“Fine. Then I was tired.”
Connor sighed. “Ye are a poor liar, Violet, and we arenae doing this again.”
“And ye are poor at being comforting.”
“Comfort can wait until ye stop trying to faint in markets.”
Her eyes flashed.Good. Let her glare at him. Let her use temper if it kept her upright.
“I didnaetryto faint if that is what ye are getting at,” she huffed. “And I have managed markets, roads, inns, bargaining men, dishonest peddlers, and weather worse than yer temper.”
Connor opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came forth. Violet looked away first.
He caught the movement. She was less embarrassed by being caught in the market than by being caught clutching the herbs. Her fear showed each time her eyes darted to the rest of the angelica. She did not even demand to return to John, which meant she feared something that would follow her back to him.
He forced his hands to stay loose at his sides.
“So what is the herb for?” he asked.
“I told ye. It helps.”
“With what?”
“Connor.”
“With what, Violet?”
She pressed her lips together.
Connor stepped back before he could reach for her and shook the answer free. That would only frighten her more, and she wasalready regarding him as if deciding which truth would cost the least.
A knock sounded at the door, and Connor went to open it.
Two men carried in a small wooden tub, followed by the keeper’s wife with folded linens over one arm and a younger maid balancing a tray.
“By the fireplace,” Connor instructed.
The men set the tub down while the maid placed the tray on the table, careful to avoid looking at Violet for more than a breath.
The keeper’s wife laid the linens on the bed and glanced once at Violet’s face. “Me Lady, shall I help ye with anything?”
Connor watched Violet’s jaw tighten.
“She requires privacy,” he said.
The woman bowed her head. “Aye, me Laird.”
When the last bucket had been poured, the tea laid out, and the bread and broth left beside it, Connor dismissed them with a look.
The door closed, and their footsteps retreated.
Violet sat rigid in the chair, one hand now pressed to her lap, the other inches from the tea.
Connor turned the key in the lock again while cold water waited near the fireplace and tea waited on the table. The bread also sat untouched on the tray. Violet watched him with a face full of defiance and little color.
Connor stood between her and the door. He had enough questions to fill the room, but for now, he kept them behind his teeth and reached for the teacup instead.
“Drink,” he urged. “Then ye can have a bath.”
