“Aye.” Moira moved, then stopped, her eyes shining. “I should have ken sooner.”
“Ye did ken,” Violet said. She shifted John higher and held his hot cheek against her. “Thank ye for noticing when ye did.”
Moira nodded once, sharp and quick, then hurried out of the room. Soon enough, two maids returned with a small basin and water. One stepped forward with both hands ready.
“Me Lady, I can take him while ye sit.”
“Nay.”
The maid stopped, and Violet softened her voice without loosening her hold. “He needs to feel safe. He kens me. I will hold him.”
None of them said anything else, and she was partly grateful for that. For now, everything that had happened from the previous day up till this very moment faded away, and all she could think about was John and how to make sure he didn’t die.
Make sure he doesnae die.
No.She couldn’t deal with the memories threatening her mind right now. All she would do for now was sit and try to soothe the baby.
Connor appeared in the doorway, broad-shouldered and silent, one hand braced against the doorframe. For once, he looked like a man brought to a battlefield with no weapon that suited the fight.
“Move the chair nearer the fire,” she said.
He obeyed at once.
The small bath took shape quickly. John cried when the warm water touched his feet, a thin complaint that made Violet’s throat close up. She kept her hands steady and cupped water over his legs, then his belly, murmuring nonsense about proud young gentlemen and their opinions.
“A cloth,” she said, holding out one hand.
Connor turned around, grabbed a cloth, and offered it.
Violet shook her head. “The softer one, Connor.”
He paused and narrowed his eyes. Then he grabbed another cloth. “This one?”
“Nay. The one folded beside Moira.”
“There are four folded beside Moira.”
“Then grab the softest one.”
Moira reached blindly, gave him the softest cloth, and he passed it over without another word.
Violet bathed John slowly, watching his face with each movement. His cries weakened into fretful whimpers, and eventually, when he had cooled enough, she lifted him out and wrapped him in the softest blanket. He clutched at the front of her gown with one warm little fist.
She sat in the chair Connor had placed by the fire and settled him against her chest. One hand covered his back, rubbing it in small circles. His breathing hitched twice, then evened out. The room stayed quiet because she kept her own voice quiet.
“There now,” she whispered. “There, me sweet lad.”
Connor drew closer only when John’s eyes closed.
“What do ye need?” he asked.
Violet did not look away from the baby. “Let him rest.”
“That is all?”
“That is everything.”
John finally slept against her chest.
