This had been enough to blow all other thoughts from his mind. For long minutes, he had forgotten the reason he was here.
He’d wanted to kneel at her feet. Nay, he’d wanted to take her in his arms and follow on from where they had left off, over two years ago in Wolvesley Castle, when he had felt the possibility of happiness come so tantalisingly close.
And yet, the lady herself seemed not to recognise him.
If anything could dull the joy of the moment, it was the polite disinterest in her expression.
Callum allowed himself a short, guttural shout of frustration which reverberated around the empty courtyard. It mattered not if Frida recognised him. Forsooth, it was better if she did not. What mattered was this; Frida was mistress of Ember Hall.
And she ruled alone, with no lord by her side.
He put a hand to his forehead, rubbing at the ache within his temples and doing his best to recall the exact wording of the Bruce’s orders. They had been scant, but the instruction was clear. Callum was to assassinate the lord recently returned to Ember Hall: a man considered a danger to Scotland.
One name now reverberated through his head.
Tristan de Neville.
The man he had once thought of as a friend.
Callum closed his mind to this. Again, it mattered not. Tristan, the revered knight, was not in residence.
Surely his orders were not to strike down Jonah? He was little more than a youngster; more at home with a quill than in combat. Jonah was no threat to peace and stability in Scotland.
There must be some mistake.
Callum wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword and drew it partially from its scabbard. The polished metal shone brightly in the sunlight. His sword was a prized possession. He would not use it against a young man who was ne’er likely to ride into battle.
What then? He could leave. Ride away and pretend all this had never been. But that would mean walking away from Frida.
Callum’s gut twisted. He simply could not do that; not when he had so recently found her again.
Time is what I need.
One fact shone clearly through the mists of his confusion; he could not bring violence to Ember Hall—to Frida’s home. Though his men may see things differently. The English were their enemies. And the de Nevilles were a powerful English family.
Callum closed his eyes against the vivid reel of violent images playing through his mind. The siege of Kielder Castle had left its mark, with memories rising unbidden to torment him. He saw again the pale and lifeless bodies piled against the curtain wall; the steep grassy embankment soaked red with blood. The stench of death and the sorrow of so much needless destruction.
Aye, the English must be punished for what they had done. But still, he baulked at bringing retribution to Frida’s door, or that of any of her kin.
Even if Tristan was involved in the siege of Kielder Castle?
Had Jonah not admitted that Tristan had recently been in Scotland?
The prospect made beads of perspiration spring out on Callum’s forehead. He struggled to reconcile the friend he onceknew with the monster who had ordered the deaths of women and children. But who knew how the passage of time might change a man?
Callum returned to the same conclusion. Time was what he needed. Time to talk to Frida. Time to discover Tristan’s likely whereabouts. Forsooth, he might be on his way here even now. They were a close family. ’Twas not beyond the bounds of possibility that he might visit his sister’s home.
Mayhap we just arrived too early.He had been right to agree to Frida’s conditions, however belittling they might be.
Now all he had to do was explain it to his men.
Stifling a sigh, Callum turned towards the back door of the house. Mirabel had shown him where his men waited, ensconced in a small chamber above the kitchen. But he had begged a breath of air before facing them.
Before facing Gregor, at least. That man could start an argument with a priest.
He climbed the narrow stairs like a man approaching the gallows, but by the time he had reached the waiting guard, Callum’s face was set with determination. He nodded to dismiss the guard, as arranged with Mirabel, and shouldered open the wooden door.
Andrew was the first to greet him, jumping to his feet and striding forwards. His bright eyes and fiery red hair seemed subdued in the shadows.
