Chapter 20 #2
“I am only walking.”
“Aye,” Erin said. “And yet somehow ye still manage to threaten the whole street.”
He said nothing to that.
Ahead, just beyond the well, the narrow lane bent toward the dressmaker’s row. Caitlin’s pace quickened by half a step. Erin sighed as though preparing for battle. Frederick looked from one woman to the other and resigned himself to whatever the morning had become.
“Lassie, if ye buy another length of ribbon, the child will be mistaken for a maypole.”
Caitlin did not so much as glance at Erin as she lifted a pale blue spool to the light. “And if ye continue to call me ‘lassie’, I may forget that ye are older than the hills and begin answering ye properly.”
Erin gave a low hum of approval. “There now. A bit of spirit at last.”
Frederick stood between them with three parcels already under one arm and the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes.
They had entered the first shop less than half an hour ago.
Since then, his mother had handled nearly every bolt of cloth within reach, Erin had dismissed half of them as useless foolishness, and both women had somehow agreed upon a sensible wardrobe for Jamie while managing to quarrel over every step that led to it.
Madame Marchand, a narrow woman with spectacles and sharp hands, seemed delighted by the spectacle.
“This one,” Caitlin said, holding up a soft cream fabric trimmed with small, embroidered flowers. “For a church day, perhaps. Or if she should wish to look especially pretty.”
“She is six,” Erin replied. “She should wish to climb things and stain hems. Get the darker one.”
“The darker one is plain.”
“It is practical.”
Caitlin looked at Frederick as though appealing to a judge. “Am I raising a granddaughter or outfitting a shepherd?”
“Both, perhaps,” Erin said before he could answer.
Frederick shifted the parcels higher against his side. “Take both.”
That ended the disagreement for no more than a breath.
Caitlin turned back to the racks with renewed pleasure, and Erin gave him a look that suggested he had solved nothing but had at least purchased quiet.
The remainder of the outing passed in much the same fashion.
They bought dresses fit for daily wear and one finer one Caitlin insisted every lass deserved.
Stockings. Soft slippers. A cloak with enough room to last a season or two before Jamie outgrew it.
Erin chose practical underthings and muttered about draughty corridors.
Caitlin added ribbons in three colors and ignored every complaint made against them.
By the time they stepped back out onto the village street, Frederick’s arms were full, and his patience was being tested in fresh directions.
“And now,” Caitlin said, adjusting her gloves, “to toys.”
Erin let out a breath. “I kent there would be more.”
“There is always more with a child,” Caitlin replied.
“Aye,” Erin said. “That is what I was afraid of.”
Frederick sent one of the accompanying guards ahead with the parcels and kept only the smaller wrapped bundles with him. He had begun to think the morning might pass entirely in this strange and not altogether unpleasant warfare when something caught his eye in the next row of stalls.
A jeweler.
Not one of the finer establishments in Edinburgh or Inverness, of course, but respectable enough.
Small glass pieces gleamed in the light.
Silver clasps. Chains. Worked pins. And hanging near the center, modest but well-made, a bracelet with a delicate line of silver links and a single pale green stone set in the middle.
He stopped without meaning to.
Caitlin noticed at once. “What is it?”
“Nothin’,” he said.
Erin followed his gaze and made a quiet sound that was altogether too knowing. “Aye. Nothin’ at all.”
Frederick ignored both of them. “Continue on. I will catch up.”
Caitlin’s mouth curved. “Will ye now?”
“Aye.”
“And ye are being delayed for what purpose?”
“Maither.”
She smiled outright then, and it was the sort of smile that told him Ariella’s meddling had not fallen far from the tree. “Very well. We shall continue to the toy seller and pretend we daenae ken precisely what ye are on about.”
Erin picked up her basket and started walking again. “Speak for yerself, lassie. I ken exactly what he is on about, and it is about time.”
Frederick watched them go, unsure whether he should be relieved or suspicious. Likely both. He crossed to the jeweler’s stall and nodded once to the man behind it.
The vendor was broad through the shoulders and quick of eye, the sort who had likely survived years of trade by hearing more than he let on and remembering all of it. He looked Frederick over, then straightened with visible surprise.
“Me laird,” he said. “An honor.”
Frederick looked down at the bracelet again. “This one.”
The vendor lifted it carefully. “A fine choice. Silver, good clasp, sturdy enough for wear and still pretty enough to turn a head.”
Frederick took it in hand. It was lighter than he had expected. The stone caught the light in a quiet way that reminded him, absurdly enough, of Iona’s eyes when sunlight found them.
“It will do,” he said.
The vendor smiled as he began to wrap it. “So ye are finally getting married, then?”
Frederick looked up.
The man’s expression remained harmlessly curious, though there was laughter at the edges of it.
“I said nay such thing.”
“Nay,” the vendor replied. “But men daenae stand looking at bracelets like that unless they have something to prove or someone to impress.”
Frederick held out a coin. “Perhaps I am only buying jewelry.”
“Aye,” the man said, accepting it. “And I am only standing in a market.”
There was no missing it then. The village had begun to listen.
A woman at the ribbon stall to the left had gone very still with a length of lace in her hands.
A cooper across the lane seemed deeply invested in hammering a barrel hoop that did not currently require the effort.
Two girls near the baker’s window bent toward one another without any attempt at subtlety.
Frederick felt the first stirrings of regret.
The vendor tied the packet neatly and handed it over. “Well. Who is the special lass, then?”
Frederick should have refused to answer. He knew that. He also knew that silence in a village such as this would only breed ten worse stories before supper.
Her name came anyway.
“Iona.”
The vendor’s brows rose. “Iona. A bonnie name indeed, me laird.”
“Iona,” said a soft voice behind him. “What a beautiful name.”
Frederick turned at once.
The woman standing a few paces back was too finely dressed to belong to the ordinary run of village life.
Her gown was elegant without being ostentatious, her cloak of excellent quality, her posture upright in the manner of one long accustomed to deference.
She was no young bride. There were lines at her eyes and mouth, and yet nothing in her suggested frailty.
Her gaze rested on him with open interest and not the least bit of shame for having overheard.
Frederick’s expression cooled slightly. “And who might ye be?”
The woman inclined her head with flawless composure. “Noor Burnett. I ken yer maither.”
He frowned at once.
Noor Burnett— What are ye doin’ here?
She noticed.
“Aye,” she said gently. “That look is fair. I should have sent word before coming upon yer lands, and I should certainly have introduced myself before speaking out of turn. I meant no disrespect, me laird.”
Frederick did not answer immediately. MacFarlane was now tied by marriage to O’Douglas from what Lennox told him, and that alone was enough to sharpen caution.
“What brings ye here, Lady MacFarlane?” He asked plainly.
A smile touched her mouth, strangely warm. “I was looking for something.”
“And have ye found it?”
“Oh aye, I believe so.”
There was an odd, almost girlish giddiness to the answer, so sincere that it disarmed more than it should have. Frederick studied her face for signs of calculation and found, if not innocence, then at least a well-practiced gentleness.
“I am staying for a time at O’Douglas Castle,” she continued. “Me daughter is settling into her new household, and I thought it best nae to leave her to all the strangeness of it alone. Archer has been most obliging.”
That did little to ease Frederick’s suspicion, but it gave the encounter shape at least.
Lady Noor glanced toward the wrapped parcel in his hand and smiled again. “Then I wish ye well with yer lady.”
Frederick said, “Ye speak as though ye ken me lady.”
“Nay,” she answered lightly. “But how you say her name is well enough to tell me she must be worth the trouble of silver.”
The vendor, curse him, looked delighted by the exchange.
Noor continued before Frederick could decide whether to end the conversation.
“Archer means to host a ceilidh soon enough. There will be invitations sent, of course, but I doubt he will rest until he has managed to gather half the Highlands beneath one roof and charm the other half into forgiving him for it. Ye must come.”
“That sounds less like an invitation than an ambush.”
She laughed softly. “Nay nay, ye should come… and bring yer lady.”
Frederick inclined his head, because refusal would have been pointless and because there was little to gain from slighting O’Douglas kin in the middle of a village street. “If an invitation arrives, I will consider it.”
“That is all anyone can ask.” Her gaze dipped once more to the small wrapped gift. “And I do hope the lass says ‘aye’ to whatever it is ye are asking.”
Before he could answer, she stepped back with a grace that made the withdrawal feel deliberate rather than abrupt.
“Good day, me laird.”
“Lady MacFarlane.”
He watched her go, the unease lingering a moment longer than the conversation warranted. Then the jeweler cleared his throat.
“A remarkable woman,” the vendor said.
Frederick tucked the bracelet into the inner fold of his cloak. “Aye.”
He found Caitlin and Erin where they had promised to be, the toy seller looking faintly overwhelmed by their combined attention. Between them lay a small hoard of childhood: cloth dolls, carved animals, painted cups, a wooden horse on wheels, ribbons, a little box for trinkets.
Caitlin looked up at once and saw his face. “Well?”
He held up the parcel. “Bought.”
“Only one thing?” Erin asked.
“It seemed sufficient.”
“It had best be,” she muttered.
The return journey to the keep felt shorter, perhaps because Frederick had lost patience with delay, or perhaps because for the first time all morning he knew precisely what he wanted from the day. Not council. Not reports. Not maps with charcoal marks spread across them like infection.
He wanted to see their faces.
Jamie’s first, likely, because a child did not know how to hide delight for long. Iona’s after, and that thought stayed with him the whole ride back, quiet and constant.
By the time the carriage rolled into the courtyard, his restlessness had sharpened into something near impatience. He handed off parcels before the servants had fully stopped moving and took the steps two at a time once inside.
Lennox, passing through the lower hall, caught sight of the packages and arched a brow. “God save us.”
Frederick did not slow. “Find someone else to trouble.”
“That sounds like a man with secrets.”
“That sounds like a man with work.”
He left Lennox grinning behind him and continued up through the keep, searching already.
Where are they?
The answer mattered more than it ought to have.