He thought he saw her flinch, but her gaze remained steady and cool. He must have imagined it.
“You did not break your fast with the others in the great hall. Whene’er workers are in such demand that they must miss meals, ’tis my custom to bring refreshments out to them.”
No special treatment then. He was just another man working the grounds of Ember Hall. ’Twas what he wanted, so why was he disappointed to hear it?
“You are kind,” he muttered.
She tightened her lips. “I only follow the lessons my mother taught me.”
Her mother, the Countess of Wolvesley. He recalled a petite woman with a radiant smile. Another whose hospitality he had trampled upon.
“Thank you, Frida,” he said, summoning warmth into his words, for his torment made him as cold as ice.
She nodded once. “You must take care with that axe. It is sharp.”
She was about to leave. Suddenly he didn’t want her to go. This realisation cut through the clamour of his confusion like his axe splitting the log. He stepped forward. “Are you headed for chapel?”
“Aye, Mirrie and I will walk down into the village.”
“Not the chapel here?” He thought of the peaceful chamber with the vivid murals.
“’Tis important that we meet the local families.” She looked down at the damp grass for a moment. “Would you care to join us?”
He held her gaze. “Is that invitation extended to all who work at Ember Hall?”
This time she did not flinch. “Of course.”
His urge to say yes was in direct conflict with his rational mind. He must put distance between them to deny to himself the alluring connection which sparked in the air whenever she was near.
But he didn’t want to deny it any longer. He was tired of pretending to be something he was not. For this one moment in time, he wanted to own the desires of his heart.
He wanted to be special to her—not just another worker, nor just another knight.
He took a second step closer, noting her physical reaction to his increased proximity. A pulse fluttered at the side of her neck. How he wanted to kiss it.
“I would go with you chapel if I might sit beside you,” he said recklessly. He was suddenly uncaring of propriety, and e’en more uncaring of keeping up this pretence of indifference. He was already in trouble.
And he may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.
“As a friend of the family, that would be entirely acceptable.”
He was stood directly in front of her now. Close enough to hear the raggedness of her breathing. He caught one of her gloved hands in his. “What if I was not a friend of your family? What if I was just Callum Baine, desirous of your company?”
“My company?” she echoed. Her pupils had grown wide and liquid, her sweet lips parted just enough for him to kiss them.
“More than your company,” he declared. Greatly daring, he brought her gloved fingers to his mouth. If she pulled away, he would release her.
But she didn’t.
He pressed his lips to her knuckles, gazing all the while into her darkened eyes. When she made no move to resist, his lips travelled upwards, skimming her wrist until he had pushed away the fabric of her sleeves. When his mouth brushed against the bare skin of her forearm, Frida gasped.
A gasp of pleasure.
She tasted of lavender.
He kissed her there again, wrapping his other arm around her waist and drawing her closer until less than an inch separated them.
“Frida,” he said.
