Mirrie pursed her lips, perchance hiding a smile. “Your shift tells a tale.”
Frida’s cheeks grew pink at the memory of what had happened whilst she was wearing her shift. “’Tis not a tale for anyone’s ears but your own.”
“But of course.” Mirrie helped her out of it and passed her a clean one from the trunk. “A tale for us to discuss in full another morn; one that is not so fraught.”
Frida nodded as she pulled the cotton shift over her head. “I will tell you all that has passed.” She paused to grip Mirrie’s hands. “’Twill be a relief to confide in someone.” But as she spoke, tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and she had to turn away.
“I have brought a basin of warmed water, so you can wash.” Ever practical, Mirrie gave her a moment of peace, bending to gather up all of Frida’s discarded clothing. “I will put these with mine, to go to the laundry. I’ll return to dress your hair.”
Frida sniffed her thanks and splashed water on her face until all traces of her tears had gone. She stepped into the plain greygown of stiffened wool that Mirrie had picked out for her. It would be warm, at least, on a day that promised little comfort or cheer. She glanced towards the shutters, wanting to look out and scan the horizon for any remaining sign of Callum, but there was no time.
A faint knock at the door heralded Mirrie’s return. She sat Frida on the bed and tugged at her tousled hair with a comb, apologising breathlessly when Frida failed to hide her winces.
“Tristan cannot see you so dishevelled.”
White-lipped, Frida nodded her agreement. She was relieved when Mirrie declared herself done. Her hair was plaited neatly. Her dress was presentable. This was all that mattered.
“Where is Tristan now?” she asked, rising up from the mattress.
“I last saw him pacing the length of the great hall.” Mirrie paused. “There is still no sign of Jonah. Methinks he has gone into hiding into all of this is over.”
Frida grimaced. “Jonah had better stay in hiding. All ofthisis his doing.” At Mirrie’s look of confusion, she added, “Jonah caused all of this upset by writing to Tristan in the first place.”
“Ah.” Understanding dawned upon Mirrie’s brow. “Remember, Frida. They are both your brothers and they love you.”
Frida shook her head fiercely. “I do not know the man Tristan has become. The brother I knew would not order a castle razed to the ground, nor the slaughter of innocent women and children.”
Mirrie held up her hand. “Bide on that, Frida, prithee. Ask Tristan yourself about the siege of Kielder Castle.”
“Aye,” she grunted, smoothing down her skirts as she prepared to leave her chamber. “Believe me, I shall.”
Tristan had dark circles around his eyes and his thick hair had been tamed by neither comb nor water. Frida thought that she had never seen her handsome brother so dishevelled.
He paced up and down the great hall like a man possessed; his progress monitored carefully by the hounds stretched out by the fire. Frida had thought she might aim for nonchalance, but as soon as Tristan saw her, he strode across the room and grasped her by the shoulders. His forceful gaze could have pierced a path through stone.
“Did you set him free?” he demanded.
Shocked, Frida could only summon her resolve and meet his glare with one equally passionate. “What if I did?”
The sound coming out of Tristan’s mouth could only be described as a growl. “Then you are a traitor to your family.”
“Nay.” She wrestled herself away from his hold. “I am not the one who should wrestle with my conscience.”
The two siblings stood feet apart, both pairs of blue eyes blazing. Tristan’s hands clenched into fists, but Frida was certain he would not raise them against her.
“I have no time for riddles, sister. I ask you again. Did you set him free?”
Frida reminded herself that the important thing was to buy Callum enough time to run far from Ember Hall. She made a show of skirting around Tristan and lowering herself gracefully into a chair by the fire. “Why would I do that?”
Tristan sighed, looking momentarily defeated.
It was not a look Frida had ever seen on her brother before. Nor, despite everything, was it one she enjoyed.
“Because when the three of us were in here last…” He paused, indicating the stretch of floor where Callum had lain. “Your sympathies were not with me.”
Frida felt her throat constrict. “That is not entirely true,” she whispered.
Tristan turned anguished eyes towards her. “Always it has been you and me against the world, Frida. You have always stood in my corner, always backed me. And I have always tried to do the same for you.”
