9
The chamber they had been given felt too quiet.
Iona stood near the window, watching the sun retreats at her fingers rested on the carved stone. Household staff and guards cross the courtyard below. Everything here moved with rhythm and purpose. Even the air felt heavier, scented faintly with smoke and polished wood rather than damp earth and wild herbs.
Jamie unpacked without complaint, placing a small wooden figure near the hearth as though claiming the space inch by inch. The child’s curiosity filled the room, but Iona moved more slowly, folding clothes that did not truly need folding, adjusting blankets that were already straight.
She could not settle.
Every creak of the corridor beyond the door pulled her attention. Every distant footstep made her shoulders tighten.
A knock came.
She turned sharply.
Before she could answer, Erin pushed the door open and slipped inside, cheeks flushed from walking the corridors.
“I spoke with a stable lad,” the older woman said without preamble. “There is still nay word of the missing lass. Nay tracks. Nay sign she ever left the village willingly either.”
Iona’s stomach dropped.
Jamie paused, watching both women carefully.
A second knock followed, heavier this time.
Frederick stepped into the room when she opened the door. He filled the threshold with quiet authority, cloak draped over one shoulder, gaze flicking first to Jamie, then to Erin, and finally settling on her.
“I need a word,” he said.
“Now?” she asked.
“Aye. Alone.”
Her pulse stumbled. She hesitated only long enough to make sure Jamie was settled beside Erin before stepping into the corridor and closing the door behind her.
He did not speak as he led her through the castle.
The hallways twisted in ways she had not yet learned, torches burning low in iron brackets. Tapestries lined the walls; scenes of hunts and battles stitched in fading thread. The weight of history pressed in from every side.
They entered his study.
The room smelled faintly of ink and leather. Maps lay scattered across a heavy desk. Shelves climbed the walls, filled with ledgers and rolled parchment. A narrow window overlooked the hills beyond the castle.
Iona paused, taking it in despite herself.
It was… him. Ordered. Controlled. A place where decisions were made, not dreams.
She turned on him abruptly.
“Why did ye bring me here?”
His expression hardened at once. “I have already told ye.”
“Aye,” she said, stepping closer. “Ye spoke of safety. Of duty. Of protecting what is yers.”
Frustration flickered in his eyes. “And that isnae enough?”
She gestured sharply around the room. “Nay. Why did ye bring mehere?”