Frederick did not like the idea of his mother judging Iona harshly.
He liked even less the idea that Iona expected it.
“She is me mother,” Frederick said at last, voice firm enough to end speculation. “She is courteous. She will treat ye with respect.”
Iona held his gaze through the window. “Respect isnae the same as acceptance.”
“It is where acceptance begins,” he replied.
For a moment, silence expanded between them. A truce, perhaps. Or a warning.
Then Jamie leaned out again, interrupting with perfect timing. “Frederick, do ye have training swords?”
Lennox groaned. “Oh nay.”
Frederick’s mouth twitched. “Aye.”
Jamie’s eyes lit. “Then we will spar.”
“Ye will train,” Frederick corrected, already hearing his mother’s likely gasp and Erin’s likely commentary. “And ye will do it safely.”
Jamie nodded once, satisfied, as if the matter were settled.
From inside, Erin’s Gaelic murmur softened into an almost approving look. Iona’s laughter returned, lighter again, though a question lingered behind it.
Frederick rode beside the carriage as the first distant outline of McIntosh Castle rose beyond the hills.
Whatever waited within those walls, the road had already changed the balance between them.
It was not peace.
But it was the beginning of something that could not be undone.
7
McIntosh Castle rose from the hillside like a stubborn relic of former glory.
Frederick had always thought of it that way. Grand at first glance, impressive in silhouette, its stone towers catching the light in a way that suggested strength and permanence. But closer inspection revealed the truth. Weather had worn the edges of its battlements. Ivy crept too boldly along one outer wall. The banners hanging from the central tower were rich in color but mended more than once.
Like the clan itself, it had survived. It had endured. But it had not escaped damage.
As the carriage rolled through the outer gates, the guards straightened at once, fists thudding against chests in salute.
“Me Laird.”
He inclined his head but did not slow.
His attention jockeyed back to the carriage window where Jamie’s face pressed eagerly against the glass.
“It is big,” Jamie breathed.
“Aye,” Frederick replied.
“It looks like it could fight back.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “It does.”
Behind Jamie, Iona sat rigid. Her gaze traveled over the walls, the towers, the courtyard bustling with stable hands and servants who had paused openly to stare.