“What did ye think of the man with hair like yers?”
Frederick’s pulse stuttered.
Jamie kicked at a stone, sending it skittering ahead. “He is tall,” came the thoughtful response. “Strong.”
Frederick’s shoulders eased slightly.
“And?”
“And he looks like he has a stick up his… bum.”
Frederick bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud.
Iona did not possess such restraint. Her laughter broke free, bright and unguarded, echoing softly through the trees.
The sound hit him unexpectedly.
He had forgotten that laugh. Or perhaps he had only remembered it dimly, filtered through memory and regret.Hearing it now, alive and unrestrained, stirred something beneath the armor he wore so carefully.
Jamie continued, emboldened. “He stares too much.”
Frederick lifted a brow despite himself.
“Does he frighten ye?” Iona asked gently.
“Nay,” Jamie replied at once. “But he looks like he wants to ask too many questions.”
A fair assessment, Frederick conceded silently.
“And what would ye answer?” Iona pressed.
“That depends,” Jamie said, chin lifting slightly. “On whether he deserves answers.”
Frederick almost smiled at the child’s loyalty and bravery.
They continued walking, unaware of the man trailing them with measured steps.
Then –
Frederick heard it before he saw it.
A faint snap of a twig behind him.
Not from Iona and Jamie.
From the opposite direction.
His body reacted before his mind finished processing. He turned his head slightly, listening. Another sound. Footsteps, deliberate but cautious.
Someone else was moving through the trees.
Not a villager wandering aimlessly. Not a child.
Adult.
Frederick’s hand dropped instinctively to the hilt of his sword.
At least two or three.