Frida’s ankle twingedas she walked with Mirrie through the main gates and down the path towards the village. It was some distance from Ember Hall to the local place of worship, so much so that Frida had contemplated inviting the priest to lead a weekly service at their own chapel when they first took up residence.
But she also knew it was important that she and Mirrie be known and accepted by the locals. If they were to not only survive, but thrive, in this remote locale, then they would need the support of those who lived nearby. This summer’s delayed harvest had already proven that.
Which was why, every sabbath, Frida and Mirrie donned their most respectable attire and made the halting journey down the hill to the small wattle-and-daub chapel which nestled above the river in a copse of trees. It was a pretty, peaceful place. Despite the effort involved, Frida usually found the services deeply soothing.
But not today.
Today, she hardly noticed the rolling fields and ancient woodlands revealed by the gentle turns of the narrow lane. When Mirrie pointed out the glorious golden canopy of autumn leaves in the distance, Frida nodded without e’en a glance in that direction.
Mirrie swung around to face her, taking hold of both her hands. Frida found herself drawn into her friend’s inquisitive gaze.
“Aren’t we going to talk about it?”
“About what?” Frida hedged.
Mirrie looked behind them, checking they were all alone. But the only other creature nearby was a shy woodpigeon who fluttered away into a tall tree. “I saw you,” she declared.
Frida’s heart began to pound all over again. From the way Mirrie’s eyes danced, she knew there was no point trying to deny anything.
Frida exhaled in a rush, her breath hanging in the cold air between them. “You saw?”
Mirrie nodded. “I did not intend to spy upon you, but nonetheless, I saw.”
Part of Frida wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. It had been like a scene from a dream. The handsome knight, the warmth of his arms, the searing heat of his kiss. She had pressed her palms against the hard ridge of muscles on his chest and his stubble had rasped against her cheek.
She tightened her grip on her friend’s gloved fingers. “Then you can tell me it was real?”
“Aye.” Mirrie smiled. “What I saw was real enough.”
Frida’s strength threatened to desert her. “Oh Mirrie,” she whispered.
Acting with insight born from familiarity, Mirrie fastened her arm supportively around Frida’s waist, allowing her to lean her weight against her. The slope of the lane combined with the coolness of the morn and Frida’s near feverish excitement did not create a steady situation for her ankle.
“There is no cause for distress, Frida. None that I bore witness to.” She giggled, like a peal of church bells. “Unless you are swooning with happiness?”
“I hardly know what to think,” Frida whispered. They were approaching the top end of the village and she did not want to be overheard. “Save that I have acted in a way my parents would disapprove of.”
She recalled her father’s uncommonly stern gaze as he helped her into the carriage that would bear her from Wolvesley Castle to an as-yet-unknown life at Ember Hall.
“Take heed, child,”he’d said,“I only permit this due to your proven sensibility. Retain that wisdom, whatever the days ahead may bring. Do not be lured into decadence simply for want of my supervision.”
She had clicked her tongue and reminded him of her deep desire to put distance between herself and decadence.
But was her behaviour this morn not decadent?
She had been lured into…something!By the passion stirring in Callum’s wondrous brown eyes.
She swallowed awkwardly, feeling heat rising to her cheeks. It would not be proper to enter chapel whilst remembering how it had felt to stand in his arms with his hands running over her body. But those memories—sharper and more vivid than the chill wind at her back—would not be easily quashed.
Mirrie steered them both safely around a muddy puddle which had opened in the rutted path.
“The Earl and Countess of Wolvesley always seemed very approving of happiness to me.” Mirrie paused, glancing sideways at her friend. “Is that not what you are feeling right now, Frida? Happiness?”
A smile tugged her lips as she pondered the question. She was undoubtably light of heart. A frothy, giddy sort of feeling bubbled up inside her, as if all problems were surmountable and all good things were possible.
She had not felt like this since her fall from the horse.
“I think you’re right,” she whispered. They were passing beneath the wooden arch which marked entry to the church yard. “I am happy.”
