She did not offer hollow comfort. She knew better than that. Instead, she nodded once. “Then I am sorry for yer loss.”
He looked at her as if measuring whether she pitied him.
“I daenae pity ye,” she added quietly. “I ken what it is to lose everythin’.”
For the first time, his expression loosened. Not with warmth. But attention.
The innkeeper returned with a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread, setting them before her. The scent alone made her dizzy.
She hesitated only a heartbeat before eating.
Across the table, the stranger watched her for a long moment. The ale had loosened the anger and grief in him. His shoulders sagged, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a rough honesty that had not been there before.
“He left me with debts,” he muttered. “Debts and a hundred people looking to me for answers that I still daenae yet have. Every one of them expects me to fix what he ruined. Failure isnae an option.”
Iona tilted her head, studying him. Beneath the hard lines of his face, she saw exhaustion. Responsibility clung to him like a heavy cloak.
“Ye helped me,” she said simply. “A stranger dripping rainwater on yer floor. If ye can spare kindness for someone ye daenae ken, I am sure ye will do even better by the folk who matter to ye.”
He glanced at her then, truly glanced, as if weighing her words. His anger eased in his gaze.
“Aye?” he said.
“Aye.”
He signaled the innkeeper with a lift of his tankard. Another round arrived quickly. Iona laughed under her breath at the speed of it.
They drank.
The fire crackled. The noise of the inn blurred into the background. With each swallow, the tightness in her chest loosened. The stranger’s voice grew steadier, less guarded.
“And ye?” he asked at last. “Where are ye running from, lass?”
She hesitated. Truth hovered at the edge of her tongue, dangerous and tempting.
“I left behind everythin’ I kent,” she said carefully. “Sometimes that is the same as dying, is it nae?”
His brow furrowed slightly, but he did not press.
They spoke of regrets then. Small ones at first. Roads not taken. Words unsaid. The ale warmed her limbs, and for the first time in weeks she felt… lighter. Reckless.
She stared into her cup and heard herself whisper, “I suppose I will never feel the warmth of a man before me life ends.”
He huffed a quiet breath. “That seems a grim thought.”
Her eyes widened. He had heard her. Then she quickly recovered. “I am merely practical,” she said, though a shy smile tugged at her mouth. “Some of us just arenae meant for soft endings.”
His gaze slid over her slowly, lingering just enough to make her pulse jump. “Ye daenae look like someone meant to be alone.”
Heat crept up her neck. She met his eyes, boldness rising with the drink. “And ye didnae look like a man who enjoys drinking alone either.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them was charged and uncertain.
“What is yer name?” she asked.
“Frederick,” he replied.
The name settled over her like a secret.