Into the silence, Esme spoke. “You are right Frida. You should go.” She had racked her brains to remember the location of Kielder Castle and concluded it was somewhere in the highlands. There had been some unpleasantness, she dimly recalled, when the truth of Callum’s Scottish ancestry was first discovered. In fact, the more she thought on this, the more certain she became that Callum’s father was some great warlord. A rift had sprung up between father and son after Callum’s marriage to Frida. Which was all the more reason for them to make peace, whilst the opportunity still remained.
Her heart twisted in sympathy. She had no real concept of the distance involved. She only knew that if it were her father that was gravely ill, she would move heaven and earth to see him.
“You should all go to Scotland.” She met her sister’s gaze and smiled, noting that Frida appreciated her support.
Little Flora stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Callum’s leg. “Can I go to Scotland?” she asked, her sweet, five-year-old voice piping around the room.
“Me too?” Her brother Christopher would not be left out.
Frida scarcely hid her smile. “’Tis what your children wish.”
“My wife as well?” Callum gazed down at her, with so much love shining from his brown eyes that Esme felt her own heart turning over.
“Your wife as well,” Frida murmured.
In another moment, they would be kissing one another. Esme could not bear it. She clapped her hands to capture their attention. “That is just as it should be. Jonah and I will take care of Ember Hall in your absence.”
’Twas the wrong thing to say, she realized this almost immediately. Frida’s blue eyes widened with anxiety and Callum shook his head.
“Nay, lass. You cannot stay here. You must return to Wolvesley Castle, where you will be safe.”
“I will be safe here.” She spun around to look entreatingly at Jonah, the brother she had scarcely seen since her arrival. “Tell them, Jonah.”
But her brother only shrugged, his face creased with pain. “I have not been well these last weeks,” he said, resting his golden head on the back of the chair. “Mayhap Callum is right, Esme. You should go home.”
Esme’s mind was racing. “If you are unwell, ’tis better that I stay here and look after you.” She looked at him with new concern. “Is it your leg?” Her brother was elegantly dressed in spotless breeches and leather boots which hid the fact that, from the knee down, one leg was narrow and twisted. “You should rest, that’s what Mother always says. I shall fetch and carry and ensure you have all you need.” She rubbed her hands together, as if the matter was settled.
“I am not quite so feeble that I cannot take care of myself,” Jonah said distastefully, narrowing his blue eyes.
“Then I shall give you all the space you need, whilst being here if you need me.” Esme was well accustomed to her brother’s moodiness. She would not let him spoil her plans.
“Esme, it cannot be done.” Frida passed the babe to her husband and crossed the room to stand beside her. “You are always welcome here, you know that. But without Callum’s protection, it is simply not safe.”
Esme looked into her sister’s earnest face and saw the prospect of sanctuary rapidly disappearing.
But if I return to Wolvesley, I will be pressed to accept a suitor.
“You have always said that Jonah is as skilled with a sword as Tristan.” She made her voice light.
“Has she?” Jonah looked almost interested.
Here is my chance.
Esme nodded vigorously. Her skirts swirled as she playfully mimed a sword thrust.
“Even Tristan admits it.”
Jonah gave her a strange sort of smile. “You think that between us, Esme, we could keep vagabonds and thieves at bay?”
“I do,” she declared, feeling victory within her grasp. “Forsooth, Jonah, ’tis most unlikely we will encounter any.”
“The fact remains that Jonah is not in full health right now.” Frida held up her hands as if forbidding further discourse.
Esme could have stamped her feet. “There are guards,” she began.
“None that I would trust with such a precious assignment.” Callum smiled over at her from his position by the fire as Merry cooed in his arms.
Under different circumstances, Esme might have smiled back. Frida’s husband was a handsome man. But right now, she felt more inclined to scowl.
