Adam swallowed painfully. The lure of someplace called home had ceased to tug at his heartstrings many years since. When Clara was killed and Adam, mired in grief and twisted with desire for vengeance, followed Rory Baine north to the Highlands.
He had become a man who served, who followed orders. Even though he had once hoped for more.
“Do you have friends or family still living nearby?” Callum cocked an eyebrow, oblivious to the tumult of emotion his question caused.
“Nay.” Adam did not elaborate.
“More chance for rest then.” Callum crossed his long legs and smiled. “Take some rest, man. I am certain you deserve it.”
A beat passed. “Why do you offer me this?”
Callum’s face lost some of its benevolence, but Frida chose that moment to step into the room, balancing a well-stocked tray in her hands.
“This is long overdue for a man who traveled so far to reach us,” she murmured, settling the tray on a low table and passing Adam a cup of warmed wine. “Your news took us all by surprise. But please, eat and drink your fill.”
Adam took a sip, pleasantly surprised by the rich taste and subtle spices. He recalled his manners before he drained the cup.
“Thank you, milady.”
“Frida,” she corrected him, smiling slightly. “Callum has spoken to me of a man named Adam who first taught him to fight with a sword. You are that same man, I believe?”
The simple fact that Callum had remembered that time—and saw fit to share his memories with his wife—made Adam choke up with emotion.
“Aye, ’tis the same man,” Callum answered for him. “I had seen mayhap ten summers. Adam here was a strapping youth. If it were not for his early lessons, perchance I would not have been accepted at Lindum.”
A long look passed between husband and wife. “Then we never may have met,” Frida said simply.
Callum glanced at Adam. “I trained alongside Frida’s brother at Lindum,” he explained. “Tristan de Neville. Mayhap you have heard his name?”
Adam nodded. Tales of an English knight named de Neville had indeed reached as far as the highlands. But nonetheless, he hoped they would not dwell overlong on this subject. Callum may have spent happy years at Lindum. But for Adam, those same years were tinged with darkness.
“I will leave you to talk.” Frida threw another smile at her husband and walked gracefully from the room.
“Eat,” Callum encouraged him, nudging the tray closer. Adam’s stomach rumbled with hunger, but he would not give in to it before he had his answer.
“Pray, answer my question. Why do you offer me this chance to reside in your home and do naught for it?”
“Not naught. You forget, the primary purpose is to ensure no harm befalls my wife’s sister.”
“And is harm likely to befall her?” He thought of the young woman with hair as golden as ripe corn and eyes as blue as the sea. She looked to have never known a day of hardship in her life.
“She is the youngest child of the Earl of Wolvesley. A prize many men would like to claim.” Callum scratched at his arm. “In good conscience, I cannot leave her here undefended. But in truth, nay, I do not think it likely she will be approached.”
“Why does she not wish to return to Wolvesley? Is she ill-treated there?”
Adam eyed the freshly baked bread which exuded a most alluring aroma, but in his mind’s eye he saw the cheerless stone halls of Kielder Castle and heard a woman sobbing.
“Not in the slightest,” Callum answered firmly. “The earl adores her.”
Adam exhaled. “Then I cannot make sense of it. Why should she wish to remain here? And why do you want me to remain here with her?”
“I cannot answer the first. Perchance you should ask her yourself. ’Twill be some whim she has. Or a quarrel with an admirer, mayhap?”
“She has many admirers?” Adam found himself asking.
“There is a long line of suitors asking for her hand. But the lady is indifferent to them all.” Callum half smiled. “The de Nevilles are a close family. Esme visits us often; Ember Hall is a second home to her. I would prefer not to turn her away.” He opened his arms, indicating he had nothing to hide.
“And the second?”
