled Jonah’s suspicious line of questioning in the solar days earlier. Had he realised their duplicity before she did?

If so, ’twould be a relief to unburden herself to one who would show no surprise.

I will deal with my heartbreak later.

“Callum?” His blue gaze was hypnotic. Frida felt she was caught in a trap, much as she felt when confessing some childhood misdemeanour to her father.

“Aye.”

Jonah inclined his head to one side. “What have you discovered?”

She took a deep breath. “I do not believe he is trustworthy.” The words came out in a rush that made her pulse pound. But at least the deed was done. There would be no hiding from it now.

Jonah took a long swig of wine. “I admit that when he first arrived, I too had my doubts.”

“I thought you were wrong at the time,” she interjected.

Jonah silenced her by leaning forward and taking her hand in his. “I believe I was.”

Nonplussed she could only sit back in her chair, gaping at him. A log cracked in the fire and the dog’s tail thumped lazily against the floor.

Jonah flashed her a smile. “On the day the young boy was stabbed, I was resting in the solar. I heard a disturbance and decided to listen by the open window.” Jonah released her hand, opening his palms before him. “What I heard was reassuring.”

Frida felt her head beginning to spin. This was not the conversation she had been anticipating.

“What did you hear?”

“I heard the other man, Gregor, threaten you. I heard Callum answer that threat with the same valour and determination that I would have voiced myself.” Jonah’s smile became pinched. “Aye, sister, e’en our esteemed brother Tristan could not have defended you more vigorously.”

Frida’s heart was beating heavily now. Can this be true?

But she directed a level glare at Jonah, pretending that her very soul was not clamouring for Callum’s innocence. “Can we leave your eternal feud with Tristan out of this?”

“I find that Tristan enters everything, in the end.” Jonah paused. “I wrote him into this tale myself.”

Frida took a moment to digest this. In the background, she heard swift footsteps walking along the passageway to the kitchen.

Mirrie.

She would dearly love to hear all Jonah had to say before Mirrie came upon them.

Not because Mirrie was not a cherished friend and confidante.

But because Mirrie knew how Frida felt about Callum.

And right now, Frida could not manage Mirrie’s disappointment alongside her own.

Although perchance there was no need for disappointment.

Her brother had offered her a lifeline, but she had not yet reached out to grasp it.

“You are speaking in riddles, Jonah,” she declared.

Jonah pushed a hand through his thick blonde hair. “It comes down to this. When Callum and his men first arrived, I was suspicious of their story. When I entered the solar and found you and Callum there alone, I grew ever more suspicious of his motives.”

Frida took a breath, keen to dispute this implication, but Jonah caught her eye with a questioning smile.

“Do you want me to finish or not?”

“I want you to finish,” she allowed.

“I dispatched a message to Tristan, checking Callum’s claim that he had been sent here to provide additional defence against Scottish unrest.”

Jonah reached for his wine, allowing Frida’s thoughts to race unchecked.

“I had only fleeting doubts over that tale,” she breathed. She had been more concerned about her old history with Callum.

About protecting my heart.

Jonah inclined his head. “You have not been trained to doubt.”

She suppressed a desire to kick him. “Just because I did not train as a knight in Lindum does not mean that I am not capable of rational thought.”

“Nay indeed.” The glimmer in his blue eyes told her he was teasing.

“What did Tristan say?”

Jonah shrugged. “I have not yet received a response. But ’tis no matter. For after hearing Callum’s words in the courtyard to the man Gregor, my doubts are eased.”

Frida parted her lips. If only she could find such conviction for herself. “What did he say to change your mind so utterly?”

“’Twas not so much what he said, as the passion with which he said it.

” Jonah thought for a moment. “He declared that he would not harm you, nor any of your kin within these walls. Methinks Gregor had challenged him to do that very thing. Whatever it was, it enraged Callum. I would say you may consider yourself safe in his company, sister.”

A lump was forming in Frida’s throat. She wanted to be reassured by Jonah’s tale, but still could not reconcile these events with Callum’s stash of hidden weapons.

“I am not sure of it,” she whispered.