Page 25

F rida was almost glad to be back outside, where the redness in her cheeks could be explained by the biting cold. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with icy air and quelling the flickering sparks of desire that had ignited inside her belly.

Only momentarily though. For when she turned her head, there he was beside her. Handsome as ever, with his deep blue cloak swirling in the wind. The set of his strong shoulders promised her safety and protection, but the passion in his eyes declared something else entirely.

Something that made her pulse pick up speed.

But she should not think of such things now. She had plunged out into the snowy morn with the sole aim of bringing their flock of sheep to safety, and the animals were still out there.

“Ready?” Callum asked.

She nodded and they set off towards the sheep, booted feet sinking into the snow. It was hard work and she could not deny her relief that he had come to help. She would have managed alone, but it was nice to have support.

Her eyes flickered over to him as they approached the huddle of sheep.

He strode confidently, lifting his crook and making encouraging noises in his deep ringing voice.

The animals scattered at first, before settling into a group and plunging forwards down the hill.

She raised her own crook to keep them pointed in the right direction, joining her voice with Callum’s in perfect synchronicity.

It was as if they had done this a dozen times.

As if he was no knight, but a son of the land.

And she, no daughter of an earl, but a farmer’s wife.

Frida smiled at the fancy as they trudged downward, sliding a little in the snow.

Ever since her fall form the horse, icy conditions made her anxious.

She couldn’t bear the sensation of her feet slipping, her body moving in a way she couldn’t control.

But the snow had not frozen and Callum’s comforting presence helped calm her fears.

Time passed and they reached the barn without incident, the sheep baaing to one another once they tunnelled inside and smelled the hay waiting in the manger.

Frida and Callum stood together in the doorway, blinking in the shadows after the dazzling light of sunshine on snow.

“They are safe,” Frida declared, smiling at the scene.

Her body was warm after their exertions and she felt almost giddy with the improbable success of her mission.

If either Jonah or Mirrie had seen her leaving the hall at first light, they would have certainly tried to stop her.

Mayhap Jonah would have even barred her way.

Frida folded her arms and leaned against the wooden doorframe, allowing the tension to lift from her shoulders.

Her friend and brother would have been right to doubt her ability to handle the task all on her own.

She had entertained doubts herself, especially when the barrelling winds all but forced her back into the courtyard.

But she had come to Ember Hall determined to prove that a woman could be as capable as any man.

She could work the land, care for the animals, make the estate a success.

She had promised her father and she had promised herself.

Her gaze switched to Callum who had walked over to the sheep, checking that each of them was well. He put his hands on his hips as his dark eyes roved over the woolly creatures from top to bottom.

He is a good man, she thought.

Her fears over the hidden stash of weapons evaporated into the cold air as Callum lifted one of this year’s lambs closer to the manger. Jonah was right. It had been na?ve of her to expect that a knight would willingly sleep unarmed in a strange place.

“I count forty-four.” Callum’s deep voice broke into her thoughts.

Blinking, she met his dark gaze. “Forty-four?”

He nodded. “Is that right?”

Frida felt a clutch of fear. “Nay, I am sure we have forty-five.”

She stumbled closer to the feeding sheep and began counting them herself, struggling sometimes to differentiate between the white wriggling bodies.

“Forty-four,” declared Callum, once again.

“Aye.” She nodded, swallowing as she realised what this meant. “We must have left one in the pasture.”

Callum sighed. She knew, before he spoke, what he was about to say.

“I will go back,” she blurted, before he could begin. Her ankle throbbed in protest but she ignored the pain.

“Nay, Frida.” His hand on her arm would be something between a comfort and a temptation in other circumstances. “’Tis too much risk for just one sheep.”

“That one sheep deserves my protection as much as any other.”

He shook his head slowly. “Look.” He pointed behind her, through the open doorway. “It has started snowing again.”

She didn’t even glance around. “Then I had better hurry.”

His eyebrows lifted. “It would not be wise.”

But Frida had been checking and re-checking the lines of sheep in front of her and now she was even more determined. “I know which one is missing. ’Tis one of this year’s lambs. One with a torn ear. She is Mirrie’s favourite.”

Callum pressed his lips together. “Then I will go myself and find it.”

She couldn’t allow that.

“I will re-trace our steps.” Frida turned as quickly as she could decently manage and plunged back out into the cold.

Instantly she realised that much had changed during their short sojourn in the barn.

Thick flakes of snow fell relentlessly, covering her hood and eyelashes within moments.

Their footsteps from earlier were still recognisable, but only just. The pervading white of the snow did not just lay at their boots, it was all around them. Up and down, left and right.

“This is madness, Frida.”

Callum was at her side, speaking with a force she had not heard from him before.

She shrugged. Perchance it was.

But she had come this far and she would not give up now.

Without so much as a glance in his direction, Frida stepped forward, willing her ankle to support her.

It stayed strong, for now at least, although every stride through the snow was an effort.

Before she had reached the end of the courtyard, her chest heaved and her lungs burned.

Turning the corner into the blast of wind seemed like madness indeed, but turning back would be an admission of weakness that she was not prepared to make.

She would never admit it, but she experienced a rush of relief when she realised he was following her. His face was set, his lips compressed into a grim line, but he was close behind.

And she was grateful.

In this formation, they struggled onward. There was a slight incline which usually did not bother her much, but now felt like the highest of mountains. At last, they reached the plateau and she paused for breath with her hands on her knees. Callum came beside her, still silent and cross.

Resolved to ignore his steely disapproval, Frida glanced about to get her bearings.

Everything looked the same in the snow. The fields and trees and low stone walls which she knew so well were cloaked in an undiscriminating blanket of white.

But after a few seconds of squinting, she made out the shape of the shepherd’s hut and even the water trough where the sheep had been gathered.

Chances were, the missing sheep was still somewhere nearby.

Gripped with resolution, she strode forwards without thinking.

She had forgotten the steep drop of the ground just here, and the fact the water spilled over from the trough and turned to ice once the temperatures dropped.

This ice remained, even beneath the thick covering of snow, and once Frida’s bad ankle started sliding, she could not stop herself from falling.

She landed with a bump, but not before fear had stolen her dignity and forced her to shriek out loud.

Hot tears squeezed from her eyes, not because she was hurt but because the sensation of slipping out of control brought back painful memories from that dreadful day when her ankle shattered and her life changed forever.

Callum loomed above her, concern flashing in his dark eyes.

“Frida.”

One word, which from his lips had the power to be her undoing.

But she did not want to be undone.

“I am fine.” She struggled upwards, ignoring the hot ache of her ankle and a stabbing pain where she had twisted her lower back.

He paid her no heed, gripping her beneath the shoulders with strong hands and hauling her upright. Frida wavered in the snow, unwilling to catch her balance by leaning against him.

And so, instead of sobbing with cold and pain and effort, she got angry.

“I can manage, thank you,” she spat.

Callum released his hold and she managed to shift her weight to her good ankle just in time to prevent another tumble into the deepening snow.

“Forgive me.” His voice was dry.

The only thing that was.

Frida’s racing mind took stock of their situation. Her cloak was all but soaked through. A numbing cold had taken hold in her feet and hands, and despite the adrenaline coursing through her body, she was shivering violently.

But the lamb, the one that Mirrie had laughingly named Gertrude, was still out there, somewhere.

Frida pushed herself forwards, thinking for one moment that she could make out a dash of black against the all-pervading white, but it must have been mere fancy on her part.

“Frida, this is madness,” roared Callum, his words reaching her on a gust of wind. She turned to face him, surprised to see his coal-black curls and deep blue cloak all turned to white. “We must get inside.”

He was right, part of her registered, though another part wished to keep searching.

The wind barrelled into them again, making Frida lean down into the slope of the hill to withstand the gusts.

For the first time, it occurred to her that the simplest thing might be to just lay down.

The soft blanket of snow looked inviting.

She could sink into it and rest, just for a moment.