Chapter 20
“Maither, I need ye dressed for the village within the quarter hour.”
Frederick spoke from the doorway with enough volume to be heard clearly, though not enough to alarm the maids passing in the corridor. Caitlin looked up from the embroidery frame in her lap, her brows lifting at once.
“The village?” she repeated. “Since when do ye announce pleasant surprises as though ye are preparing a patrol?”
Frederick stepped fully into her chamber.
Morning light spilled across the floor from the long, narrow window, catching on the silver in his mother’s hair and the pale threads gathered over her fingers.
Erin sat near the hearth with a basket at her feet, sorting through herbs with the unbothered concentration of a woman who treated every noble chamber as though it were merely another room in which she had elected to sit.
“Since I have learned that if I give ye too much notice, ye turn one short outing into a campaign,” Frederick replied.
Caitlin’s mouth twitched. “And where precisely are we going?”
“The village?”
“That tells me very little.”
“It is meant to.”
Erin made a low sound that might have been amusement. “He sounds pleased with himself. That bodes poorly for all involved.”
Frederick glanced at her. “Ye are coming as well.”
Erin did not look up from the bundle in her lap. “Am I?”
“Aye.”
“That is unfortunate. I had nearly convinced myself I might spend the morning in peace after such a long night up north.”
Caitlin set her embroidery aside and rose with far more energy than the conversation should have warranted. “If he is inviting both of us, then this is nae a matter of grain stores or fence lines.”
“Nay,” Frederick said.
“Then it is either personal or ill-advised.”
“It may be both,” Erin murmured.
Frederick chose not to answer that. He crossed to the table instead and picked up the cup of watered ale left half-finished there, though he did not drink from it.
His thoughts were ordered, more or less.
He had arranged the carriage, warned the guard captain, and sent quiet word to the village that no one was to make a spectacle of his visit if they valued peace in their week.
What he had not entirely arranged was how, precisely, he meant to explain the purpose of the outing without his mother responding as though Christmas had arrived in spring.
Caitlin, of course, was already watching him too closely.
“What have ye done?” she asked.
“I have done nothin’.”
“That is nae reassuring.”
He set the cup down again. “Jamie is a lass.”
The room changed at once.
Caitlin stared at him for half a breath, then another. Erin finally looked up from her basket, and for the first time that morning, there was open satisfaction in her face rather than mere tolerance.
“Well,” Erin said. “At last.”
Caitlin’s hand rose to her breast. “And ye are only telling me now?”
“Aye.”
Her eyes widened. “Frederick.”
“Iona told me only recently.”
“And ye didnae think to tell me at once?”
“Nay.”
“Why?”
“Because I kent this would be yer response.”
That nearly earned him the embroidery frame thrown at his head.
Instead, Caitlin only turned sharply and paced two steps toward the window before turning back again, her expression cycling through surprise, offense, delight, and concern so quickly that Frederick found himself regretting, briefly, that he had not prepared for each in order.
Erin gave a soft snort. “He told ye when he was ready to suffer through it.”
“That is nae the point,” Caitlin said.
“It is exactly the point,” Frederick replied. “And since ye ken now, I require yer help.”
That checked her at once. “Me help?” she repeated questioningly, and much more carefully.
“Aye.”
“With what?”
He paused.
The answer should not have felt awkward.
It was straightforward enough. Jamie had lived in hiding, had worn what necessity demanded, had learned to make herself small and unnoticed in ways no child ought to perfect.
He had thought of little else since the moment the truth settled between them all.
A dress. Shoes that fit properly. Dolls, perhaps, if she wanted them.
Ribbons. Something of her own choosing rather than some disguise forced upon her by fear.
He cleared his throat.
“I mean to buy her proper things.”
Caitlin’s entire face softened.
“Clothes,” Frederick said, wishing suddenly that the room had fewer people in it. “Toys. Whatever a lass of her age should have and doesnae.”
Erin resumed sorting her herbs, though her mouth had gone suspiciously gentle. “Listen to him.”
Caitlin crossed the room before he could move out of reach and caught both his hands between her own. “Oh, me dear boy.”
He stiffened immediately. “Daenae fash, maither. We daenae have much time today.”
“I am nae beginning anything. I am merely astonished.”
“That is worse.”
“It is better than weeping.”
Erin looked up again. “Nay, let her weep. It would improve the morning.”
Caitlin shot her a look, though her amusement was impossible to hide now. “And ye are coming because?”
Frederick answered before Erin could. “Because if I bring ye alone, ye will buy enough to fill a cart.”
“That is likely true,” Caitlin admitted.
Erin gathered the last bundle into her basket and rose with a small grunt. “I am being brought to keep the pair of ye from turning a child’s wardrobe into a royal procession.”
Frederick nodded once. “Precisely.”
Erin muttered something in Gaelic beneath her breath, then, low and quick, her fingers brushing briefly against the top of her basket as though sealing the words into the day itself. He did not ask what she had said. He suspected he did not want the answer.
Caitlin heard enough to smile. “A blessing?”
“Aye,” Erin said. “For sense. The castle has been in short supply.”
They set out not long after, cloaks gathered and carriage waiting in the lower court. Frederick had nearly reached the archway when a smaller voice called after him.
“Frederick?”
He turned at once.
Jamie stood at the edge of the corridor, one hand still on the wall as though she had come running and stopped only at the last possible moment.
There was something careful in her face again, not fear exactly, but the sort of watchfulness he had begun to recognize as a sign that she wanted something badly enough to risk asking for it.
He changed direction without thinking and crossed back toward her.
“What is it?” he asked.
Jamie looked up at him, then at the women behind him, then back again. “Can ye play with me today?”
The question was simple. It should not have struck him as sharply as it did.
He crouched so they were closer to level. “I must ride to the village this morning.”
“Oh.”
It was only one syllable, but disappointment sat plainly inside it. He saw the child try to tuck it away at once and disliked that effort more than he knew how to say.
“It is for something very important,” he added.
Jamie nodded, though the movement lacked conviction. “I understand.”
Frederick rested a hand lightly on her head, smoothing the hair there once before he could overthink the gesture. “Tomorrow morning,” he said. “I promise ye that.”
Jamie studied his face, deciding whether to believe him. Then, at last, she nodded for real. “All right.”
He rose again before the moment grew any more uncomfortable than it already was. He did not look toward the gallery where he suspected Iona might be watching. He was not certain he wanted to know whether she had seen the exchange, or how much.
The carriage rolled out through the gates with a creak of wood and leather, the road to the village still damp from the night before.
Caitlin sat opposite him, alert and unmistakably pleased despite her attempts at restraint.
Erin occupied the corner seat beside her, basket in her lap, expression unreadable in the particular way that suggested she was taking in everything and reserving judgment until it might cause the most inconvenience.
For the first stretch of road, no one spoke.
Frederick knew better than to trust that silence.
Caitlin broke first. “How long has Jamie kent that ye ken?”
“Since yesterday at breakfast.”
“And how did she take it?”
“She asked whether I minded.”
Caitlin’s expression shifted at once, delight giving way to something more sober. “Poor bairn.”
“Aye,” Erin said quietly. “Poor bairn indeed.”
Frederick looked toward the window. The village fields were beginning to rise into view, low stone walls cutting the land into familiar shapes. “She asked if she had to cut her hair again.”
“And?”
“I told her nay.”
Caitlin pressed her lips together, though not to hide amusement this time. “Good.”
Erin’s mouth twitched. “He doesnae need praise every time he stumbles onto sense.”
“I didnae stumble,” Frederick said.
“Nay,” Erin replied. “Ye marched into it with all the elegance of a bull through brush.”
Caitlin laughed outright, which only made the old healer look more satisfied.
By the time the carriage reached the village, Frederick had given up trying to determine whether the two women were getting along or whether they merely shared a mutual affection for prodding him past patience.
They moved between quarrel and alliance too swiftly for reason to follow.
Caitlin called Erin impossible. Erin called Caitlin lassie.
Caitlin objected to the title while smiling every time she did so.
Frederick, forced to walk between them down the main village lane, found himself less certain with every step whether he had brought useful help or arranged his own punishment.
The village itself was awake in full by then. Smoke rose from low chimneys. Children darted between doorways before their mothers called them back. Merchants were already setting goods outside their shops, and more than one head turned as the laird passed.
“Daenae glare at them,” Caitlin murmured without looking at him. “Ye make people think ye are about to hang someone.”