Jamie nodded, already looking ahead with anticipation.
Frederick stepped out into the morning air, his focus sharpening as the familiar rhythm of the day settled around him.
There would be time enough for questions later.
And answers.
11
The morning should have felt calmer than it did.
Sunlight spilled pale and cool across the inner courtyard, laying soft gold over stone that had likely seen more winters than she could imagine. The castle had a way of holding sound differently than a cottage. Nothing vanished here. Footsteps echoed. Doors shut with weight. Even distant voices traveled along the walls and reached her ears, changed, as if the place itself had listened first.
Iona stood beside Erin near one of the herb beds set against the southern wall, her hands occupied with sorting dried stems from fresh cuttings, though her mind had wandered too often for the work to go quickly.
She kept thinking of Jamie.
Not with full fear, not as she might have in the village, but with the restless unease of a mother who had spent too manyyears measuring danger by the breath. Caitlin had come to the chamber that morning with such open hope in her face when she asked whether Jamie might dine with her that Iona had found herself agreeing before caution could harden into refusal.
She had not missed the word the older woman chose.
Grandchild.
The tenderness in it had struck her with uncomfortable force.
Now, standing in the courtyard garden while the scent of crushed mint and rosemary rose beneath her fingers, Iona told herself that Jamie was safe. Safer than safe, perhaps. Caitlin seemed ready to spoil the child within an inch of reason, and Frederick was under the same roof besides. No harm would come with so many walls and watchful eyes around them.
Still, habit was harder to quiet than fear itself.
Her gaze flicked toward the keep windows more often than she liked.
Erin noticed, of course. Erin noticed everything.
“Ye will wear a groove in yer neck if ye keep looking up like that,” the older woman murmured, not glancing away from the bundle of lavender in her lap.
“I am only making sure everything is well,” Iona said.
Erin snorted softly. “Aye. And I am a goose.”
Iona bent to pick up another basket, choosing not to answer.
A few paces behind them, Lennox Cochrane followed at what was likely meant to be a respectful distance. He had not inserted himself into their task, nor had he spoken more than necessary, but he was there all the same, strolling just slowly enough to appear casual and just attentively enough to make that impossible.
Iona eyed him over her shoulder.
“He has been behind us since we left the chamber,” she said under her breath.
“Aye,” Erin replied.
“Does he think I mean to steal yer rosemary and scale the walls with it?”
This time Erin did look up, amusement brightening her lined face. “Nay, lass. He thinksyemight run.”
Warmth touched Iona’s cheeks at once, which only irritated her further.
“I have nowhere to run to,” she muttered.
“That isnae the same as saying ye wouldnae try.”