“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?
