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Hearing the emotion in her voice, the slumbering hound opened his big brown eyes and gave a little whine in her direction.

Jonah said nothing, wisely waiting for her to continue.

Frida took a breath. “When Callum arrived at Ember Hall, I asked him to surrender his weapons.”

Her brother nodded. “I have seen the swords myself, locked in the armoury. Great heavy things they are.”

“Today I discovered that Callum did not fully comply with my request. He has concealed a number of knives, daggers and the like beneath his pallet in the hayloft.” She paused as a new thought occurred to her. “There may even be more, hidden elsewhere.”

Jonah pursed his lips. “This is what you had found, before I met you in the courtyard?”

“Aye.”

“Gadzooks, sister, I had imagined much worse.” Jonah took another mouthful of wine, a smile playing across his lips.

“You cannot expect trained warriors to come to a strange place and relinquish all that makes them feel safe. Weaponry is part of a man’s identity.

Especially a trained knight, like Callum. ”

At first his words made little sense to her. Frida’s mind refused to give up the notion that something was awry.

It all came down to this: Callum betrayed me.

But Jonah’s nonchalance was more than a little affecting.

She gazed into the orange flames of the fire, puzzling it all out. “You do not think it suspicious?” she tried.

“Let us imagine our brother, Tristan, e’en our father, arriving some place and being asked to give up his weapons.” Jonah looked at her over the rim of his goblet. “Do you think either one of them would truly surrender every one of their weapons, leaving them with no protection?”

She shook her head. “They would not.”

“For the sake of etiquette, they may relinquish one or two items. But most certainly, they would retain more.” He tossed her a grin—de Neville charm at its finest. “Mayhap even conceal them beneath a mattress?”

Frida smiled; relief was tapping her on the shoulder.

“Then you do not think I have reason to fear? We have reason to fear?” she amended quickly.

Jonah grew solemn. “I did not say that, sister. We live in turbulent times. Robert the Bruce aims to be king of an independent Scotland, while our king has every intention of ruling over Scotland himself. Overseas, our best men are fighting in France. ’Tis not the time to lower our guard.

” He met her troubled gaze and pressed his lips together in a smile.

“But I do not think that we have reason to fear Callum Baine.”

It was all she wanted and more.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He puckered his brows. “For what?”

“For helping me across the courtyard. For tucking a rug over my knees. For talking to me.” Frida leaned forward and placed a hand over her brother’s. “Were you always secretly this nice, Jonah? Or has something happened to you since you came to stay with us at Ember Hall?”

A most familiar scowl flickered for a moment over Jonah’s sensitive features before he gave her fingers an answering squeeze.

“Thank you, sister, for that timely reminder of how you and Tristan have always looked down upon me.”

“We have not,” she declared hotly.

“Nay, not only you and Tristan. Isabella too. She could scarce conceal her impatience to be rid of me.”

“Isabella thinks only of making a suitable match before the winter sets in.”

“Our little sister Esme has no affection for me either.” He met her eyes as if challenging her to deny it.

Frida put her head to one side. “Jonah, I had no idea you cared so.” She took a firmer hold of his hands, leaning closer to the warm glow of the fire.

“Our sister Esme has her head in the clouds, while Isabella rarely lifts her gaze beyond the looking glass.” She saw a smile trembling at his lips. “You know it is true.”

“I know it.” Jonah’s gaze grew reflective. “Truly, Frida, I should not admit this. But seeing as we are exchanging views…” His voice trailed off.

“Go on,” she encouraged him.

“’Tis a terrible thing for me to say. But when your ankle shattered and you could only walk with a limp, I thought this might prove a common bond between us.”

Frida opened and closed her mouth, unable to think of an appropriate response. “I do not allow my limp to define me.”

Jonah released her fingers so that he might spread his arms before him. “Nor I.”

“’Tis true,” she allowed. “You are an excellent horseman and highly skilled with a sword.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, thinking it through. “May I tell you what I really think?”

Jonah drained his goblet of wine and placed it down on the table. “I am ready.”

She chose her words carefully. “Tristan and I perchance were at fault for treating you differently, Jonah. You were born afflicted and have overcome it. That is a mighty achievement that I well know requires patience and resilience. Not just once, but every day.” She sipped at her wine, remembering a plucky young boy determined to follow herself and Tristan around the fields of Wolvesley.

They wanted to be free of the whining youngster who only slowed them down.

But is that not true of all siblings?

“I know what you call me,” he said quietly.

Frida felt her cheeks growing hotter; not from the fire but the sharp prick of her conscience.

“The Scowler.” He pressed his lips together before relaxing into a smile. “Mayhap I deserve the moniker. I certainly did naught to dispel it.” He placed his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his head against his hand. “I only wanted you to notice me.”

“Oh, Jonah,” she repeated, catching his eye. “We noticed you.”

They both laughed, the slight tension between them evaporating like woodsmoke.

“Our family is full of strong-headed individuals,” he mused. “The only one amongst us who has any amount of patience is Mirrie.”

“And Mother,” she added quickly.

“Aye, Mother has the patience of a saint.”

“And Mirrie is kind and compassionate.” She thought of her friend’s gentle brown eyes.

“Whereas we de Nevilles are always running to the next thing before we have finished the first.” Jonah squeezed her hand again. “And ’tis hard to run when you have a twisted foot.”

“Or a shattered ankle,” she agreed. “Are you saying that we should slow down?”

“Slow down, look about us, appreciate what we have.” He sighed. “I have been doing that more since coming to Ember Hall. Dwelling more on gratitude than on envy.”

She allowed a moment to pass. “You are envious of Tristan?”

He sat back in his chair so his face was half hidden from her. “’Tis not easy to be the brother of Tristan de Neville. Nor the son of Angus de Neville.”

“You share many of their qualities,” she demurred.

“And you, sister? Do you pretend that it is easy to be the older sibling of Isabella? The one they call the Rose of England?”

His words pierced her, even as a denial rose to her lips. From childhood, Isabella had been hailed as a great beauty. Four years older, with hair not quite so thick, skin not quite so flawless and a smile not quite so enchanting, Frida had always felt plain by her younger sister’s side.

She bit down on her lip before releasing her discomfiture in a chuckle. “I do pretend, aye. But you are right, ’tis not always easy.”

Jonah also chuckled. “There we are then. Allies at last.”

“Allies.” She lifted her goblet in a silent toast. “Tell me, why did we not have this conversation years ago?”

Jonah leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His gaze rested on the glowing fire. “’Tis sometimes hard to hear the truth of your heart amidst the mighty clamour of Wolvesley Castle.”

“Amen to that.” She took her final mouthful of wine, savouring the richness of it and allowing Jonah’s insight to ripple through her.

She had heard the truth of her heart.

She had acknowledged—to herself and to Mirrie—that her heart beat for Callum.

Mayhap that was why she had been so quick to distrust him. The very second her eyes alighted on those weapons, she had believed the worst of him.

Old habits die hard. And Frida had been barricading her heart for many winters now.

Was it time for a change?