Chapter 6
Morning arrived too quickly.
Iona had not slept more than a handful of hours. The sky beyond the cottage window was still pale and undecided when she rose, already dressed in travel-worn wool and resolve.
Erin was awake before her, of course.
The old healer moved briskly about the cottage, gathering bundles of dried herbs, muttering to herself in Gaelic about stubborn men and predictable fate. She did not ask whether Iona had changed her mind.
She had not.
Jamie sat at the small table, boots dangling, watching the preparations with quiet intensity.
“Are we leaving forever?” Jamie asked at last.
Iona paused, folding the last of their clothes into a small satchel. “We are going to stay at a safer place for a while.”
“Safer than here?”
She forced a small smile. “Aye.”
Jamie tilted his head thoughtfully. “Is it because of the men last night?”
“Yes.”
Silence settled between them.
“Who is he?” Jamie asked then, gaze sharp in a way that reminded her painfully of someone else. “The tall one.”
Iona’s fingers stilled.
She had known this question would come.
“He is… important,” she began carefully.
“That isnae an answer,” Jamie said, echoing words spoken the night before.
Despite herself, she huffed a faint breath.
“He is yer father,” she said plainly.
The words felt strange, heavy and fragile all at once.
Jamie blinked.
“Me father?”
“Aye.”
Jamie’s expression rushed through obvious confusion and then curiosity, “Why did ye never tell me?”
“Because I didnae think we would see him again,” she replied honestly.
Jamie absorbed that, small brows furrowing. “Does he ken?”
Her throat tightened. “I havenae told him outright, but I reckon we are here in part because he sorted it out for himself.”
Another pause.
“Is that why we are going to his castle?”
“Yes.”
Jamie considered this with the seriousness only a child capable of sudden maturity could manage. “Is he going to be angry?”
Iona crossed the room and knelt so they were eye to eye. “He is nae angry with ye.”
“Is he angry with ye?”
The question hit closer than she expected.
“I can handle that,” she said softly.
Before Jamie could press further, the rumble of wheels reached them from outside.
Erin sniffed. “He is punctual.”
Through the small window, Iona saw it: a modest carriage and several mounted men waiting at the edge of the clearing. Frederick stood at the front, posture straight, cloak falling neatly over broad shoulders. He looked every inch the laird in daylight.
Jamie sprang from the chair. “They’re here.”
“Slow down,” Iona warned, though the child was already halfway to the door.
Outside, the air was crisp and cool. The horses stamped impatiently, breath puffing white.
Frederick stepped forward as they emerged.
“Ready?” he asked.
Iona nodded once.
His gaze jumped briefly to Jamie, assessing, measuring.
Jamie did not shy away.
Instead, Jamie skipped ahead toward the carriage, curiosity overcoming caution.
Iona lingered a few steps behind and caught only part of the exchange.
“What do I call ye?” Jamie asked.
Frederick crouched slightly to be heard more easily. “Whatever ye are comfortable with.”
Jamie frowned thoughtfully. “Do I have to call ye me Laird?”
A flicker of amusement crossed Frederick’s face. “Nay.”
“Can I call ye Frederick?”
“If ye wish.”
Jamie tested it under the breath. “Frederick.”
The name sounded different in a small voice.
Iona approached then, unable to avoid the moment any longer.
Frederick straightened.
“Is there room for all of Erin’s… supplies?” she asked, gesturing toward the bundles of herbs and satchels Lennox was currently eyeing with suspicion.
“There is room,” Frederick said evenly.
Lennox grinned. “Though if any of those start cursing the horses, I claim nay responsibility.”
“They arenae curses,” Erin snapped from behind Iona. “They are protection.”
Lennox held up both hands in surrender. “Of course they are.”
Jamie snorted quietly at that.
They settled into the carriage with surprising efficiency. Erin insisted on sitting beside Jamie and launched into a low lecture about proper posture and observing one’s surroundings. Iona took the opposite seat; hands folded too tightly in her lap.
Frederick mounted his horse rather than joining them inside.
As the carriage began to move, Jamie leaned toward the small window and peered out. “Is it far?” came the inevitable question.
“Far enough,” Lennox called from somewhere near the front.
“Is the castle large?” Jamie pressed.
“It is sturdy,” Frederick answered from horseback, voice carrying back. “And it doesnae fall over when the wind changes.”
Jamie grinned at that.
Iona watched the exchange carefully.
“So,” Jamie continued boldly, “do ye always fight like that?”
Frederick glanced toward the carriage window. “Like what?”
“With blood and swords.”
Iona’s stomach tightened.
“When necessary,” he said simply.
“And is it always necessary?”
Frederick considered that. “I try to ensure it isnae.”
Jamie seemed satisfied with that answer.
The wheels rolled steadily over packed earth as the village disappeared behind them.
Iona leaned back slightly, tension creeping along her spine. The rhythm of the carriage felt foreign after years of moving quietly and quickly on foot.
“Ye look as though ye are riding toward execution,” Frederick observed lightly.
“I prefer walking,” she replied.
“That much I have noticed.”
“And I prefer kennin’ where I am going,” she added pointedly.
“Ye should ken just fine where McIntosh seat is, lass,” he said.
She met his gaze through the window opening. “We shall see.”
He held her stare a moment longer than necessary before turning his attention back to the road.
And the carriage rolled on toward McIntosh Castle.
The child chose quickly.
By the time the road widened and the village disappeared behind the curve of trees, “Frederick” had become the name called whenever a question surfaced, whenever curiosity sparked, whenever a small voice decided it deserved an answer.
Frederick kept his horse alongside the carriage, one hand loose on the reins, the other never far from his sword. He had insisted Jamie use his name. “Me Laird” did not belong in a child’s mouth, not when the child’s gaze was already sharpened by too much fear for too many years.
Still, hearing the name spoken like that felt strange.
Not unpleasant. Just unfamiliar.
From the carriage window, Jamie leaned out again, eyes bright. “Frederick, does yer castle have a river?”
“Aye,” he answered. “But ye willnae go near it alone.”
Jamie’s mouth tightened. “I didnae say I would.”
Frederick lifted a brow. “Yet I will say it anyway.”
A huff of breath came from the window. “Frederick is bossy.”
“I am disciplined,” he corrected.
From the front of the carriage, Lennox turned in his saddle with a grin that could have been seen from the next county. “Me Laird, ye are getting scolded.”
Frederick shot him a look.
Lennox only looked more pleased with himself. “Listen to that. First name basis already. Lady Caitlin will be overjoyed. She will have the chapel dressed in ribbons before the week is out.”
Iona’s laugh drifted out, warm and unguarded. “If she is already preparing ribbons for a stranger’s arrival, she sounds exhausting.”
“Stranger?” Lennox repeated dramatically. “Lass, ye have nae idea what a mother can accomplish with determination and a household staff.”
Erin’s voice cut in from within the carriage, low and unimpressed. “Speak less about ribbons and more about the road.”
Lennox’s grin faltered. He turned forward at once, suddenly fascinated by the horse’s ears. “Aye, Granny Erin.”
“Daenae call me that,” Erin muttered, then began murmuring Gaelic under her breath again.
Frederick caught only fragments of the sounds, rhythmic and ancient. Blessings for safe travel, he suspected. Or curses for fools who tempted fate with their tongues.
Lennox clearly suspected the same. The man kept his shoulders a fraction too stiff, as if bracing for a lightning strike.
Iona leaned toward the window, eyes dancing as she watched the exchange.
The hard edges in her face had softened on the road.
A small thing, but noticeable. She looked almost like the woman Frederick remembered from the inn, the one who had teased him into speaking when he would rather have drowned in silence.
Almost.
He kept his gaze forward.
No topic of fatherhood was spoken aloud. Not by him. Not by her. Not by the child who should have been asking a dozen questions that would tear the world open.
Perhaps Jamie sensed the danger in that topic. Perhaps Iona had warned against it. Or perhaps the child simply had the instinct to wait and watch, the way a fox waited before stepping into a clearing.
Frederick did not press.
Not on the road. Not with too many ears and too little certainty.
Instead, he watched. He listened. He learned.
Jamie asked questions the way a blade tested armor.
“Frederick, how many men live in yer castle?”
“Enough.”
“That isnae a number.”
“It is a true answer.”
Jamie frowned in thoughtful irritation. “Do ye have dogs?”
“Aye.”
“Big dogs?”
“Big enough to bite.”
“That is a better answer.”
Frederick heard Iona’s quiet snort of amusement from inside.
He glanced toward the window again and found Iona watching him, one brow lifted as if daring him to admit he enjoyed the conversation. Her freckles stood out against wind-chilled skin. A few strands of ginger hair had escaped her braid and now whipped against her cheek.
Frederick kept his expression neutral.
Iona’s gaze dropped to his torn sleeve. “Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
“That is honest.”
“It is factual,” he corrected.
She smiled faintly. “Same thing.”
Lennox could not help himself. “Me Laird is allergic to anything that sounds like feelings.”
Frederick’s eyes narrowed. “Ride forward.”
“Aye,” Lennox said cheerfully, and did exactly none of that.
They passed through a stretch of pine, the air sharp with resin. The road dipped and rose. Frederick’s horse moved steadily, sure-footed, while the carriage wheels creaked over ruts.
Every so often, Erin’s murmurs rose and fell. Sometimes, a handful of dried herbs appeared briefly at the window, as if being checked and counted like soldiers.
“What is that?” Jamie asked at one point.
“Protection,” Erin replied.
“From what?”
“From foolish men.”
Lennox cleared his throat loudly and stared straight ahead.
Iona laughed again, quieter this time, as if she was trying not to wake whatever was sleeping in herself.
Frederick noted it anyway.
When the mention of his mother came again, it slipped in as Lennox chattered to fill the quiet.
“Lady Caitlin will insist ye eat within an hour of arriving,” Lennox said. “She will ask ten questions before ye can blink. She will call Jamie a bonnie child and then scold me for letting dust settle on the curtains.”
“Does she always scold?” Iona asked.
“Aye,” Lennox replied with sincere admiration. “It is a talent.”
Iona’s amusement dimmed. Just slightly. A flicker. But Frederick caught it.
“What sort of woman,” Iona asked carefully, “accepts a traveler and a child at her table without… questions?”
Lennox blinked as if surprised by the seriousness beneath the words. “Lady Caitlin is kind,” he said, then added, “and persistent. The questions will come. But kindness comes first.”
Frederick heard the shift in Iona’s breathing, the way uncertainty tightened her voice when she spoke again. “And if she disapproves?”
“She willnae,” Lennox insisted. “She has wanted grandchildren loud enough to shake the stones. She will greet this like a miracle.”
Iona’s mouth tightened. “A miracle.”
Frederick knew what she was thinking even if she did not say it. A child born out of wedlock was not greeted kindly in every hall. Some women would turn cold. Some would look at Iona and see scandal before they saw survival.
Frederick did not like the idea of his mother judging Iona harshly.
He liked even less the idea that Iona expected it.
“She is me mother,” Frederick said at last, voice firm enough to end speculation. “She is courteous. She will treat ye with respect.”
Iona held his gaze through the window. “Respect isnae the same as acceptance.”
“It is where acceptance begins,” he replied.
For a moment, silence expanded between them. A truce, perhaps. Or a warning.
Then Jamie leaned out again, interrupting with perfect timing. “Frederick, do ye have training swords?”
Lennox groaned. “Oh nay.”
Frederick’s mouth twitched. “Aye.”
Jamie’s eyes lit. “Then we will spar.”
“Ye will train,” Frederick corrected, already hearing his mother’s likely gasp and Erin’s likely commentary. “And ye will do it safely.”
Jamie nodded once, satisfied, as if the matter were settled.
From inside, Erin’s Gaelic murmur softened into an almost approving look. Iona’s laughter returned, lighter again, though a question lingered behind it.
Frederick rode beside the carriage as the first distant outline of McIntosh Castle rose beyond the hills.
Whatever waited within those walls, the road had already changed the balance between them.
It was not peace.
But it was the beginning of something that could not be undone.