Frederick entered.
The cottage was dim. Though a small fire burned low in the hearth, its warmth barely touching the chill that clung to the stone.
The girl sat upon a bench near the fire, her posture hunched inward as though she sought to make herself smaller. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, fingers twisting against one another in restless motion. Her hair hung loose and uneven, as if it had been hastily cut or torn.
Beside her stood a man, Frederick addressed at once. “Fergus. Man, we came as soon as we got word.”
Fergus MacAllum looked older than Frederick remembered, though it had not been so long since he had last seen him. His shoulders were drawn tight, his gaze fixed on his daughterwith a sharpness that spoke of sleepless nights and too many unanswered questions.
“Me laird,” Fergus said, straightening as Frederick approached. “Ye grace is with yer presence. I was set to ride to ye after the healer gave me leave to so ye wouldnae have to make the journey.”
Frederick inclined his head in return. “MacAllum, this is where I should be and where I am.” His gaze moved briefly to the girl, then back to her father. “Ye have me gratitude for standing watch along the northern line. I am sorry that it has come to this.”
Fergus’s jaw tightened. “Aye. So am I.”
Frederick did not linger on it. There would be time enough for apologies later, if they were warranted.
“May I speak with her?” he asked.
Fergus hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Aye. If she can manage it.”
Frederick stepped forward, lowering himself slightly so that he did not tower over her. He kept his movements measured, his voice even when he spoke.
“Lass,” he said gently. “Can ye tell me yer name?”
The girl’s gaze lifted slowly, as though the effort of it cost her something. Her eyes were unfocused at first, drifting past him before settling with difficulty.
“Mairead,” she whispered.
“Aye, Mairead,” Frederick said. “I am Frederick. Ye are safe now.”
She blinked, as though the words took time to reach her.
“Safe,” she repeated, the word uncertain on her tongue.
“Aye,” he said again. “Nay harm will come to ye.”
Her hands twisted tighter in her lap, knuckles paling.
Frederick glanced briefly toward Lennox, who stood a short distance away, watchful but silent.
“Can ye tell me what ye remember?” Frederick asked, turning his attention back to the girl. “Anything at all will help.”
Mairead’s brow furrowed as she tried to focus. Her gaze dropped to her hands, as though the answer might be found there.
“I was… I was walking,” she said slowly. “Near the edge of the trees. I should nae have been alone, but I…” She faltered, her breath catching.
“It is all right,” Frederick said. “Take yer time.”
She nodded faintly, though the motion was unsteady.
“There was someone,” she continued. “Or… more than one, I think. I heard…” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “Voices. I cannae remember what they said.”
Frederick leaned slightly closer, his voice remaining calm. “Did ye see them?”
“I…” Her eyes squeezed shut. “I tried. I think I did. There was… a cloak. Dark. And…” She shook her head sharply, as though the memory slipped away the moment she reached for it.
“It is all right,” Frederick said again, though more firmly this time. “Daenae force it.”