Now that she was so close, so yielding, he was paralysed by his own desires. ’Twas not proper to embrace an unchaperoned young lady out in the open where anyone might come across them. But for the life of him, he could not step away. Moments passed. He closed his eyes, gathering both his strength and his commonsense.
And then both deserted him in a sudden wave as Frida raised herself onto her tiptoes and began kissing him. Her mouth was soft and hesitant, her body warm against his. With a groan of willing submission, he crushed his arms about her and kissed her back. He was gentle at first, but as she wound her arms about his shoulders, desire defeated his reason and he parted her lips with his tongue, running his hands down her spine and pulling her against him.
The gift he had longed for was here, in his arms.
Frida de Neville. The girl he had loved from afar. The woman he had not been able to forget.
She pulled away, lifting her chin so that he was scorched by her blue gaze.
“I’m sorry.” The words fell from his lips.
A beat passed before she frowned. “Why so?”
“I should not have kissed you so.” His hands were still upon her body. He should release her, but he could not bring himself to do so.
“’Twas I that kissed you,” she whispered. “I only wanted a moment to check this was real.” Her nostrils flared. “And that it was what you wanted.”
In answer, he claimed her mouth again, slanting his lips over hers and kissing her thoroughly. “It is what I want, Frida,” he said. “It is what I have wanted for the longest time.” His hands skimmed over the gentle curve of her hips. He wanted to explore beneath the heavy folds of her cloak but knew that territory was forbidden.
And that his self-control hung on a knife edge.
She rested her palms against his chest, her touch burning through his tunic. “I vowed to live a life free of men.”
He regarded her steadily, drinking her in. Her eyes, glowing with passion. Her oval face, framed with loosened strands of silver hair.
“I would recommend you live a life free ofothermen,” he said, solemnly. “But I plead for leniency for this particular man.”
Her laughter brought a bolt of joy to his heart. “I believe I have already granted it.”
He kissed her again. His senses, which minutes earlier had registered the chill of the morn and the mournful cry of the birds, were now awash with Frida. Her lavender fragrance, the rich wool of her cloak, the way her body slotted against his so perfectly.
“Frida?” The call pierced the misty haze, causing them to spring apart.
“’Tis Mirrie,” Frida said. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her eyes wide and dark. She rocked to one side and he shot out his arms to steady her.
He wanted to suggest that they hide in the wood store until Mirabel had gone, but deep down he knew that this precious interlude was already over. Frida was smoothing down her cloak and re-positioning her hood. Her breathing steadied as she looked over her shoulder.
“I’m here,” she called in return.
Callum made his own breathing slow down. For want of something to occupy himself with, he picked up his cloak and slung it back over his shoulders. A tall shape loomed out of the mist.
“There you are,” Mirabel said. She dropped into a small curtsy and Callum bowed in return. Like Frida, Mirabel was dressed in a warm cloak with the hood pulled over her head. He had not spent much time in Mirabel’s company, but he thought there was something odd about her eyes. As if she was trying overly hard to repress a smile. “Are you ready for chapel?” she asked Frida.
Composed as ever, Frida nodded. “Let us depart.”
Callum bowed again. “Fare thee well, ladies.”
Mirabel nodded and took Frida’s arm. The two of them walked away from him, down the slight incline to the courtyard, leaving Callum alone with his thoughts. Before they disappeared around the corner, Frida threw him one last look, but she was too far away for him to properly see the expression on her face.
It looked as if she was smiling.
Smiling in farewell? Or smiling in anticipation of seeing him once more?
Callum turned back to the pile of waiting logs with a barely smothered growl of frustration. This turn of events did not make his path forward any clearer.
In fact, with every day that passed, his vision of the future became increasingly muddled.
Chapter Ten
