“That is a terrible image.” She closed her eyes against it.
“We have light.” He was rummaging in the store cupboard and had found enough candles to last them until dawn. “But nothing to eat.”
“I am not hungry.” But Frida’s audibly rumbling stomach contradicted her claim.
It was a hard, cold night that they spent together in the shepherd’s hut. Not at all the start to this new stage of their romance that Callum would have wished for. He spread one blanket on the floor and both Frida and the lamb snuggled up together, beneath the second. There was scarce room for his long limbs in the cramped space, but he laid down as best he could and held Frida until she fell asleep. Then, moving with great care, he stretched himself up and spent the greater part of the night sitting on the uncomfortable chair.
The temptation to see all of this as a warning sign from above grew strong within him. One moment of passion they had shared, and already Lady Frida de Neville was reduced to sleeping in a shepherd’s hut, hungry and cold, her lovely hair spread thickly over the dusty floor. But Callum was still light-headed with joy over Frida’s admission of feeling for him. For now, he was buoyed up with hope for the future.
Well-used to the anxious wait of the hours before a battle, he steeled himself not to think too much during the night. Wonderings never spiralled in a positive direction while darkness prevailed and the body shivered with cold. He knewthis of old. So as the owls hooted outside, he gazed at the soft outline of Frida’s sleeping face and let a smile play about his lips.
Sometime before dawn, he fell asleep with his head and arms on the table. Waking with a stiff neck and sore back, he had to blink before his eyes adjusted to the bright shaft of light streaming in at the open door. The air smelled fresh and clean.
“Good morning,” Frida said softly. With the lamb in her arms and the golden light behind her, she was a vision.
Callum sat up in the chair, wincing as his cramped muscles came back to life. “Good morning.” His mouth was as dry as sawdust. What he wouldn’t give for a skin of good wine.
“The snow has stopped. We can go home.”
Her simple statement pierced him. Frida looked only to return to the house she loved with the man for whom she had proclaimed affection. The path forward seemed clear to her. But Callum’s deception meant that his way forward was paved with sharp rocks and treacherous drops, however much he might wish it otherwise. All at once, he longed for bitter winds and biting hail. Anything that might keep them here and prolong this beautiful privacy, just for them. But he forced his chapped lips to smile as he stood and rotated his shoulders.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Aye, well enough.” She bent to lower the lamb to the floor. “I melted some snow for Gertrude to drink. But she has had no food inside her.”
He frowned as he puzzled this out, then noticed the candle moved to the floor of the hut, beside a rough wooden bowl which contained a thin covering of water.
“Ingenious.” He smiled at her again and then frowned. “For how long was I asleep?”
She inclined her head, her blue eyes dancing. “I can’t tell, I’m sure. But I can tell you that you snored.”
Her laugh brought fresh joy to his heart and he laughed along with her. “Never,” he denied strongly.
Frida met his gaze impishly. “Is this the life I have to look forward to? A man who snores louder than a hound?”
Callum’s worries floated away. He was light with happiness. “I hope so.” He caught one of her hands and brought it to his lips.
She pretended to consider it. “We will have to sleep in separate chambers.”
“Never,” he said again, drawing her towards him. “Though mayhap I should refrain in the future from sleeping upright in a chair.”
“Ah, so if you are laying down, you will sleep quietly?”
“As quiet as a lamb,” he promised, indicating the snuffling young sheep who seemed about to curl up again on the blanket.
“That is good news indeed.”
He dropped a careful kiss onto her forehead, conscious of his stale breath and the sharp growth of stubble on his cheeks. “We should make haste, before all of the county is sent out to search for you.”
“Mirrie will know I am with you and that I am safe,” Frida declared, but she walked over to where they had laid out their cloaks and picked one up. “Still damp.” She wrinkled her nose.
“I am sorry.”
“For what?” Her brow lifted in confusion.
“For the difficult start to our days together.” He took his cloak from her. “Cold and damp and hungry,” he added ruefully.
She laid a hand on his, her touch bringing him more comfort than she knew. “There will be better days, brighter days.”
