“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 beenmostobliging.”
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. Yemustcome.”
“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.