He moved toward the door, pausing only briefly. “Rest,” he said. “The castle can feel overwhelming at first.”
She almost laughed at that understatement.
When he left, the study seemed quieter than before.
Iona stood alone in the space where he had asked for her hand and accepted her refusal as if it were simply another fact to be accounted for.
Her fingers brushed her lips unconsciously, remembering the warmth of his mouth, the way he had held her without demand.
She had expected anger and unreasonable control.
Instead, he had given her choice.
10
Frederick had expected her refusal.
It had been the most likely outcome if he had been honest with himself. Iona Pearson did not yield easily. She questioned, resisted, and tested every word placed before her as though expecting it to break beneath her weight. A proposal, offered as plainly as he had given it, had little chance of being accepted without challenge.
Still, expectation did little to soften the bruise to his pride.
He crossed the corridor toward the dining hall with steady steps, his expression composed, though his thoughts lingered longer than they should have.
She had refused him.
Not hesitated. Not deferred. Refused.
And yet…
His jaw tightened slightly.
If she had agreed, the night would have ended very differently. He had not been blind to the way she had looked at him in the study, nor to the way her breath had faltered when he had drawn closer. That kiss had not been one-sided. It had been restrained, held back by something neither of them had named.
It would not have remained so.
Frederick pushed the thought aside as he reached the doors of the hall and stepped inside.
Morning light poured through the tall windows, cutting across the long wooden tables. The scent of fresh bannocks and oat porridge lingered in the air, mingling with the faint smoke from the hearth.
He found them all sitting there.
Jamie sat beside his mother at the smaller table near the window, legs swinging idly beneath the bench, the movement restless in the way of young lads who could never quite sit still for long. Caitlin, on the other side, leaned toward the boy, speaking softly, her expression warm in a way Frederick had not seen directed at him in years.
He paused for a moment at the threshold.
There was something…steadying about the sight.
Jamie listened intently, nodding at something Caitlin had said, though it was clear his attention wandered between the food and the conversation. A smear of jam marked one corner of his mouth, and he made no move to wipe it away.
Frederick crossed the room.
Jamie noticed him first.
“Good mornin’, Frederick,” the lad said, voice bright despite the early hour.
Frederick inclined his head in return as he took a seat across from them. “Good mornin’.”
Caitlin glanced up, her gaze flicking between him and Jamie with quiet satisfaction. “Ye have slept well, I hope?”