Callum nodded, his eyes widening as he realised what this meant.
“The animals are still out in the fields.” He spun around, his cloak flaring about his ankles. “I must go to fetch them in.”
Andrew did not question him. “I shall come with ye.”
Callum clapped him on the shoulder. “I thank you for the offer, Andrew. But one of us should stay here until Arlo wakes. He is not yet well enough to fend for himself, especially in these temperatures.”
“Ye will go out alone?” Andrew’s eyebrows once again disappeared into his thatch of hair.
“’Tis not too deep, yet.” Callum demonstrated this by stepping further out into the courtyard. The snow came no further than midway up the feet of his leather boots. He shaded his eyes and looked to the west. “But see those clouds on the horizon? I’ll wager they will bring us more snow before noon.”
Andrew gazed at him, ruminatively. “I am not going to pester ye for the chance to trudge out in the snow and bring in another man’s livestock.”
“Anotherwoman’slivestock,” Callum corrected, before he could think better of it.
“I begin to see how it is now.” Andrew guffawed. “Ye have a soft spot for yon Frida de Neville.”
Callum bit back the denial that had sprung to his lips. He must take care not to draw suspicion by seeming too sensitive on the topic.
“She is a fine woman,” he said instead.
“Aye. Wi’ a brother who would run ye through with his sword before thinking twice.”
Callum looked again to the west, pretending to monitor the clouds as he schooled his face into neutrality.
“I will go now and get the job done.”
“And I shall go back to the warm.” Andrew jerked his head towards their loft. “Once Arlo is settled, shall I come and find ye?”
“Aye.” Callum was grateful for the support. “Do that.”
“And later we will raise a toast to yer lassie.” Andrew waggled his eyebrows.
“We might raise a toast to each other.” Callum grasped his friend’s forearm. “I am right glad you’re here, Andrew.”
He meant it. Amidst the unrelenting turmoil of his thoughts, Andrew’s steady good humour was a tonic.
A cold gust of wind hit him full in the face as he turned the corner away from the barns. He hadn’t realised just how much shelter the courtyard provided. Callum had to pause for a moment, capturing both his balance and his resolve. The outlook here was bleak, with wind whipping up the snow and sending it spiralling into the freezing air. Tiny shards of ice rained down onto the hood of his cloak. He took a deep breath and strode onward, barely recognising the landmarks that had grown passingly familiar over the past few days.
A blackbird took flight into the pale sky, causing a wedge of snow to fall heavily from the branch it had been perching upon. There was no sign of the chickens, usually to be found scratching in the dirt. They would all be safe and warm in the henhouse.
Mayhap all living creatures were safe and warm within Ember Hall; bar Callum, intent on his mad quest.
He half smiled at the fancy, before realising he was wrong. Ahead of him, through the swirls of snow, he could make out another figure battling up the slight hill.
A slight figure, head bowed low against the wind, walking with a limp.
Frida.
Callum could hardly believe it. Within moments he experienced a whirlwind of emotions. Admiration for her pluck went into battle with a swell of anger at her foolish disregard for her own safety. He wanted to shout at her to go back inside, but knew she would not listen. And anyway, the wind would snap up his words and carry them away before she had chance to hear them.
There was nothing for it but to increase his stride, gradually closing the distance between them.
“Frida,” he shouted into the cold.
She stopped her halting progress, her cloak flying up as she turned to face him. Snow stung his eyes as the wind burned his cheeks, but he continued without pausing until they were mere steps apart.
Frida was breathing hard, her cheeks red with cold and effort. Ice crystals had formed on the top of her hood.
