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“I know it.” He took her hand and led her back to the relative warmth of the hut.

“But in the morn, we can return and show them that we are safe and well. That you are safe and well,” he corrected himself with a smile.

“But if we set out now and fall into a snowdrift or wander of course, mayhap they will not find our frozen bodies until the first thaw.”

“That is a terrible image.” She closed her eyes against it.

“We have light.” He was rummaging in the store cupboard and had found enough candles to last them until dawn. “But nothing to eat.”

“I am not hungry.” But Frida’s audibly rumbling stomach contradicted her claim.

It was a hard, cold night that they spent together in the shepherd’s hut.

Not at all the start to this new stage of their romance that Callum would have wished for.

He spread one blanket on the floor and both Frida and the lamb snuggled up together, beneath the second.

There was scarce room for his long limbs in the cramped space, but he laid down as best he could and held Frida until she fell asleep.

Then, moving with great care, he stretched himself up and spent the greater part of the night sitting on the uncomfortable chair.

The temptation to see all of this as a warning sign from above grew strong within him.

One moment of passion they had shared, and already Lady Frida de Neville was reduced to sleeping in a shepherd’s hut, hungry and cold, her lovely hair spread thickly over the dusty floor.

But Callum was still light-headed with joy over Frida’s admission of feeling for him.

For now, he was buoyed up with hope for the future.

Well-used to the anxious wait of the hours before a battle, he steeled himself not to think too much during the night.

Wonderings never spiralled in a positive direction while darkness prevailed and the body shivered with cold.

He knew this of old. So as the owls hooted outside, he gazed at the soft outline of Frida’s sleeping face and let a smile play about his lips.

Sometime before dawn, he fell asleep with his head and arms on the table. Waking with a stiff neck and sore back, he had to blink before his eyes adjusted to the bright shaft of light streaming in at the open door. The air smelled fresh and clean.

“Good morning,” Frida said softly. With the lamb in her arms and the golden light behind her, she was a vision.

Callum sat up in the chair, wincing as his cramped muscles came back to life. “Good morning.” His mouth was as dry as sawdust. What he wouldn’t give for a skin of good wine.

“The snow has stopped. We can go home.”

Her simple statement pierced him. Frida looked only to return to the house she loved with the man for whom she had proclaimed affection.

The path forward seemed clear to her. But Callum’s deception meant that his way forward was paved with sharp rocks and treacherous drops, however much he might wish it otherwise.

All at once, he longed for bitter winds and biting hail.

Anything that might keep them here and prolong this beautiful privacy, just for them.

But he forced his chapped lips to smile as he stood and rotated his shoulders.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Aye, well enough.” She bent to lower the lamb to the floor. “I melted some snow for Gertrude to drink. But she has had no food inside her.”

He frowned as he puzzled this out, then noticed the candle moved to the floor of the hut, beside a rough wooden bowl which contained a thin covering of water.

“Ingenious.” He smiled at her again and then frowned. “For how long was I asleep?”

She inclined her head, her blue eyes dancing. “I can’t tell, I’m sure. But I can tell you that you snored.”

Her laugh brought fresh joy to his heart and he laughed along with her. “Never,” he denied strongly.

Frida met his gaze impishly. “Is this the life I have to look forward to? A man who snores louder than a hound?”

Callum’s worries floated away. He was light with happiness. “I hope so.” He caught one of her hands and brought it to his lips.

She pretended to consider it. “We will have to sleep in separate chambers.”

“Never,” he said again, drawing her towards him. “Though mayhap I should refrain in the future from sleeping upright in a chair.”

“Ah, so if you are laying down, you will sleep quietly?”

“As quiet as a lamb,” he promised, indicating the snuffling young sheep who seemed about to curl up again on the blanket.

“That is good news indeed.”

He dropped a careful kiss onto her forehead, conscious of his stale breath and the sharp growth of stubble on his cheeks. “We should make haste, before all of the county is sent out to search for you.”

“Mirrie will know I am with you and that I am safe,” Frida declared, but she walked over to where they had laid out their cloaks and picked one up. “Still damp.” She wrinkled her nose.

“I am sorry.”

“For what?” Her brow lifted in confusion.

“For the difficult start to our days together.” He took his cloak from her. “Cold and damp and hungry,” he added ruefully.

She laid a hand on his, her touch bringing him more comfort than she knew. “There will be better days, brighter days.”

“Aye.” He wanted to profess his love for her.

E’en to formally ask for her hand in marriage.

Callum had known since the first time he set eyes on Frida de Neville that she was the woman for him—however many obstacles lay in his path.

But when he wanted to swear his devotion, the words dried up on his tongue.

How could he promise her a future whilst she believed him a true Englishman?

Whilst my father and my lord wait for me to assassinate Frida’s brother?

All he could do was squeeze her fingers in a show of affection as the cold light of day brought these complications into terrible focus.

It mattered not how strong the innate connection might be; they could not begin a life together based on lies.

He would have to tell her the truth, however hard that might be.

The realisation brought a flood of relief, for this at last was a way forward and Callum had never shied away from a challenge.

But first they must return to the hall, to a warm fire and freshly-baked bread from the kitchen.

His stomach rumbled at the prospect and Frida smilingly flung her cloak about her shoulders.

“Let us depart.”

At first, they walked hand in hand, but their progress was slow and arduous, especially as Callum also carried Gertrude, tucked under one arm.

The snow was deep and their boots sank on every step, but the sun shone brightly and icicles twinkled from the trees.

Even a Scotsman could not deny the beauty of this English morn.

All around them, the hills and valleys were blanketed in white.

It was a world transformed and anything seemed possible.

The downhill slope was easier. Frida walked ahead, glancing back occasionally with a smile more dazzling than the reflected sunlight. Callum’s worries circled and swooped like the birds flying in the blue sky above them, but he took courage from Frida’s evident happiness.

Once they had eaten and Frida had warmed herself by the fire, he would tell her all of his tale. There would be no more lies. No more half-truths.

But a strange sight greeted them as they turned the corner to the main gates. The snow coming up from the village was not smooth and sparkling, but trampled and run through with mud and dirt, as if many men and horses had passed through. Frida turned towards him, a frown flickering across her brow.

“It looks like we have visitors.”

“Aye,” Callum agreed reflexively, his heart already sinking.

Whoever these visitors were, they were unlikely to bring good news.

They followed the rutted path through the gates, the uniformed guards standing aside to let them pass with a respectful nod to the lady of the house.

Callum walked behind her, unable to shake the feeling that he was already a condemned man.

Was it his imagination, or did the guards avoid his gaze e’en more so than usual?

Moments earlier, he had contemplated a roaring fire and the comfort of food and drink. Now he glanced towards the barn where Arlo and Andrew had been sleeping, wondering if they were safe.

Are they still alive?

He thought of the daggers secreted beneath his pallet. So out of reach he may as well have given them over to Frida. Then he scolded himself for such drama. What was he anticipating? That the Earl of Wolvesley had ridden out to arrest him?

All was quiet as they passed through the outer courtyard. Callum felt his legs become more and more leaden with every step closer to the hall. Frida, in contrast, walked steadily, despite her ankle. Her head was high, her expression curious. No fears besieged her.

But even Frida’s step faltered as they turned the corner and encountered two lines of armed and mounted men, swords glinting in the sunlight, horses’ ears pricked towards them.

Frida put a hand to her heart. Callum wanted to go to her, so she might lean against him, but he felt frozen to the spot.

“What is this?” she asked.

The central horseman urged his horse forwards and removed his helm. All of Callum’s fears solidified as he recognised the flaxen curls and handsome features of Tristan de Neville.

But Tristan did not spare Callum so much as a glance. His gaze was fully on his sister as he gestured his men forwards.

“Seize the Scot,” Tristan ordered.