“Aye. He killed two men.”
The hall quieted.
Frederick set his cup down slowly.
Caitlin did not gasp. She did not flinch. She simply inclined her head slightly. “Then we are fortunate he was present.”
Her composure steadied the room again.
Iona’s hand tightened briefly around her fork before she resumed eating.
After the meal, Frederick showed them upstairs.
The corridors were cooler, stone walls holding the memory of older winters. He stopped before two adjoining chambers.
“These will suffice,” he said.
One room for Iona and Jamie. One smaller room for Erin.
Iona stepped inside the larger chamber first.
It was modest by castle standards. A wide bed against the far wall, a small hearth, a trunk at its foot, a window overlooking the inner courtyard.
Jamie ran to the window at once.
“It is high,” Jamie observed.
“It is secure,” Frederick replied, and placed a key in her hand. “And ye can lock it from the inside – this is the only key.”
Iona turned slowly, taking in the space. There was no awe in her expression. Only consideration.
“This will do just fine,” she said.
That was the closest she had come to approval.
Later, when the household quieted and servants retreated to their duties, Frederick stood in his study opposite his mother.
The room smelled faintly of parchment and wax. Maps lay rolled on one side of his desk. A ledger remained open where he had left it days before.
Caitlin stood near the hearth, hands folded neatly.
“Well,” she began.
Frederick waited.
“Ye have brought them here,” she said gently. “Now what?”
“They will remain under our protection,” he answered.
“That wasnae me question.”
He met her gaze steadily.
Caitlin’s eyes softened, though her tone did not. “Frederick, the child is clearly yers.”
He did not deny it even if it has not been outright confirmed.
“And Iona?”