“We are returning to the cottage now. Where ye will remain until morning.”
She did not argue.
He walked ahead this time, senses sharp, scanning the tree line for further movement. Blood soaked through his torn tunic, the raw skin tugging sharply with every shift of the fabric, and it trickled warm beneath his tunic from the cut at his side, but he ignored it.
As they approached the faint glow of Erin’s cottage, he spoke quietly without looking back.
“These may be the same men who took the other lass.”
Iona’s grip tightened on Jamie.
“They kent what to look for,” he added grimly. “They were given a description.”
She said nothing.
But he felt the weight of her silence.
Whatever she had been running from, was probably the same she had been running from seven years ago, and it had just followed her into his lands.
Whatever it was now, it had his full attention.
5
The moment they stepped outside Erin’s cottage, Frederick inclined his head slightly. “Goodnight,” he said, already turning as if to leave.
Iona Pearson caught his wrist before he could take two steps.
“Ye’re nae going anywhere like that,” she said, tugging him back toward the door.
His brows rose. “I have had worse injuries.”
“And I have seen worse stubbornness,” she shot back. “Inside.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but she had already pushed the door open and ushered him through.
The cottage was dim, lit only by embers in the hearth and a single candle burning low on the table. Erin’s snores rattledfaintly from the corner where the old healer slept, bundled in blankets as though the world could not touch her.
Jamie lingered near the doorway, watching Frederick with wide, thoughtful eyes.
“Off to bed,” Iona murmured, brushing a stray curl from the child’s brow. “It is late.”
Jamie hesitated. “He is bleeding?”
“I ken,” she replied gently. “And I will fix it.”
The child studied Frederick another heartbeat before nodding and disappearing behind the curtain into the back room.
Silence settled.
Frederick fidgeted slightly, as if unsure whether to remain standing or sit. He was too large for the small space, shoulders nearly brushing the low beams overhead.
“Iona,” he began, “ye daenae have to –”
“I do,” she interrupted, already moving toward the table to gather cloth, water, and a small jar of herbs Erin kept within reach. “Sit.”
He obeyed with surprising ease, lowering himself onto the bench.
“I have lived with a healer for two years,” she said briskly. “Some things have rubbed off.”