Iona had stopped walking ahead. She had heard it too. Her posture changed, shoulders tightening, head tilting slightly as she listened into the dark.
Jamie pressed closer to her side.
The night seemed to hold its breath.
Frederick stepped from the shadows then, closing the distance between them in long, silent strides.
Iona spun at the sound of his approach, eyes wide.
“Ye,” she hissed, recognition and frustration colliding in her expression.
“Quiet!” he hissed. His face dangerously fixed enough for her not to argue, for once.
“There is someone else here,” he said quietly.
Her face went pale.
Behind them, the underbrush shifted again.
Frederick positioned himself between Iona and the sound without thinking, body angled protectively.
The infuriation faded, replaced by an ice-cold sharpness. A hunter’s instincts fine-tuned.
Three figures stepped from the trees as if the night itself had shaped them.
Frederick counted without looking. One to the left, one directly ahead, one circling wider to the right. Not villagers. Their cloakswere travel-worn, boots thick with road mud. Faces partially shadowed beneath low hoods.
They halted when they saw him.
Then their gazes slid past him.
To Iona.
One of them leaned slightly forward, studying her in the moonlight. “Red hair,” he muttered to the others. “That matches.”
Cold certainty settled in Frederick’s gut.
They had not come by chance.
The tallest of the three took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “And the bairn,” he added, voice rough. “That too.”
Frederick’s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.
“Stay behind me,” he said quietly without looking back.
Iona did not argue this time. He heard the rustle of her cloak as she pulled Jamie close. A small hand gripped her skirts. He felt rather than saw her turn, shielding the child.
“If ye are searching for a lass and bairn with red hair, ye must be snatchin’ all of the Highlands.”
The man on the right smirked and advanced. “We will take the lass. The bairn too. We have coin waiting.”
He reached, hands nearly on Iona’s shoulder, but Frederick moved first.
Steel sang as it left its scabbard.
He closed the distance in two strides and drove his blade straight through the man’s abdomen before the fool’s hand ever brushed Iona’s sleeve. The impact jarred up Frederick’s arm as resistance gave way. The man’s eyes widened, mouth opening in a wet gasp.
Frederick twisted and ripped the blade free.