Tristan eyed a tapestried chair and she thought for a moment that he might go and sit down. He had, after all, endured an arduous ride from Wolvesley in challenging conditions. But the revered knight of the realm merely folded his arms across his chest and sighed. “Mayhap not. But it is suspicious indeed to tell false tales about one’s descent.”
Aye, she could not deny the truth of that. And the question ofwhytore up her insides. Frida felt like a little ship tossed this way and that in mighty waves. She could not search for all the answers at once. She must deal with the most pressing issue first. And that was undoubtedly the fact that the man she loved had been dragged away by armed soldiers and locked in the cellar by her brother.
The two men he’d travelled with, Arlo and Andrew, had been flung in there alongside him. For safety, Tristan had said.
“You knew Callum at Lindum,” she tried again. Trying to make sense of it as much as anything else. “You invited him to Wolvesley.”
A frown flickered across his brow. “I scarcely knew him at Lindum. And ’twas one of my instructors who pressed me to invite Baine for the yuletide celebrations.” His blue eyes narrowed. “That means Scottish treachery is embedded even within our most heralded institutions.”
Frida could not be less interested. “He and his men have been useful here.” She opened her arms, thinking of Callum helping her to bring in the fruit harvest and ploughing through the snow to rescue one lost lamb. “They fixed the barn roof, chopped firewood, helped with the animals. One of them lies injured, e’en now.”
Tristan let out a short bark of laughter. “I know all about that particular incident. But, sister, pray, may I take refreshment before we talk further? My throat is parched.” He looked about as if hoping Mirrie might magically materialise with a tray.
After all, Mirrie habitually anticipated Tristan’s every whim and wish. But not today.
Today, pure-hearted Mirrie would be almost as bewildered by this turn of events as Frida.
Frida fought off an urge to refuse. She wanted answers more than he wanted wine. But he was, after all, her brother. This was his ancestral home. And he had ridden here with some misguided notion of securing her safety. Furthermore, she knew of old that there was no sense trying to reason with Tristan when he was hungry.
“I will ring for refreshments,” she said, stepping forward to pull at the bell rope. “Sit down,” she added, somewhat begrudgingly.
Tristan did so, stretching out his long legs and rotating his muscular shoulders. “You look in need of rest and refreshment yourself,” he observed. “And perchance a dry change of clothes?”
He was right. Her dress and cloak were both crumpled and damp, but she couldn’t bear to retire to her chamber with so many questions left unanswered. She made an impatient gesture. “Later.”
“I do not want you to catch a chill.”
She shook her head at him. “You sound just like Mother.”
He leaned forwards. “And you are acting most out of character. Why so much concern for the Scot?”
Because I love him.
She could not say that. Certainly not now. Instead, she perched on the edge of the adjacent chair and made an effort to steady her breathing. “Because he has been nothing but kind to me.”
Tristan let out another bark of laughter. “Sister, he came here to kill me.”
She could not believe it.Would notbelieve it. Her hair swung over her shoulders as she shook her head violently. “Nay.”
“Aye,” he corrected, firmly.
“You were not even here.”
He drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair. “And that proved to be the first obstacle in his path.”
They both fell silent as Jennifer carried in the heavy tray and settled it carefully upon a low wooden table. Frida nodded her thanks and the serving girl curtsied respectfully before scurrying away.
Tristan fell upon the food like a man who was starving. He had always had a big appetite. She watched as his white teeth tore into the freshly baked bread and felt her own stirrings of hunger fade away.
It was unlikely that Callum would be enjoying food and drink down in the cold, dark cellar.
She cleared her throat. “Since arriving here, your friend Callum Baine has saved both the fruit harvest and our first flock of sheep. Why would he act in such a way if he intended harm to our family? Why would he not simply seek you elsewhere?”
Callum took a deep swig of watered wine. “I do not know. That is what I need to ask him.”
She ground her teeth with frustration. “But what makes you think he came here to kill you?” The words formed with difficulty and suddenly the reality of what she was saying—of what Tristan was accusing Callum of—settled within her.
Tristan had his faults, and as his older sister who had grown up beside him, Frida would happily list them to anyone prepared to listen. But he was no fool.
