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I t took little more than a second for Callum to truly understand what his body so readily accepted: Frida de Neville was standing in his arms and kissing him.

And nothing in his whole life leading up to that moment had ever felt so good.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer and claiming her mouth with his own. Her lips were warm and soft; the lavender fragrance of her damp hair overwhelmed the bitter scent of the sputtering tallow candles.

“Frida,” he said, cupping her cheeks and gazing down into her blue eyes.

I remember you , she had said. I’ve never forgotten you .

The deep connection he had always felt, shimmering between them, was real. He hadn’t imagined it. Nor was it one-sided fancy on his part. His heart filled with happiness even as desire, profound and primitive, stirred his blood.

“Callum.”

On her lips, his name was a caress. It hadn’t been spoken so tenderly since his mother’s untimely death.

He ran his hands through her hair, then traced the path of her arms from shoulder to wrist, all while his need for her grew stronger.

She was all he had ever dreamed of. Standing in the small hut whilst outside the wind howled and the snow cascaded down, Callum couldn’t recall the worries and concerns that had made him fret so.

Or rather, he could recall them; ’twould be hard to forget his father’s allegiance to Robert the Bruce and Callum’s own orders to take down Tristan de Neville. But right now, none of that mattered.

All that mattered was Frida. Standing in his embrace. Where she belonged.

“I have…” he began, then floundered. “I have ne’er stopped thinking about you,” he managed. “You have been in my heart these last years.”

A painful part of his heart, until now.

She smiled and it was as if the sun shone down upon him in a blessing.

“Then kiss me again,” she whispered.

Her invitation unleashed the fires inside him and this time his kiss was not gentle.

Nor did he stop his hands from roaming where they longed to be—at first, up and down her slender spine; within moments, skimming sideways over her ribcage to brush against the swell of her breasts.

She gasped and he took the opportunity to deepen his kiss, probing her mouth with his tongue, scarcely able to restrain his reaction when she responded with equal desire.

It would be the easiest, most natural thing in the world to unfasten her bodice and trail his lips along her collar bone and beyond.

It took every ounce of self-restraint not to lay her down atop a blanket and introduce her to the pleasures of human flesh, claiming her as his very own in the process.

But he would not.

Trembling with repressed desire, he broke off their kiss, his face still hovering inches from hers. Confusion clouded her eyes.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered.

She smiled at him again, tentatively this time. “Then why did you stop?”

He groaned and hauled her against him, wrapping her in his arms and holding on tight. “I would have no regrets between us.”

Her breath was hot against his neck. “You would regret continuing to kiss me?”

“Never. But kissing you more would lead to other things. And those, we might regret come the morn.” He took a deep breath and spoke quickly. “Frida, you don’t know how I have dreamed of this moment. But ne’er in my dreams did we come together in a cramped hut, both nearly numb with cold.”

“Where then?”

She was teasing him, he realised, with a jolt that was half pleasure and half surprise. “In a comfortable bed beside a roaring fire, where I might remove your silken gown with exquisite slowness and kiss every inch of your beautiful body,” he replied without hesitating.

She lifted her head to look at him, her lips and her eyes dark with wanting. “That was what you dreamed?”

He chuckled. “That and more.”

“Show me.”

His heart threatened to jump outside of his rib cage. “I cannot.” He cleared his throat, the unreality of the situation helping him to form his next words without pause. “Not until we were husband and wife.”

A beat passed. “Is that what you want?” Despite the momentousness of the question, her voice was steady.

Callum could only answer with the truth.

“That is what I have wanted since I first set eyes upon you in the banqueting hall of Wolvesley Castle.” His hands started on a journey all of their own, sweeping down to span her waist as he summoned up the cherished memories.

“You wore a gown of emerald green and your hair shone more golden than the sun.”

She made a half-strangled sound. “My golden hair is a thing of the past.”

“Now your hair shines silver like the stars,” he said softly.

“I am not the same person I was.” She rested her palms on his chest. “I am much changed.”

“As am I,” he intoned, pushing away the sharp-edged, bloodied images of the siege of Kielder Castle that had left scars on his very soul.

Shrugging off the guilt that followed him everywhere like a faithful hound.

All that mattered now was Frida. Not yesterday, not tomorrow. Just this present moment.

She stepped away and disappointment stabbed him in the heart. But she went only to light a second candle, casting a new glow of golden light into the hut.

“I have learned that life is full of twists and turns,” she said softly. “The future is not always what we expect it to be. And not so long ago, my friend Mirrie told me I should fight for my happiness.”

He reached out and took her hands. “Is that what you are doing now?”

“Nay, at least I hope fighting is not required.” A smile danced across her lips. “But I am certainly not going to turn away from happiness.”

He drew her towards him, his fingers tracing over her cheeks and down. “Do I make you happy?”

“Aye.” She nodded simply.

“Perchance we could make each other happy.”

He closed his mind to thoughts of family allegiance and treachery. With Frida by his side, anything would be possible.

She nodded again. “I think we might.”

He had waited long enough. He would give her pleasure, even if his own must still be denied.

He kissed her—first her lips, then her neck, then her throat.

His hands roamed over her bodice until only a cotton shift lay between his warm fingers and Frida’s small, perfect breasts.

He nudged it downwards until the rosy bud of her nipple sprang free.

With a deep sigh, he closed his lips around it.

Frida shifted in his arms making small moans of pleasure that unravelled the last of his restraint. With one hand, he held her waist and with the other, he reached beneath the hem of her skirts, travelling up over her stockings until he reached the heavenly softness of her upper thighs.

Here he paused. Lifting his face from her breasts, he shifted his gaze to her eyes, which were closed with pleasure, and her lips, which were parted as if waiting to meet his.

He dropped butterfly kisses onto the corner of her mouth as his gentle fingers found her curls. She moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer and eradicating any doubt that she wanted this as much as he did.

“Frida.” He whispered her name softly as he slid a finger inside her, holding her steady as the first waves of pleasure took her.

“Oh,” she gasped, sinking against him.

He took her weight easily, watching her face to see what touch pleased her the most. He stroked and cajoled until she tipped over the edge with a deep groan of release.

And then it was over and she was flushed and warm in his arms. He kissed her forehead as her breathing slowly returned to normal and her heart ceased to hammer beneath her shift.

“Beautiful,” he repeated, still quite unable to believe what had happened.

Her eyes flickered open and held him transfixed in pools of blue. “I did not know it could be like that.”

He reached for the blanket, tucking it around her shoulders against the cold. “That is only the beginning,” he promised, guiding her over to a chair where he took a seat and pulled her onto his knee.

She smoothed her hands through his tangled hair before cupping his stubbled cheeks with her palms.

“The beginning of our future?” she whispered. “Together?”

“Together,” he confirmed, interlinking his fingers with her. “We will make it happen, you and I.”

She rested her head against his chest and Callum felt himself grow warm and relaxed, despite the hardness of the chair. For the first time, he could glimpse a future where he would be happy.

I will make it happen , he swore to himself, before letting his eyelids droop.

They dozed in the candlelight, tucked under the blanket, together.

*

Callum should not have allowed himself to fall asleep. He cursed out loud when he awoke some hours later to find the sun already set and the light all but disappeared from the day.

Frida was equally dismayed; her blue eyes were wide with shock as she stood by his side and they looked out at the darkening afternoon.

The snow lay thick and unspoilt all around them.

Slow flakes still drifted down, but the storm had lost its conviction.

An hour earlier, they would have made the journey back with ease.

But now, the snow was not the only danger—if they ventured out, they would have darkness to contend with, too.

“Mayhap, if we move quickly?” she suggested.

“Nay,” Callum responded, before pressing his lips together and softening his response.

“I do not think it would be wise,” he amended.

Frida was not one of his men and he should not address her as such.

But after so many years barking orders—and receiving the like from his father—it had become something of a reflex.

Her shoulders sagged. “They will be worried, back at the hall.”