He cannot take that from me.
Frederick’s boots crunched softly on gravel. He said nothing.
That silence unsettled her more than questions would have.
Before she realized it, the familiar shape of Erin’s cottage came into view. The small garden patch at the front was alive with late herbs. Erin herself stood bent over the beds, gathering sprigs of thyme into a basket. At the sound of footsteps, she straightened and turned to them.
Erin’s gaze flicked first to Jamie. Then to Iona. Then to Frederick.
Erin stilled.
Frederick spoke before Iona could. “Lennox,” he said without looking away from her, “this is the healer. Go ahead and ask her what ye must.”
The other man nodded and moved ahead of them toward the garden.
Frederick stepped closer to Iona.
“Iona Pearson,” he said.
Her name on his lips still felt like a touch.
He still remembers.
Memory surged unbidden. The way he had said her name was low and rough against her throat. The way morning light had caught in his hair while she slipped from his arms.
Her body betrayed her with a faint tremor.
Jamie coughed dramatically, clearly disapproving of the proximity. “We daenae need help.”
Iona forced a calm smile. “There is nay need to worry,” she said gently, squeezing a small shoulder. “They are only asking questions.”
Jamie’s suspicion did not fully fade, but at Erin’s brisk voice instructing which herbs to sort, the child moved reluctantly toward the garden.
Erin shot Iona a look in sharp assessment.
Iona held her gaze a fraction too long.
Then Frederick gestured toward the cottage door. “Inside.”
Her pulse spiked.
They stepped into the small main room together. The air still carried the faint scent of salt and herbs from earlier rites.
Iona’s anxiety coiled tighter with every step.
What will he say? What does he suspect? Does he remember that night as clearly as I do? She had barely formed the thought when his voice cut through the quiet.
“Are ye married?” he asked bluntly.
The question left his mouth before he weighed it, before he softened it into something polite. He watched the way Iona Pearson stiffened, green eyes flashing with equal parts shock and defiance.
“Nay,” she answered at once.
The word landed between them like a spark striking dry tinder.
“Then ye will come to me castle with me,” he said, as if the matter were already settled.
Her lips parted. For a heartbeat, she simply stared at him, freckles stark against suddenly pale skin. “Why?” she demanded.