The medicine box was, as Frida had said, laying upon one of the square cushions on the window seat. Before his imagination could betray him further, Callum snatched it up and left.
*
The morn hadnot gone according to plan.
Forsooth, it had gone terribly wrong. But Frida could not help from smiling as she recalled Callum’s chivalry. Against all odds, he had broken her fall from the fruit tree and carried her home like some gallant knight clutching a fainting maiden. And then, most importantly of all, he had allowed her to stand tall and walk inside on her own, just as the lady of the house should.
Her heart, long hardened, was beginning to open up. Something about Callum’s arrival here, at Tristan’s bequest, still nagged at her. But she had to admit that the knight had been naught but helpful.
Helpful and apparently sincere, especially when he recalled the detail of their last meeting.
Mayhap his tale has the ring of truth, she pondered, gazing out of the long window towards the sun-dappled gardens. In such serene surroundings, breathing in the heady scent of roses, anything seemed possible.
Frida pinched her hand, frowning at her fancies. She must not allow herself to become carried away. Once before she had believed Sir Callum Baine to be her future. That had ended in disaster. Though ’twas not his fault her horse had slipped on the ice.
“I have grieved you,”he’d said, as they stood outside in the clinging mist.
She had not allowed herself to be moved, thinking only of how he had abandoned her.But if he believed her to have perished…
She was jolted from her thoughts by the man himself returning. In his hands he carried the slender wooden box in which she kept her balms, salves and bandages. A gust of wind caused the door to slam behind him and they both startled.
Callum recovered first. “Would you like me to reopen it?” He nodded towards the door.
Propriety dictated they should.
Frida shook her head. “It is no matter. No one is likely to come upon us.”
“And you trust me, Lady Frida?” He came closer, placing the box gently upon a side table by her chair.
She tilted her head to look up at him, noting the intensity of his brown eyes and the rasp of stubble on his suntanned cheek.
“I do.”
Perchance she should have demurred, or made some fancy speech about the honour and integrity of Lindum-trained knights. But Frida merely spoke what was in her heart. When last she met Callum, she had still enjoyed the gifts of her Sight. And she’d known instinctively that he was trustworthy.
More than that. She’d known instinctively that he was the man for her.
But then he had abandoned her.
Callum held her gaze as if he was reading these secrets of her soul. It was too much. Too intense and too bewildering. Frida snatched her eyes away, focusing instead on the crackling fire.
Callum cleared his throat, the sound echoing through the square-shaped room. “Shall I remove the tourniquet?”
Her wound. She had almost forgotten about it. Mayhap that was why her thoughts wandered so. She had lost too much blood to be of rational mind.
Frida sat up straighter in the chair and forced herself to concentrate. “Please do. I think the bleeding has stopped.”
But his proximity, when he crouched beside her and began unwinding his makeshift bandage, was almost too much to bear. His hands were large but his touch was gentle.
“Aye, it has stopped.” He looked up at her, his eyes reflecting the orange sparks of the fire. “Though it should be cleaned before we apply any salve.”
Frida smiled, although her heart thudded with embarrassment for of course he was correct. How could she call herself a healer and forget something so basic?
It was because of Callum. His presence made her near enough forget her own name.
“You can fetch a basin from the kitchen.” She paused. “Tell Agnes I sent you.”
He nodded wordlessly, rose up and strode from the chamber, leaving her to press a hand over her heart and reach for her faltering composure. By the time Callum returned, Frida was more herself.
