“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?”
