“Of that, I am most sure,” Lennox replied.
The agreement came too readily.
Frederick looked up.
Lennox met his gaze without apology. “Ye are good at leaving when duty calls. Ye are less good at remembering that other people daenae always understand why. And I think ye are still getting used to the idea that those two lassies are yer duty as well, with equal shares of yer time and effort.”
That was, infuriatingly, fair.
Voices sounded in the passage outside then, followed by the heavier tread of men who believed their opinions indispensable. The council was arriving.
Lennox straightened, whatever amusement had been in him settling away as easily as a cloak. “Well, Estelle is usually in the nearby village on Tuesdays,” he said, drawing one of the papers closer, “And ye may glower at yerself later. For now, we have old men to update.”
Frederick gave a short nod and straightened in his chair as the first of the councilmen entered.
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.