“So he says.” Frida exerted great self-control in lifting her arm free of his fingers, but the sudden flow of warm, sticky blood brought a wave of dizziness upon her. She put her right hand to her forehead, staggering slightly.
“Steady.” Callum placed his hands on her shoulders, righting her once again. His concerned face swam before her. “You are losing a lot of blood.”
“’Tis nothing,” she persisted.
“’Tis only nothing if it is treated properly—and quickly.” He tore off a strip of his tunic and wrapped it tightly around her arm. It stung, but Frida was more distracted by the smooth expanse of bronzed flesh she could now see at his waist.
She averted her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Let us get you inside.”
“I can walk well enough,” she protested, feeling his arm come about her shoulders.
“You are swaying,” he pointed out.
She paused, recognising the truth of his words and wanting to right herself. “I am in shock, that is all.”
“Aye, and is shock not reason enough to merit some assistance? ’Tis a long walk to the main house.”
“I can manage,” she said, through gritted teeth. But when she started forwards, the grass beneath her rose up into a steep slope and her vision blurred.
Moments later, she was lifted snugly against Callum’s broad chest, her head resting on his broad shoulder. “We will make faster progress like this,” he declared, pre-empting her objection.
She tensed her body. “You are carrying me as if I am a child.”
“I am carrying you as if I am a knight,” he corrected her.
“But I do not want to be carried.” She did not speak the truth. Warmth from his body enveloped her.
“And I do not want to explain to your brother why I let you bleed out in the orchard.” He set off, long legs striding forwards. “I have carried men from the battlefield with lesser wounds.”
“That is a lie.” With her good hand, she beat him lightly on the chest. “Do not patronise me, Callum Baine.”
His voice trembled with laughter. “At least you remember my full name.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to admit that she remembered it all. Not only the dance they had shared, but the stolen glances across a crowded banqueting hall. The times she had lingered in the garden, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
That icy morning, when she had known it was risky to take her young horse out on the hunt.
Frida’s head spun and she closed her eyes against another spell of dizziness.
Callum was at once kind, loyal and attentive. And the man who had upended her life.
She couldn’t allow him into her heart a second time, even if his arms felt like home.
Chapter Six
Holy hell, itfelt good to hold her.
For the smallest moment, Callum allowed himself to concentrate fully on the press of Frida’s body against his and the lavender scent of her hair. When she had tumbled from the plum tree, something more than the honed reactions of a warrior had propelled him into position to catch her.
Aye. He had sprinted to her aid with the instincts of a lover. E’en before she cried out, he had known she was in trouble. So it had been for him back in Wolvesley; as if he and Frida were not two people who had recently met, but a couple long attuned to the subtle workings of one another’s hearts.
They had reached the inner courtyard, within eyesight of the guards and servants of Ember Hall. Plus his own band of men, working on the roof of the barn. He must release her. Gregor’s temper was turbulent enough without witnessing his enemy in his leader’s arms.
Besides, Frida would hate to be seen by the others as weak and vulnerable. ’Twas one thing to hold her close when they were alone, quite another to make a public display.
Regretfully, Callum paused and placed her gently back on the ground.
