“He is fevered,” the healer declared at last. “It hasnae gone too deep yet.”
Violet’s shoulders lowered by a fraction.
The healer held up a hand before relief could take hold. “Keep him warm, but daenae bury him in covers. Offer milk often, only a little at a time if that is all he’ll take. If his breathing changes, send for me at once.”
“He will mend?” Violet asked.
“Only if the fever breaks,” the healer said. Her eyes moved over Violet’s face, lingering on the pallor there. “The bairn needs rest, and clearly so do some others in this room.”
Violet looked down at John as if she had not heard the last part.
Connor did. He took one step toward Violet when Lachlan did. The movement was small enough to avoid making a scene and clear enough that Lachlan stopped. His gaze flicked up and then away. Then he reached for the edge of John’s blanket, which lay over the chair. His fingers brushed the fabric.
“Have ye taken any medicine at all?” he asked quietly.
Connor’s attention snapped to him. “Why would she need medicine?”
Violet stiffened in her seat, and John gave a weak whimper at the sudden tension. She soothed him at once, though color had begun to leach from her face.
“It is nothing,” she said.
Lachlan looked troubled. Perhaps more than any other person would have under the circumstances, though Connor could not yet name what soured in him.
He lifted his hands slightly. “Ye were faint yesterday, and now John is fevered…”
Connor stepped fully between Lachlan and Violet. “What are ye talking about?”
“I mean no harm.”
“Nay?”
The healer’s gaze darted between them. Moira had gone still by the fire, the damp cloth held against her apron.
“She looked faint the day before yesterday. Almost fainted outside the nursery” Lachlan revealed.
Connor turned to Violet. “Outside the nursery?”
Violet’s mouth opened, then closed. Her hand spread over John’s back. “It was nothing.”
The lie had less force than usual.
Connor wanted to press her. He also wanted to drag Lachlan out by the throat. But he did neither, because John lay feverish in Violet’s arms and the healer was watching them with old, wary eyes.
“I am better now,” Violet added.
Lachlan lowered his voice, which made it worse. “If she has an illness, should she be so near him? Only until the healer kens more, I mean.”
Connor’s hand clenched. For one hard second, he saw his fist in Lachlan’s face with enough clarity that he had to open his fingers slowly. John was in the room. Violet was listening. That mattered more than satisfying the violence that had risen clean and ready in his blood.
“Enough,” he bit out.
Violet looked down at John, then at her hands where they rested against the child’s back. Something changed in her face so quickly that Connor moved before he had decided to.
“Violet,” he said.
She stood with John in her arms, too carefully. Moira came forward, trembling, and Violet gave the baby to her as if every inch between herself and John had to be completely protected.
“I need to call the priest,” she murmured.
