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“I saw you fall from your horse,” he continued, his voice little more than a whisper. “Saw you carried into the castle.” His face creased with pain and Frida fought the compulsion to put a hand to his cheek.

“I did not die,” she said, steadily.

He shook his head as if to dislodge a long-held belief. “I have grieved you.” His dark brown eyes bore into hers.

Frida did her best to keep her memories of that time far away, but now she remembered waking on the third day to find her family in tears of joy. No one, bar her mother, had believed she would survive.

She narrowed her eyes. “Yet you left Wolvesley without waiting to see if I lived or died?”

She should not have said that. It was as good as an admission that she remembered the time they had spent together—and she was not willing to make herself so vulnerable. But Callum did not appear to have noticed.

“I did not wish to intrude upon your family at such a time.”

It might be a reasonable sentiment, but all the same, it was not one that her heart was prepared to accept. If the feelings between them had been truly sincere, he would have stayed.

Frida pulled herself together. She was in danger of falling under his spell all over again.

“Of course, you were right to do so. I believe most of our yuletide guests did the same.”

Her words put a barrier between them. She knew he felt it as strongly as she.

“Let us go inside,” she continued, turning from him without waiting for his response.

It took all of Frida’s self-control not to break into a run.

She needed to be alone. She needed space and air to calm her thoughts.

But instead she led the way to the arched front door and pushed it open.

The scent of home was a comfort; lavender from the rushes on the floor and woodsmoke from the fire.

The entrance hall was small and narrow, set with wooden panelling.

Frida could sense Callum gazing about him, taking it all in, but she didn’t pause.

Together, they walked quickly beneath a blazing wall torch and emerged into the great hall.

There, praise be, was Jonah.

Her brother was sitting in the tapestried chair earlier used by Mirrie. He had pulled it even closer to the fire and an abandoned tray of soft cheese, cold meat and freshly-baked bread rested on the wooden floor beside him.

“Sister,” he greeted her, without rising. “And a friend.”

Frida swallowed her stab of impatience. “Jonah, you will remember Sir Callum Baine?”

Callum gave a small bow while Jonah’s cool gaze raked him up and down. Her youngest brother had inherited the de Neville colouring of fair hair and blue eyes. He may not have the height and strength of their father, but he was as skilled with a sword as their brother Tristan.

A skill that not many people expected of him.

Jonah had been born with a club foot and a penchant for poetry. From an early age, he had learned to embrace the differences between himself and his siblings. Less was expected from him, meaning he was largely free to do as he pleased.

Only Frida and Tristan saw their brother clearly. Others cosseted and indulged him, including their usually clear-headed mother.

A rare smile transformed Jonah’s pinched face. “I do indeed remember Sir Callum Baine.” He rose to his feet and extended his hand, which Callum took politely. “You are most welcome, sir.”

Frida bristled. It was not Jonah’s place to welcome anyone to her home.

“He will take refreshments with us.” Frida pulled on the rope by the fire, even though she would usually serve herself from the kitchen.

Jonah sank back down into his chair. “Pray, take a seat,” he drawled towards Callum, making Frida bristle again.

But Callum took matters into his own hands, pulling over a tapestried chair for Frida and then a wooden stool for himself. After a moment’s prevarication, Frida sat down. Immediately she wished she was further from the fire.

“What brings you to Ember Hall?” asked Jonah, his long fingers beating a pattern on the arm of the chair. He wore an elegant green tunic shot through with golden thread, making him appear every inch the attendant lord.

Callum cleared his throat, but his voice was strong. “I am sent by your brother, Tristan.”

Jonah’s eyebrows shot up. “How come?”

“That’s exactly what I asked,” Frida interjected.

Both men ignored her.

“Tristan has received word of increased trouble on the Scottish border.” Callum rested his elbows on his long legs, looking both out of place and entirely comfortable on the small stool.

“That is most worrying.” Tristan echoed Mirrie’s words from earlier.

“I have explained to Sir Callum that we will not require his services.” Frida attempted to nudge her chair away from the vigorous orange flames, but it was too heavy and would not budge.

She should at least have removed her cloak before she sat down.

Callum’s arrival had thrown her all out of sorts.

Jonah looked at her as if she were a small but interesting creature who had just crawled from beneath a log.

“Why will we not?”

“Because we are already well-defended, with guards enough for the King himself.” Frida took a breath. Exaggerations would not help her cause.

“If Tristan has deemed it necessary…” Jonah left the rest of the sentence unsaid.

Frida clutched at the fabric of her chair in annoyance. “Jonah, you are the last person to believe Tristan’s word should be followed as law.”

Amusement crossed his finely-drawn face. “Occasionally, even I must concede to our dear brother’s wisdom.”

“This is not one of those times.” Frida cursed herself for mishandling this so badly. She should have known that Jonah would say exactly the opposite of what she wished.

“I would think it is exactly one of those times.” Jonah’s gaze rested on her for a moment, before turning to Callum. “And you, sir, must believe so?”

If Callum was at all entertained by this display of sibling rivalry, he did not let it show. “The situation could turn grievous with no or little warning,” he said gravely.

Frida refused to look in his direction. “That is nonsense. The guards spotted your arrival. Why should they miss an approaching army?”

Callum leaned closer. “Because me and my men made no attempt to hide.”

She would never win this argument, especially with his earnest eyes gazing into hers.

Frida sighed in exasperation, abandoning any attempts at decorum and tugging her heavy cloak from her shoulders.

Beneath it she wore only a plain woollen day dress; ideal for scrubbing turnips, less so for entertaining a visiting knight who made her pulse pound.

She folded her hands in her lap and lowered her gaze to them, realising that she must accept the inevitable. Callum and his men would remain at Ember Hall. But she would not go down without a fight.

“Ah, here is Jennifer with the tray.”

Was Jonah deliberately provoking her with this show of lordly behaviour?

Glancing across at her brother behind her lashes, Frida concluded that her brother was doing just that. As if aware of her scrutiny, he placed a tentative hand on his right shoulder, over his recently-acquired wound, and opened his mouth in a slight moue of pain.

The wound was little more than a scratch. Frida had packed it with honey and covered it with bandages last night. There was no sign of infection, and she still believed it a ruse of some sort. Though for what purpose, she could not imagine.

Resolving to ignore him, she rose to help the young kitchen maid balance her laden tray on the small wooden table, but Callum had beaten her to it.

“Allow me,” he said, in his voice as deep and smooth as molasses. Standing, he towered over them all. Jennifer nodded her thanks and scuttled away. Frida tried not to notice the way Callum’s eyes followed her back to the kitchen.

“Are you going to pour, Frida?” Jonah enquired lazily.

She flashed him a glance. “I suppose I must.”

Again, Callum held out a restraining arm, his mail shirt glinting in the firelight. “A man can pour his own ale,” he said. “And one for a lady, of course.”

Frida did not wish to drink ale, but she supposed holding the cup would give her something to do with her hands. Jonah also accepted a measure, despite having broken his fast so recently.

Frida rested her cup against her chin, thinking hard. “If the situation is so dire, how is it that Tristan has not come here himself?” she demanded.

Callum had declined to sit back down on the stool and was now standing near the fire. She fancied he must also regret positioning himself so near the source of heat, especially clad in heavy chain mail. For a moment, his dark eyes were opaque.

“I cannot tell you. Perchance he is busy with other affairs.”

“He has only just returned from Scotland,” Jonah piped up. “Allow the man some leisure time.”

Frida thought a shadow passed over Callum’s face, but it may have been a trick of the light.

“I still do not understand why he should send you,” Frida said abruptly. “We have not seen you for two winters.”

And apparently, you believed me dead , she added silently.

“Do not be so disagreeable,” Jonah muttered. “We are no longer in Wolvesley, but that does not mean we should abandon our manners entirely.”

Callum opened his arms. “Egremont House is well situated in proximity to Ember Hall. We are but half a day’s ride away. Mayhap Tristan’s other friends are more distant?”

His calm words dispelled the fury that had begun to rise in Frida’s belly. She had been within moments of throwing her ale in Jonah’s face.

What a spectacle I am making of myself.

Her father had made her mistress of Ember Hall. It was time to assert her authority.

“I have made my position clear,” she began, drawing surprised gazes from both of the men. “I do not wish to have more soldiers at Ember Hall.”

Jonah chuckled and made to speak, but Callum silenced him with a sharp look.

A look that almost silenced Frida as well.

“This is my home and I shall decide who stays and who goes.” She paused. “But I cannot ignore my brother’s wishes.” She glared at Jonah. “It seems I am cursed with two brothers who are equally impossible to ignore, however much I might wish it.”

Callum smiled, relief radiating from him. “You will allow us to stay?”

His smile was almost her undoing.

Frida sat straighter in the chair, frantically marshalling her thoughts.

“Mayhap I spoke too rashly before. We can always find a use for strong men. As Mirrie said, the barn roof is in need of repair. And the orchard crop must be gathered before the first frost.” She forced herself to meet his eye.

Forced herself to remain composed, even as her heartrate steadily increased.

“You may stay, Sir Callum. Not as men-at-arms, but as labourers.”

It was an impertinent speech. Even Jonah floundered for words. Callum should have been affronted, but instead he seemed to be considering her proposition carefully.

“You would like us to surrender our weapons?” he suggested.

Frida nodded. “At once.” She continued before her courage failed her. “I’m afraid we have no grand chamber to offer you. We were not anticipating visitors. You and your men will have to share quarters with the guards, above the stables.”

This would also mean that she did not have to sleep under the same roof as him.

Frida doubted she would sleep a wink knowing that Callum slumbered so near.

“One question, Lady Frida.” He hesitated. “Will our weapons be close at hand, should we need them?”

She nodded. “They will be locked in the armoury, alongside our supplies.”

For a long moment, he held her gaze. “Then I am pleased to accept your offer.”

Frida released the breath she did not know she had been holding. “Welcome to Ember Hall.”