Feelings that she shared—but that she dared not release from the barricades of her heart.
“Are you injured elsewhere?” she asked, forcing the words out. “Aside from your head?”
He shook his head slowly.
“I should have brought warm water,” she said almost to herself, leaning forward to examine the wound.
“Leave it,” he said throatily.
“I cannot.”
“The bleeding has stopped. ’Tis naught but a scratch.”
“A scratch that felled you, knocking you into unconsciousness.”
“Aye.” He caught hold of her hand, their fingers entwining as if they had minds of their own. “Your brother knows how to land a kick.”
His voice was light but the memory was still too sharp-edged and terrible for her to raise a smile. She looked down at their joined hands and tears filled her eyes.
The only way through this was as a healer.
“Infection may set in. The cut should be cleaned and covered in honey.”
“Nay, Frida.” Now his fingers travelled along the inside of her wrist, sending shivers of anticipation down her spine. “You would not send me out into the night with my head dripping with honey, would you?”
This time, she smiled. “Mayhap you are right.”
“Iamright.” He drew her closer, so she was sitting within the circle of his embrace. It was the most natural thing in the world to rest her cheek against the sold warmth of his chest and close her eyes.
“Where will you go?”
“I cannot tell you.” His reply was instantaneous. When she pulled pack to gaze at him questioningly, his eyes were soft. “You don’t think this question will be asked of you, come the morn? You don’t think your brother will know if you are keeping this information from him?”
Tears leaked from her eyes. “Again, you are right.”
“I wish it were not so.”
“There is nothing to be gained in wishing for the impossible.” She knew this of old.
“You have given me back my life. I am forever in your debt.” He pulled her hands over his chest. “You will live forever in my heart.”
Before she could think of a response, he had risen to his feet.
He was about to leave and suddenly, she could not bear it.
“Wait,” she commanded, scrabbling upwards, ungainly and awkward after spending so long on the hard earth floor.
Again, she anticipated resistance, but Callum turned towards her almost eagerly.
“What is it?”
“One last kiss,” she dared to say, walking towards him across the empty room. “One last kiss to remember you by.”
He seized her like a drowning man offered a lifeline. His hands were at once around her waist and in her hair, gathering her close. Their lips joined together hungrily, melding as one in a kiss that increased in intensity with every heartbeat. This would be the last time she stood in Callum’s arms, the last time she tasted him, the last time his hands caressed her body; Frida could not bear to step away.
Instead, she pulled him closer, gasping as his stubble rasped the tender flesh of her neck while kissing him back with an urgency she had never before experienced.
“Frida,” he said, simply.
