But Callum was right, she thought. Heshouldhave known the nature of the man who rode beside him.
He looked down, before she could properly confirm if his dark eyes were glassy with tears. “If he dies, I shall ne’er forgive myself.”
“Because of Gregor?” A slight nod of his head confirmed it. “Was there a quarrel between you?”
“I only met him a sennight since.”
Not a proper answer.
Frida frowned. “That is not what I asked.”
When he met her eyes, his gaze was steady. “I did not trust him, nor did I trust his temper. But the man I serve holds Gregor in high esteem.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Arlo, I have known for many summers. I promised him my protection.”
She dared release some of the pressure on the boy’s shoulders, easing the tension in her own body in the process. The bleeding had all but stopped. “Should we send word to his parents?”
“He has none.” Callum’s voice was gruff. “They were killed in a raid at midsummer.”
She stifled a gasp of dismay. “A Scottish raid?”
He lowered his eyes. “The Scots were involved, aye.”
“These are troubled times. I fear for my brother Tristan every day he is gone from Wolvesley.”
Callum’s lips parted as if he were about to speak, but no words came out. His anguished eyes conveyed the tumult of his thoughts. Frida resisted the urge to reach out to him and looked back down at the boy whose wellbeing hung in her hands. Thefrayed edges of his linen tunic were now mattered with so much blood it was hard to distinguish cloth from skin.
“Ember Hall has always been a place of peace.” She spoke the truth of her heart without pause. “I never imagined bloodshed on our doorstep.”
“’Twas I who brought it to you. I am sorry for it.” His words came out in a fierce rush, the violence of his expression belying the sentiment he expressed.
Again, his show of emotion confused her. Callum Baine was a knight, surely well-used to seeing comrades fall.He must take his responsibilities to the boy seriously, she thought,especially if Arlo is now all alone in the world. And he had promised him protection.
Tentatively, she rinsed a cloth with warm water and began the painstaking process of cleaning the wound. It was deep, and she must not risk starting the bleeding up again. The actions soothed her. ’Twas a relief to fix her attention on something other than the handsome man kneeling opposite, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her fingers.
Jennifer returned, her footsteps quick and light across the stone flags. As she laid out a needle, thread and a jar of honey on the low table, her hazel eyes sought Frida’s.
“Lord Jonah is in the great hall. He said to tell you that the man, Gregor, got away.”
Frida knew a swell of frustration, but Callum’s reaction was more extreme. He rose to his feet and turned away from them both, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“Lord Jonah asked if we should send the guards after him?”
Frida bit down on her lip. She was minded to refuse, but Callum appeared in sore need of justice. Her mind raced with indecision, for she had been resolved to preside over Ember Hall without ever deferring to a man’s judgement.
But her father had always taught her that a wise leader must adapt to changing circumstance.
“What do you say, Callum?” she asked, softly.
Still facing away from her, he released his fists and lifted his chin. “I say your guards are better placed defending Ember Hall than in chasing a worthless man far and wide.”
She nodded her agreement, still carefully prying Arlo’s tattered tunic away from the knife wound. Her left arm stung beneath the bandage and she sent up prayers that it would not impede her more.
“Very well. I dare say he will not return. If he does, the guards should take him prisoner.” She lifted her gaze back to Jennifer. “Can you see that the message is delivered?”
Jennifer nodded, but her expression remained anxious.
“What is it?” Frida asked.
“Lord Jonah said something else as well.” The maid swallowed. “He said the guard told him that Gregor spoke with a Scottish brogue.”
