Frederick closed the door behind them and turned to her at once.
“Breathe,” he said, his hands firm but gentle on her arms. “Slowly. With me.”
She tried.
It took time. Longer than she wished. But he did not rush her. He remained there, steady, patient, until her breathing began to settle into something she could manage.
Only then did he guide her to sit.
“Ye should nae have forced it,” he said quietly.
“I could nae keep it from ye,” she replied, her voice still trembling. “Naeafter hearing what he said.”
He watched her for a moment, then sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the solidity of him.
“Then tell me now,” he said.
There was no pressure in the words. Only certainty.
She told him everything.
Of MacFarlane. Of her place within its walls. Of the unease that had grown into fear. Of the hidden passage below. Of the women kept where no one was meant to look. Of the night she chose to act. Of the risk. Of the escape. Of the certainty that Lady Noor had known.
The words came steadily now, no longer broken by panic, though they carried the full weight of what she had held in silence for so long.
When she finished, the room fell quiet.
Iona hesitated, her hands clasped tightly together now, unsure how to face what came next.
“Iona.”
She looked at him.
There was no doubt in his expression. Only anger that was not meant for her. “Ye should have told me sooner,” he said, his voice controlled but edged.
“I was afraid,” she admitted.
“Aye,” he said. “And with reason.”
His hand lifted, brushing lightly along her cheek, grounding her in the gentleness of it despite the storm she could see building beneath his calm.
“This will be dealt with,” he said. “Ye willnae carry this alone again.”
A small, unsteady smile found her lips, relief breaking through at last.
Frederick’s expression softened at the sight of it, though the fire in his gaze did not fade.
He leaned forward, pressing a deliberate kiss to her forehead, then to her temple.
“I will keep ye safe,” he said quietly.
This time, she did not doubt it.
27
Morning had barely settled over the keep when Archer O’Douglas was shown into Frederick’s study for the second time in as many days. This time, there was no wine set out, no pretense of courtesy lingering for its own sake, and no softness to the air in the room.
Lennox stood near the hearth with his arms folded. Iona sat rigid in the chair nearest Frederick’s desk, her face composed in a way that told him she had not slept nearly enough. Frederick remained standing behind the desk, one hand braced against its edge, as though motion alone might keep him from saying too much too soon.