Page 23

T here was something different about the light this morn , Callum thought. For one, there was too much of it. For two, the hue was overly bright.

Still fuddled with sleep, Callum lay on his pallet, listening to the snuffling of Arlo’s steady breathing, and waited for his mind to make sense of it all.

The cold was another thing. Bitter and biting on his face, e’en as his body was warm beneath a heavy rug. Callum watched his breath plume into the chill air and the answer slowly slid into his mind.

Snow.

Noiselessly, he rose out of bed and padded on stockinged feet over to the gable end of the barn. There, he bent his knees and fixed his gaze on the gap between two wooden slats in the roof. He could see little, but there was no hint of green outside.

Everything was white.

Grunting softly, Callum returned to his pallet, pulled on his leather boots and wrapped his heavy cloak about his shoulders. He was possessed of a desire to breathe this fresh, clean air and consider what it meant.

Leaving his men sleeping, he quietly opened the wooden door and slipped out into the biting cold. Flaming wall torches illuminated a world made different. Soft snow crunched beneath his boots as he carefully ascended the narrow stone staircase.

I must remember to clear these treads , he noted. Once the snow turned to ice, they would become treacherous.

At the bottom of the steps, he paused, reluctant to mar with his footprints the shimmering expanse of white spreading all around.

The first rays of sunrise were just appearing, casting a beautiful rosy hue over the pristine snow that lay thickly over everything.

For a moment, Callum was filled with wonder, like a child at yuletide.

He wrapped his arms about his chest, pushing his hands beneath the folds of his cloak, and breathed it all in.

Yesterday in the chapel, he had asked the Almighty for a sign.

And this sign felt fairly conclusive.

Callum would not be leaving Ember Hall. Not today, nor on the morrow.

He pressed his lips together, unable to deny a thrill of relief that the decision had been taken out of his hands.

Aye, he was playing with fire still. Especially after that kiss.

A kiss that had seared itself into his very soul.

Never would he forget how Frida’s lips had felt against his, the sweetness of her breath or the softness of her body.

Her gasp of pleasure that had all but robbed him of reason.

But could he e’er allow it to happen again, given the layers of complexity that existed between them?

Callum ground his teeth together, his breath hanging in the air like steam from a dragon.

A movement from above caught his attention and he reached for the hilt of his sword, cursing silently when it was not there.

“’Tis only I,” said a familiar voice, the words all but swallowed up by the muffling snow.

Callum relaxed his stance. “Andrew.”

His friend made halting progress down the snowy steps and came to stand by his side. He smelled of hay and sleep, and his uncombed red hair hung in fiery tousles.

“Snow,” Andrew declared, putting his hands on his hips and gazing about.

“Aye.”

Andrew’s blue eyes caught him in a trap. “It will make travelling hard.”

“Well-nigh impossible.” Callum leaned back on his heals. “More is still to come, if I am not mistaken.”

“So we are to stay longer?” Andrew kept his voice low. Aware, as Callum was aware, of the sleeping guards nearby. And the guards on the wall who must be due to return soon.

“We have no choice, friend.”

“I see that.” Andrew nodded his head. He wore no cloak, but did not betray any discomfort from the cold.

“I am sorry for it.” Callum was driven to frankness. “This mission has turned out very different to the one we anticipated.”

Andrew grunted, his breath steaming before him. “That is what oft happens in this life.”

“Aye,” Callum said again, wishing suddenly that he might unburden himself.

Andrew was one of his oldest friends. And Callum had betrayed him almost as much as he had betrayed Frida. He had lied to them both; was lying to them still. Two people whom he valued above all others.

Regret swirled in his gut.

Andrew turned and clapped a big hand on Callum’s shoulder, all but knocking him sideways. “Ye didnae summon the snow, man.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he recovered his balance. “True enough.”

“And I have stayed in worse places than this.” The big highlander nodded ruminatively, his bushy eyebrows disappearing into his thatch of hair.

“This stint ye arranged for us, as labourers?” He let out a bark of laughter, silencing Callum’s denial.

“It has done me good to spend time working the land. A break, ye might say, from constant battling and plotting and bloodshed.”

“I think Arlo might see it differently.” Callum’s heart twisted as he recalled the moment the lad had fallen with a dagger between his shoulder blades.

“Ach, the lad is recovering now. And he could ha’ been more grievous injured had Gregor gotten his way.” Andrew nodded in the direction of the guards’ quarters. “The four of us against the lot of them.”

“Aye.” Callum rubbed his arms against the cold. “It would not have gone well for us.”

“I’ll no say I’ll no be glad to be back home.” Andrew lowered his voice. “But this is a reminder, ain’t it, of what we’re fighting for?”

Callum raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Peace. A quiet life. Chance to till the land and reap what ye sow.”

Callum’s heart twisted again, but he couldn’t allow his friend to see how his words affected him. He would trade all he had for the chance of a quiet, peaceful life with Frida.

Instead he cleared his throat. “You’re mighty poetic this morn, Andrew.”

“’Tis the snow. It has sent me soft in the head.”

Callum guffawed, scooping up a handful of soft snow and tossing it in Andrew’s direction.

It landed squarely on the back of his head, white melting into fiery red.

Callum realised that dawn had broken as they were speaking.

The sky was bright with pink and orange rays, dazzling against the expanse of snow.

“Are ye starting something, man?” Andrew’s eyes gleamed provocatively.

“Nay, I am finishing it.” Callum went to scoop up another handful of snow, but the muffled squeak of boots trampling through snow halted his movements. The guards were returning from their nighttime shift.

As one, the two Scotsmen straightened up, arms hanging limply by their sides. They nodded silently to the line of uniformed guards, some of whom returned the gesture as they climbed the steps to their adjacent sleeping quarters.

“’Tis a good job we finished the barn roof yesterday,” Andrew said quietly.

Callum nodded, his eyes widening as he realised what this meant.

“The animals are still out in the fields.” He spun around, his cloak flaring about his ankles. “I must go to fetch them in.”

Andrew did not question him. “I shall come with ye.”

Callum clapped him on the shoulder. “I thank you for the offer, Andrew. But one of us should stay here until Arlo wakes. He is not yet well enough to fend for himself, especially in these temperatures.”

“Ye will go out alone?” Andrew’s eyebrows once again disappeared into his thatch of hair.

“’Tis not too deep, yet.” Callum demonstrated this by stepping further out into the courtyard.

The snow came no further than midway up the feet of his leather boots.

He shaded his eyes and looked to the west. “But see those clouds on the horizon? I’ll wager they will bring us more snow before noon. ”

Andrew gazed at him, ruminatively. “I am not going to pester ye for the chance to trudge out in the snow and bring in another man’s livestock.”

“Another woman’s livestock,” Callum corrected, before he could think better of it.

“I begin to see how it is now.” Andrew guffawed. “Ye have a soft spot for yon Frida de Neville.”

Callum bit back the denial that had sprung to his lips. He must take care not to draw suspicion by seeming too sensitive on the topic.

“She is a fine woman,” he said instead.

“Aye. Wi’ a brother who would run ye through with his sword before thinking twice.”

Callum looked again to the west, pretending to monitor the clouds as he schooled his face into neutrality.

“I will go now and get the job done.”

“And I shall go back to the warm.” Andrew jerked his head towards their loft. “Once Arlo is settled, shall I come and find ye?”

“Aye.” Callum was grateful for the support. “Do that.”

“And later we will raise a toast to yer lassie.” Andrew waggled his eyebrows.

“We might raise a toast to each other.” Callum grasped his friend’s forearm. “I am right glad you’re here, Andrew.”

He meant it. Amidst the unrelenting turmoil of his thoughts, Andrew’s steady good humour was a tonic.

A cold gust of wind hit him full in the face as he turned the corner away from the barns.

He hadn’t realised just how much shelter the courtyard provided.

Callum had to pause for a moment, capturing both his balance and his resolve.

The outlook here was bleak, with wind whipping up the snow and sending it spiralling into the freezing air.

Tiny shards of ice rained down onto the hood of his cloak.

He took a deep breath and strode onward, barely recognising the landmarks that had grown passingly familiar over the past few days.

A blackbird took flight into the pale sky, causing a wedge of snow to fall heavily from the branch it had been perching upon. There was no sign of the chickens, usually to be found scratching in the dirt. They would all be safe and warm in the henhouse.

Mayhap all living creatures were safe and warm within Ember Hall; bar Callum, intent on his mad quest.

He half smiled at the fancy, before realising he was wrong. Ahead of him, through the swirls of snow, he could make out another figure battling up the slight hill.

A slight figure, head bowed low against the wind, walking with a limp.

Frida.