It was not too late to return Silver to his stable and creep back into the house.
But when she raised her head, her eyes met those she had been seeking since he first arrived at Wolvesley.
Callum stood just feet away, holding the reins of a large chestnut horse, but looking only at her. His lips parted in greeting, but Frida silenced him with a subtle shake of her head.
Her lips curved into a smile as she put a finger to them, indicating the need for secrecy.
Callum’s answering grin made her stomach churn with excitement. He nodded his understanding and turned to join his friends, but after a few steps he turned again to find her and waved his hand in the smallest of signals.
It was as if they had joined together in a conspiracy against all others.
Frida’s worries were no more. She led Silver to the mounting block and sprang into the saddle, not allowing herself to fret when the horse slid over a small patch of ice.
“Steady there boy,” she said, her voice calm.
Her father sounded the horn and excitement fairly rippled through the assembled riders. Horses flung their heads up and down, jostling for position in the circular yard. And then they were off, trotting at a fair pace down the lane. Frida held Silver back on a tight rein, knowing she must stay near the back of the pack to avoid being seen. It was her intention to urge him forwards once the hunt was underway and it was too late for her to turn back. Then she could ride beside Callum, as she so fervently desired.
But she saw immediately that her plan was unnecessary, for Callum was also holding back his horse. His eyes burned into hers as he rode up next to her, so close their knees brushed together.
“Good morn, Lady Frida.” He nodded his head, his breath pluming in the cold air.
“Good morn, Sir Callum.” She was relieved that her voice came out firm and strong.
They were obliged to proceed in single file through an open gate. Callum’s horse went side-stepping, clearly desirous to break free of Callum’s restraining hold and gallop with his stablemates. But Callum held him easily, his hands light, his voice soothing.
A natural rider, Frida thought. Her mother had long-since instilled in her the importance of treating horses with respect. She thought her admiration for Callum could go no higher. Astride the majestic horse, he was dazzling in the sharp sunlight.
So striking was he that Frida had eyes for nothing else, not even where her own horse was heading. She had not seen the sheer expanse of black ice at the other side of the gate. The icewhich had been so skilfully avoided by everyone else. Forsooth, she was still gazing at the muscular expanse of Callum’s shoulders when Silver went down. She had only time for the slightest cry of surprise before her head hit the ground and everything turned black.
Chapter One
Year of our Lord 1324
Frida ignored thepain in her newly chapped knuckles as she plunged her hands into a pitcher of cold water. Any expression of discomfort would lead to Agnes shooing her from the kitchen. And Frida didn’t want that.
She was determined to prove that an earl’s daughter could fend for herself.
Agnes was a woman of few words. If she thought it odd that Lady Frida de Neville insisted on scrubbing her own vegetables, she kept quiet about it.
Gritting her teeth, Frida rinsed the last of the turnips and placed them to dry near the window. At the other end of the room, Agnes leaned over the long, scrubbed table, her long greying plait swinging over one shoulder as she rolled out pastry for a tart. Despite the early-morning chill, Frida enjoyed these times in the kitchen, with sunlight dappling across the plastered walls and glinting off the copper pots and pans. But today had dawned extra chilly, and the big fire beneath the roasting spit had not been lit long enough to generate much warmth.
Frida dried her hands on her apron, trying not to shiver.
“What shall I do next?” She made her voice light.
Agnes looked up from her work and gave her a rare smile. “You can go and warm yourself in the great hall. At least until this fire takes hold.”
“I do not feel cold,” Frida lied.
“Then milady had best depart now. For soon it will be hotter than hell in here.”
Frida schooled her face into an expression of mildness. She was growing accustomed to her cook’s plain speaking, even though no servants in Wolvesley Castle had ever spoken to her so boldly. But she was no longer a pampered lady in her parents’ grand home. She was many miles north at Ember Hall; mistress of all she surveyed and determined to display no weakness.
“If the temperature rises to such an extent, you must summon my brother. He is forever complaining of the bitter chill in this house.”
Agnes let out a bark of laughter. “I’ll do that.” Her nut-brown eyes lingered on Frida’s before returning to her perfectly rolled pastry. “Lord Jonah seems to miss his home comforts.”
“I do not know why he has come,” Frida found herself confessing. “His injury is little more than a scratch and Wolvesley does not lack healers. I can only think that my father wanted him out of the way to better conduct the business of finding a husband for my sister, Lady Isabella.”
