When he had learned who he faced, he had lowered his weapons. Surrendered some, hidden some. So be it. The important thing was he had not inflicted any harm on anyone.
Nay, the truly important thing was that he made her heart soar and dance. That his arms felt like home. That she still dreamed of a future with him.
But was it doomed to be an impossible dream?
Sniffing away her tears, Frida motioned to the guard to stand aside. Thankfully, he did not question her authority, despite Tristan’s arrival.
She rapped on the door to give Callum fair warning, and then pushed it open. It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the late-afternoon gloom. Weak light filtered in through the shutters, illuminating a large, rectangular room with an earth floor. It was empty of everything save a rug, a candle and Callum.
Callum.
Just the sight of him soothed her troubled soul, e’en though he was bloodied and bound. His brown eyes opened wider when she lowered her hood and he recognised her face.
“Frida,” he said, his voice thick with pain. “You came.”
“Of course I came.” She hurried forwards, the healer in her troubled by the deep gash at the side of his head which she had seen inflicted by her own brother’s boot. “How do you feel?”
“I’m grand.” His answer was swift, accompanied by the smallest smile.
She tutted, hiding the wave of relief that threatened to take strength from her limbs. He had recognised her, so his sight was not compromised. And he had joked, so his reasoning must be intact.
“Let me light the candle.” She fished in her basket for a tinderbox.
He cleared his throat. “I would prefer it if you didn’t.”
She paused in surprise, one hand still in her basket. “How so?”
His brown eyes held her gaze, like she was the prisoner instead of him. “For one, I would not have you see me like this. For another, I know you are a skilled healer. But on this occasion, there would be no point to your ministrations when I shall be dead long before any remedy could have time enough to heal me.”
She choked back a sob. “Don’t say that.”
“Frida.” His voice was as soft as honey. “I am glad in my heart to see you. But I am guessing your brother does not know you are here?”
Frustration rippled down her spine. “I do not need his permission to go where I please. I am mistress at Ember Hall.”
“Aye, and a right good one at that. But your brother Tristan intends to kill me on the morrow, whether you are mistress here or not.”
The last of her strength deserted her and Frida found herself on the earth floor beside him, curling her body against the hardness of his chest. His hands were still bound so he could not reach to hold her, but he lowered his head until his chin rested upon her hair.
“Do not speak like that,” she whispered, “I cannot bear it.”
“’Tis the truth.” Came his reply. “And there is no escaping it.”
“Nay.” She shook her head vigorously, breathing him in. But his usual scent was obscured by blood and cold. “I will speak to Tristan in the morn. I will reason with him.”
His warm breath against her scalp offered scant comfort. “You have already tried your hardest. Already done more than I deserve.”
“I shall set you free.” She sat upright, her eyes gazing into his. “Right now, I shall cut your bonds and you shall go free.”
For a moment, hope flickered across his face, but then a sad smile took its place. “You must not. For your own sake and for the sake of my love for you, you must not.”
Tears stung her eyes and she reached out to grasp his hand, entwining her fingers with his, despite the cloth that bound his hands uncomfortably behind his back.
“How so?”
Callum gave her fingers one last squeeze and then released them. “Because your brother has stated that he was responsible for the razing of my ancestral home in Scotland.” She frowned her incomprehension and he continued, his voice rough with emotion. “My father is the laird of Kielder Castle. I fought on the battlements during the siege and saw women and children slaughtered as they ran for their freedom.”
“Nay,” she gasped.
