Chapter 16 #2
Her breath came faster than it should have after so short a walk.
Her hands, at her sides, curled slightly as though she were holding herself in place by will alone.
For a brief moment, he thought she might turn and leave again, that whatever had driven her here might falter at the threshold of being spoken.
Then she stepped forward.
“Jamie…” she began, and stopped.
Frederick’s expression shifted, not with impatience, but with focus. He moved a fraction closer, not crowding her, but closing the distance enough that she would not need to raise her voice.
“What about the child?” he asked.
Her eyes lifted to his then, and whatever hesitation had held her broke.
“Jamie is a girl.”
The words landed between them, simple in their shape and yet carrying the weight of everything that had been withheld.
Frederick did not respond at once.
He felt the shift before he fully understood it, pieces falling into place with quiet precision.
The way Jamie had moved, quick but measured.
The moments of hesitation that had never quite aligned with what he had assumed.
The sharpness in the child’s awareness, the guarded edges that had not been fear alone.
It made sense.
More than that, it settled something that had not been entirely right from the beginning.
Iona mistook his silence.
“I didnae tell ye because I had to protect her,” she said quickly, the words rushing now as though she feared she had waited too long. “I couldnae risk anyone kenning. Nae when I didnae ken who might come looking or why. A lass alone is easier taken. Easier sold. Easier—”
She broke off, her breath catching.
Frederick’s gaze sharpened slightly at that.
“I understand,” he said.
She blinked at him. “What?”
“I said I understand,” he repeated, more firmly.
Something in her shoulders loosened, though not entirely. The fear had not yet left her.
“Ye are nae…disappointed?” she asked.
The question struck him as so misplaced that it took him a moment to answer.
“Disappointed?” he repeated.
“Aye,” she said, her voice quieter now. “That she is nae what ye thought.”
Frederick exhaled slowly, something close to irritation flickering beneath the surface.
“What I thought,” he said, “was that there is a child under me protection who deserves to be safe.”
He held her gaze. “That has nae changed. It is only that I feel… It is as if…” Frederick cut his thought off, and his brow furrowed at once.
Iona searched his face as though expecting to find some hidden edge beneath the words. When she did not, her expression shifted, uncertainty giving way to something softer, but no less intense.
A small sound escaped her then, almost a laugh.
“As if…” she continued, a faint disbelief threading through her tone. “Ye should have noticed before now?”
“Aye,” he said through gritted teeth..
Her eyes widened.
“Of all the things ye could be thinking,” she said, her voice catching somewhere between exasperation and something else entirely, “that is what concerns ye?”
“Is it so strange,” he replied, a sharper note entering his voice now, “that I would wish for me daughter to think well of me?”
The word settled between them.
Daughter.
Iona’s breath hitched.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then she crossed the distance between them in a single step.
Her hands found him first, gripping at his tunic as though she needed something solid to hold. The motion was not cautious. It was not measured. It was immediate, instinctive, and entirely without calculation.
She pressed against him, arms wrapping around his waist with a force that surprised them both.
Frederick went still.
Then his hands came up, slower, settling against her back as though he were testing whether she would remain.
She did.
“Iona,” he began, his voice lower now, edged with something he had not intended to show.
“Daenae speak,” she said quickly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Just… kiss me… please?”
He arched a brow slightly. “That is a change in approach.”
“Frederick.”
There was no teasing in her tone now. Only urgency.
He studied her for a fraction longer, something in his gaze sharpening as he took in the flush of her cheeks, the way her breath had not yet steadied, the way her eyes held his as though she had already decided and would not retreat from it now.
“Ye refused me,” he said, not as accusation, but as fact.
“I am nay refusing this,” she answered.
“Iona,” he murmured quietly, though the word did not break the space between them so much as deepen it.
She did not answer in words. She simply pressed her body flush against his.
That was enough.
Frederick did not hesitate.
His hands found her waist and drew her firmly against him, the movement controlled but decisive, as though the choice had already been made long before this moment.
The fabric of her skirts shifted beneath his touch, the warmth of her pressing into him in a way that made his breath deepen, though his expression did not lose its composure.
His lips met hers, and this time, there was no uncertainty in it.
The kiss deepened quickly and was full of restrained hunger. He tilted his head, guiding the angle, his mouth moving with slow, deliberate intent as though he meant to learn every reaction she gave him.
She answered him without hesitation, her fingers rising to his shoulders, gripping just enough to betray the tension she no longer tried to hide.
He tasted warmth and breath and something that unsettled his usual control. And for a moment, he allowed himself to follow it.
His hand was firm on her waist as the other slid up her thighs with deliberate slowness, savoring every shiver, every gasp.
His fingers found the damp heat between her legs, and Iona cried out, her hips jerking forward without thought.
He circled her with slow, maddening pressure, his thumb pressing just where she needed it most. He could feel that she was slick and swollen as he continued circling her.
“Frederick—” she gasped, her voice breaking, and he swallowed her sighs with another deep kiss as he thrust a finger inside of her at the same time his tongue slipped past her lips.
He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against her inner thigh as he leaned in, his breath hot on her skin. “Aye? Do ye like when I do that, lass?”
Her breath faltered, but she sighed “yes” softly against his lips.
His hand moved, slowly and intentionally, tracing the pattern and rhythm that he could tell she liked. He felt the way she responded, the way her body shifted toward his touch rather than away from it, and something in him sharpened in response.
The kiss changed again, less restrained, and more urgent. She is close.
Her hands tightened against him, her breath breaking in quiet, uneven rhythm as he continued, each movement deliberate, each pause purposeful. He did not overwhelm her. He did not lose himself entirely. But he did not hold back from her either.
Not now.
Her head tipped slightly as he guided her, his mouth moving against hers with a deeper pressure that drew a soft sound from her throat, one she did not seem to realize she had made. He felt it as much as heard it, and it pulled something lower and more dangerous from him in answer.
He steadied her again as her balance shifted, one hand firm at her waist, anchoring her without force. His fingers worked faster, circling, dipping, teasing until she was a trembling mess against him, her hips rolling in time with his strokes.
Frederick could feel the way her muscles clenched around his fingers, the way her body trembled, the way her breath hitched. He groaned into her mouth, his own arousal throbbing painfully against his kilt, but he did not stop.
Not when she was this close.
“Let go for me, Iona,” he growled against her lips, his voice rough with need. “There is a good lass.”
The words sent her over the edge. Her back arched, a broken cry tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her, her body shuddering against him, her thighs trembling around his shoulders until her body went limp against him, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
He held her there, steady, his mouth still against hers, grounding her through it as the tension broke and softened into something quieter, though no less intense.
Iona remained close, her hands still at his chest, her breathing uneven but easing.
Frederick looked down at her, his expression altered in ways he had not yet decided how to name.
“Well,” he said quietly.
She let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
“Well,” she echoed.
Neither stepped away.
Not yet.