Connor rode into the village with the signed treaty packet tucked under his coat and mud on his boots.
The meeting with MacAdair had been briefer than he had expected. MacAdair had read the terms twice, asked a few careful questions, and signed with the face of a man grateful to close one difficulty before another opened.
Connor had no reason to sit at another man’s table once peace had been set down in ink. He had more matters to deal with at home.
He had sent one rider ahead to Moore Castle with word that the treaty was secured. The other man rode behind him with the horses, slowed by a loose shoe that would need the blacksmith before they climbed back toward the castle.
Connor should have gone straight home. John’s christening awaited, and Lachlan was still there. Violet would either be relieved by his return or annoyed by it, and both possibilities had carried him through the last mile with more interest than any treaty had earned.
He had stopped by the market to buy a gift for the baby. Something he could use at the christening. That was when he spotted the woman at the herb stall. He recognized the set of her shoulders despite her plain shawl.
Violet?
He immediately drew the horse up hard. Violet stood alone, dressed like a villager, one hand wrapped around a stall post. Her head was bowed, and her other hand was clutching a bundletied with blue thread. The herb seller leaned toward her with worry on her sharp face.
Violet swayed.
Connor was off the horse before the stirrup settled. Someone called out to him from behind, and a boy stumbled backward. The bread seller snatched a basket out of his path.
He reached Violet just as her knees gave way.
His hands caught her at the waist and arm, pulling her back against him before she could hit the ground. She weighed too little. She tried to straighten as soon as he held her, stubborn even when her face had gone pale enough to make his throat tighten.
“What the hell are ye doing here alone,wife?” he snapped.
Her eyes lifted to his. For a moment, she only stared at him.
“Connor?” she asked. “What areyedoing here?”
“Coming home.”
“But the treaty…”
“Signed. The meeting went well. I had no reason to stay longer.”
He looked over her face again. A faint sheen of sweat marked her upper lip. Her fingers gripped the herb bundle so hard that the stems cracked under the wrapping.
“What is wrong with ye?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
His hand tightened on her waist. He felt her flinch and loosened his grip. “Try again.”
“I was only buying something.”
“Alone?”
“I have been going to markets alone for years. Daenae say that.”
“Well, nae as me wife.”
Her chin lifted, though she still leaned into him more than she seemed to know. “I didnae become an invalid when I married ye.”
Connor looked at the shawl, the plain gown, the kerchief hiding most of her hair. “Ye did become easier to find.”
“That is yer fault for being Laird.”
“Aye. I will accept blame after ye explain why ye left the castle without a guard, a maid, or literally any form of wisdom.”
