Page 44

Four years later…

T he moments just before dawn always had a certain magic for Frida. A stillness, as if the world was holding its breath; a promise of renewal, a gift of hope.

The light was milky, making only the smallest impact on the darkness of the night. She could see enough to make out the faint path they were following up the grassy hill, Callum beside her. When he smiled down at her, she could see his white teeth gleaming.

“Nearly there,” he said, holding out his hand so they could walk side-by-side along this final section. She entwined her fingers with his, relishing his warmth.

The tang of sea salt filled the fresh morning air, along with the rhythmic sound of waves crashing onto the small pebble beach far below them. To their left, this year’s lambs began bleating for attention just as the first piping notes of the blackbird’s song trilled from the trees.

Frida stopped. Not because the climb exhausted her, but because she wanted to take it all in. She sighed as the pinkish rays of sunrise appeared on the horizon.

“So beautiful.”

Callum frowned. “Aren’t we too late?”

Her husband had made the transition from warrior to gentleman farmer with ease. But even after four calm and contented years at Ember Hall, he had not yet shaken off his warrior’s sense of urgency.

“The sun is not in a rush,” she said with a smile.

They rounded the corner at the perfect moment to see the standing stones bathed in rosy light.

Nay, not “bathed.” Rather, they blazed with the glory of the rising sun, as if Mother Nature had arranged the spectacle just for them. Light shimmered and danced on the horizon in celebration of this midsummer’s day. Callum squeezed her hand, and she knew that he was equally awe-struck.

“So beautiful,” he confirmed, dipping his head and pressing his lips to her forehead. “Almost as beautiful as you, dear wife.”

Laughing, she pushed him away. “I have already borne you two children. You have no need to shower me with compliments.”

He put his hands on his hips, unfazed. “I speak the truth as I see it.”

“Aye. You always do.” She took his arm and they walked closer to the circle of large, upright stones.

She was flooded with gratitude, both for the beauty all around them and the news which had reached Ember Hall just yesterday.

“Peace.” She sank down onto the first, flattish stone and tilted her chin so her face was warmed by morning light. “Who would have thought it?”

He sat down beside her, curving his arm around her slender shoulders. Frida nestled closer, glad of his warmth and the comfort of his nearness.

“I, for one, have always dreamed of peace. Your brother, Tristan, for another.” Callum gazed out at the horizon, unaware how the rosy dawn haloed him with light.

Constant work in the fields had honed his warrior’s physique even further and the muscles in his shoulders rippled beneath his tunic.

Long days in the sun had brought golden highlights to his shock of dark hair, and the contented tumble of family life had chased away the lines of worry previously etched around his brown eyes.

“Aside from the two of you, I mean.” She nudged him, laughing a little. “Not that I doubt the combined power of my husband and brother to bring the world to rights.”

“I am glad to hear it.” His stubbled chin nuzzled against her cheek. “But do not forget Alys. She risked everything to secure peace. Indeed, when she stayed with us last yuletide, I believe she prophesised this day would come.”

Frida smiled at the memory. Alys had surprised them all with her appetite for feasting and celebration, delighting in the company of young children and regaling them with tales of Callum’s boyhood antics.

One evening, she had taken hold of Frida’s hands and proclaimed that peace would be achieved before the next harvest.

“Indeed she did.” Frida bit down on her lip, thoughtfully. “But I dare say not even Alys could have foreseen this particular outcome.”

The message, inscribed by her father and carried north from Wolvesley by a pink-cheeked messenger-boy, had been brief.

The earl’s words had been few, but his relief had been evident in the flamboyant swirls of his elegantly-formed letters.

England had renounced its age-old claim on Scotland on the coat-tails of an unanticipated military defeat which all but saw the young King Edward III captured.

It was not an outcome that anyone could have foreseen. But it was one which had filled their hearts with hope. Now, at last, they could sleep easily in their beds. Peace, finally, seemed within their grasp.

“We should send word to Alys,” Frida thought aloud.

Callum smiled down at her. “I have already dispatched a messenger, though I have no doubt that Alys already knows. Most likely she will send some new information back to us.”

“You are right.” She reached to take her husband’s hand. There was one issue, closer to home, which troubled her still. “Might you return to Kielder Castle now, to visit with your father?”

Callum’s ancestral home had been slowly, painstakingly rebuilt over the years, but Frida had never met Rory Baine, the famed warlord of the highlands; her father-in-law.

And though she knew that relations between father and son were strained, she could not imagine living her days as Callum did, without the warmth and blessing of her kin.

When Callum wrote to tell him of their wedding, Rory’s reply had been brief.

Your mother would have been proud.

The glare of the sun meant that she could not properly read his expression, but she felt him tense. “I do not think my father will welcome the peace.”

“But he is still your father. Your family.”

“My only kinsman,” he finished for her.

She heard the catch in his voice and her heart squeezed in sympathy.

At least both Andrew and Arlo had been present at their wedding, waiting until after the ceremony to journey back to the highlands.

Since then, Andrew had written often, sharing more news of Kielder Castle than Callum ever received from the laird.

“Aye. Whilst you are surrounded by my kinsmen from dawn till dusk.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, wanting to dispel the note of gloom. “We must flee the hall afore sunrise if we are to know a moment of peace.”

He laughed quietly. “You know how I love being a part of your family. And I enjoy their frequent visits.”

“Even Esme?” She raised her eyebrows in mock consternations.

Frida’s youngest sister had caused much excitement in the nursery last night, when she took it upon herself to teach her niece and nephew the makings of a new, raucous ballad she had learned at Wolvesley.

After enduring hours of hand-clapping and whooping, Frida eventually intervened and carried her exhausted offspring to bed.

“She’s a delight.” Callum winked. “When is she leaving?”

Frida raised her palms to the sky. “When is Jonah leaving is more the question. All these years and he still hasn’t learned how to wield a hoe.”

“I take pleasure in his company,” Callum told her, diplomatically. “We are a contented group, are we not?”

“We are, all except Mirrie.” Frida sighed, smoothing back her hair which had been tousled by the breeze. “I fear that while I have found my happiness, she is still searching for her own.”

Callum looked surprised. “She is always quick with a smile or a laugh. I did not guess she was unhappy.”

Frida shrugged. “We came here, Mirrie and I, to lead a life free of men. I have rather reneged on the deal.”

“Would you like me to leave?”

His sombre expression made her chuckle. “Nay, ’tis too late for that. I only wish Mirrie might know the same happiness that we share.”

“Mayhap in the coming months, her luck might change.” Callum looked about him with a smile playing across his full lips.

“’Tis near enough four years since I last saw the sun rise around these stones, on the morn I fled from Ember Hall.

I was half starved, bruised head to toe, and your brother was determined to kill me.

” He shook his head in wonderment. “I ne’er thought to see the day England would back away from Scotland.

Nor did I dare to dream that I might marry Lady Frida de Neville. ”

He reached towards her and she leaned into his caress, taking comfort from the touch of his familiar, work-roughened hands. “You are saying that all things are possible?”

“If you follow your heart,” he whispered.

She snuggled closer, so close she could hear the steady thumping of Callum’s heart. With his arms around her, she was whole.

Frida stilled for a moment, allowing the realisation to ripple through her.

She had once thought she would never be whole again, that the loss of her Sight meant the severing of her connection to the natural world, that she would be lost and alone for the rest of her days.

But since she learned to unbarricade her heart, everything had changed.

Day by day, her senses were attuning themselves to the spiritual more and more so that once again she felt part of the rich fabric of being—a tapestry which reached back into the past and forward into the future.

Now she knew that Callum spoke the truth.

Love had power beyond aught else. And all things were possible, if you followed your heart.

THE END