Frederick here, beside her, speaking of their wedding as though there was no shadow left standing over it.
She felt safe in that moment, and the realization settled more deeply than she expected, and with it came another, gentler one that nearly undid her altogether.
She was also content.
Iona drew in a slow breath and looked at him again.
Frederick had gone still, as though he sensed the shift without knowing its shape.
“What is it?” he asked.
She shook her head once, because she did not yet trust her voice with all of it.
“Nothin’,” she said softly.
He studied her for a moment. “That is rarely true.”
“Aye,” she replied, her smile lingering. “But it is near enough for now.”
And when he reached for her hand, she gave it to him without a second thought.
“Erin.”
The name slipped softly through the narrow space of the doorway, careful enough not to wake anyone who might be passing in the corridor, yet not so quiet that it could be mistaken for a dream.
Erin did not startle.
She lifted her head from the pillow with the slow awareness of a woman who had learned long ago the difference between a harmless disturbance and one that required alarm. The candle at her bedside burned low, casting a steady amber glow across the small chamber, enough to reveal Iona standing just inside the threshold, one hand still resting against the wood as though she had not yet decided whether she ought to have come at all.
“Well,” Erin said, her voice roughened by sleep but not unfriendly. “If ye are standing there like a ghost, ye may as well come in and be a proper one.”
Iona let out a quiet breath and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her.
“May I,” she began, then faltered, her fingers curling lightly at her side. “May I sleep here tonight?”
Erin’s brow creased with concern that surfaced too quickly to be hidden. She shifted, pushing herself upright against the headboard, the blankets gathering loosely at her waist.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
Iona shook her head at once. “Nay. Nothin’ is wrong.”
“Then why are ye asking me for a place in me bed like a bairn who has seen a shadow move?”
The words were blunt, as Erin’s words always were, but there was no sharpness in them. Only curiosity, and beneath it, a quiet readiness to make room if it was needed.
Iona crossed the small distance between them and sat carefully at the edge of the bed, her hands folding together in her lap as though she needed something to hold.
“I daenae wish to be alone,” she said after a moment.
Erin studied her face in the candlelight. “Ye are happy,” she said, and it was not a question.
Iona let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. “Aye.”
“And yet ye are here?”
“Aye,” Iona said again, though this time the word carried something more uncertain beneath it.
Erin shifted slightly, making space beside her without comment. “Lie down then, and tell me what foolishness is chasing ye from yer own bed.”