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A lys had made it clear that she did not want him to do this. She had even gone so far as to beg him to reconsider. But Callum was adamant. Once he had set his mind upon something, nothing would dissuade him from the path.

With a sad shake of her head, Alys commented that he had been that way since childhood.

More pointedly, she added that it was mayhap the only way in which he resembled his father.

’Twas a comment that gave Callum pause, but by then he had already secured the loan of a horse from the new tenants of Egremont House. His plan was set in motion.

The horse was dapple grey and had a long stride that ate up the miles between Alys’s humble cottage and the mighty walls of Ember Hall.

Before the weakening sun had started its afternoon descent, Callum found himself trotting up the path that led to the great outer gates.

His heart quickened as he saw the guards gesticulating in his direction.

He slowed the horse to a walk when one of them ran at full pelt down the narrow stone steps in the direction of the house.

Gone, no doubt, to summon his master.

So be it , thought Callum. The sooner the better to face the inevitable showdown.

The horse flicked his ears backwards, as if picking up on his unease. Callum reached down to pat his neck, speaking calm words of reassurance.

Words that he did not entirely believe.

He expected to meet with resistance at the gatehouse, remembering how first Mirrie and then Frida had come out to meet him last time. But the guards swung open the gate and stood back to let him through without a murmur of dissent.

Callum would almost have preferred a confrontation. His heart hammered beneath the cloak of rough-spun wool that Alys had somehow procured for him and his horse skittered sideways, scattering chickens. As soon as they turned the corner to the courtyard, Callum got his wish.

Here was his opposition.

An impenetrable line of twenty armed men faced him, swords drawn. At the centre, standing slightly ahead of his army, stood Tristan.

Callum had ne’er been more aware of the differences between them.

Tristan’s plate armour gleamed in the pale sunlight.

His horse was one of the finest and largest in the land.

Opposite him, Callum felt as ill-equipped for conflict as a farmer sat astride a plough horse.

He would have pulled the animal to a halt, but the horse had ground to a stop anyway, snorting gently in growing distress.

He dropped the reins and held up both his bare palms. “I am unarmed.”

Tristan gave a little shake of his head, as if this fact was of little consequence. “Turn around, Callum, and go back to where you came from.”

Callum held his horse still with his calves. “I cannot. Not until I have said what I came to say.” He scanned the courtyard, desperate for a glimpse of Frida.

“And I cannot grant you safe passage through de Neville property.”

This was a standoff that could continue for some time, and Callum did not have the appetite for it.

He swung one leg over his horse’s hindquarters and dropped to the ground, his swift actions causing a couple of Tristan’s soldiers to break ranks and step towards him, ready to strike.

Tristan held them back with his arm half-outstretched.

Callum sank to his knees, right there on the damp earth, and bowed his head.

“I cast myself on your mercy. You can do with me what you will. I ask only two things in return.” His heart pounded, knowing that he had placed himself in a position of extreme vulnerability.

If Tristan came at him now, he would have no way to defend himself.

He was relying entirely on the future earl’s integrity.

Integrity which days earlier, Callum would have disputed the existence of.

The polished black boots, which he recalled striding towards him as he laid on the floor of the great hall, did not move.

“I will not show mercy to an enemy of my family,” Tristan gritted out.

“That is your choice.” Long seconds passed and Callum’s hopes began to wane. There was no point in saying he was a long-admirer of the de Nevilles, nor that he would willingly lay down his life for Frida. Tristan would always see him as the man hired to assassinate him.

Tristan’s command, when it finally came, was loud and clear. “Stand down.”

Callum felt weak with relief as he heard the guards shuffling backwards and marching away. Now just one pair of boots stood before him.

“And you, stand up. I will not speak to a man prostrate on the ground before me.”

Callum stood up, unsteadily. His body was healing, but his ease of movement had not yet returned.

“Thank you, Tristan,” he said, with feeling.

“Do not presume to thank me.” Tristan’s face was white with anger. “Or to address me as if we are friends. You have seconds to tell me why you are here.”

“I am here to apologise.”

He knew a thrill of gratification when Tristan’s jaw dropped. But England’s most renowned knight recovered quickly.

“You said you wanted two things from me. What are they?”

Callum longed to put a hand out to steady himself, but the only thing to lean on was his horse, who was so on edge he might well shy away from him.

“I ask that you release my men,” he said, breathing hard.

“Impossible.”

“And I ask that you convey a message to Frida.” He swallowed down the swell of emotion caused by the feel of her name on his lips. “Unless, of course, you will allow me to speak to her myself.”

Tristan laughed. “It is miracle enough that I allow you to stand here and speak to me .”

“I know it,” Callum agreed, equably.

Tristan put his hands on his hips. “What is the message?”

“The same as I give to you. An apology.”

Tristan breathed out heavily. “Your apology is worth nothing.”

“I sincerely hope that is not the case.” Callum straightened his shoulders, aware of the crucial importance of getting this right.

“My apology is worth my life. I come before you unarmed, knowing you might well strike me down. But I was in the wrong, staying here, accepting hospitality, e’en pledging my troth to your sister.

” He noted Tristan’s expression of surprise.

“And when a man is in the wrong, he should confess it.” Tristan looked as if he might interrupt, but Callum spoke on before he could do so.

“There is no hope for peace in this land, if no man can admit when he is at fault.”

Tristan’s blue eyes widened. For a moment, they looked just like Frida’s eyes. He lowered his sword and rested the tip on the ground, clasping his hands around the hilt.

“‘No hope for peace in this land, if no man can admit when he is at fault,’” he repeated. “Do you truly believe that?”

“Aye.” Callum nodded. “And peace is what I desire most of all.”

“Peace between England and Scotland?”

Callum nodded once more.

Tristan sharpened his gaze. “Despite what happened to your ancestral home?”

“Revenge has to stop somewhere, else there will be naught left for any man to defend.”

A smile flickered across Tristan’s face, there and gone in an instant. But even when it had fled, there was a new warmth left behind. “I hear my own beliefs echoed here.”

Callum nodded. “I know you were not responsible for the attack on Kielder Castle.”

“I should ne’er have allowed you to believe I might have been.”

The two men gazed levelly at one another. Greatly daring, Callum held out his hand. After no more than a moment’s pause, Tristan grasped it.

“You have your wish, Callum. I forgive you. And I will release your men.”

Relief made a smile stretch across his face. “Are they in good health?”

“Aye, they are well enough, as I understand it.”

“And Frida?” Callum held his breath.

Tristan’s gaze grew wary. “She is also in good health.”

“Nay.” Callum made an impatient gesture. “I mean, may I see her?”

Do I need Tristan’s permission , he wondered.

Perchance not. But minutes earlier, Callum had feared Tristan might run him through with his sword. And if he was e’er to be his brother by marriage, Callum should not test his friendship so soon.

Tristan folded his arms, his face regretful. “Frida is not here.”

Of all the words he could have said, Callum was not expecting that. “Not here,” he echoed, stupidly.

“She returned to Wolvesley just this morn.” Tristan grimaced. “But I will see that your message is conveyed to her.”

Callum felt as if he might sink to the ground with disappointment.

He had hardly dared hope that Tristan would accept his apology.

Nor that he would allow his men to go free.

That both of those things had been granted had bolstered his confidence that he might, this very day, gaze upon the face of the woman he loved.

“Mayhap I can go after her.” He looked doubtfully at the dapple-grey horse. Would he carry him all the way to Wolvesley?

Would I e’en be welcomed there?

’Twas one thing to arrive unannounced at a small country manor, like Ember Hall. Quite another to attempt entry at one of England’s mightiest fortresses. Especially when the earl may have been warned of Callum’s treachery.

He forced such negativity from his mind. He must do whatever it took to reach Frida and hold her in his arms.

Tristan appeared to be looking at something over his shoulder, as if too embarrassed to meet his gaze. “’Tis a long ride to Wolvesley,” he intoned. “And your man, Arlo, is not strong enough for it yet. But I will ask the kitchen to make provisions for your journey back across the border.”

With that, Tristan de Neville strode away, leaving Callum alone in the courtyard.

He had achieved so much and also so little.

He wanted to both punch the air with joy for the freedom of his friends, and also to growl with frustration.

Giving in to a surge of weariness, he rested his arm on the horse’s withers and leaned his head onto his palm.

Another journey awaited him. Another long negotiation. Mayhap several.

Whatever it takes. He did not hear the light footsteps coming across the courtyard, nor see Frida’s smiling face until it was inches from his.

“I am not at Wolvesley,” she said, pressing her arms about him.

Callum’s surprise rendered him momentarily speechless. He inhaled her lavender scent. “You are not a figment of my imagination?” He leaned back a little to take her in. Her blue eyes. Her emerald green gown. Her slender fingers, pale against the dark grey of his borrowed cloak.

“Nay, I am real enough.”

“I got here in time,” he said wonderingly, running a hand through her silvery waterfall of hair. “And your brother has forgiven me.”

She put her head to one side, smiling impishly. “I heard also that you have forgiven my brother.”

He gave a great, shuddering sigh of relief. “You were listening all the while?”

She nodded.

“But Tristan said…” He broke off, spinning around to see if Tristan could still be seen.

“I know what Tristan said.” She tossed back her hair with a smile. “’Twas one of the first times in my life that my brother stood back and allowed me to make my own choices.”

“He knew you were there?” Callum’s heart was filling with joy.

“All the time.”

“And he knows about us,” he pressed, wanting to be sure.

Frida’s lips curved into a smile. “I told him the truth about my feelings for you earlier today.”

Callum grasped her hands, hardly daring to believe it. “We have his blessing?”

She moved into the circle of his arms. “I don’t know about that, but he shook your hand, did he not?”

Callum opened his mouth to say more, but Frida put her fingers to his lips. “Allow me to ask a question.”

“Anything.” He held her tightly and thought he might never let her go.

“Can we stop talking about my brother?” she breathed. “And better yet, can you kiss me, please?”