“Callum,” she said, as if she was greeting him across a banqueting hall.
“What are you doing out here?” He was breathless, and the question came out more harshly than he intended.
“I am out for a stroll.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“You should not be out in this cold.” He stamped his feet, to bring feeling back to his toes.
She gave a little shake of her head. “Go inside, Sir Callum, if the weather bothers you so.”
He could scarce believe it as she turned from him. “Frida,” he shouted again, stumbling in the snow as he raced to catch up with her.
This time her blue eyes blazed as she spun around. “What?”
“’Tis dangerous out here.”
“Dangerous for our livestock. You know as well as I do that they will die unless I take them to shelter.”
“That is why I am here.” He spluttered as the wind took his breath.
“I see.” She pursed her lips. “Then you can help me.”
“I can manage alone.”
“They are my animals, Callum.” She turned once again, but this time the demands on her ankle were too great and she stumbled. At the last moment, Callum saved her from a tumble into the snow.
He knew again the rush of feeling as he held her close, even though many folds of rough, half-sodden material separated them, even though the wind whipped around them still and Frida was looking at him with something like vexation burning in her eyes.
He could see how much this meant to her.
“You are a stubborn woman, Frida de Neville.”
“It has been said before.”
“And no doubt will be again.” He helped her upright. “You will allow me to help you?”
She nodded once. “If you promise to make no more protests about me staying out in the cold.”
“Not another word.” He paused, glancing upwards in surprise. “The wind has dropped.”
They were no longer buffeted by strong, freezing gusts. Instead the white world around them stood still and strangely silent, as if waiting for something.
“That is good.” Frida sniffed and pulled her cloak more tightly about her.
“Aye.” At the moment, it certainly seemed better than the alternative. But Callum was not convinced all was well. The grey clouds hovering overhead promised more snow about them. “Where are we headed?” He knew the cattle were kept in a field to the left, nearest the path to the village, whereas the sheep grazed the land approaching the cliffs.
“One of our tenant farmers brought in the cattle he tends yesterday. He is a country man and must have smelled the snow before it fell.” Frida threw him a smile. “’Tis the sheep I am most worried about.”
Callum bowed his head. “Then let us put your worries to rest.” He ducked his head to better meet her eye. “Can I take your arm, milady?”
“Are you fretting about me falling again?”
“Not at all,” he lied. Without waiting for permission, he took her gloved hand and tucked it inside his elbow. “’Tis a handy excuse for me to walk close beside you, that is all.”
“I will accept that,” Frida replied, primly. But she leaned her weight against him as they trudged forwards.
Callum felt that as an honour.There are not many people, he mused,that brave Frida would allow herself to lean on.
But no sooner had this thought formed, than another occurred to him.
