Chapter 9
The chamber they had been given felt too quiet.
Iona stood near the window, watching the sun retreats at her fingers rested on the carved stone.
Household staff and guards cross the courtyard below.
Everything here moved with rhythm and purpose.
Even the air felt heavier, scented faintly with smoke and polished wood rather than damp earth and wild herbs.
Jamie unpacked without complaint, placing a small wooden figure near the hearth as though claiming the space inch by inch. The child’s curiosity filled the room, but Iona moved more slowly, folding clothes that did not truly need folding, adjusting blankets that were already straight.
She could not settle.
Every creak of the corridor beyond the door pulled her attention. Every distant footstep made her shoulders tighten.
A knock came.
She turned sharply.
Before she could answer, Erin pushed the door open and slipped inside, cheeks flushed from walking the corridors.
“I spoke with a stable lad,” the older woman said without preamble. “There is still nay word of the missing lass. Nay tracks. Nay sign she ever left the village willingly either.”
Iona’s stomach dropped.
Jamie paused, watching both women carefully.
A second knock followed, heavier this time.
Frederick stepped into the room when she opened the door. He filled the threshold with quiet authority, cloak draped over one shoulder, gaze flicking first to Jamie, then to Erin, and finally settling on her.
“I need a word,” he said.
“Now?” she asked.
“Aye. Alone.”
Her pulse stumbled. She hesitated only long enough to make sure Jamie was settled beside Erin before stepping into the corridor and closing the door behind her.
He did not speak as he led her through the castle.
The hallways twisted in ways she had not yet learned, torches burning low in iron brackets. Tapestries lined the walls; scenes of hunts and battles stitched in fading thread. The weight of history pressed in from every side.
They entered his study.
The room smelled faintly of ink and leather. Maps lay scattered across a heavy desk. Shelves climbed the walls, filled with ledgers and rolled parchment. A narrow window overlooked the hills beyond the castle.
Iona paused, taking it in despite herself.
It was… him. Ordered. Controlled. A place where decisions were made, not dreams.
She turned on him abruptly.
“Why did ye bring me here?”
His expression hardened at once. “I have already told ye.”
“Aye,” she said, stepping closer. “Ye spoke of safety. Of duty. Of protecting what is yers.”
Frustration flickered in his eyes. “And that isnae enough?”
She gestured sharply around the room. “Nay. Why did ye bring me here?”
His posture changed then, tension tightening his shoulders. “Why are ye so afraid?” he demanded.
Her mouth opened. Closed.
He stepped forward, voice lowering. “Tell me.”
“Ye wouldnae understand,” she said quietly.
“Then make me understand,” he growled.
The sound of it rippled through her.
“Because if something happens to ye… young Jamie loses more than just protection and safety.”
He remained silent, waiting for her to continue.
Iona steeled herself with a deep inhale before saying what was already assumed and probably accepted, but not yet voiced to the only other person who mattered, “Because if something happens to ye… young Jamie loses his father.”
Then, without her own permission, her gaze dropped to his mouth.
She hated that it happened. Hated how memory slid beneath her skin like warmth after cold rain. The shape of his lips had not changed. Still firm. Still infuriatingly familiar.
He stepped closer again, not touching, but near enough that she felt the warmth of him in the small room.
The air was heavy.
She realized suddenly how long it had been since anyone had stood this close without threat.
“Do ye trust me?” he asked quietly.
The question landed heavier than any command.
She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. “I –”
His gaze flicked to her mouth now. “That wasnae an answer.”
The world narrowed.
She finally whispered, “I want to.”
That honesty hung between them, fragile and dangerous.
She could feel his breath against her cheek. The faint scent of leather and smoke clung to him. Her pulse climbed, loud enough she wondered if he heard it.
He did not move first.
She did.
It was barely a shift. A breath closer.
His restraint broke.
His hand came to her waist, firm but careful, drawing her into him as his mouth found hers.
The kiss hit like a storm long delayed.
Warm. Certain. Nothing hesitant about it.
Her hands slid up his chest, fingers curling against the fabric of his tunic as if she needed proof he was real. He angled his head, deepening the kiss slowly, deliberately, as though savoring something he had been denied too long.
The room seemed to tilt.
She tasted heat and memory and loneliness. His hand moved to the back of her neck, thumb brushing just below her ear, steadying her even as her breath hitched.
She had forgotten how he kissed.
Not hurried. Not careless. Every movement measured, coaxing rather than demanding. It pulled a quiet sound from her throat before she could stop it.
She leaned into him despite herself, the years of distance collapsing into that single moment.
His mouth softened, then pressed deeper again, as if asking a question he did not voice aloud.
Her answer came in the way her fingers tightened against him.
Time blurred.
The world outside the study ceased to exist.
When they finally broke apart, her breath came uneven, her lips tingling where his had been.
He did not release her immediately.
Neither spoke.
She forced herself to step back first, heart racing in a way she had not allowed in years.
“That,” she said softly, “changes nothing.”
His gaze darkened, though the corner of his mouth curved faintly. “Does it nae?”
She shook her head, though her pulse betrayed her.
Trust still stood between them like a locked door.
Her lips were still warm when they parted.
Iona did not move at first. She stood where she was, breath unsteady, waiting for the moment to fracture. Waiting for him to step back and call it reckless. To say it had been a lapse. A remnant of a past that should have stayed buried.
That was how these things went. A moment of closeness followed by regret.
She meant to step back but knocked her hip against the desk first, wincing slightly at the shock of the impact, and Frederick’s eyes landed on her skirts where the offense had taken place before slowly traveling back up the length of her body. His eyes on her warmed her to her very core.
Then he said, calmly, “Marry me.”
The words struck harder than the kiss.
She blinked; certain she had misheard.
“What?”
“Marry me,” he repeated, voice low, unhurried. No flourish. No kneeling. Just a statement lay between them like a blade on a table.
For a moment, she could not think. Her heart still raced from the closeness, from the way his hand had felt at her waist, and now this?
Marriage.
Her mind reeled through years of running. Of watching doors close when people learned too much. Of keeping secrets because trust had always come with a cost she could not afford.
“Ye… cannae be serious,” she said.
“I am always serious,” he replied.
That, at least, was true.
She studied him carefully. No embarrassment touched his face. No uncertainty. It was not a plea born from heat or impulse. It sounded like a decision he had already made.
“I didnae…” She struggled for words. “Why?”
“For stability,” he said. “For the child. For the clan. And because it is the right course.”
Duty.
The word hung unspoken but clear.
She felt a twisting inside of her.
“And for me?” she asked quietly.
His gaze held hers, unreadable. “Ye would be protected.”
That was not an answer.
Or perhaps it was too honest of one.
She wanted to trust him. She truly did. The man who had fought like a storm to keep them alive. The man who had listened when she demanded Erin come with them. The man who had just kissed her like she was remembered.
But trust was not a feeling she could summon on command.
Too many years had taught her that promises were fragile things.
Her thoughts raced ahead, darker than she wanted.
If she said no, would he grow cold? Would he remind her that this was his castle, his land? Would he insist for the sake of appearances? Would he claim Jamie outright and leave her with nothing but regret?
Her pulse hammered.
This was the moment to know the truth of him.
She drew in a slow breath.
“Nay,” she said.
The word left her lips steady, though everything inside her braced for impact.
“I willnae marry ye,” she added.
Silence followed.
She watched him closely, waiting for the tightening jaw, the flash of anger, the shift from man to laird.
He did not move.
He simply nodded once.
As if she had declined an invitation to dine rather than refused a marriage that would reshape both their lives.
“All right,” he said.
The simplicity of it stunned her more than any argument would have.
“That is all ye have to say?” she asked, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice.
“What else should I say?” he replied.
Her shoulders tensed. “Ye could remind me that this is yer castle.”
“I daenae need to remind ye of anything,” he said quietly.
“And Jamie?” she pressed. “Ye willnae try to take Jamie from me?”
His expression hardened. “Nay, I have nay intention of tearing a child from a mother.”
The words settled slowly into her chest. She realized then that she had been holding her breath since she spoke, and it left her in a shaky exhale.
“I expected…” She trailed off, unsure how to finish.
“That I would force ye?” he asked.
She did not answer.
He watched her a long moment, curious to know if she had always been this skeptical or if this was recent. “I willnae build a future on fear, Iona.”
The statement landed deeper than he likely intended.
Because fear had been the foundation of every decision she had made for years.
She assessed him again, searching for the catch. The hidden demand. The quiet shift that would reveal this had only been patience before pressure.
It did not come.
Instead, he stepped back, giving her space.
The distance felt respectful.
Strange.
Her shoulders loosened slightly, the tight coil in her chest easing for the first time since entering this room.
“I willnae lie,” he added after a moment. “I still believe marriage would bring stability.”
“I ken,” she said softly.
“But I willnae force ye,” he finished.
The certainty in his voice was not loud. It did not need to be.
She had lived too long expecting the worst to follow every moment of closeness. Too long waiting for kindness to twist into obligation.
Yet, here he stood, accepting her refusal without turning cold.
Without punishing her.
For the first time in a very long while, the ground beneath her feet felt… steady.
“I need time,” she said.
“I ken,” he replied.
She nodded once, unsure what else to offer.
He moved toward the door, pausing only briefly. “Rest,” he said. “The castle can feel overwhelming at first.”
She almost laughed at that understatement.
When he left, the study seemed quieter than before.
Iona stood alone in the space where he had asked for her hand and accepted her refusal as if it were simply another fact to be accounted for.
Her fingers brushed her lips unconsciously, remembering the warmth of his mouth, the way he had held her without demand.
She had expected anger and unreasonable control.
Instead, he had given her choice.