Connor’s voice in one of their many subsequent training sessions cut through her panic.
“Always remember, when trying to use The Yellow Lady, daenae pull against the grip. Turn with it and drop yer weight instead. The Yellow Lady wins because the fool expects her to flee straightaway.”
Violet twisted toward Lachlan instead of away. She stamped hard on his toes and drove her elbow into his ribs, causing his grip to loosen for one second. She then wrenched her wrist through the opening between his thumb and fingers.
Lachlan cursed and struck her shoulder, sending her staggering sideways. Her upper body pitched through the window, but her hand caught the stone frame, pain tearing through her fingers. Her hip slammed against the sill, leaving her half inside the nursery and half above the courtyard below.
Behind her, John woke and screamed.
Violet pressed one knee against the wall, fighting for leverage. John’s loud cries tore through the waking castle as Lachlan reached for her again.
For the briefest moment, a part of her wondered whether dying by falling from a window would be some kind of poetic irony.
Connor found Violet’s chamber empty.
The healer waited below with her bag, already displeased by the delay. A maid near the stairs said that Lady Moore had gone to the nursery before the castle woke, and Connor immediately turned without answering.
John’s cry reached him first when he was halfway down the passage, after which a crash followed.
Nay.
He ran.
The nursery door stood shut. He struck it with his shoulder, tearing the latch from the wood, and entered to find Violet half hanging through the open window, one hand clinging to the stone frame. Lachlan was gripping the back of her gown, trying to push her over, while John screamed from the cradle.
He crossed the room before Lachlan could move, caught him by the collar, and hauled him backwards. Fabric ripped beneath his fist as Lachlan struck the floor hard enough to lose his breath.
“How dare ye?” he hissed. “How dare ye touch her?”
He wanted to follow his brother down. He wanted bone beneath his knuckles and Lachlan’s blood across the floor. However, at that moment, Violet made a broken sound near the window.
He turned away from Lachlan and hurried to her. He pulled her inside, one arm firm around her waist. Her fingers were scraped raw from the stone frame, and a bruise was darkening beneath the torn sleeve on her upper arm. He checked her temple and the back of her head before cupping her face in both hands.
“Look at me.”
Her breathing came too fast. “John.”
Moira rushed through the broken door with Alex and two guards behind her. She went straight to the cradle, lifted the crying baby, and turned away from Lachlan.
“Moira has him,” Connor said. “Can ye stand?”
“Aye.” Violet’s knees wobbled.
“Are ye hurt?”
“I am all right.”
“That isnae an answer.”
Violet glanced at the window. “I used the move ye taught me.”
Connor looked at her bleeding fingers. “The Yellow Lady.”
She laughed in response.
His arm tightened around her waist, then slackened before he hurt her. He moved her behind him and faced Lachlan.
The guards had dragged his brother upright. Lachlan’s lip had split against the floor, and ale soured his breath. His eyes darted from Connor to Violet and then to John in Moira’s arms.
