“I had it there,” she insisted, dropping to her knees with a cloth doll tucked beneath one arm and a carved pony in the other hand. “It was standing proper.”
“It was standing on a blanket,” Iona said, moving automatically to crouch beside her and retrieve the cup before it vanished entirely beneath the wardrobe. “That is nae the same as standing proper.”
Jamie accepted the cup solemnly and set it beside the doll with renewed care. The bed had become a whole world in the child’s hands that afternoon. Dolls in borrowed ribbons. Tiny wooden animals gathered in one corner. A folded square of scrap fabric serving as a cloak, then a blanket, then a royal mantle, depending on what story Jamie had decided upon that moment. More than once, Iona had caught herself simply watching.
There was still a kind of wonder in it.
Her daughter no longer glanced toward the door before picking up a doll. No longer shoved the toys aside if footsteps sounded in the corridor. No longer reached first for what might pass unnoticed.
Jamie still moved with the habits of hiding now and then. That would not be erased in a day, or a week, or perhaps even a year. But each hour she spent sprawled among ribbons and toy cups and pretty nonsense with no thought but play seemed to loosen something Iona had not realized remained clenched inside her.
“Will this one be invited to the wedding?” Jamie asked, lifting the cloth doll with grave concern.
Caitlin turned at once. “Certainly.”
“And this one?”
“That one as well.”
Jamie held up the carved pony. “What about him?”
Erin snorted. “That creature looks like it would attend whether invited or not.”
Jamie grinned and hugged all three toys to her chest.
A rap at the open door sounded before Iona could answer whatever question would come next. Lennox appeared in the threshold, one hand braced against the frame, his expression already wary in the way of a man who had learned that being summoned into a room full of determined women rarely ended well for him.
“I was told,” he began carefully, “that someone required me.”
“Aye,” Erin said at once. “Come here.”
Lennox looked as though he might rather face a line of armed men. Still, he entered.
“What is it this time?” he asked.
Erin pointed with one gnarled finger toward a stack of stools against the wall. “Those.”
Lennox blinked. “Those?”
“Aye. We need them moved.”
“Where?”
Erin looked at Caitlin. Caitlin looked at Iona. Iona looked at the stools and fought a smile.
“By the hearth, perhaps?” she offered.
“Nay,” Caitlin said. “Too warm.”
“Near the window,” Erin said.
“Too much draft,” Caitlin answered.
Lennox closed his eyes briefly. “I see that I have arrived in the middle of a thoughtful and measured discussion.”
“Ye have arrived in the middle of useful work,” Erin said. “Move them.”
He obeyed, though with the expression of a man being punished for crimes not yet committed. Jamie watched him drag the first stool across the room and leaned toward Iona with a whisper that was not remotely quiet.