He squatted again by her side, placing a basin of water on the table beside the box. “’Tis warm water; Agnes had some heated on the stove,” he said. “Miss Mirabel was there as well. She asked if we needed assistance.”
Frida held her breath. Was this surreal interlude already over? “And what did you say?”
He flashed her a smile and her insides turned over. “I said I had treated many a battle wound and could manage well enough. But of course, if you would prefer to have her tend you?”
Frida shook her head. She wanted Callum’s touch. Callum’s company.
“She is busy,” she said, by way of an excuse. “There is work enough for this household without Mirrie or the other servants tending to me as well.”
He nodded, soaking a cloth in the warm water and dabbing gently at her arm. She flinched at the first stab of pain, then gritted her teeth together, determined to show no further weakness. After a while, there was something soothing in the warmth of the water coupled with the dexterity of his fingers. The only sound in the solar was the crackling of the logs in the fire.
“Which is the salve?” he asked.
“In the box, the largest of the round jars.”
He found it quickly and returned to her, twisting open the jar and scooping out the thick salve. Frida closed her eyes and turned away, readying herself.
“What is it?” His voice was alarmed.
She kept her head turned towards the plastered wall. “It stings at first.”
“Should I continue?”
“Aye.” She nodded quickly, sucking in her breath when sharp pain clamped around her arm. Callum worked competently, wrapping a bandage snugly over the wound and then repositioning the sleeve of her dress.
“’Tis done,” he said.
She opened her eyes to find his face hovering inches from hers. He had not moved from the floor, though it must be uncomfortable to sit so long on his heels.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
His hand crept over her good one. “I would do all of that and more for you, Frida.”
Sincerity shone from his nut-brown eyes. She found her fingers linking with his. It was impossible to look away.
“Do you really not remember me?”
She could not hold up the pretence any longer. She no longer remembered why she had started it in the first place.
“Frida, are you hurt?”
It took several seconds for her to realise that Jonah had entered the solar and it was he who asked the question. Callum did not shift his position, but instead of gazing into her eyes, he busied himself with rolling up bandages and screwing the lid back onto her jar of salve.
“’Tis nothing but a scratch,” she replied, as evenly as she could.
Jonah stood by the open doorway, his blue eyes swinging from his sister to the kneeling knight.
“You tended her?” he asked.
Callum swivelled his head around. “It was my honour to do so.”
Jonah took a few steps forwards. “Allow me to see?”
“There is nothing to see.” She lifted her bandaged arm closer to him.
But Jonah nodded as if satisfied. “I give you my thanks,” he said, a note of joviality creeping into his voice. “I admit, when I saw the fastened door, I suspected the worst.”
“’Twas the wind that closed it,” Frida interjected.
