She expected a speech about danger lurking around every corner. But he only traced a finger over her lips. “Do this one last thing for me, please.”
How could she refuse him? E’en though it would break her heart to be the one to walk away.
She pushed herself up onto her elbow, hating to leave the warmth of the rug. “How will you get past the guards on the gate?” Fresh worry forced her voice to wobble. She had thought that drugging the guard would be the greatest challenge, but now she saw that many obstacles lay in Callum’s path to freedom.
“Do not fret about that. Come the morn, you will rise from your bed and I will be gone.” His eyes were molten in the candlelight.
“That in itself is enough for me to fret over.” She forced herself to be brisk as she pulled back on her crumpled dress.Callum’s gentle hands soothed her trembling as he moved aside her hair to secure the fastenings.
“I cannot think of you worrying. Promise me that you will find a way to be happy.”
“I will try,” she lied, forcing a smile to her lips as she turned to face him. “Go well, Callum.”
It was woefully little to say, when her heart burst with so much more. But words of fondness and farewell had already been spoken between them. She could not bear to utter them again.
If she said goodbye, her heart might splinter entirely.
He pulled her to him for an embrace that was short and tight.
“God’s blessing be upon you, Frida, for the rest of your days.”
She blinked at his unanticipated spirituality, but Callum was already turning away from her. With a surge of sorrow, she understood that their time together had come to an end.
This was the moment she must leave.
And although every fibre of her being resisted, Frida forced her feet to carry her out of the bakehouse, past the sleeping guard and through the icy paths of the courtyard. Her breath plumed before her and the cold wrapped fingers of steel about her body, but Frida did not care.
It was her heart that was cold now—and it would remain so forevermore.
Chapter Nineteen
Despite his boldwords to Frida, Callum had no real idea how he might leave Ember Hall without being caught. Much less, where he would go afterwards. Home was the obvious choice. But it was a long ride back over the border, and he dare not steal a horse from the stables. With Frida gone and all prospects of their shared future gone with her, he had to dig deep beneath the pain and weariness that filled him to find the drive to escape.
But Callum was a warrior, well used to summoning steely resilience in times of need. Yet this time he was not galvanised by the bloody memories of Kielder Castle, nor by the hope of a better life waiting just around the corner. It was only a deep-seated desire to survive that made him find the strength to flee from the bakehouse, noting the icy paths and the freezing temperatures that would surely prove his undoing. Tristan’s sword might even be a preferable death, he thought grimly, gathering his cloak around him. But he had told Frida he would be gone from this place by dawn. And he could still see the pain in her eyes when she spoke of her brother’s intentions. It would devastate her if she had to witness his execution.
This, at least, he would do for her.
The guard still snored at his post. Callum thought briefly that he might take the wall torch for purposes of heat and light. Then he lowered his hands, shaking his head at his lunacy. What better way to illuminate his escape than to carry a flaming torch through the dark night? The bang on his head had mayhap doneworse damage than he had thought. With every jolting step, his vision blurred. He must make it beyond the boundary walls of Ember Hall before losing consciousness.
Perhaps once he was away, he would find the comfort of a roaring fire and a warm bed, he thought, moving stealthily forwards. He had no coin for an inn, but a man could dream.
He reached the outer edge of the courtyard without incident, cloaked in darkness and keeping close to the walls of the outbuildings as shelter from the wind. He did not need to watch the main gates for long to realise that he would never make it through. Tristan had ordered the guard be doubled. Flaming torches illuminated at least a dozen men atop the fortified wall. All of them upright and alert.
He shook his aching head and slunk back into the shadows. His only option was to take the eastern gate. But that did not lead to the road and the possibility of a fast escape—only to rolling fields and rearing cliffs. Progress would be slow over such terrain in these conditions. But he would have kept his promise to Frida. Right now, Callum couldn’t think much beyond that.
Taking in a gulp of cold air in the hope it might steady his thoughts, Callum turned around and retraced his steps until he reached the barn. Here he had to close his mind to memories of the day he and Frida had rescued the flock of sheep. He also pushed away the temptation to sneak inside, amidst the straw and animal warmth, to rest his aching limbs.
Nay, warmth and rest were not on offer for him this cold night. But one thing he could take to ease his journey was the shepherd’s crook which Frida had abandoned by the barn wall. Callum closed his fingers over the smooth handle, thinking of Frida’s slender hand gripping the very same wood. He flinched as an icy gust of wind whistled through his damp cloak, adding to the myriad pains racing up and down his bruised body. He must keep going else his very bones may freeze.
Made reckless by cold and circumstance, Callum strode directly across the courtyard, his eyes trained on the orange glow of the brazier by which the lone guard of the eastern gate would be keeping warm. The crook made it easier to walk on his bad ankle. Perchance he would make it, after all—but only if the guard was not very diligent. There were no buildings or trees to cloak his progress. Nor was it possible to proceed quietly when his boots alternately slid on ice or crunched through snow. Speed and surprise were his only allies. Together with the shepherd’s crook, which delivered a clean blow directly across the back of the guard’s head when Callum was able to sneak up behind him.
Callum knew a flicker of guilt as the man slumped on the slushy ground. But the brazier was close enough to stop him from freezing to death. And he would be found soon enough when the watch changed, surely.
Without looking back, Callum strode through the arched gate, his boots plunging into snow. He trudged onwards, listening out for the crashing of waves which would give some signal as to the proximity of the cliff edge. All he could hear was the howling wind and the occasional screech of an owl. At any moment, he feared he might slip and plunge over the edge of the white world to his death on the shingle beach far below, but there was no alternative but to persevere.
I am brought low, he thought, his habitual strength and fortitude much diminished by the beating he had endured. It was near enough three days since he had tasted food, and it took every ounce of energy to place one foot in front of another and carry on up the hill. When he walked bodily into something cold, hard and tall, it was almost a relief to have the excuse to stop.
His heart raced as he waited for a blow from an opponent, but everything around him remained still and calm. Even thewind had eased a little. Greatly daring, Callum reached out again, running his hands over a rough level surface.
