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.