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But the ache in his heart was accompanied by stabbing pains in his ribs and lower back, constant reminders of the beating he had endured at her brother’s command.

Tristan put his head to one side, as if considering the question. “Do not make the mistake of thinking I don’t already know every part of your sorry tale,” he answered softly.

“What can I add to it then?” For the sake of his men, Callum chased the sneer from his face.

“That is my question to you, Callum Baine. I once thought you a man of wit and learning. Was I wrong about that as well?”

Callum kept his temper in check as his mind attempted to process the facts. Tristan had come to Ember Hall with an army of soldiers. He had acted swiftly and decisively. The actions of a man who already knew he had been crossed.

But Callum had not so much as raised a hand against the de Nevilles or their property. Neither had his men. This must surely count in his favour?

He cleared his throat, closing his eyes as the great hall lurched to the left. If only his hands were not so tightly bound behind him, he might at least find his balance.

“You know then that I came to Ember Hall with orders to kill the lord.”

Frida’s sharp gasp of shock was almost his undoing, but Callum kept his gaze trained on Tristan.

He nodded, his blond head all but haloed by candlelight. “I do.”

“And you know that I was never informed as to the identity of this lord? That as soon as I arrived here and recognised Lady Frida, everything changed?”

Tristan tapped the arm of his chair with his index finger. “Why then did you keep a stash of weapons beneath your bed?”

Callum’s heart sank, but he did not allow his reaction to show on his face. He had guessed that their loft would be searched.

“No man likes to be defenceless.”

“Especially when he is planning an assassination.” It was a statement, not a question.

Frida’s sob was audible. This time, Tristan turned to her with a mixture of concern and impatience flashing across his blue eyes. “Sister, you do not have to stay.”

Frida gazed bleakly back at him. “I want to.”

He inclined his head. “Then come and sit beside me. Do not scurry about in the shadows like a serving maid.”

Callum could not help his gaze fixing on Frida, silently begging her to go elsewhere, but she did not so much glance in his direction as she carefully sank down into the tapestried chair.

Tristan snapped his attention back to Callum. “You were anticipating my arrival and planning an assassination, yes?”

Was I?

Callum fought to keep his breathing steady.

“My assassination,” Tristan added, as if helpfully.

“It was not as simple as that,” Callum managed. Wherever he looked, he could not escape the stunned expression on Frida’s face. It would be branded across his memory forever.

“Why else did you stay here for so long? Three warriors, four warriors,” Tristan corrected himself. “Laying down their weapons and tilling the land. English land,” he emphasised.

Four warriors.

Callum exhaled, realising that Gregor had most likely had a hand in furnishing Tristan with what he saw as the truth.

“Speak, man,” Tristan exploded. The first sign that he was not calmly in control.

“Methinks my long stay here is evidence against your claim. If my intention had always been to assassinate you, de Neville, believe me, you would already be dead.” At Frida’s gasp of anguish, he softened his voice.

“In truth, I have enjoyed tilling your English land. Ember Hall has given me a sense of peace I have long been lacking.”

Now Frida’s eyes met his and their gazes locked as lovers. Despite everything, Callum felt that all things may yet be well. With this woman beside him, he might e’en be King of England.

But ’twas not his place to tell Tristan de Neville of an understanding between he, Callum Baine, and Lady Frida de Neville. Those words would have to come from Frida’s lips.

Tristan’s face betrayed no surprise at Callum’s words. “Peace, eh? Is that right?”

“Aye.” Callum drew himself up as best he could on the hard floor.

“I brought in the harvest, chopped the firewood and rescued the sheep when the snow came early.” His heart beat painfully in his chest as he recalled how recently he and Frida had embraced in the shepherd’s hut.

“My men fixed the barn roof—in good time, I might add.”

“All of this I know.” Tristan sprang from his chair so quickly that Callum could not help rearing backwards in surprise.

In less than a second, Tristan was beside him on the floor, pressing the sharp edge of a blade against his neck.

“I also know that while you split my sister’s firewood, you waited patiently for my arrival so that you might run me through with a blade, much like this one. ”

Callum wanted to shake his head, but to do so would exert pressure on the blade that was already digging into his bruised flesh.

“’Tis not the case,” he managed to gasp.

“Tristan, stop.” Frida rose to her feet and stretched out shaking arms in entreaty.

“’Tis exactly the case,” Tristan spat. “I ask again, man, why else would you stay here so long?”

Because I love your sister!

The words were forming on his tongue when Tristan pressed his head closer to Callum’s, the hatred in his blue eyes all too visible.

“I will tell you why, shall I?” He grabbed a fistful of Callum’s hair, forcing his head back with the blade still held firmly against his neck.

“’Tis because you are a Scottish coward, like all of your kin who lie and creep around and kill. ”

Callum let out a roar of pure outrage. “’Tis not the Scots who are cowards.”

Tristan’s voice was a low, menacing hum in his ear. “I have seen for myself the true calibre of those who follow the Bruce.”

He had seen for himself.

With dreadful clarity, Callum recalled his conversation with Jonah in the solar just days prior. When Jonah told him that Tristan had been in Scotland at the time of the siege on Kielder Castle, his family home.

I have to know the truth.

“Were you in the highlands this summer?” He wanted to look Tristan full in the eye, but could not manage it with the knife at his throat.

“I am the one asking questions.” Tristan gripped his fistful of hair more tightly, but Callum was beyond caring.

“At Kielder Castle.” His stare locked onto his captor. “Did you give the order?”

Tristan paused. For a moment all they could hear was the crackle of logs in the fire and Frida’s broken sobbing.

“You are asking if I ordered the siege of Kielder Castle?” Tristan’s voice was unreadable. If he knew what Kielder Castle was to Callum, he gave no sign of it.

“Aye.”

“I do not deny it.”

Anger blurred both his vision and his senses. Consumed with lust for revenge, he twisted out of Tristan’s hands, away from the knife, and headbutted him full in the groin.

Tristan swore as he went down, giving Callum enough time to somehow get to his knees, his movement made possible by sheer force of will. He would not lay on the floor and wriggle like a worm before his aggressor. He would face him with all the height he could muster.

“’Tis you English who creep around and kill, not caring how much innocent blood you spill in your endless greed.”

Tristan was still holding the knife, and within moments he would recover enough to wield it, but Callum no longer cared. In his mind’s eye he saw the fallen bodies of Arlo’s parents, together with the young and old of his highland village.

Tristan had been there, perpetuating violence against peaceful people.

He spat on the floor, pleased to see the spittle land close to Tristan’s hand.

The future Earl of Wolvesley rose to his feet, looking down upon Callum as if he were a small thing, worthy of naught but disgust.

“I shall kill you,” he said, calmly.

“Do want you want,” Callum roared back. “What is more Scottish blood on your filthy hands?”

At the last moment, Callum had one thought. Frida . But already Tristan’s long legs were striding towards him. There was a massive blow from above. Then the world turned black.