That almost drew a smile from Iona. Almost. Frederick saw the corner of her mouth shift and hated himself a little for noticing how rare such things had become in the last day.
They rode on.
By noon, the roads grew less familiar, the land changing in subtle ways as they moved farther from McIntosh ground. Stone walls gave way to rougher fencing in places. The hills opened and narrowed again. Once, they passed a shepherd boy who stared openly until Lennox waved and nearly caused him to drop his crook in surprise.
It was Archer who finally steered the talk back toward what mattered.
“When we arrive,” he said, his tone losing its earlier ease, “we ken nothing.”
Frederick’s gaze shifted to him. “Explain.”
“We ken enough between ourselves,” Archer said. “That is nae the issue. The issue is what Noor believes. If she thinks Iona has told us everything and that we have come armed with it, she will shut every door she can reach and hide behind whatever remains of her son’s name.”
“That assumes she is cautious,” Lennox said.
“Nay,” Archer replied. “It mostly assumes that she is proud. Which is worse.”
He glanced toward Iona then, his expression grave but not unkind. “If she believes ye still stand mostly alone, if she thinks ye are still uncertain of your footing here and still carrying your past like a burden nay one else can quite bear with ye, she will be more comfortable.”
Frederick’s mouth hardened. He did not like the shape of that at all.
Archer noticed. “I didnae say I liked it either.”
Iona’s voice came quiet but steady. “He is right.”
Frederick looked at her. She did not return the look, keeping her attention instead on the road ahead.
“She always preferred me frightened,” Iona said. “It made her bolder.”
Archer nodded once, as though that fit too neatly with what he had already suspected.
After a moment, he asked, “Does me wife ken?”
That drew everyone’s attention. Iona looked at him properly then. “What I ken is seven years old.”
“It is still more than I have.”
She was quiet for a moment before answering. “Back then, they tried hard to keep it from River. Her and her brother both, though I think the brother knew more in the end. There was too much movement in the castle for him not to. But River… they kept her apart from it as much as they could. At least that is what it seemed to me.”
Archer absorbed this in silence.
“She loved her mother,” Iona continued carefully. “Or thought she did. I never saw reason to think she knew the truth.”
Archer’s jaw shifted once, the only outward sign that the answer had landed poorly. “Aye,” he said at last. “That is near enough what I expected.”
Lennox glanced between them. “And if she still does nae ken?”
“Then we tread carefully,” Archer replied. “I have nay intention of humiliating me wife in her own hall if I can prevent it.”
Frederick said nothing, but he marked that answer all the same.
By the time O’Douglas Castle came into view, the light had begun its slow descent toward late afternoon. It rose from the land with a harsher profile than McIntosh Keep, its lines narrower and more severe, but no less imposing for it. Men were already waiting at the gate, and the arrival was received with every proper courtesy due an allied laird and his household.
That, at least, was the outward story. They had come, as agreed, under the pretense of strengthening ties before the ceilidh. A visit of goodwill. A display of favor. Something neighboring clans might note and gossip over without questioning too deeply.
As Frederick dismounted and reached to help Iona down, he felt the tension in her through the brief contact of his hands on her waist. She did not pull away. Neither did she lean toward him. The distance between those things was beginning to feel like its own sort of punishment.
Archer spoke with his steward before turning back to them. “Rooms have been prepared. We speak more after supper.”