He cleared his throat. “What will those tasks be?”
“Frida is keen that the barn roof be repaired before the onset of winter.” Mirrie drew the folds of her cloak together. “Which is near enough upon us.” She met his eye again. “Frida is already at work in the orchard, gathering in the fruit crop. We are late in doing so.”
Callum realised what she was trying to say. Immediately, all thoughts of his men were forgotten. “You would like me to go and help her?”
Mirrie nodded, a smile playing about her lips. “There are apples at the top of the trees that she will not be able to reach without assistance.” She leaned closer, her eyes dancing. “If she tries to send you away, do not let her succeed.”
Chapter Five
Frida loved earlymornings at Ember Hall. There was a sort of magic in the slanting sunlight and melodic birdsong, a feeling of peace and wonder that was further enhanced by their solitude in the northern hills. Having grown up amidst the constant hubbub of Wolvesley Castle, tranquillity was something that Frida cherished.
But the events of yesterday had threatened all the solitude and tranquillity that she held dear.
Frida tugged at the branch of a fruit tree, ignoring the dew soaking through the hem of her dark blue dress.
Why did I allow it to happen?
Six rosy red apples winked up at her, as if they knew the answer well enough. The apples were a thing of beauty, glistening in the dawn light. On rare occasions like this, Frida envied her brother Jonah his drawing talent. How lovely it would be to capture this fleeting moment forever.
But Frida had always been of a more practical mindset. With one hand holding the branch steady, she plucked off the apples one by one and placed them carefully in her basket.
She should have brought gloves, but they would have grown damp with dew within minutes. Besides, what did propriety matter when she was alone? No one knew she was here, aside from Mirrie.
Frida had escaped from the house at first light, desperate to be distracted from the endless circling of her thoughts. Winterwas coming, and the surprise arrival of Callum Baine would do nothing to mitigate that fact. The orchard harvest must be brought in with all possible speed. She had declared her intentions of starting the job today, as she and Mirrie broke their fast in the cosy solar behind the great hall.
“On your own?” Mirrie’s brow creased with concern.
“I work best alone.” Frida chewed her bread as quickly as good manners allowed. She wanted to leave the house before Callum—or any of his men—set foot inside it.
Mirrie pursed her lips. “I would join you, but I promised Agnes that I would help her with brewing the ale for winter.”
“It is no matter.” Frida shook her head emphatically.
“But you will scarcely be finished before dark.”
Frida stood, brushing crumbs from her heavy skirts. “A good day’s work never hurt anyone.” She patted Mirrie’s shoulder to take the sting from her words. “I shall see you at supper.”
Frida had hastily pinned up her hair and pulled on an old straw hat. The day was dry and the sun had strength to it, so she was quite warm enough in her usual grey-green cloak.This may be the last nice day of the year, she reflected. It was quite sensible to spend it usefully in the orchard.
And if the high surrounding walls offered her privacy and concealment, so much the better.
Still, the scale of the task was a little overwhelming. Ember Hall was blessed with more than a dozen apple trees as well as several mixed plum and pear trees. All of which were groaning with fruit.
It would take days to gather it all; days they did not necessarily have. But ’twould be a shame, mayhap even a sin, to see any of it go to waste.
Frida sighed, rising onto her tiptoes to grasp the next branch. Their long-anticipated move to Ember Hall had been delayed by her father insisting on building a high fortified wall allaround the property. When she and Mirrie had finally arrived, they discovered that the building works had interrupted harvest by some weeks. All local labourers were immediately deployed to the fields, and happily the main crops had been brought in safely. But the orchard harvest had been left until now.
Unfamiliar with the scale of the task, Frida had blithely dismissed the locals, thinking she could gather the crop herself over time. But time was in short supply for their hard-working household.
We will be better organised next year, she promised herself, straining to reach the apples furthest along the branch.
Alas, her booted feet slipped on the damp grass and the branch sprang upwards, showering her with raindrops. She winced as several apples thudded to the ground. They would be spoiled now, good only for the animals.
“May I offer assistance?”
The familiar deep voice sent shivers scooting up her spine, but Frida remained where she was; facing the tree whilst awareness of his close proximity caused her flesh to tingle. At least she had managed to remain standing.
“I can manage, thank you,” she said, primly.
