The name settled heavily between them.
“Jamie,” Frederick repeated.
The suspicion in those green eyes sharpened.
“Where is yer mother?” he asked.
The question came out more direct than intended.
“Why?” Jamie challenged at once.
There it was again. That defiance.
Frederick almost smiled. “Because I am asking.”
“That isnae an answer.”
Lennox barked a laugh behind him. “Careful, me Laird. Ye’ve found yerself a rebel.”
Frederick did not look away from the child. He admired the bravery. Few adults met his gaze so steadily.
Impatience flickered beneath his composure. There were matters to attend. A missing lass. Rumors of strangers. He did not have time to indulge a child’s stubbornness.
“I need to speak with her,” he said more firmly.
Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “About what?”
Frederick opened his mouth to respond.
A voice cut through the clearing like a blade.
“Jamie!”
The sound carried panic.
Frederick rose in one fluid motion and turned.
She stood at the edge of the path, breathless, cloak half slipping from one shoulder. Ginger hair escaped its braid in loose strands, catching the light like flame against the grey afternoon. Freckles dusted pale skin. Familiar green eyes widened when they found him.
For a suspended heartbeat, neither moved.
Seven years vanished.
He remembered the weight of her beneath his hands. The warmth of her curled against him at dawn. The empty bed when he woke.
His chest twisted in a way that had nothing to do with duty.
Found ye.
3
Worry. Relief. Fear.
They crashed through Iona all at once so violently she thought her knees might give way.
Jamie stood a mere arm’s length from her, alive, stubborn chin lifted, eyes bright with defiance. The sight made her lungs expand painfully. For the last hour, she had imagined riverbanks and strangers’ hands and empty woods. Now here was the child, entirely whole, entirely unrepentant.
And standing beside Jamie was the man who had visited her in her dreams for the last seven years.