“I know,” she admitted. “And that was childish of me. But I needed ye to ken that I was nae only angry. I was also disappointed.”
The word seemed to strike deeper than the rest. Frederick’s eyes did not leave her face. “That is worse.”
“Aye,” she said softly. “It is.”
He was quiet for a moment, his expression difficult to read, though not shut away from her. Thinking. Measuring his words in that careful way he did when something truly mattered.
“Iona,” he said at last, “I was wrong to speak to ye as though obedience were the thing I wanted from ye. It isnae.”
She searched his face. “Then what is?”
His jaw shifted once, not with reluctance, but with the effort of saying something exactly as he meant it.
“I want ye safe,” he said. “And because I want that too much, I sometimes try to force the world into a shape where I can guarantee it. That is what happened. It does nae excuse the way I spoke, but it is the truth.”
The honesty of it settled into her more deeply than any polished answer could have.
“And if I disagree with what ye think is safe?” she asked.
His mouth curved, though there was little humor in it. “Then, apparently, I am meant to listen better than I did.”
That drew another small laugh from her, easier this time.
He reached for her then, slow enough that she could have stepped away had she wished. His fingers closed lightly around her wrist, not restraining, only asking.
“I daenae want coldness between us,” he said. “Nae now. Nae with what lies ahead.”
“I daenae want it either,” she admitted.
For a moment, they simply stood there, close enough now that she could feel the warmth of him, the steadiness of his presence, and with it the familiar ache of wanting to lean nearer and not yet doing so.
It was Frederick who broke first, though only just.
“Have ye any more grievances to lay at me feet before supper,” he asked quietly, “or may I kiss me wife?”
Iona felt her mouth soften before she meant it to. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether ye mean to do it properly.”
His eyes darkened slightly. “Aye,” he said. “I mean to do that.”
She let the glove fall onto the bed beside her and stepped close enough that her hand brushed the front of his coat. “Then ye may.”
The kiss was brief, but no less meaningful for that. He touched her as though he meant to reassure rather than unravel, his mouth warm and certain against hers, one hand at her waist, the other settling lightly at the back of her neck. Iona kissed him back at once, feeling the last of the stiffness between them give way beneath that simple, familiar intimacy.
When they parted, it was only by a little.
“We should change,” she murmured.
“Aye,” he said, though he did not move at once.
She smiled. “Go on.”
He pressed one last kiss to her brow, then stepped back toward the adjoining chamber set aside for his things. “I will go down first.”
“I shall follow shortly.”