“What are ye talking about?”
Lachlan laughed once, a broken sound with no pleasure in it. “Jane did, did she nae? The rest of us wake, eat, drink, marry. Why should she be the only one made to pay?”
The smell reached Violet when he stepped closer. Spirits, stale and sharp beneath whatever herbs he had chewed to hide it.
She lowered the cloak onto the chair, feeling her heart pound hard in her chest. Something told her, like a looming warning in the back of her head, that her hands needed to be free for this.
“Ye should rest,” she urged. “I will call someone to help ye.”
“Help me?” His face twisted. He glanced at the bag beneath the chair again. “Everyone leaves. Jane. Connor. Now ye.”
“I am only going to me sister.”
“Aye. Because ye can,” he responded, moving toward the cradle.
Violet stepped into his path before she thought about illness, fever, or her own frightened hands.
John let out a soft sigh, which made Lachlan stop.
“Why doyeget to stand there?” he asked. His voice had dropped, and the softness made her more wary than she would have been if he had been screaming.
“Lachlan, ye’re drunk. Step back.”
Lachlan ignored her. “Why doyeget to play mother tomeson?”
Violet kept one hand low near her dress, ready to move. Her lessons from multiple training sessions with him returned in pieces.
Watch the shoulders. Watch the hips. A man’s hands lie less than his face.
“I am only doing what Jane asked of me.”
Lachlan’s eyes flashed. “Daenae speak her name.”
“She wanted John to be loved.”
“Daenae speak of him either.” His gaze flicked past her to the cradle. “He is mine.”
The claim felt too raw and too dangerous. Something like possession taken from a dead man’s inventory.
She couldn’t control how fast her heart pounded anymore. As calmly as she could, she edged toward the door. However, she was either too slow or he was too fast, even for a drunk.
Before she could do anything, he caught her upper arm, his fingers digging painfully into her skin.
“Let go.”
“Henry found me, ye ken?” he sneered.
Violet stopped struggling. Talking might keep him away from John. She looked at his face and forced her breathing to remain even.
“Jane’s brother?”
“He kent where to look.” Lachlan’s thumb pressed into the inside of her arm. “The taverns. The women. All the places Connor wouldnae deign to search.”
“What did Henry want?”
Lachlan’s mouth stretched into a poor imitation of a smile. “He said Connor had taken everything. Me home. Me bairn.” His eyes roved over her. “Even Jane’s friend.”
He tugged her closer. Violet went with the movement rather than fighting it, keeping herself between him and the cradle.
