“Please?”
Iona softened, brushing a hand over her daughter’s hair. “It has been a long day, lamb. Ye have danced enough for three people.”
“And I have nae even fallen yet,” Jamie said, as though that were an argument in her favor.
“That is because I have been watching ye too closely to allow it,” Caitlin replied, already guiding her toward the door.
Jamie hesitated just long enough to turn back toward Frederick. “Will ye come say goodnight later?”
Frederick stepped closer, his expression gentler than Iona had ever seen it in a crowded room. “I will see ye in the morn, lass. Ye have had a full day.”
Jamie considered that, then nodded with the seriousness she reserved for moments she deemed important. “Aye. Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight,” Iona said softly.
“Goodnight, me wee trouble,” Erin added from her seat, earning herself a look of mock offense from the child.
“I am nae trouble.”
“Ye areexactlytrouble.”
Jamie huffed, though she smiled as Caitlin led her from the hall, her small hand disappearing into her grandmother’s grasp as the door closed behind them.
The room felt quieter all at once.
The edges of the celebration had begun to soften. Voices lowered. Movements slowed. The musicians had set aside their instruments, and the last of the laughter drifted more gently through the space.
Iona stood still for a moment, her eyes lingering on the place where Jamie had just been, then slowly turned to find Frederick had been watching her. He was far more focused on her, and his heated stare settled over her slowly, almost reaching through her skin rather than touching it.
Her breath caught before she could stop it.
He saw it.
Of course he did.
“Ye are tired,” he said, though his voice had shifted, lower, closer.
“A little,” she answered, though the truth felt more complicated than that.
He stepped nearer to her with intention. The space between them closed without effort, and suddenly the room that had held so many people felt far too large for anyone but the two of them.
“Shall we go as well?” He asked softly.
She nodded quietly and let him guide her through the crowd.
The walk to their chamber passed in quiet. The corridors had emptied, the torches along the walls casting steady light that flickered just enough to make shadows move gently rather than loom. Iona was aware of every step, every shift of fabric, every moment of silence that seemed to stretch just long enough to become something else entirely.
Her thoughts began to wander again to what came next. She could see it now approaching with each step.
When they reached his chamber, Frederick opened the door and stepped aside for her. She entered first, her gaze moving automatically through the room, cataloguing the armchairs, sitting table, writing desk, and curtains blocking the windows. In the far corner, there was an open door, where she could see bright white bed sheets already turned down.
The hearth burned low with embers, throwing shapes against the dark floor as the door closed behind them, and she turned.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Frederick moved.
He crossed the room with a kind of restraint that did not lessen the urgency beneath it. When he reached her, he did not hesitate. His hands found her, one at her waist, the other at her shoulder, drawing her toward him with a certainty that made her breath falter.