Frida stopped. Not because the climb exhausted her, but because she wanted to take it all in. She sighed as the pinkish rays of sunrise appeared on the horizon.
“So beautiful.”
Callum frowned. “Aren’t we too late?”
Her husband had made the transition from warrior to gentleman farmer with ease. But even after four calm andcontented years at Ember Hall, he had not yet shaken off his warrior’s sense of urgency.
“The sun is not in a rush,” she said with a smile.
They rounded the corner at the perfect moment to see the standing stones bathed in rosy light.
Nay, not “bathed.” Rather, they blazed with the glory of the rising sun, as if Mother Nature had arranged the spectacle just for them. Light shimmered and danced on the horizon in celebration of this midsummer’s day. Callum squeezed her hand, and she knew that he was equally awe-struck.
“So beautiful,” he confirmed, dipping his head and pressing his lips to her forehead. “Almost as beautiful as you, dear wife.”
Laughing, she pushed him away. “I have already borne you two children. You have no need to shower me with compliments.”
He put his hands on his hips, unfazed. “I speak the truth as I see it.”
“Aye. You always do.” She took his arm and they walked closer to the circle of large, upright stones. She was flooded with gratitude, both for the beauty all around them and the news which had reached Ember Hall just yesterday. “Peace.” She sank down onto the first, flattish stone and tilted her chin so her face was warmed by morning light. “Who would have thought it?”
He sat down beside her, curving his arm around her slender shoulders. Frida nestled closer, glad of his warmth and the comfort of his nearness.
“I, for one, have always dreamed of peace. Your brother, Tristan, for another.” Callum gazed out at the horizon, unaware how the rosy dawn haloed him with light. Constant work in the fields had honed his warrior’s physique even further and the muscles in his shoulders rippled beneath his tunic. Long days in the sun had brought golden highlights to his shock of dark hair,and the contented tumble of family life had chased away the lines of worry previously etched around his brown eyes.
“Aside from the two of you, I mean.” She nudged him, laughing a little. “Not that I doubt the combined power of my husband and brother to bring the world to rights.”
“I am glad to hear it.” His stubbled chin nuzzled against her cheek. “But do not forget Alys. She risked everything to secure peace. Indeed, when she stayed with us last yuletide, I believe she prophesised this day would come.”
Frida smiled at the memory. Alys had surprised them all with her appetite for feasting and celebration, delighting in the company of young children and regaling them with tales of Callum’s boyhood antics. One evening, she had taken hold of Frida’s hands and proclaimed that peace would be achieved before the next harvest.
“Indeed she did.” Frida bit down on her lip, thoughtfully. “But I dare say not even Alys could have foreseen this particular outcome.”
The message, inscribed by her father and carried north from Wolvesley by a pink-cheeked messenger-boy, had been brief. The earl’s words had been few, but his relief had been evident in the flamboyant swirls of his elegantly-formed letters. England had renounced its age-old claim on Scotland on the coat-tails of an unanticipated military defeat which all but saw the young King Edward III captured.
It was not an outcome that anyone could have foreseen. But it was one which had filled their hearts with hope. Now, at last, they could sleep easily in their beds. Peace, finally, seemed within their grasp.
“We should send word to Alys,” Frida thought aloud.
Callum smiled down at her. “I have already dispatched a messenger, though I have no doubt that Alys already knows. Most likely she will send some new information back to us.”
“You are right.” She reached to take her husband’s hand. There was one issue, closer to home, which troubled her still. “Might you return to Kielder Castle now, to visit with your father?”
Callum’s ancestral home had been slowly, painstakingly rebuilt over the years, but Frida had never met Rory Baine, the famed warlord of the highlands; her father-in-law. And though she knew that relations between father and son were strained, she could not imagine living her days as Callum did, without the warmth and blessing of her kin. When Callum wrote to tell him of their wedding, Rory’s reply had been brief.
Your mother would have been proud.
The glare of the sun meant that she could not properly read his expression, but she felt him tense. “I do not think my father will welcome the peace.”
“But he is still your father. Your family.”
“My only kinsman,” he finished for her.
She heard the catch in his voice and her heart squeezed in sympathy. At least both Andrew and Arlo had been present at their wedding, waiting until after the ceremony to journey back to the highlands. Since then, Andrew had written often, sharing more news of Kielder Castle than Callum ever received from the laird.
“Aye. Whilst you are surrounded by my kinsmen from dawn till dusk.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, wanting to dispel the note of gloom. “We must flee the hall afore sunrise if we are to know a moment of peace.”
He laughed quietly. “You know how I love being a part of your family. And I enjoy their frequent visits.”
