Swallowing hard, Frida walked past Arlo and made her way towards the door. By necessity, she must pass close to Andrew, who shrank back against the stone wall to let her pass.
“Milady,” he grunted.
“Andrew.” She adopted what she hoped was a bright smile and nodded her head.
She half expected him to shoot out a muscular arm and stop her progress, but Andrew merely held the door politely for her. She clutched her box and descended the narrow steps morespeedily than caution should have dictated, only allowing her muscles to unclench when she was more than half way across the courtyard, well within sight of the hall. Then her shoulders shook and she let out a sob that she didn’t realise she had been holding in. Her silvery plait swung in front of her eyes and her stomach rolled with nausea.
Had she been betrayed by the man she most wanted to trust?
Frida longed for some support. It seemed her ankle would never hold steady for the remaining walk across the courtyard. She had overdone it, walking to and from the village in the cold. But the main reason for her unsteadiness was shock.
Those concealed weapons! All the while she had treated Arlo in the loft, they had lain just feet away from her.
Gleaming, sharp, lethal.
Blades that had inflicted injuries, mayhap even killed men.
And she had bade Callum to give up his weapons. More so, she had been the one to take receipt of four heavy broad swords. Even now, they were locked in the armoury.
Frida could feel her face crumpling in a most unbecoming fashion. Hot tears threatened at the corners of her eyes. This was a man she had kissed, just hours earlier.
A man who made her heart sing.
A man who has deceived me.
She could not let this pass unpunished, she realised. The only question was, what should she do?
Chapter Eleven
“Frida, what ailsyou?”
Never before in her life had she been so pleased to recognise Jonah’s voice. She glanced up to see him hobbling down the front steps.
“Jonah,” she gasped, sniffing away her tears. “My ankle is weak. Can you help me?”
He gave a small chuckle as he splashed towards her. “’Twill be the lame leading the lame, but I will do what I can.”
Her ankle burned as if a knife was twisting inside it. Relief flooded through her as she took Jonah’s arm, even though he had to shuffle his feet and brace his knees to support her weight.
“We must make a comical pair,” she grimaced.
He dropped his mouth to just above her ear. “I do not believe anyone is watching.”
She looked up into his laughing blue eyes, so similar to her own. Rain had already darkened his golden hair and was running in rivulets over his richly decorated tunic.
“You do not have a cloak.”
“Nay indeed.” He began walking them both slowly towards the front door. “I was looking out from the solar and saw you staggering. Does a gentleman hunt for a cloak before helping a lady in distress?”
His jovial tone helped to lessen the weight of grief in her heart. But she could not repress her sisterly retort. “Chivalry has not always been your strong suit.”
They both made heavy work of side-stepping a puddle. Water had found a path beneath the neckline of her cloak and the cold trickle made her long to be beside a roaring fire in the great hall.
Jonah waited until they had re-established their balance before replying. “Mayhap your steady influence is bringing out the nobler side of my character.”
“Pah.”
“You do not think so?”
