Iona pressed her lips together because that, unfortunately, was true.
If fear rose high enough, if something threatened Jamie, she would run again. She knew it. Erin knew it. Frederick likely knew it as well, though she resented the fact that he understood her in pieces before she had given him permission to do so.
Her hands slowed over the herbs.
“Perhaps it is Frederick’s doing,” she said after a moment. “Sending his man to trail after me as though I were some thief with quick feet.”
Erin’s mouth twitched. “Or perhaps it is exactly what it appears to be.”
Iona cast her a sideways look. “And what is that?”
“The laird trying to keep ye safe.”
The answer was too direct and happened so suddenly that Iona felt a blush rise in her cheeks before she could prevent it.
It annoyed her that Erin saw that too.
“I do nae require constant watching,” Iona said briskly, rearranging the bundles before her with more force than necessary. “He is overbearing. He gives orders as though the whole world should bend to him. He appears from shadows without warning. He says ridiculous things with a straight face. He is far too certain of himself, and he keeps looking at me as though he knows exactly what I am about to do before I do it.”
Erin was quiet for just long enough that Iona knew something unpleasantly wise was about to follow.
“When ye complain about the man,” Erin said at last, “ye do it in a voice that sounds suspiciously like admiration.”
Iona stared at her. “That is absurd.”
“Is it?”
“Aye.”
Erin returned to stripping leaves from a stem with infuriating calm. “Then perhaps next time ye should try insulting him without blushing.”
Iona let out a breath through her nose and looked away before the blush in her face deepened further. Lennox, blessedly, remained far enough behind not to hear. Or if he did hear, he was wise enough to pretend otherwise.
“I didnae trust him at first,” Erin said after a while.
That shifted something in Iona at once. She turned back. “Nay?”
Erin shook her head. “A laird with broad shoulders and a commanding voice appears out of nowhere, claiming safety and speaking of what belongs to him. I thought he might be dangerous in the way men often are dangerous when they think their intentions excuse every action.”
Iona’s fingers stilled.
“And now?” she asked quietly.
Erin lifted one shoulder. “Now I think he is dangerous in other ways.”
Iona frowned. “That tells me nothin’.”
“It should tell ye enough.” The old woman said, finally looking at her fully then, pale eyes sharp beneath her grey brows.
“He seems a good man,” Erin said. “Stubborn… And proud. And far too used to carrying every burden as though nay one else has hands. But aye, he is good.”
Iona was silent.
She did not know why those words struck her as strongly as they did. Perhaps because Erin was not easily impressed. Perhapsbecause some part of her had been waiting for permission to think the same.
“Why are ye telling me this?” she asked.
Erin’s fingers resumed their work. “Because ye are thinking too hard and speaking too little.”