He glanced toward the window again and found Iona watching him, one brow lifted as if daring him to admit he enjoyed the conversation. Her freckles stood out against wind-chilled skin. A few strands of ginger hair had escaped her braid and now whipped against her cheek.
Frederick kept his expression neutral.
Iona’s gaze dropped to his torn sleeve. “Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
“That is honest.”
“It is factual,” he corrected.
She smiled faintly. “Same thing.”
Lennox could not help himself. “Me Laird is allergic to anything that sounds like feelings.”
Frederick’s eyes narrowed. “Ride forward.”
“Aye,” Lennox said cheerfully, and did exactly none of that.
They passed through a stretch of pine, the air sharp with resin. The road dipped and rose. Frederick’s horse moved steadily, sure-footed, while the carriage wheels creaked over ruts.
Every so often, Erin’s murmurs rose and fell. Sometimes, a handful of dried herbs appeared briefly at the window, as if being checked and counted like soldiers.
“What is that?” Jamie asked at one point.
“Protection,” Erin replied.
“From what?”
“From foolish men.”
Lennox cleared his throat loudly and stared straight ahead.
Iona laughed again, quieter this time, as if she was trying not to wake whatever was sleeping in herself.
Frederick noted it anyway.
When the mention of his mother came again, it slipped in as Lennox chattered to fill the quiet.
“Lady Caitlin will insist ye eat within an hour of arriving,” Lennox said. “She will ask ten questions before ye can blink. She will call Jamie a bonnie child and then scold me for letting dust settle on the curtains.”
“Does she always scold?” Iona asked.
“Aye,” Lennox replied with sincere admiration. “It is a talent.”
Iona’s amusement dimmed. Just slightly. A flicker. But Frederick caught it.
“What sort of woman,” Iona asked carefully, “accepts a traveler and a child at her table without… questions?”
Lennox blinked as if surprised by the seriousness beneath the words. “Lady Caitlin is kind,” he said, then added, “and persistent. The questions will come. But kindness comes first.”
Frederick heard the shift in Iona’s breathing, the way uncertainty tightened her voice when she spoke again. “And if she disapproves?”
“She willnae,” Lennox insisted. “She has wanted grandchildren loud enough to shake the stones. She will greet this like a miracle.”
Iona’s mouth tightened. “A miracle.”
Frederick knew what she was thinking even if she did not say it. A child born out of wedlock was not greeted kindly in every hall. Some women would turn cold. Some would look at Iona and see scandal before they saw survival.