Chapter 21
“Once upon a time,” Iona read softly, her voice steady as she turned the worn page, “there lived a clever fox who thought himself the wisest creature in the wood, and so he listened to no one but himself.”
Jamie lay curled against her side, small and warm beneath the blanket, her head resting against Iona’s arm.
The book was one they had carried with them for years, its corners softened from use, its pages bearing the faint creases of many nights spent reading by dim light in places that had never truly felt safe.
It had always calmed her daughter. Tonight, it seemed only to hold her still.
“Did he get eaten?” Jamie asked quietly, her gaze fixed not on the page but somewhere just beyond it.
Iona smiled, though there was a carefulness beneath it. “Nay. Nae yet. Ye must let the story tell itself.”
Jamie hummed, but the sound lacked its usual curiosity. Her fingers toyed absently with the edge of the blanket, twisting the fabric and releasing it again as though she could not quite settle.
Iona continued, letting the rhythm of the words carry the moment forward. “One day, the fox came upon a trap set by a hunter, and though the birds warned him and the deer called out to him, he would nae listen, for he believed himself too clever to be caught.”
Jamie shifted slightly. “That sounds foolish.”
“Aye,” Iona said gently. “It does.”
She glanced down at her daughter, studying the faraway look in her eyes, the way her small mouth pressed together as though she held thoughts she did not yet know how to shape into questions.
It had been there all day, that distance.
Even in play, even in laughter, there had been something quieter beneath it.
Iona had tried to fill the day with simple comforts. A walk in the courtyard. A warm meal. This story, their favorite, chosen because it had always brought Jamie back to her with ease. Yet still, the child remained half-turned inward, as though listening to something Iona could not hear.
“What are ye thinking on, lamb?” Iona asked softly, letting the book rest open in her lap.
Jamie did not answer at once. Her fingers stilled against the blanket, then resumed their small, restless movement.
“I am thinking,” she said slowly, “about what happens now.”
Iona’s chest tightened.
“What do ye mean?” she asked, though she understood well enough.
Jamie turned her head just enough to look up at her. “Since he kens.”
The words were simple, but they carried the weight of years.
Iona brushed a strand of hair from Jamie’s forehead. “What happens now is that nothin’ must be hidden any longer.”
Jamie studied her face, searching for something, perhaps for certainty, perhaps for permission.
“And that is good?” she asked.
“Aye,” Iona said. “It is very good.”
Jamie’s gaze drifted again. “Ye are sure he didnae mind.”
“I am sure,” Iona said quietly.
There was a pause.
“I think I wanted him to,” Jamie admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Iona’s breath caught.
“Why would ye want that?” she asked carefully.
Jamie shrugged, though the movement was small and uncertain. “Because then it would be the same as before.”
The honesty of it struck deeper than Iona had expected. She gathered her daughter closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.
“It is different now,” she said. “But different doesnae mean worse.”
Jamie did not argue. She only leaned into her, as though borrowing steadiness.
Iona reached for the book again, intending to return to the story, to guide them back into something familiar and safe, when a knock sounded at the door.
Both of them stilled.
Jamie’s body went rigid against her side.
Iona felt it at once, the instinctive tension, the old reflex that had been built into her daughter over years of uncertainty. She set the book aside and placed a hand lightly against Jamie’s back.
“It is all well,” she murmured.
The knock came again, firm but not urgent.
Iona rose carefully, easing herself from the bed without startling the child, and crossed the room.
When she opened the door, Frederick stood on the other side.
He filled the space with quiet presence, a bundle in his hands and something almost uncertain in his eyes, though it was so slight she might have imagined it.
“I hope I am nae intruding,” he said.
“Nay,” Iona replied. “Ye are nae.”
She stepped aside to let him enter.
Jamie had not moved from the bed. She sat upright now, her small frame held still, her gaze fixed on Frederick with a mixture of curiosity and something more cautious beneath it.
Frederick paused just inside the room, as though giving her space to decide.
“I brought something for ye,” he said, his voice gentler than Iona had ever heard it.
Jamie did not answer.
Iona watched the moment unfold with quiet awareness, but she did not intervene.
Frederick moved closer, slow and deliberate, and set the bundle upon the edge of the bed within Jamie’s reach.
“If ye would like to see it,” he added.
Jamie looked at the bundle.
Then at him.
Then back again.
Her hand moved, hesitating only a moment before she reached out and touched the fabric, as though testing whether it might disappear if she were not careful.
She unfolded it slowly.
The dress caught the light at once, soft and beautiful in a way that felt almost too fine for the small room. The stitching was delicate, the color warm, the shape unmistakably meant for her.
Jamie’s breath left her in a quiet rush.
“For me?” she asked.
“Aye,” Frederick said. “For ye.”
She looked at it again, then up at him, her eyes wide with something that had not been there all day.
“It is beautiful,” she whispered.
Frederick inclined his head slightly. “I am glad ye think so.”
There was a moment where she only held it, as though unsure what to do with something so entirely her own.
Then, all at once, the hesitation broke.
Jamie slid from the bed and crossed the space between them in quick, unguarded steps, the dress still clutched in her hands. She reached him and wrapped her arms around him without warning, pressing her face against his side.
“Thank ye,” she said, the words muffled but unmistakably full.
Frederick went still for a fraction of a second, as though caught off guard.
Then his hand came down gently against her back, resting there with careful steadiness.
“Ye are welcome,” he said.
Jamie pulled back just enough to look up at him.
“Da,” she said.
The word fell into the room as naturally as breath.
Iona felt it in her chest before she understood it.
Frederick did not move.
For a moment, he simply looked at her.
Then something in his expression shifted, not in any grand or obvious way, but in a quiet settling that carried more weight than any declaration could have.
He lowered his hand slightly, brushing his thumb once against Jamie’s shoulder.
“Aye,” he said softly.
Jamie smiled then, wide and bright, the kind of smile that had been missing all day.
And Iona, standing a few steps away, felt something within her ease in a way she had not known it could.
Frederick’s arms closed around Jamie with a care that seemed to surprise him almost as much as it moved her.
He did not clutch too tightly, did not laugh the moment away, did not try to make light of the name that had just been placed in his keeping as if it were no more than a child’s passing fancy. He simply held her.
Iona watched the change move through his face in quiet increments.
It did not arrive in some great visible rush.
It settled. A stillness in his shoulders.
A softened line about his mouth. A look in his eyes that made her think of a man being handed something precious and realizing, all at once, the weight of being trusted with it.
Jamie pulled back only enough to beam up at him once more, then looked down at the dress in her hands as though the gift had only just become real.
“Can I wear it now?” she asked, already bouncing on the balls of her feet.
Frederick’s mouth shifted. “I suspect ye mean to whether I answer or no.”
Jamie nodded solemnly. “Aye.”
That nearly made Iona laugh.
“Then go on,” Frederick said. “Let us see it properly once ye have won the battle with the sleeves.”
Jamie gasped in delight at the thought of battle rather than buttons and darted past him toward the smaller adjoining chamber that had been set aside for her things. The dress was gathered to her chest with both hands, her steps quick and uneven with excitement.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then his gaze dropped to the remaining parcel in his hand.
“I brought another thing,” he said.
Iona’s smile deepened, gentler now. “Did ye?”
“Aye.” He stepped closer and held it out to her. “For ye.”
It was much smaller than the bundle he had brought for Jamie, wrapped more neatly too, as though he had taken greater care to keep whatever lay inside from being jostled or bent. Iona took it slowly, more aware than she wished to be of how close he stood while she undid the fold of cloth.
The bracelet caught the light at once.
It was delicate without being frail, silver worked in a graceful line, with a pale green stone set at its center that made her think, oddly enough, of morning light through shallow water.
It was finer than anything anyone had ever bought for her.
Finer than anything she would have imagined for herself.
She looked up. “Frederick.”
His expression remained steady.
“What is this for?” she asked softly.
He did not answer at once. One corner of his mouth moved as though he considered giving some evasive reply and then thought better of it.
“It is a courting gift,” he said.
Her fingers curled around the bracelet lightly, as if holding it too tightly might somehow break the moment. A courting gift. Chosen specifically for her. For this exact moment. Intentionally.
“A— A courting gift… does this mean ye still want to marry me?” She nearly tripped over each word.