Jonah also chuckled. “There we are then. Allies at last.”
“Allies.” She lifted her goblet in a silent toast. “Tell me, why did we not have this conversation years ago?”
Jonah leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His gaze rested on the glowing fire. “’Tis sometimes hard to hear the truth of your heart amidst the mighty clamour of Wolvesley Castle.”
“Amen to that.” She took her final mouthful of wine, savouring the richness of it and allowing Jonah’s insight to ripple through her.
She had heard the truth of her heart.
She had acknowledged—to herself and to Mirrie—that her heart beat for Callum.
Mayhap that was why she had been so quick to distrust him. The very second her eyes alighted on those weapons, she had believed the worst of him.
Old habits die hard. And Frida had been barricading her heart for many winters now.
Was it time for a change?
Chapter Twelve
There was somethingdifferent about the light this morn, Callum thought. For one, there was too much of it. For two, the hue was overly bright.
Still fuddled with sleep, Callum lay on his pallet, listening to the snuffling of Arlo’s steady breathing, and waited for his mind to make sense of it all.
The cold was another thing. Bitter and biting on his face, e’en as his body was warm beneath a heavy rug. Callum watched his breath plume into the chill air and the answer slowly slid into his mind.
Snow.
Noiselessly, he rose out of bed and padded on stockinged feet over to the gable end of the barn. There, he bent his knees and fixed his gaze on the gap between two wooden slats in the roof. He could see little, but there was no hint of green outside.
Everything was white.
Grunting softly, Callum returned to his pallet, pulled on his leather boots and wrapped his heavy cloak about his shoulders. He was possessed of a desire to breathe this fresh, clean air and consider what it meant.
Leaving his men sleeping, he quietly opened the wooden door and slipped out into the biting cold. Flaming wall torches illuminated a world made different. Soft snow crunched beneath his boots as he carefully ascended the narrow stone staircase.
I must remember to clear these treads, he noted. Once the snow turned to ice, they would become treacherous.
At the bottom of the steps, he paused, reluctant to mar with his footprints the shimmering expanse of white spreading all around. The first rays of sunrise were just appearing, casting a beautiful rosy hue over the pristine snow that lay thickly over everything. For a moment, Callum was filled with wonder, like a child at yuletide. He wrapped his arms about his chest, pushing his hands beneath the folds of his cloak, and breathed it all in.
Yesterday in the chapel, he had asked the Almighty for a sign.
And this sign felt fairly conclusive.
Callum would not be leaving Ember Hall. Not today, nor on the morrow.
He pressed his lips together, unable to deny a thrill of relief that the decision had been taken out of his hands.
Aye,he was playing with fire still. Especially after that kiss.
A kiss that had seared itself into his very soul. Never would he forget how Frida’s lips had felt against his, the sweetness of her breath or the softness of her body. Her gasp of pleasure that had all but robbed him of reason. But could he e’er allow it to happen again, given the layers of complexity that existed between them?
Callum ground his teeth together, his breath hanging in the air like steam from a dragon.
A movement from above caught his attention and he reached for the hilt of his sword, cursing silently when it was not there.
“’Tis only I,” said a familiar voice, the words all but swallowed up by the muffling snow.
Callum relaxed his stance. “Andrew.”
