Frederick straightened slightly. “Show him in.”
A moment later, Archer entered, his presence carrying with it an ease that contrasted with the weight Frederick still felt lingering from the day.
“Frederick,” Archer greeted. “I trust I find ye well.”
“Well enough, Archer. How are you?” Frederick replied.
Iona began to rise, her hand moving to guide Jamie with her. “We shall leave ye to speak,” she said.
“Nay,” Frederick said at once, his gaze shifting to her. “Stay.”
She hesitated, clearly surprised by the request.
“Are ye certain?” she asked.
“Aye,” he said. “There is nay need for ye to go.”
Jamie looked between them, then slipped from her seat. “I shall find Caitlin,” she said, already moving toward the door.
Frederick watched her go, then turned his attention back to the room, where Iona had settled once more, though there was a question in her eyes that had not yet been answered.
Archer took in the scene with quiet interest, though he said nothing of it.
“Then it seems I have come at a fortunate hour,” Archer said lightly.
Frederick did not reply at once, though he felt, for the first time that day, that perhaps Erin’s words had not been entirely misplaced.
26
Laird O’Douglas was a handsome man. Iona saw that at once and quickly distrusted herself for noticing it at all.
Not because there was anything especially improper in the observation. A woman had eyes. She knew what she saw. Archer Gallagher carried himself with a polished sort of ease, the kind that suggested he had long since learned the usefulness of appearing untroubled in every room he entered. His clothes were finely made without seeming ostentatious, his manner smooth, his smile ready.
And yet there was something in him that kept her from ever fully relaxing.
It was the smile, perhaps, or rather, what the smile failed to reach.
His mouth curved readily enough, charming in a manner that would likely disarm most people before they had the chanceto think better of it, but his eyes remained untouched by it. They were sharp. Watchful. Measuring. It seemed to Iona that nothing in the hall escaped them. Not the placement of chairs, not the servants slipping in and out with refreshed cups, not the way Jamie had left only moments before, and certainly not the look Frederick had given her when he asked her to remain.
That alone made her sit straighter.
Archer inclined his head first to Frederick, then to her. “Me congratulations to ye both. I had hoped to offer them sooner, but I am afraid the days have grown less obliging of late.”
Frederick remained standing, his expression composed in that still way of his that never quite hid the thought moving beneath it. “Your good wishes are received. And returned, if I understand rightly, that your own household is still settling after recent changes.”
Archer’s mouth shifted. “That is a generous way of putting it.”
Iona said nothing at first, content to watch. This, too, was a sort of dance, only one done with words sharpened so finely that one could almost miss the cut until it had already landed.
Archer turned his attention to her then, and the full weight of that observant gaze settled on her without rudeness and yet with no less intensity for being carefully mannered.
“And my congratulations to ye as well, me lady,” he said. “It seems McIntosh Keep has become rather more fortunate all at once.”
Iona managed a polite smile. “Ye are kind to say it.”
There was no stumble in him. No wasted word. Even his compliments felt chosen for effect, though she could not have said precisely what effect he wished to create.
Frederick gestured toward a chair, though he himself did not yet sit. “Ye have come a fair distance for courtesy alone?”