“We none of us know what the future holds.”
“True enough.” The rain cast a sheen on Mirrie’s hood. Frida took hold of her arm and beckoned her forward. “Let us both get inside before we freeze.”
“But you should fight for your happiness,” Mirrie persisted, seemingly determined to drive this point home.
By now they were within earshot of the guards. Frida nodded to the man on the gate and waited until they were closer to the walls of the house before saying more.
“When did you become such an expert on matters of the heart, Mirabel Duval?”
She had meant the question lightly, but Mirrie flinched as if she had wounded her.
“Forsooth, I am no expert. Truly.” Her voice wobbled, betraying her emotions.
Frida cursed her lack of insight. At one time she would have been able to divine what troubled her friend, without making matters worse by asking her, forcing her to express that which caused her such pain.
“’Tis not the company of my foolhardy brother, Tristan, that you are missing, is it?” Frida guessed. Seeing Mirrie’s hastily concealed look of alarm she added, “I know you long ago had feelings for him.”
Mirrie dropped her eyes. “I was not aware you knew.”
“Aye. I have eyes in my head.” Frida smiled, but Mirrie pursed her lips in response.
“Twas long ago, as you say.” She sniffed. “We were but children.”
“That is what I thought.” Frida nodded emphatically. “You are far too sensible and wise to fall for Tristan’s charms.”
“Such as they are.” Mirrie wrinkled her pretty nose.
“Aye, such as they are.” Frida smiled again and this time, it was returned.
“Sorry, Frida, your question came out of the blue. I should not have reacted so.” Mirrie shook down her hood as they passed through the back door into the kitchen.
“Do not think on it again,” Frida assured her. “Mayhap it is the biting cold that affects us both?”
“That must be it.” Mirrie hung up her cloak with a shiver. “Will I fetch us some warmed wine? We can sit by the fire in the great hall?”
Tempting as the offer was, Frida shook her head. “Thank you, but nay. I must tend to Arlo. I did not have chance to change his dressing this morn.”
Because I went in search of Callum instead.
“You are not going out again so soon?”
“The sooner I go, the sooner I shall return,” Frida promised. Her head was already in the low-ceilinged loft over the stables where Arlo lay recovering just feet away from Callum’s tidy pallet.
With a farewell smile at her friend, Frida picked up her box of remedies and ducked back outside, her hood pulled up against the rain, which was now falling relentlessly. She walked as quickly as she could across the cobbled courtyard, keeping her weight on the toes of her left foot. She knew this gave her a hobbling sort of gait, but it was also the easiest way to get about without straining her ankle. The old stone steps running up the side of the outbuilding were slippery with rain and she ascended them carefully, rapping against the wooden door at the top before she pushed it open.
Immediately her heart sank, for the loft was empty except for Arlo. She had hoped for a glimpse of Callum, e’en though his habit was to keep himself busy on the land.
Arlo was laying on his side, propped up with rugs and cushions to prevent him rolling onto his wound which was healing nicely. His blue eyes lit up when he saw her, and he smiled in welcome.
“Good day,” she greeted him. “How do you fare, Arlo?”
The boy had intelligence in his gaze and Frida was careful to always address him with that in mind, but in the short time she had known him, he had said less than ten words to her. At first,she had put this down to him being awkward and in pain, but now part of her wondered if he might be simple-minded.
Callum’s other man, Andrew, who oft sat with Arlo, was equally inarticulate.
She wondered at his choice of travelling companions. Two simpletons and a Scottish rebel. But then she recalled that Callum was in service to the Lord of Egremont House. Mayhap Callum had no choice in who he rode out with.
She crossed the wooden floor and lowered herself carefully beside Arlo’s pallet. Well-accustomed to their daily procedure, Arlo had already shifted onto his stomach so she might better view his wound. Frida unwound the bandages, pleased to note no whiff of infection. The deep cut had closed nicely, with thick scabs already forming.
